(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"You know," said Hiccup, wringing his hands together with nervous energy. "It's really not too late to change your mind. You could always come back with me to Berk. We could be a family again."
He'd only known his mother for around a week and already it hurt to know that he was about to leave her behind. The faceless hole that she'd left in his life felt all the more real and all the more raw now that he actually knew the person behind it.
Before, a mother had been an almost abstract concept to him – just one other thing in a long list that set him apart from his peers. It was hard to miss something you'd never had…but things were different now. He finally understood the true depth of his loss.
Hiccup's thoughts drifted to his father, and how Stoick continued to needlessly grieve the very woman who now stood just a short ways away. It wasn't right to let him go on like that. It wasn't fair .
Shouldn't they fix this?
Valka looked up from where she stood hunched over her makeshift desk, meeting his eyes. For the last hour, she'd been meticulously copying her notes on dragons onto several loose sheets of parchment, in an effort to give him the chance to learn all that she hadn't been able to share in their short time together. Ink now stained her hands, and her writing had grown progressively looser and less legible with each new line, but still she persisted.
It was clear that sharing the knowledge was important to her…so why couldn't she come along and teach him herself? There didn't need to be any rush. There didn't need to be any sort of expiration on their time together – why couldn't she see that?
Didn't she want to stay together, now that they'd found one another?
"Hiccup," she sighed heavily, shaking her head. "We've been over this already, dear. I-I can't. Berk was lost to me long ago, and I've made my peace with it. This is where I belong, and this is where I will stay."
He frowned, feeling a bit of anger churn within him, "But Berk's changed," he reminded her sharply. "You saw for yourself with Astrid – our warriors aren't out for dragon blood anymore! The raids are over and there's real peace. Mom, it's been twenty years – Berk's not even remotely the same place that you remember, you just have to come see it. Please. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, just…give us a chance."
Valka returned her attention to her notes, scrawling off a final line before gathering all the parchment together in one organized stack. "I'm sorry," she said softly, reaching for a roll of twine. She took care tying the twine around the stack, ensuring no pieces could get loose..
"Why–"
"Berk will always be a part of my history, Hiccup, but it is not meant to be my future," She insisted with a frown, retrieving a small knife from her belt to cut the twine. "I do hope – at least for your sake – that the village has changed like you say. However, if I'm right and their hearts remain the same…just know you will always be able to find safety here."
Huh? If he'd heard that right, she had doubts about his place in the village.
Hiccup blinked, taken aback by the insinuation. Did she really believe the village would turn on him, after all this time? That they would suddenly decide he wasn't quite human enough to be part of the tribe any longer?
It stung.
In fact, it grated on him in a way that he couldn't just ignore.
She was wrong.
"The tribe has accepted me. Even with, you know, scales and all…I'm still one of them," he said with as much force as he could muster.
As he spoke, he was surprised to find just how much that truth resonated within him.
While he was still nervous around the villagers…since the revelation of his secret, they'd never given him any real reason to be. They'd taken his curse in stride, welcoming him back to the village without question. They'd never treated him as something lesser, despite the fears and anxieties he couldn't seem to shake.
He thought of Fishlegs, and how the boy had freely trusted Hiccup with the knowledge of his secret project. He'd been thrilled by the prospect of partnering with Hiccup to rewrite the Book of Dragons. There'd be a shared excitement in their camaraderie that night, even when Hiccup slipped up and alluded to the curse.
He thought of Ingrid Hofferson. Though he'd not intended to introduce Astrid's mother to his dragon side, the woman had remained remarkably calm about the entire encounter. She'd even gone so far as to apologize to a Night Fury for making him uncomfortable. Ingrid had spoken to him then with the same respect that she always did, even allowing him to intrude on her afternoon with her daughter.
He thought of Gobber, who'd given him his old position back in the forge without hesitation. Who continued to mentor him as if nothing had changed, save for some well-meaning jests here and there.
He thought of Astrid. From the very beginning, she'd been his greatest ally – ready to spring him from the ring, even if she faced the consequences. She'd gone out of her way to defend and protect him throughout it all, never asking for anything in return. She'd connected with him in a way he couldn't put into words – she'd even kissed him, curse be damned! – offering him balance despite the whirlwind of his life. Astrid was willing to see all of him and still take the next step in their relationship, knowing how complicated his future could be.
He thought of his father, who'd set aside decades of hatred for dragons in a single night in favor of inviting one into his own home. The chief had been willing to challenge his own beliefs, and the beliefs of their ancestors simply to be there for his son. Even when Hiccup himself hadn't been sure he had a place in Berk anymore…Stoick had.
Thinking it over, Hiccup was struck by just how much support he had in Berk. Even those he wasn't close to had tried to make him feel welcome since his return. Most days, he couldn't so much as walk through town or enter Meade Hall without at least one person offering him a friendly greeting or smile.
Had he been blind to that display of kindness all this time, letting his own thoughts and fears mask it? Suddenly, it seemed a bit pointless to have put so much effort into avoiding town during the day.
He was one of them, and it appeared that only he struggled to see it.
"If they can accept me like this," he continued, feeling buoyed by the realization, "what other proof do you need? I'm not saying it's some sort of utopia or anything crazy like that. Believe me, it has its flaws…but it is a place full of people who are trying to be better. Isn't that all that matters?"
Valka hummed, no longer looking quite as confident as she'd been before. A storm of conflict raged in her eyes, but she kept whatever was on her mind to herself, silently crossing the room to offer the thick stack of parchment to him.
Hiccup took it, appreciative of the effort that she'd gone through to aid his quest to learn about the dragons. His thumb fiddled idly with the rough corners of the sheets, attention still fixed on his mother as he waited for her to say something. Anything.
The quiet stretched on too long for his liking, and his prosthetic clicked as he shifted his weight to lean more heavily on his good leg. It sounded deafening in the eerie quiet of her quarters.
"Perhaps," she finally allowed, though she didn't sound convinced. "Still, Berk has always been a flawed place. You are young, you've not seen it for yourself…but the hatred of the past has an unfortunate tendency to linger. No matter what they tell you now, your safety cannot be guaranteed forever. But this? This is a utopia for all dragons. If you let it, it could be for you as well. This could be where you belong."
Hiccup startled, tightening his grip on the notes. It was the second time that he'd been told he might be more at home within a dragon nest than amongst his own people.
It didn't sit well with him.
"Um, no…but, thanks," he replied, reaching for his bag and tucking the parchment stack safely inside. More quietly he muttered to himself, "I guess."
Valka furrowed her brow, reaching out to grip his forearm. "I have upset you?"
Hiccup shrugged her off, not wanting to have to explain it to her. If she didn't understand why her words bothered him, he doubted it would be an easy conversation. "Don't worry about it," he said, dismissing it. "I guess it's settled, then. I'll leave at sunrise, and you'll just stay here...alone."
He would have to return to Berk without her. He'd have to live with the knowledge of yet another massive secret hanging over his head.
How in Thor's name was he supposed to keep this from his father?
When the first rays of sunlight split over the horizon, Hiccup was waiting at the edge of the tunnel. After the burn of the shift, he rolled his neck and cast a glance back over his shoulder, taking one last look at the mother he was leaving behind.
Valka's eyes were misty, and she inclined her chin in an unspoken goodbye. They'd said what they could while Hiccup was still human: she'd wished him a safe journey home and reminded him that he was welcome to drop in anytime.
Hiccup had promised he would return – but as a guest, not a resident. On that, he'd been insistent. For while it may be a dragon's utopia, Hiccup was also a viking. His home would always be Berk, surrounded by his tribesmen…and perhaps with some luck, dragons as well one day.
He reached down to grab his bag in his jaws, carefully rolling the strap in his teeth until it was settled into place near the back of his mouth. Once satisfied it was secure, he retracted his teeth, not wanting to risk any damage to the strap while he was flying.
Taking a deep breath, he launched himself up and into the morning sky, savoring the rush of the fresh ocean breeze against his wings. It felt good to fly – he'd spent so little time in the air whilst in the nest.
He glanced down at the water below, seeing the dark blur of his reflection whizzing past. The sea waves glittered under the rising sun, almost blinding to look at for too long. He blinked away the spots in his vision, returning his focus to the world ahead.
His mind continued to churn as he glided along.
The last time he'd made this journey, he'd been jittery with excitement over the possibility of uncovering the mysteries of the ice fortress. He'd rushed home as fast as his wings could take him, eager to share his findings with Astrid.
This return journey was much different. He'd gotten his wish, but it had only left him feeling conflicted and confused. Though Valka hadn't directly ordered him to keep her existence a secret, he got the impression that she expected his silence. He reasoned that was the best course anyways, as it would only hurt Stoick more to know his wife lived and chose not to return to him.
No, Hiccup wouldn't break his father's heart – he couldn't.
Why couldn't she just take a chance and trust me? He wondered, a low growl building in his throat.
Berk had changed for the better, and with the newfound knowledge of dragons…Hiccup was confident that it could change again. If Valka had come with him, she could have led the charge in bridging the groups. She could have helped fashion the world of peace that she'd always wanted before she'd been taken.
She was too set in her ways – too convinced that people couldn't change.
Hiccup's entire life hinged on the idea that people could change. He'd changed in ways that shouldn't be possible, becoming something wholly unique. His village had changed, abandoning centuries-old traditions of war with the dragons. His father had changed, taking real interest in his life and mending the broken bond between them.
Valka was wrong. Of that, Hiccup was certain.
He stewed on it all the way back to Berk, choosing to take the long way around the island to burn off a little more steam. The forests were lush and beautiful from above, a swatch of brilliant green spreading across the isle.
He swooped low over the more desolate region that had been his home for five hard years. It was much more lively with the new Gronckle population, no longer as cold and empty as he remembered. Seeing that, something released in his chest. It was a relief, knowing that the place of his exile had been transformed into something new – wiping away the place he'd felt such loss and loneliness.
Getting too close to the treeline for comfort, Hiccup banked up again. He tilted off to the left, soaring back towards the village.
Suddenly, something coiled around his leg. It quickly grew tight, pulled downwards with great force.
Hiccup jerked and cried out, the force of the motion sending his bag flying far off into the distance.
Great. Just great... Tracking that down in the foliage was going to be an unpleasant adventure.
He pushed the thought to the side, craning his neck down to see what he'd caught on. His blood turned to ice when he took in the sight of a bola twined around his right hind leg. The weights on each end were heavy, throwing off his sense of balance.
He struggled, clawing at the rope with his forepaws and beating his wings with fierce determination to stay aloft.
Surely he had enough strength to resist one bola?
With his concentration focused on the task, he didn't see as another bola swung up. This one wrapped tightly around his neck, digging deep into his scales. It soon put pressure on his airways, making it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Hiccup choked, spots appearing in his vision. As struggled to get air into his lungs, he found his focus slipping, wingbeats becoming less and less frequent. He was losing altitude, growing dizzier and dizzier by the second.
It proved enough of a distraction to give his unseen attacker the upper hand as he finally dropped out of the sky, wings flailing wildly as he careened towards the forest floor.
Oh gods.
He slammed hard into the dirt, skidding a ways before stopping. Pain reverberated throughout his body, sending aftershocks through him with every movement.
Dazed and sore from the harsh impact, he continued to claw desperately at the rope around his neck. His swipes were rough, grazing his own scales a few times before actually managing to snap the restraint. Once he was finally able to breathe freely again, he wheezed, lungs burning from the exertion.
Though he longed for a moment to rest and recover his wits, he knew there was no time. Whoever had shot him down couldn't be far – it was critical to get away while he still could. He struggled to get his legs underneath him, trying to push himself back to his feet.
He'd started to rise on shaky feet when he met a sudden wave of resistance. A multitude of unseen hands slammed down on him, rendering him immobile against the forest floor. The feeling intensified as his attackers leaned their full weight upon him.
He could feel the roughness of fishing nets as they were wrapped around his wings and legs, pressure tightening as they were weighted down by something heavy.
Hiccup let a frantic plasma blast build in his threat, trying to lift his neck high enough to fire at one of the attackers.
"Oh, there'll be none of that," said a smooth voice, before a heavy boot came down on his snout, forcing his mouth closed and his jaw into the dirt. Calloused fingers entered his line of vision, holding a thick strap of leather. Without practiced ease, the man wrapped it around Hiccup's jaw, sealing it shut tight.
Once satisfied, the man lifted his foot off Hiccup's nose and addressed the others. "Excellent work – all of you. Capturing a Night Fury is no small feat, and you should not take this success lightly. I am confident that we'll be richly rewarded for our efforts."
A chorus of cheers rang out.
"Now," the man's voice sharpened. "Don't just stand there and gawk like a bunch of fools, hurry up and ready the cage for this beast! Tonight, we celebrate our catch!"
A chill ran down Hiccup's spine as he listened to the roar of approval from the crowd, all taking delight in his capture. He tugged once more at his restraints, dismayed when he met a resistance that he could not break through.
It was no use. He was trapped.
A sharp sting bit into his thigh and moments later, the world grew dull and hazy. Though he fought valiantly to keep his eyes open, the fog soon pulled him under.
Stoick had always loved the way Berk looked from the sea. It rose up in the distance with a formidable might, guarded by two towering statues. There was a presence to the place, one that he knew visitors found striking. It was tough, like its residents, but also undeniably beautiful.
Stoick was proud to call it his home.
He'd been watching the horizon expectantly, waiting for it to appear. When it finally did, something loosened in his chest.
Stoick never resented the times his position forced him to travel – it was all part of being a strong leader for the people that he loved. Still, it was exhausting to spend so much time at sea. He couldn't wait to sleep in his own bed, to eat the food of his people and to catch up with his friends.
Most importantly, he couldn't wait to see his son again.
The late afternoon sun warmed his face, and he tipped his head back to soak it in. The winds cutting across the sea had been unpleasantly cold throughout his journey, and he was looking forward to having the sea stacks and village houses break the gusts once more.
Gobber was waiting for him at the docks, yelling out an exuberant greeting before the ship had weighed anchor. Stoick rolled his eyes, returning the greeting at a normal volume as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder.
"You've made good time," observed the blacksmith, leading the way back towards the village. "I take it Oswald didn't 'ave much to say?"
"Oswald is dead."
That had been a troublesome revelation. They'd been allies for years, and Stoick had grown to respect the man deeply. Finding out he'd passed had filled him with a deep sorrow,
"Dead?" Gobber stopped in his tracks, reaching up to scratch his head. "But…how is tha' possible? Surely a ghost didn' summon ya 'cross the sea!"
"It turns out that it was not Oswald who sent the letter," explained Stoick, gesturing for his friend to continue up the hill. "It was only addressed with the official seal of the Berserker chief, so I'd assumed..."
"But tha' means…a new chief?"
"Aye."
"An' who's th' heir o' Berserker Island?" Gobber wondered aloud.
Stoick sighed, shaking his head. "Oswald's son, Dagur. He summoned all the local chiefs to bear witness to his official appointment."
"Dagur…hmmm…now, why does tha' name sound so familiar?" Gobber muttered to himself.
"He's got a reputation," informed Stoick, knowing exactly why the name rang a bell. "Most call him Dagur the Deranged."
Gobber's eyes lit up, connecting the dots. Then his expression fell. "Oh. That's…no' good."
"No, it's not." Agreed Stoick. When he'd figured out the true purpose of his summons, he'd been hopeful that perhaps the boy had matured and turned over a new leaf. That he was ready to take on such leadership and to follow in the steps of a great man.
What he'd found, however, was a more manic version of the boy he'd known. Dagur seemed to be on the brink of a meltdown at all times, making him dangerously unpredictable.
Stoick had held his tongue throughout the ceremony, mindful of Berk's allyship with the Berserkers. He would not let his disapproval risk damaging that connection, no matter how doubtful he was of their new leader's potential.
Still, he would not be putting his trust in the new chief anytime soon.
"Any issues here?" He asked, hoping for a change of subject. He'd had more than enough days to worry about Dagur and longed for a more positive topic.
To his surprise, Gobber did not launch into a mundane critique of Hiccup's disorganized workspace or Spitelout's horrible table manners. There was no joking spark in the man's eyes as he admitted, "a group o' poachers turned up abou' a day ago, seekin' asylum. They claimed their base 'ad been destroyed."
Stoick tensed, drawing to a halt just outside the village. "Poachers? Here?"
"I sent 'em packin' before they could even dock," promised Gobber – though he, too, appeared rattled. "There was somethin' real odd abou' their leader. Hard ta describe, but 'e seemed a bit too sharp to be yer average dragon hunter, if ya catch my drift."
Poachers were not known for any sort of complexity – it was a job that required brute strength and dubious morals, not often much strategy. To know that they were under the command of someone more ambitious was cause for concern.
"You did well, my friend." He clasped a hand on Gobber's shoulder, grateful that his friend had been able to chase the group off. "Thank you for keeping them off our shores while I was gone."
Gobber waved him off, veering off towards the forge. "Of course."
Stoick shifted his bag to the other shoulder, looking forward to dropping it in his home. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he said, nodding towards the forge. "I want to get cleaned up before dinner."
Gobber raised his hook in farewell, shuffling into his workshop. There was a faint clink of metal as the blacksmith resumed his latest project, accompanied by an off-tune whistle.
Stoick snorted, resuming his trek home.
It was good to be back.
The house was empty.
Stoick wasn't surprised but he was, admittedly, a little disappointed. After being away for so long, he'd hoped he wouldn't have to wait any longer to see his son again.
He didn't allow himself to dwell on it, fully aware that Hiccup had no way of knowing when he'd return. Instead, he busied himself with putting away his belongings and drawing a bath. It was a luxury not afforded whilst sailing, and he savored the feeling of being clean once more.
Once sufficiently dried off, he took a quick inventory of his home, curious to see what state Hiccup had left it in after so much time unattended. His boy was no stranger to clutter, so Stoick was surprised by how neat the house had been kept.
Either Hiccup had gone out of his way to keep it that way, or more likely, he'd spent very little time at home. Stoick couldn't help but wonder if the emptiness of the house was off putting to his son after so many years of isolation. Perhaps he'd been eager to get out – to explore, to visit the forge, to spend time with Astrid Hofferson – to avoid the risk of reawakening those memories.
A part of him hoped that his absence had given Hiccup the gentle push he needed to spend more time in town, with his tribesmen. He doubted it – his son had remained cautious and wary of facing the villagers since his return – but nevertheless, he hoped.
A glance out the window assured him that the sun was hanging low on the horizon. Whatever adventure Hiccup had gotten into for the day, he would likely have returned by now.
Too eager to wait any longer, Stoick tugged his boots back on and headed out the door. Hiccup had a few frequent haunts – he was confident he'd be able to track the boy down in no time.
He wasn't surprised to find the forge empty. As much as Hiccup adored the place, it wasn't much use to him in daylight. Still, Stoick had wanted to rule it out with certainty.
Next, he found himself striding off towards House Hofferson. A quick chat with Ingrid revealed that Hiccup was not there – he hadn't stopped by their home all week. She informed him that Astrid was likely at the lookout point, likely waiting for Hiccup to return as she often did. Ingrid suggested he do the same.
Stoick thanked her, setting off towards the cliffside. He scanned the sky as he went, searching for the tell-tale black spot on the horizon. He hoped Hiccup wouldn't be so irresponsible as to cut it this close, but he understood how easy it could be to lose track of time.
The skies were empty.
It should have been a relief, but something deep in Stoick's gut felt unsettled – like something was wrong. Try as he might, he couldn't pin down the root of the apprehension or why it was continuing to grow within him.
There was no reason to panic – he didn't always see his son before sunset. So why were his instincts screaming at him now?
Astrid was sitting atop the lookout point, as promised. Her back was to the chief, attention focused on the horizon as she finished tying off the end of her signature braid with practiced ease.
"Hello, Astrid," he called out, not wanting to startle her as he approached.
She twisted her neck, catching sight of him with wide eyes. "Chief – you're back!"
"Aye." Stoick nodded, taking a seat beside her. "We returned just a few hours ago."
"Welcome back."
"It's good to be home," he replied, squinting off at the dimming sky.
Astrid studied him, expression unreadable. "You must be tired from your journey – what brings you all the way out here this late? Did you need something from me?"
Stoick shook his head, "I'm waiting for Hiccup, same as you."
"Oh." Astrid paused, straightening her posture. "He, uh, he and I didn't actually plan to meet tonight. I-I think he said something about doing a favor for Gobber?"
Odd. Gobber hadn't mentioned anything of the sort.
"I see…" He murmured, the pit in his stomach growing. Something wasn't adding up. "I'll pay him a visit, then. Goodnight, Astrid."
"Sir."
When Stoick tracked down the blacksmith, he received another vague and unsatisfying answer. If he didn't know better, he could almost swear the man was lying to him. Still, Gobber had always been trustworthy. There was no reason for Stoick to doubt him now.
By the time the sun has set, Stoick has checked every corner of the village for his son and still come up empty. Frustrated, he'd returned home, half expecting the boy to be sketching by the fire – only to find it just as vacant as before.
Not wanting to be rash, he waited another hour for his son to appear.
He did not.
Despite the reassurances of Astrid and Gobber, Stoick knew in his gut that something was wrong.
Either someone was lying to him…or Hiccup was missing.