Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being a student-athlete could be exhausting. It could be fulfilling. It could be draining. It could be exciting. It could be all of it at once—which is exactly why she sat at her desk studying for an exam well past midnight.

Her room was warm, lit by the soft glow of her desk lamp. Outside, the sound of late-night cars hummed, a gust of wind rattling the window just enough to make her eyelids heavy. Her athletic gear was tossed in one corner, textbooks sprawled across the desk, and a half-eaten protein bar dangled from her fingers as she squinted at the laptop screen.

She sighed and closed the laptop lid, letting it click shut with finality before flopping onto her bed with a groan. The day had been brutal: an early morning training session, sprints, conditioning drills, a full day of classes, and now an exam looming like a storm cloud. Still, this was the life she chose. Discipline was everything, even when it left her sarcastically muttering at textbooks and realising—maybe a little too often—that quiet dedication could feel a lot like loneliness. But it was fine. She had goals, and goals didn’t wait for anyone. Although she did wish that they would wait for her to get her shit together.

She lay on her bed, not wanting to get ready for bed but also not wanting to stay up any longer, when a sudden crack split the quiet. For a second, she thought the power grid had blown, again. The room flooded with harsh white light, buzzing like an electric arc, and the smell of gas hit her nose sharp and metallic. Textbooks slid off her desk, her half-eaten protein bar thumped to the floor, and the overhead light flickered wildly before cutting out entirely. This wasn’t what usually happened when it blew, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

“Oh, come on—not tonight.” She muttered to herself, pushing herself up, blinking hard, trying to adjust to the strobing afterimage in her vision.

That’s when she heard them. Voices. Not from outside. Not from her phone. In her room.

“…What sorcery is this?” a deep voice demanded, edged with wild intensity.

“Everyone calm down—don’t move—Dagur, for the love of Thor, do not—” another voice cut in, urgent and commanding.

“This is awesome!” someone else yelled, sounding way too enthusiastic for whatever was happening.

Her vision cleared, and she froze. Eight people stood in the middle of her bedroom. Eight strangers. All of them wearing what looked like cosplay on steroids: leather armour, furs, weapons, boots caked in… was that mud? One of the men had a sleek, mechanical-looking prosthetic leg. Two of them looked like carbon copies—twins, no question—with matching wild expressions. Two women looked like they could kill her without so much as blinking, while a massive, broad-shouldered man loomed beside a definite short king. Then there was the tall one, red hair spiked and wild, a scar slashing over one eye as he reached for an empty scabbard.

And they were all staring at her.

She backpedalled hard, slamming into the edge of her bed. Her hand scrambled for anything remotely weapon-like, fingers closing on the handle of her cricket bat. She yanked it up and pointed it at them like it was a sword.

“Okay, back up, cosplay squad! I don’t know what convention you think this is, but—”

“Stand down, dragon-witch!” the tall redhead roared, stepping toward her with wild, unhinged energy, hands twitching for a weapon that apparently wasn’t there.

“Dagur, no!” the guy with the prosthetic leg, slim, and a little awkward but with this clear leader energy, stepped between them, both hands raised. “We’re not here to fight! Just… everyone calm down!”

The blonde woman scanned the room like it was enemy territory, eyes sharp and calculating, while the dark-haired girl said nothing at all. Just stood there, eyes scanning her like she was being sized up for weaknesses.

In the corner, one of the twins (were they a girl or a boy? She didn’t know) held up her phone like it was a priceless artifact. “Sorcery!” she yelled, as she pressed the lock button and jumped when the screen lit up. Meanwhile, the bigger guy with the soft face—definitely the nervous one—was muttering facts under his breath. Something about territorial dragons and migration patterns, which, frankly, was not helpful.

“Cool. Great. Love the energy,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the cricket bat. “I’m either being robbed by LARP kids, or I’m having a fucking fever dream.”

She watched them stand there, all wide-eyed and gawking at her room, before she finally snapped.

“What are you doing in my house? Get out!” she shouted, swinging the cricket bat for emphasis. “I’m calling the cops!”

“Cops?” the redhead repeated, tilting his head like a confused dog. “What’s a cop? Is it dangerous? Do I get to fight it?”

“They’re… they’re people who arrest… never mind!” she snapped, going to grab her phone off the nightstand with her free hand, only to realise it was still in possession of the twins in the corner, who were now arguing over who ‘controlled the magic box’ (her phone).

“Is this a weapon?!” one twin shouted, holding up her desk lamp like it was Excalibur.

“Sorcery!” the other screamed again when the light flicked on, nearly dropping it.

The mechanical leg man wedged himself between them again, holding both hands up in surrender. “I’m so sorry about him—about all of this. One minute we were… well… it’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is, but firstly, can you tell me who the hell you are and… why the fuck you are in my house?!?”

“Tiny but fiery,” the red-haired man said approvingly, ignoring her personal space entirely as he stepped closer, eyes bright and unnervingly focused on her. “I like it.”

She stepped away with a scowl, looking back at the mechanical foot man.

The man cleared his throat and gave a small, awkward smile. “Okay—this is going to sound crazy, but here goes. I’m Hiccup.”

He pointed to the tall, wild redhead eyeing her like he wanted to eat her soul. “That’s Dagur. He’s… complicated.”

The blonde woman crossed her arms and gave Dagur a sharp look. “My girlfriend, Astrid, and our best fighter.”

The nervous guy who was bigger than the two clones combined gave a shy wave as he was introduced. “That’s Fishlegs. He’s the dragon expert of the group.”

Dragon? What. The. Fuck. These guys were obviously mentally unwell.

The quiet, sharp-eyed girl in the shadows nodded once when she was introduced as “Heather.”

Hiccup glanced toward the twins, who were busy bickering over who held her phone, the “magic box.” “Those two are Ruffnut and Tuffnut. They’re… chaotic.”

“And that one,” Hiccup said, jerking his thumb towards the short king with a cocky grin and a helmet with spiral horns, “is Snotlout.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’lady.” He stepped forward, reaching for her hand as he leaned down with a theatrical flourish, obviously going to kiss her hand before he was stopped by the large, scarred hand of the red-haired ma—Dagur. She pulled her hand back fast before Snotlout’s theatrical attempt could go any further after he pushed off Dagur’s hand, shooting Dagur a thankful look which earned her a small smirk.

Hiccup, obviously the leader she realised now, looked back at her, hope flickering in his eyes. “We honestly don’t know how we got here. We’re trying to figure it out.”

She blinked, her brain short-circuiting. So much for a quiet night of studying. She eyed them, caught somewhere between disbelief and disbelief-that-this-was-actually-happening. “Those are… some weird names. When were you born? The Viking era?” Her voice held a teasing lilt, like she was daring them to say otherwise.

Hiccup’s eyes flicked sideways at the group, a silent conversation passing between them before he spoke. “…Well, yes, we are Vikings.”

It took everything in her not to burst out laughing right then and there. Her mouth twitched. Her shoulders shook. Then she was full-on cackling, hands clutching her stomach as if she’d been handed the best joke of her life. They just stood there, expressions flickering between confusion and silent disbelief at her reaction. Because seriously—Vikings? What the hell?

When she finally caught her breath, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and managed, “Sure you guys are, and I’m a billionaire.” Her voice dripped with sarcastic disbelief.

Dagur, leaning against the doorframe with that half-smirk he always wore, just shook his head, like her mockery barely scratched the surface of his conviction. “You’re laughing now, that’s fine.” His gaze cut through her, sharp and steady. “But we’re not joking.”

She folded her arms, matching his stare with a sharp one of her own. “Okay, then enlighten me because from where I’m standing, you’re either insane, or this is some kind of elaborate prank.”

That was when Fishlegs shuffled forward, his wide eyes glimmering with nervous energy as he clutched a battered notebook like it was a shield. “We were tracking a strange storm,” he began, voice soft but urgent. “It wasn’t natural. The clouds twisted and roared, the sky cracked like it was tearing apart… and then everything went white.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “Next thing we knew, we were here.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, hold up. You’re telling me a weird-ass storm dragged a bunch of Vikings from… when exactly, to my bedroom in 2025 Australia?”

Fishlegs nodded solemnly. “That’s exactly it.”

Her mind raced to catch up. “And you expect me to just… accept that? Because honestly, this feels like the kind of bullshit I’d hear in a bad sci-fi movie.”

Hiccup stepped forward, hands out in a calm gesture. “We understand that it’s hard to believe, but we’re as confused as you are.”

Astrid, arms crossed and jaw tight, added, “None of us wanted to be here. We just want to get home.”

She was watching them, studying these strangers who looked like they’d just stepped off a movie set but spoke with a raw sincerity that stopped her from dismissing them outright. They had the earnestness of people desperate to be believed. They weren’t joking. Or if they were, they were the best actors she’d ever seen.

She rubbed a hand over her face and sighed, sinking onto the edge of her bed. “Alright, assuming I believe you—which, let’s be real, is a stretch worthy of a yoga class—what now? You got no idea how to get back?”

Hiccup shook his head. “We don’t even know how we got here, let alone how to get back.”

That earned a bitter laugh from her. “Cool. Great. So I’m basically babysitting a bunch of displaced cosplayers with identity crises.”

The twins were now on her floor, sitting cross-legged, still fighting over her phone. She didn’t know which one was which, but she did figure out that one was a man and the other a woman. Heather still leant against the wall, arms folded, eyes watching everything like she was silently cataloguing every potential threat in the room. Fishlegs hadn’t moved much, still clutching his notebook, wide-eyed but silent. Then her brain caught up. Something in what Fishlegs had said earlier—no, not Fishlegs, Hiccup—pinged her memory.

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, back up a second.” She pointed at Fishlegs, making him jolt like he’d been electrocuted. “What was that Hiccup said earlier? About… being a dragon expert? Did I hear that right?”

Fishlegs froze, eyes darting nervously to Hiccup like he’d just spilled the world’s biggest secret. “Uh… well…” He clutched his notebook tighter, like it might physically shield him from this conversation. “Yes. I mean… yes, I’m sort of a, uh, dragon expert.”

There was a pause where her brain tried to reboot. “Okay, cool, great, love that for you, but… dragons. Like, big scaly fire-breathing lizard dragons? Those don’t exist.”

Astrid arched a brow, amused despite the tension. “They do where we’re from.”

That made her laugh, the kind of laugh that comes out a little too loud, a little too unhinged. “Right, because you guys are Vikings, from some magical dragon land, no less. That tracks.” She shook her head and stood up, pacing now because sitting still felt impossible. “Okay. So, just so I’m clear: you all time-travelled—or whatever-travelled—here, with dragons? Where are they? You didn’t… You know, bring one along for the ride, did you? Because I’m not cleaning up dragon poop in my backyard.”

Hiccup hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and that told her way more than words could have.

She stopped pacing, staring at him. “Oh my god, you’re serious. You actually have dragons where you’re from.”

Dagur grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. “Not just dragons. The best dragons. Fast ones, big ones, dragons that can crush houses, dragons that can—”

Astrid elbowed him sharply in the ribs, cutting him off.

Heather, still quiet and unnervingly composed, added, “They’re more than animals, they’re family.”

Her mouth fell open, then closed, then opened again. “Okay, okay, nope. I’m done. This is… I’ve officially lost it. I’m going to wake up any second, right? Because this is either the weirdest dream I’ve ever had, or someone slipped something into my protein bar.”

None of them laughed at her joke. They just looked back at her with the same deadly seriousness.

She dropped onto the bed again, head in her hands. “Okay. So, hypothetical. If I believe you—dragons, time travel, the whole shebang—what the hell do you want me to do? I’ve got uni, footy training, exams, a life. You can’t just drop this on me and expect me to roll with it like it’s normal.”

Hiccup crouched slightly, trying to meet her eye level. “We don’t expect you to fix everything. We just… need help understanding where we are, what this world is like.”

Fishlegs finally spoke again, voice soft but eager. “Your world is fascinating, though. No dragons, but you’ve clearly got advanced technology, infrastructure, and…” He hesitated, flipping his notebook open to a page covered in tiny sketches of her lamp. “These things.”

She blinked. “You mean my lamp?”

He nodded seriously. “It’s… incredible. Light, with no fire.”

She snorted despite herself. “Wow. Glad to know IKEA blows your mind.”

The twins chose that moment to shout in unison, “The magic box is talking!” as they somehow triggered Siri.

“Put that down before you order ten pizzas or something!” she snapped, crossing the room to snatch her phone back.

“Pizzas?” Snotlout asked from where he’d been sulking after Dagur had foiled his attempt to woo her. “What are pizzas?”

She ignored him.

The male twin grinned, unrepentant. “It said its name is Siri. Is she trapped in there?”

“No. Nope, we’re not doing this right now.” She stuffed the phone in her pocket and turned back to Hiccup. “Look. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with eight… Viking dragon-riders or whatever, but you need somewhere to stay, right? Somewhere to figure your stuff out?”

Hiccup nodded slowly. “Yes. But we don’t want to impose—”

“Too late,” Dagur interrupted with a wolfish grin. “We’re already here.”

She glared at him. “You especially need to chill. Personal space? Ever heard of it?”

He leaned in slightly, deliberately crossing that invisible line just to prove a point. “Nope, sounds made up.”

Her scowl deepened, but for some stupid reason, she felt a flicker of heat in her chest she refused to acknowledge. “Back. Off.”

Dagur smirked but took a single step back, like he’d done her a favour.

“Okay, ground rules.” She pointed at each of them in turn. “No touching my stuff. No destroying my stuff. No… dragon nonsense if one did somehow come through with you. And for the love of god, no setting things on fire.”

The twins shared a look, then slowly, deliberately crossed their hearts. She didn’t buy it for a second.

Astrid gave a small nod. “Fair enough. We’ll respect your space.”

“Thank you,” she said, softer now, rubbing her temples. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

Hiccup’s expression softened. “We’ll do everything we can to make this easier for you. Until we figure out how to get home.”

Heather tilted her head. “You’re taking this better than most would.”

She barked a humourless laugh. “Lady, I’m a uni student who trains ten times a week and lives on caffeine and protein bars. Weirdly enough, this isn’t the wildest thing that’s happened to me.”

Dagur looked way too pleased with that answer. “I really like you,” he said, voice low.

“Not mutual,” she shot back instantly, standing and grabbing her cricket bat again—not as a threat, but as something solid to hold onto while her world tilted off its axis.

The ceiling fan whirred on, blowing just enough warm air to remind her this wasn’t a dream.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, “welcome to 2025. God help us all.”

Chapter Text

She woke to the unmistakable feeling of someone staring at her.

Correction: several someones.

She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and rolled over to find eight very out-of-place Vikings crammed awkwardly around her bed like it was some sort of campfire gathering. Gathering her quilt quickly around herself, she glared at them all.

“What are you all doing in here? I put you to sleep in the lounge room.”

After they’d appeared in her bedroom, she had put them all to sleep in the lounge room, throwing a pile of pillows and blankets at them to sort out. They’d all claimed various parts of the lounge room, and they all seemed to fit, albeit a bit squishy. Now the question was, why the hell were they in her room?

The male twin was the first to speak up. “There is a tiny, furry dragon staring at us through the window.”

“A what?! What do you mean?”

She jumped out of bed, forgetting her earlier embarrassment at being stared at in her pyjamas and rushed out to the lounge room. Looking frantically out the window, she came to a stop when she saw a familiar shape staring in through it.

She sighed, “Alright, guys, fauna lesson. This here is a possum—not a tiny, furry dragon.”

Fishlegs perked up immediately, notebook already in hand. “Oooh, what purpose does it serve? Is it predatory? Does it nest in high places?”

She blinked at him. “Uh… it eats fruit and sometimes meat, I think, and like, sometimes annoys people with how loud it is on roofs. That’s about it.”

Astrid squinted at the possum. “It’s small. Why even keep it alive?”

“It’s wild, Astrid. I don’t own it like a pet; there are also like 30 million of them. I can’t go around killing them all, can I?” she ran a hand over her face. “You people really need a crash course in, like, everything.”

Dagur leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed, eyes locked on the possum like he was sizing up a worthy opponent. “Tiny dragon or not, it’s watching us. I don’t trust it.”

“It’s not watching you, Dagur. It’s after my apple tree.”

The possum bared its teeth at that exact moment.

Dagur immediately reached for his non-existent axe and, upon realising it wasn’t there, reached for one of his knives. “It’s challenging me!”

“Nobody’s challenging anybody!” She shouted, stepping between Dagur and the window like a human shield for the confused marsupial. “Everybody, back to your beds. Now.”

Heather, quiet up until now, arched an eyebrow. “Do all your tiny dragons climb walls?”

“They’re not dragons! They’re just animals!” She groaned and waved everyone back toward their beds. “You know what? I’ll answer all your questions in the morning, just… go to sleep for now.”

She watched as they all awkwardly shuffled back toward the lounge, forming a clumsy pile of limbs and blankets that barely counted as “settling in.” The twins immediately argued over which end of the couch to take, while Fishlegs mumbled something about vertebrae alignment and Hiccup tried, unsuccessfully, to enforce some kind of sleeping order.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache already forming. Vikings in my house. Sure. Why not?

Dragging her feet back toward her room, she barely managed to stifle a yawn. Every muscle in her body screamed for sleep. She just wanted her bed, her quilt, and maybe five uninterrupted hours before she had to deal with these lunatics again.

“Uh… hey.”

She yelped—actually yelped—and spun around, clutching at her chest like her heart might escape it. Dagur stood leaning against her doorframe like he owned the place, all long limbs and lazy confidence. The hallway light cast shadows along the sharp lines of his face, highlighting that scar slicing over one eye and making his grin look downright feral.

“What the fuck, man?” she snapped, dragging in a deep breath to steady her pulse. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry,” he said automatically, though the tone in his voice carried exactly zero sincerity. His grin widened instead of faltering.

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound sorry.”

He tilted his head, considering her like she was some puzzle he desperately wanted to solve. “There’s not enough room out there,” he said finally, jerking a thumb toward the chaos in the lounge. “And I need my beauty sleep.”

Her gaze swept over him, tall, broad-shouldered, every inch of him screaming trouble. Beauty sleep, her ass. He looked like the kind of guy who wrestled bears for fun and used teeth as jewellery. The scar over his eye caught the light, making him look even more unhinged as he grinned at her like this was the most natural conversation in the world.

“And what am I supposed to do about that? There’s nowhere else to sleep.” Her voice wavered somewhere between irritation and disbelief.

“Sure there is.” He gestured lazily toward the patch of carpet between her desk and wardrobe. “You’ve got plenty of room on the floor.”

Her jaw dropped. “You can’t just… sleep in my room! I don’t even know you. You might stab me in my sleep.”

Dagur stepped inside anyway, hands raised in a theatrical gesture of innocence. “Promise I won’t kill you in your sleep,” he said, in the same tone one might use to promise not to eat the last cookie.

“That’s not reassuring!” she snapped, taking a step back until her knees bumped the edge of the bed.

Dagur looked around her room with a satisfied nod, taking in every detail like he was mentally mapping his territory. His eyes lingered on her bookshelves, then the cricket bat still lying on the floor from earlier that night (Or maybe it was yesterday? What even was the time?), before finally landing back on her.

“You’re tense,” he observed, leaning casually against the wall, his arms folding across his broad chest. His eyes moved, slowly and deliberately, down the length of her body before flicking back up to meet hers. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, sharp and knowing. “Just relax. I’m great company.”

“Great company?” she repeated, voice pitching high in disbelief. “You literally tried to fight a possum twenty minutes ago.”

The words felt brittle in her mouth because she’d just become painfully aware of her outfit—an old bra and a tiny pair of shorts she’d worn to a Christmas party three years ago. She hadn’t thought about what she was wearing. It was the kind of thing you wear when you expect no audience but your pillow. Her fingers itched to fold her arms over her chest, to do something under the weight of his gaze.

Dagur, of course, noticed. His grin sharpened, and he tilted his head slightly, like a predator curious about its prey. “Cute outfit, by the way, sweetheart,” he said casually, voice warm and infuriatingly amused.

“This is sleepwear. For sleeping. Which I was doing before a group of medieval time-travellers decided to be terrified by a possum! Also, don’t call me sweetheart!”

“What should I call you then?” His eyes glittered, genuinely interested now. “Something fiery, maybe. You’ve got that spark.” He mimed an explosion with his hands, grinning like he’d just paid her a compliment.

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Why me?” she muttered under her breath, but the universe offered no answers.

Dagur kicked off his boots, crouched down on the carpet like this was all decided, and stretched out with his arms behind his head, looking far too pleased with himself. “See? I fit perfectly. You won’t even notice I’m here.

“Oh, I’m noticing,” she muttered, dropping back onto her bed and dragging her quilt over her head.

This was not happening.

This could not be happening.

For the next half hour, she lay there, eyes squeezed shut, trying to pretend that the six-and-a-half feet of chaotic Viking energy on her floor didn’t exist. It was impossible. He moved like someone allergic to stillness; rolling from one shoulder to the other, sighing dramatically, tapping his fingers against the floor, mumbling something about ‘dragon nests being softer than this.’

By the time he flipped over for what felt like the four-hundredth time, she threw her quilt back in defeat. “Do you ever stop moving?” she snapped.

Dagur blinked up at her innocently from the floor, like she’d just interrupted his perfectly peaceful slumber. “I’m adapting,” he said, as if that explained anything. “You don’t have a pillow down here. Or a blanket. Or, you know, comfort.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, debating her life choices. “Fine,” she muttered, jumping out of her bed and over him to get to her closet where she kept all of her spare quilts and pillows.

She could feel his stare as she rummaged around in her closet. Pulling out two pillows and a quilt, she tossed them all at his head. He laughed, catching them all easily, as she stepped back over his large form to get into her bed.

He hugged the quilt to his chest dramatically, like she’d just handed him a priceless treasure. “Luxury!” he announced, flopping back with a grin that could only be described as trouble incarnate.

“Don’t make it weird,” she muttered, pulling her own quilt tighter and turning her back to him.

“Too late,” Dagur replied cheerfully, stuffing one pillow under his head and clutching the other like a teddy bear. He shifted once, twice, then went still—finally—his breathing evening out. It was only another five minutes before she too fell into a dreamless slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up for the second time in what felt like an hour but had to be more like six, judging by the golden light streaming through her curtains. Her neck ached from sleeping in a tense half-curl, and for a second she forgot why her floor felt occupied. Then she heard it, a quiet snore. She groaned and pushed herself upright, peering over the edge of the bed. Dagur was sprawled on his back, quilt tangled around his legs like he’d wrestled it all night, and his hair looked like it had tried to start a rebellion in his sleep.

“Morning, sunshine,” she muttered sarcastically, stepping carefully over him towards the door. “I’m gonna make you all breakfast. Is there anything you would like?”

Dagur groaned, sitting up quickly, suddenly far too awake compared to what he was mere seconds ago. “Do you have any leftover yak stew?”

“Leftover yak stew? Seriously? I can make you toast or maybe Weetbix?”

Dagur’s nose wrinkled like she’d just offered him spoiled fish. “What’s a Weetbix? Is it a kind of meat?”

“It’s… it’s a cereal. Kinda like… grain blocks. You add milk.”

He blinked at her. “So… bread soup?”

“Sort of?” She grabbed the doorframe, rubbing her eyes. “Look, it’s that or toast, pick one.”

Dagur stood, stretching so his back cracked loudly, and grinned. “Surprise me, valkyrie. Just make sure it’s got bite.”

“That’s… ominous,” she muttered, already dreading what bite meant to a Viking. “Also, why’d you call me ‘valkyrie’?”

“You said I couldn’t call you sweetheart, and Valkyrie seems like a pretty good way to describe you.”

She shook her head and left Dagur to scramble after her out the doorway. She wandered into the kitchen, a curious Dagur following closely behind, stepping over the still sleeping forms of the Twins, Fishlegs and Snotlout. Everybody else was all in various states of awakeness. Astrid and Heather sat at the dining table casually sharpening their knives while Snotlout was striking poses in a mirror. Hiccup was the only one to greet them as they walked into the room, looking up from a contraption in his hands with a small smile.

“How’d you both sleep?”

“Pretty well, considering I had him,” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Dagur, “Snoring on the floor all night.”

Snotlout turned away from the mirror at that with a glare when he heard that, hands on his hips like he’d just caught someone stealing his spotlight. “I was wondering where you went after that furry dragon attacked us, Dagur.” His eyes flicked to her, lingering a second too long, before his grin sharpened. “You know, you didn’t have to settle for floor-boy here. Could’ve had me watching your back.”

Dagur snorted, “Watching her back? You would be too busy flexing at your reflection.”

“It’s called body awareness, Dagur,” Snotlout shot back, puffing out his chest a little more. “Some people appreciate strength and confidence in a man. Right, baby?” He threw her a wink that landed somewhere between obnoxious and desperate.

She blinked, halfway between amusement and mild horror. “Uh… I guess?”

Dagur stepped closer, towering over Snotlout with a grin that was all teeth and zero warmth. “She seemed plenty safe with me around, right, Valkyrie?” He threw her a wink that somehow felt very different to Snotlout’s.

Snotlout scoffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, some people like their guys sane, Dagur.”

“Lucky for me,” Dagur said, leaning an elbow on the counter, eyes still locked on her, “she doesn’t seem that picky.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Please tell me this isn’t going to be a thing now.”

Astrid didn’t look up from her knife sharpening. “Oh, it’s definitely going to be a thing now.”

Trying to ignore the little cat fight currently happening in front of her, she busied herself making breakfast for them all. Toast with butter and jam as well as a glass of milk seemed like a safe option for them all. Surely, they had bread back then. Surely. Hiccup sidled up beside her, watching as she put four pieces of bread in the toaster and started to cook them.

“How does this invention work?” Hiccup asked, tone full of wonder and curiosity, eyes locked on the toaster like it might sprout wings.

“It’s… a toaster,” she replied slowly, trying not to sound like she was explaining it to a kindergartner. “You put the bread in, it cooks it with heat coils inside, and then—”

Click.

The toast popped up.

“IT’S ALIVE!” Dagur shouted behind her.

“Kill it!” Snotlout echoed, fists raised like the toast had challenged them to a duel.

She screamed, not at the toaster, but at the two fully grown Viking men who had somehow crept up behind her without making a sound.

Whipping around, she fixed them with a deadly glare. “It’s a toaster. It pops when the bread is cooked. Calm down, please.”

They didn’t calm down. Dagur was still staring at the toaster with barely-contained murder in his eyes, and Snotlout was trying to peek inside it like there might be a dragon trapped in the wires.

Rolling her eyes so hard it gave her a headache, she grabbed the toast, buttered it, slathered it with jam, and slapped it on some plates. She reached for another handful of bread with a sigh. “I’m gonna need to take out a loan just to feed you people.”

Round one of breakfast went to the only two sane ones in the room—Astrid and Heather—who accepted their plates with a silent nod and absolutely no drama. Thank god for these two. No screaming, or questions, or trying to battle her appliances. However, when she turned back to the kitchen? Chaos had evolved.

Dagur and Snotlout were in the middle of what sounded suspiciously like a war story. Apparently, the toaster ‘breathed fire when angry’ and ‘struck without warning.’ Ruffnut and Tuffnut were leaning forward, eyes wide like they were about to recruit the toaster for combat. Meanwhile, Hiccup and Fishlegs were quietly geeking out over it, heads bent together over a sketchbook as if they were trying to reverse-engineer its secrets.

She stared at them, then at her toaster, then back at them.

It was toast.

---------------------------------------------

The kitchen had finally fallen into something resembling peace, or at least, a quiet that could only be called peace when compared to the circus that had come before it. The Twins had wandered outside with toast in hand to ‘make friends with the possum dragon’ (although by now, it would have been long gone). Astrid and Heather had returned to their silent knife sharpening, and Fishlegs was buried in a notebook muttering about energy transfer and invisible fire.

She dropped into a dining chair and cradled her mug of coffee like it was life support. A soft scrape of wood pulled her from her thoughts. Hiccup was standing there, plate in hand, looking uncertain. For a guy with a metal leg and the presence of someone who had absolutely seen battle, he somehow managed to look like an apologetic student late to class.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than anyone else’s in this madhouse had been all morning. “Thanks, for you know… feeding us. And not immediately throwing us back out into the street.”

She gave him a look over her mug. “I couldn’t exactly throw you in the street looking like you are so, you’re welcome, I guess.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry about… all of this. “

She set her mug down and gave him a small smile despite herself. “That’s okay. Y’know, you actually seem normal. In comparison to the others.”

Hiccup barked out a laugh that was half despair. “Oh, you think this is bad? Try living with them on an island for four years. Dagur alone…”

Right on cue, a loud voice interrupted, “What are we talking about? Is it me? It’s me, isn’t it?”

Dagur strolled in like he owned the place, still chewing toast and somehow getting crumbs everywhere. He slid onto the seat next to her, way too close, throwing his arm around the back of her chair and pulling it closer to him. “Morning, Valkyrie. What are we going to do today? Are you going to make more food in the magic bread box?”

“Magic bread box?” She repeated, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s called a toaster, Dagur.”

“Right, toaster.” He said it like he was filing it away. Then he leaned even closer, all sharp edges and wild energy. “You’re still—"

Before she could scoot away, another voice cut in: “Why are you sitting next to her?”

Snotlout stormed in, chest puffed like he was auditioning for a superhero movie. “She deserves better company. More heroic company. Me.” He struck a pose that might have been impressive if he hadn’t been holding half a slice of toast like a sword.

Dagur didn’t even look at him. “Sure thing, Snotboot.”

“It’s Snotlout.”

“Right, Snotbag, my mistake.”

She buried her face in her hands.

Snotlout jabbed a finger toward Dagur. “You don’t deserve to sit next to her! You’re dangerous, unhinged—”

Dagur smirked, leaning an elbow on the table so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Unhinged? You’re right about that. Obviously she’s into it.”

“She likes sane!” Snotlout shot back. “She likes heroes, like me!”

“Sure, Snothat. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She groaned. “You two sound like jealous toddlers.”

“He started it!” Snotlout shouted, which was so childish it made her laugh despite herself.

Hiccup had silently moved to sit in the seat across from her. He caught her eye, expression deadpan. “This is literally my life. Every. Single. Day.”

She choked on a laugh. “You live like this? On purpose?”

Hiccup shrugged helplessly. “I don’t have a choice. At least you have the option to kick us out. I’m technically in charge of them.”

She glanced at Dagur, who was now reclining like he owned her kitchen seat, crumbs on his shirt and an infuriating grin on his face, then at Snotlout, who was still flexing his biceps like she was supposed to swoon. “…I definitely would not want to live like this every day.”

Chapter Text

After breakfast, she took one look at the Vikings sizing up the toaster like it was about to spit fire and decided, nope, she was not leaving them unsupervised.

“Alright. We’re going grocery shopping.”

Eight pairs of Viking eyes blinked at her in unison.

“Gro-what?” Astrid asked slowly, like the syllables personally offended her.

“You’ll see, but you’re all coming with me,” she added, grabbing her keys. “I don’t trust a single one of you in my house without supervision, so get in the car.”

Cue the confusion.

It took ten minutes to explain what a car was, and another five to convince them it wasn’t powered by dragons. It then took twenty minutes to get them out the front door, five more to convince Fishlegs that no, the car was not a metal death trap, and another ten to figure out seating arrangements that wouldn't get her pulled over for war crimes.

The twins and Snotlout got shoved into the boot, limbs tangled like a pile of laundry that hated itself. Even when she pulled everything out of there to make more room, they still argued about what space they were going to occupy. The male twin brought a tennis racket he found on the porch, which definitely didn’t help the problem.

The back seat wasn’t much better: Hiccup pressed awkwardly against the window, Astrid rigid in the middle, and Fishlegs, taking up most of the room, with Heather seated on his lap. This left one seat, the passenger side, open, and unfortunately, that was Dagur’s cue.

He climbed in with the grace of a hyena, immediately slapping both hands on the dashboard like he was preparing for liftoff. “What does this do?” he said, leaning over and trying to move her indicator.

“Don’t touch that,” she said, shifting into drive.

“But what if I—”

“Don’t.”

His hand hovered over the hazard light button with chaotic glee. “Looks shiny.”

She slapped his hand away. He moved to the stereo. She slapped him again. He grinned wider. She sighed, grabbed his wrist, and, without thinking, just laced her fingers through his and dropped their joined hands on the centre console. Dagur went very still. The car was suddenly way too quiet for comfort. She ignored the stare she could feel burning a hole into the side of her head, focusing instead on not killing them all as she pulled out of the driveway. The questions started before they even hit the first intersection.

“So the red light means stop?” Fishlegs asked, craning to see past Heather’s braid.

“Yes.”

“And the green means go?” Heather chimed in.

“Yes.”

“What happens if someone goes on red?” Hiccup leaned forward, curiosity shining.

“They get fined or crash. Sometimes both.”

Astrid frowned. “Seems like you’re putting a lot of trust in strangers not to kill you.”

“Welcome to driving,” she muttered.

Astrid squinted at the street signs. “What do the ones with numbers mean?”

“Speed limits. The higher the number, the faster I’m allowed to go.”

“Why does that one say 40?” The female twin (maybe?) called from the boot. “There was one saying 60 before, why did we slow down?”

“The road changed, and this place is busier, so I need to be more careful.”

Dagur was still silent, still watching their joined hands like they might sprout wings.

She continued as if her heart wasn’t trying to jump out of her chest. “There are rules. Everyone follows them, and that’s how people don’t die.”

By the time they reached the grocery store, she had covered traffic laws, pedestrian crossings, why there were no dragons pulling the cars, and why one could not, under any circumstances, duel other drivers for right of way. She stopped the car, untwisted her hand from Dagur’s and yanked the handbrake before anyone could dive out.

“Okay. Rules,” she said, turning around in her seat, voice dead serious. “No screaming, try and keep your volume down, please. No grabbing things off the shelves. No throwing things.” She listed them off on her fingers as she spoke. ”Do not ride the shopping carts. Do not eat things before we pay for them. And if you break anything, you’re paying for it with your life.”

There was a brief pause.

“Can I ride you like a shopping cart?” Dagur asked, eyes shining with the kind of unearned confidence only he could pull off.

She threw her door open and stepped out, very pointedly not answering him. The others spilled out like a clown car explosion—Snotlout rolling out of the boot dramatically, the male twin clambering over his sister's back like a feral cat, Fishlegs trying to extract feeling from his legs while Heather stretched like she’d just woken from a long nap.

“Hang on,” Hiccup’s voice cut in from the back, calm but curious. “You never told us what a… grow-cerie is.”

She froze, one hand on the roof of the car, turning slowly to face him. “…You don’t know what groceries are? Shit, of course you don’t.” She mentally face-palmed herself.

Astrid tilted her head. “It sounds like a hunting party. Is it a hunting party?”

Heather frowned. “Do we need weapons?”

Fishlegs raised his hand halfway like they were in class. “Is it… uh… like supplies? Like barrels of grain and salt fish and iron nails?”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, first of all, no hunting. No weapons. Fishlegs is the closest to what it actually is. Groceries are… food. Ingredients. Things you buy so you can make food at home instead of starving. There are also things to help with washing, hygiene and pet food as well.”

“So it’s like a trading post or a trading boat,” Hiccup said slowly, brow furrowing, “but permanent? And indoors?”

“Exactly.”

“And why,” Dagur cut in, voice dropping to that low, mock-serious tone, “do you need a cart to hunt… vegetables?”

“To hold everything, I won’t be able to carry everything.” That earned a nod.

Astrid spoke again. “So it’s a big building where you buy food you haven’t hunted or grown yourself… and people just trust you not to take it?”

“Yup.”

“Seems like a terrible system,” the female twin yelled from the boot. “Love it already.”

Dagur’s eyes lit up, which was never a good sign. “Do we get to barter? Or do we just take what we want and run? Because I’m very good at running.”

“You don’t run,” she deadpanned. “You pay, with money, which I’m sure you guys had in your time, yes?”

Hiccup was the one to reply, “We have silvers and gold that we use, and we used to trade food for food on Berk.”

“I’m assuming Berk is where you live,” she replied. “Money is pretty much what your coins would have represented. Unfortunately, we can’t trade chickens for cheese anymore.”

Heather perked up at that. “Why not? That doesn’t seem… practical.”

“Because,” she said, holding up a finger, “we don’t bring live chickens into buildings anymore. Also, because everything’s already been traded, sorted, and priced for you. You walk in, grab what you need, pay for it at the front, and leave. Done.”

Astrid leaned back slightly, still frowning. “So no one guards it?”

“Oh, there are cameras.” She pointed upward at one that sat at the entrance of the supermarket. “Little boxes on the ceiling that watch you, and people who stop you if you try to take stuff without paying.”

It was the male twin who piped up this time, eyes wide like he’d just discovered a new god. “How do the little boxes know what you’re doing? How do they tell people to stop you?”

“They don’t talk,” she said, walking toward the sliding glass doors. “They record. People then watch the recordings if something looks suspicious.”

The male twin looked betrayed. “So… you mean there are tiny paintings of us somewhere, but they move, and strangers look at them later?”

“Exactly.”

He gasped. “That’s sorcery.”

The female twin elbowed him, grinning. “We should steal something just to see what happens.”

“No one is stealing anything,” she said quickly, pointing at all of them like an angry substitute teacher. “This is a grab-food-and-go mission, not a felony.”

Dagur raised his hand. “What’s a felony?”

“Something you don’t want on your record.”

Dagur smiled slowly. “I definitely want one of those.”

“Of course you do,” she muttered, moving towards the carts.

She grabbed a cart and started her suicide mission of going shopping with eight Vikings in tow. The second they crossed the threshold, all eight of them froze. The automatic sliding doors hissed shut behind them with a whispering whoosh, and every Viking turned as one, eyes wide, weapons half-raised like something had attacked. She was quick to get them to hide their weapons before someone called security or the cops on them.

Dagur, naturally, was the first to speak. “IT’S ALIVE!” he yelled, pointing dramatically at the door. “The walls move here. They eat people and spit them back out!”

“It’s a door, Dagur,” she said flatly, pushing the cart forward. “You walk, it opens, you leave, it closes. No one is being eaten.”

He squinted, deeply suspicious, and then did the absolute worst thing possible: he stuck his hand between the doors to ‘test their bite’. When the sensors kicked in and they slid open again, Dagur grinned, triumphant. “I knew it. You have trained doors.”

“Yup, magic doors, it’s amazing. Keep up,” she muttered because the real chaos hadn’t even started yet.

They made it exactly five steps in before Hiccup stopped dead, staring like he’d just seen the afterlife. His eyes landed on a display of apples, pyramids of them stacked perfectly under bright white lighting.

“This is… all food?” His voice was reverent. “Just sitting here?”

“Yeah,” she said, tossing a bag of carrots into the cart. “It’s a supermarket.”

Astrid was circling the pyramid now, squinting suspiciously at the apples. “Why are they all the same size?” she asked. “Even Berk’s best harvest wasn’t this neat.”

“Because machines sort them.”

Fishlegs’ and Hiccup’s faces lit up like kids at Snoggletog. “Machines?” Fishlegs whispered.

Hiccup and Fishlegs spoke at the same time, the words stumbling out of their mouths.

“What kind? How do they—what kind of mechanisms do they have?”

“Is there an index system? I need to—”

“Fishlegs, Hiccup” She grabbed them both by the collars before they could wander toward the staff-only door. “Focus, please”

Heather, meanwhile, was holding a bag of grapes upside down. “These are already off the vine? And… washed? You wash food for people before they buy it?”

“Yup. Hygiene.”

Dagur, however, had discovered a spray bottle of water that hung above the lettuce and was currently misting himself like a houseplant.

“Put that down, Dagur. You’re embarrassing me.”

She finally managed to herd them into the next aisle, and Snotlout instantly froze.

“Wait.” He pointed at a block of cheddar. “That’s cheese.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “that’s cheese.”

“In a bag?” His eyes were wide with a mix of awe and horror. “Cheese is supposed to be in wheels. Who murdered this cheese and squished it into cubes?!”

“It’s called processing.”

Snotlout shook his head solemnly, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “This world is cruel.”

The female twin had already shoved three different flavours of yogurt into the cart. “This one says peach explosion. That sounds like what happens when Barf sneezes.”

“Put those back, we’re not buying sixteen yogurts.” She decidedly did not ask what a Barf was and why it could sneeze.

Dagur, at the same time, was crouched in front of the milk fridge, staring like it contained treasure. “This water is white,” he whispered.

“It’s milk, you know what milk is.”

“Yes, but I have only ever seen it straight from a yak. What, they just… keep it cold in a glass cave? Forever?” He gasped suddenly. “Can I live in here?”

“No.” She pushed the cart faster.

They wandered through another couple of aisles, where the Vikings asked another fifty million questions before they made it to the meat section.

Astrid stopped at the meat counter and just stared. “So… you kill the animal, and then you… cut it up here?”

“Uh, technically in another place, but yeah, this is where you buy it.”

Astrid slowly picked up a package of chicken breast, holding it like it might explode. “This isn’t even… feathered?”

“Nope. It’s ready to cook.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed. “That’s… kind of amazing, and creepy. It’s like… buying death, prepackaged.”

Dagur piped up, leaning over the counter. “This is the greatest invention ever. I’d like twenty of these ‘chickens.’ For science.”

“No.”

By the time they reached the cereal aisle, Hiccup was gone—mentally. He’d been hanging back, hands brushing over packaging like they were sacred artifacts, muttering under his breath.

“Individual… plastic, what is plastic?… seals. Mass production. Efficiency models…” His pupils were blown wide like someone had spiked his mead.

“Hiccup,” she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face, “it’s cornflakes, please breathe.”

The twins, meanwhile, had found the snack section and were actively trying to bury themselves under bags of chips.

“Look!” the female twin shouted, throwing a bag at the other. “Cheese-flavoured clouds!”

He then proceeded to rip it open and inhale one. “This is my soulmate.”

“PAY for it first!” she yelled, yanking the bag out of his hands.

By some miracle (and only one minor skirmish over who got to push the cart), they made it to the registers.

Dagur stared at the conveyor belt like it was divine. “It moves things by itself,” he whispered, touching it reverently. “I love this world.”

Astrid pointed at the barcode scanner. “What’s that red light?”

“It reads the item to know how much it costs.”

The female twin gasped dramatically. “IT CAN READ MINDS.”

The male twin leaned in close to the scanner. “What am I thinking?”

The cashier gave her a please kill me look as the machine beeped loudly over a bag of oranges.

“I’m so sorry…” She looked at her nametag. “Beth. They’ve never been to a supermarket before. They’re from overseas.”

The lady, Beth, just smiled at her as if she’d seen scenes like this a million times. “It’s okay, honey, you’re doing a good job at explaining things to them.”

Beth, saint of the checkout lane, simply kept scanning while Snotlout tried to feed a candy bar to the scanner to see if it was hungry. She bagged the last of the groceries, calm as a monk in a lightning storm. She even double-bagged the flour so Snotlout wouldn’t, in his words, ‘see how fast I can spin this like a sling.’

“Thanks for being patient,” she muttered, tapping her card on the EFTPOS machine. The machine beeped as it accepted her card, and Dagur immediately yelped, grabbing her hand like she’d just been stabbed.

“IT BIT YOU!”

“It didn’t—Dagur, stop—”

She turned back to Beth. “Sorry, we’ll leave you to it now.”

Beth gave her a warm smile. “No need to be sorry, honey. I’ve worked this register for twenty-two years. I’ve seen private school boys bring a goat through self-checkout, and one guy try to buy twenty litres of gravy at two a.m. You and your crew are pretty wholesome. Would you like you’re receipt?”

“Yes, please.”

She handed her the receipt and waved them off with a warm smile and a “Y’all have a lovely day now.”

She and Hiccup divvied up the bags like they were handing out weapons before battle, one to every Viking. Miraculously, everyone complied—mostly because Hiccup was a really good leader and had a great dad voice, so everyone listened to him. Well, except Snotlout.

“I am above grocery bags,” he declared, striking a heroic pose. “We have the cart of shopping for this exact reason.”

Which was how she ended up hauling two bags, his bag included, while he strutted beside her.
Until he realised that she, the person he’d been trying to impress all morning, was literally carrying his weight. Cue an immediate and dramatic turnaround.

“Uh—actually, you know what? My bad.” He snatched the bag out of her hand, eyes darting to see if she’d noticed his sudden chivalry. (She had, and she was unimpressed.)

They walked out of the store like an apocalypse waiting to happen. Dagur led the charge, carrying an entire watermelon on one shoulder like a war trophy, grinning manically at confused pedestrians. Astrid clutched her package of chicken like it might vanish. Hiccup walked behind them, keeping everyone moving in the same direction with quiet authority. The Twins were eating a bag of chips that they had definitely not paid for three seconds ago, and Snotlout was sulking beside her at having to carry a bag.

She slumped into the driver’s seat, started the car, and muttered, “Never. Again.”

Chapter Text

She needed to go to training. She’d already skipped two sessions thanks to the full-time babysitting service her life had become, but another absence wouldn’t look good, not with team selections for the start of the season looming. The problem? She still didn’t trust the Vikings alone in her house. Which left her with only one option: bring them along.

She groaned at the thought. The questions alone would be brutal. Her teammates weren’t nosy, but eight random strangers turning up with her? Yeah, people were going to ask things, like a lot of things and honestly? If someone else rolled into the club with eight strangers, she’d be curious too. So, step one: damage control.

With the help of Hiccup, she managed to get them to leave all of their weapons behind. If they were going to be out and about, they couldn’t be carrying visible (and non-visible) weapons, although she had a feeling that Astrid and Heather still had some on their persons. She then managed to fit them all once more into her car and drove to her local Salvos to get them some semi-normal clothes to wear so they didn’t look as if they’d stepped out of a Comic-Con.

The moment they walked in, the Vikings stared around like they’d stepped into a treasure hoard. The twins were instantly touching everything, trying on hats and heels and hoodies. Dagur had found an antique cutlery set and was trying to shove the knives into his boot. Astrid was rocking a miniskirt and corset. Heather, meanwhile, was standing in a corner looking like an emo as she sulked in the clothes she had been given to try on. Snotlout was currently trying to squeeze himself into the tightest pair of jeans he could find. She pinched the bridge of her nose and set to work picking out some semi-normal clothes that wouldn’t make them stand out—or at least, not stand out more than usual.

“Alright, listen up,” she said, shoving an armful of jeans and plain T-shirts at Dagur before he could pocket another fork. “You are not smuggling cutlery out of here.”

Dagur clutched the knife like it was sacred. “But it’s perfectly balanced! This belongs in my collection—”

“Nope.” She snatched it and shoved him toward the changing rooms. “Try these on, please, before I have an aneurysm.”

Astrid glanced at herself in the mirror, smirked, and struck a pose. “This looks good on me, though.”

“Yeah, it does look good,” she admitted, shoving a pair of joggers and a hoodie into Astrid’s hands. “But we’re going for low profile here.”

Her gaze flicked to Hiccup, who was very obviously trying not to watch Astrid’s every move. “And trust me, this look isn’t helping with that.”

Snotlout emerged from his fitting room then, doing a weird squat‑walk in his ultra-tight skinny jeans. “These jeans are perfect, they just need to, uh… stretch a bit.”

“They’re going to tear, and I am not paying for that.” She tossed him some track pants, already dreading what he’d do with them.

Heather just sulked deeper into her black hoodie. “These are fine,” she said flatly, and she just let that particular fight go unfought.

The only people who didn’t argue about their clothing were Hiccup and Fishlegs; in fact, they were quite interested in it. The zippers especially interested them. She left them to sketch zippers into their books to give the Twins their clothes. She found them as they walked out of the changerooms, dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts. They were actually looking relatively presentable so she left them to do what they wished.

By the time she’d wrangled them all into something resembling normality, they looked like a mismatched uni group rather than an escaped medieval re-enactment crew. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

“Alright,” she sighed, “if anyone asks, you’re exchange students from Norway. Do not mention dragons, swords, or… whatever that thing is you’re holding, Tuffnut.”

Tuffnut looked down at the taxidermied squirrel in a gymnastics costume in his hands, the words ‘TEAM SPIRIT’ written across the front, “What? I like it!”

She stared at the squirrel for a long second, then just… gave up. “Fine, but it stays in the car.”

Tuffnut clutched it to his chest like a child refusing to give up a teddy. “His name is Gerald, and he’s coming with.”

Ruffnut gasped dramatically. “You can’t just separate Gerald from his team. He’s literally Team Spirit!”

She corralled them into the car once again and rehearsed their cover story out loud: “Exchange students from Kopervik, Norway, okay? I looked it up and it’s a pretty small town, so it’ll be fine that you don’t know some things. Just keep it simple, don’t overtalk it, and for the love of everything holy, no weapons.”

There was a suspicious chorus of “Sure” and “Definitely” from the back seat that made her stomach sink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She forgot every time how much the oval felt like home. Walking into the changerooms, the familiar smell of grass and deep heat hit her like a comfort blanket. The low buzz of her teammates’ voices and the distant thud of footballs against hands eased the tension in her shoulders—at least until she remembered the entourage she’d brought with her.

Eight pairs of eyes were glued to everything. The changerooms might as well have been a museum exhibit for how fascinated they looked. Ruff and Tuff had already found a footy and were throwing it between themselves, and Snotlout looked as if he was about to have a fit as he looked at the group of girls in front of him. She was distracted from her momentary embarrassment by her friends, Cora, Layla, and Eli.

Cora was the first to speak, grinning as she eyed the group trailing behind her. “Uh… new recruits?”

Layla leaned in; voice low but still loud enough for her to hear. “Who is that?” she asked, gesturing discreetly at where Heather sat on one of the benches.

Eli raised a brow, her gaze darting between Astrid, who was already glaring at anyone who so much as breathed wrong, and Dagur, who was leaning casually against a locker like he owned the place. “Exchange students?” she guessed.

“Exactly that,” she said quickly, shooting a warning look at the Vikings. “From… Norway.”

Snotlout perked up, puffing out his chest as he stepped forward. “Hi there, I’m Snotlout. International legend.”

Eli’s brows raised even further, “Snotlout? That’s an interesting name.”

She sighed, “They all have interesting names.”

She gestured at them all one by one, “This is Hiccup.” He gave a small wave.

“Fishlegs.” He blushed and replied with a small ‘Hi’.

“The twins, Tuffnut and Ruffnut.”

She pointed at them as she said their name, hoping that she could spare them from the lecture they would get if they got it wrong.

“You already know Snotlout.”

He gave a low courtesy at that, causing Layla to grimace and Eli to blush.

“This is Astrid, she’s a kind of athlete as well.”

Her friend's eyes widened at that, and she knew that they were going to test her athletic prowess as soon as possible.

“Heather’s over here looking like a hot emo.”

Heather gave a short nod, a smirk changing her previously expressionless face as she made eye contact with Layla and Layla was reduced to a fit of airy giggles.

“And finally, Dagur, he’s—” Before she had a chance to say anything else, he interrupted.

 “—her favourite,” Dagur cut in smoothly, stepping forward like he owned the place. He draped an arm over her shoulders before she could react, grinning at her teammates like they’d just been introduced to royalty. “We’re also a thing.”

She sputtered, glaring up at him. “Dag—No, we—” She looked pleadingly at her friends. “We—we’re not a thing, I promise.”

He ignored her, flashing a wolfish grin at Cora, Layla, and Eli. “We are, and don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”

Cora’s eyebrows shot up. Layla mouthed ‘Oh my God’ at Eli, who just stifled a laugh behind her hand.

She shoved Dagur’s arm off her shoulders. “He’s not my—ugh, just… ignore him. We have training to get to, so I’m going to go talk to the coaches about why I wasn’t here and put these guys where they can’t cause any trouble.”

Her friends just nodded, already turning into each other as they excitedly chattered about the ‘exchange’ students. She stormed through the club, and even her entourage of Vikings struggled to keep up. She found her coaches in the meeting room and quickly explained her situation. They accepted her story without question, thankfully, and sent her off so they could continue going through their team lists. When she turned around, her Vikings were crammed in the door like sardines in a tin.

She shooed them through and continued out of the changerooms to the sidelines, where she sat them down like a bunch of misbehaving kids and proceeded to list off the rules once again.

“Alright, guys, no fighting, no weapons, no weird conversations about things that happened back where you’re from, no wandering off and talking to strangers, and please, please, please, please, don’t interrupt the training.”

And that’s how she left them, sitting on the bench, talking between themselves, for once actually doing something productive; Hiccup having them brainstorm ideas of ways to get back to their time. She turned away, suppressing the urge to keep checking over her shoulder, and joined her team on the oval.

The oval was alive with movement. Footballs flew through the air, boots thudded against turf, and her teammates were already jogging laps in groups, chatting as they went. She fell into stride with Cora and Layla, instantly feeling that familiar comfort slide back into place.

“You didn’t tell us you were hosting a boarding school,” Cora said, jogging alongside her with a grin. “Where’d you even find those guys?”

“Well, it was a last-minute decision,” She said automatically, sticking to the script. “And they came from… Norway.”

Layla snorted. “Norway? That explains, like, the accents but also none of the fashion choices.” She grinned. “I like the look of Heather, she seems scary, also the Dagur fella seems pretty intense.”

“Of course you like her, she's exactly your type, and yeah, he’s pretty intense,” She muttered.

Cora elbowed her lightly. “Are you and him a thing? Because, wow-ee, he staked a claim earlier.”

She groaned. “We’re not a thing. He’s just… Dagur.”

“Uh‑huh,” Layla smirked, clearly unconvinced.

Before she could respond, the coach blew the whistle and called them in. Today was their main training, and with selection day looming, it meant a lot of full-contact match sim. Her lungs already hurt just thinking about it, but this was her comfort zone.

They started with a 2-kilometre endurance block: laps around the oval, sprint intervals at every whistle. She’d missed this; even after years of training, there was still something grounding about the familiar burn of muscles and lungs, the pounding of boots on turf, and the shared grit of teammates pushing together.

Behind her, Layla puffed, “Your Norwegian friends… gonna survive out here?”

“They’re not coming on the oval,” she said between breaths, pushing through another sprint zone. “They’re… brainstorming or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure they are,” Cora muttered, glancing toward the sidelines where the Vikings were watching like a pack of wolves eyeing a deer herd.

Dagur sat at the front, chin resting on his hand, eyes fixed squarely on her. She tried not to notice. The whistle blew again, signalling the end of the run block and the start of contact drills. They split into groups, practising tackle technique and ball protection.

She lined up against Ella, one of the team’s strongest defenders. The moment the whistle shrilled, she lowered her shoulder and drove in, arms wrapping, twisting through the hip to bring Ella down. They hit the grass with a thud, rolling apart with grins.

“You’ve still got it,” Ella said, climbing to her feet.

She just smirked.

From the sidelines came a sharp whistle. “Yes!” Dagur cheered, startling several players. “Did you see that hit, Fishlegs? That’s my girl!”

She froze. “Ignore him,” she hissed, cheeks heating as Ella hit her this time, with a hard tackle.

The coach gave a long, pointed look toward the Vikings. “Friends of yours?” he joked.

“Exchange students,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “Here for the cultural experience.”

“Right…” the coach muttered with a smile, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further.

They moved into match-sim next, full-field and full-contact. She slipped her mouthguard in and jogged to her mid-position, ready to get physical. The ball bounced, the play kicked off, and suddenly she was moving on instinct. An opponent charged at her, and she side-stepped, twisting on the ball of her foot and breaking into a sprint down the line. She bounced the ball once, weaving through traffic before spotting Cora open inside 50. With one sharp kick, the ball sailed slightly to the left but ended up on her teammate’s chest.

From the sidelines came Dagur again, his voice booming. “That’s what I’m talking about! Keep it up, Valkyrie!”

Layla jogged past her with a grin. “Your boyfriend’s loud.”

“He’s not—” she cut herself off, focusing on the ball as the play swung back their way.

The next passage was brutal: full tackles, hard bumps, bodies colliding. She ended up on the ground more than once but kept bouncing back, sweat running down her spine, lungs burning with effort. This was what she lived for.

During a brief water break, one of the newer players, Jaz, sidled up next to her. “So… are your friends really from Norway?”

“That’s the story,” she said.

“They seem… uh… fun.” Jaz glanced toward the bench, where Ruff and Tuff were clearly explaining something to Heather using the taxidermy squirrel as a visual aid, and Dagur was now standing, arms crossed, scanning the field like he was plotting battle.

“That’s… one way to put it,” she muttered.

“Who’s the dude with the fake leg? He’s kind of cute,” Jaz asked, deadpan.

She choked on her water. “Sorry, Jaz, Hiccup’s taken. He’s dating the blonde girl with them, Astrid.”

Jaz raised an eyebrow and let out a little noncommittal ‘oh’ before jogging off when the coach blew the whistle again.

The last twenty minutes were a little less intense but still as exhausting, with a bit of midfield-specific contest work. She thrived in it, throwing herself into tackles, breaking away from stoppages, and sticking contested marks. Every bump and scrape just pushed her harder. On the sideline, the Vikings were now clearly invested. Heather had moved closer to the boundary, arms folded, analysing every movement like a scout. Snotlout was busy watching the assortment of women running around, and Dagur… Dagur hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time. Hiccup, Fishlegs and Astrid seemed to be the only ones still brainstorming.

When she delivered a crunching tackle that won a turnover, Dagur cheered so loudly it startled one of the assistant coaches. “That’s my girl!” he roared again, grinning like a madman.

She shot him a glare as she jogged back to position, cheeks red, but not entirely from exertion. When the final whistle blew, she was drenched in sweat, muscles singing with exhaustion. She yanked out her mouthguard and grabbed a water bottle, bending over to catch her breath.

Cora slapped her on the back. “Still got it, babe. Guess those exchange kids didn’t slow you down too much.”

Layla grinned. “Yeah, you were on fire out there. No wonder Dagur’s obsessed.”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Nope,” Layla said cheerfully.

When she had just finished draining her water bottle, she realised she was surrounded. Cora, Layla, Eli, who were already there, had been joined by Jaz, Ella, half the team, and—of course—Coach Tilly, who had the unique ability to sniff out gossip like a bloodhound. They were all standing there with matching expectant looks.

“Oh no,” she muttered. “What is this?”

“It’s an intervention,” Jaz said, arms crossed. “We need answers.”

“About what?” she asked, already knowing exactly what.

Coach Tilly grinned, leaning casually on the nearest girl's shoulder. “About your Norwegian entourage, sweetheart. Especially the tall, loud one who thinks he’s your boyfriend.”

She groaned. “He’s not—”

“—Your boyfriend, yeah, we heard you,” Eli interrupted. “But does he know that? Because the way he was yelling from the sidelines? Buddy boy was one step away from throwing that weird taxidermied squirrel at us.”

“He’s protective,” she said quickly.

“Protective? Girl, he looked like he was about to leap the fence and fight Ella for tackling you,” Jaz said.

“I was doing my job!” Ella protested.

“Apparently, your job includes starring in her love triangle now,” Cora teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

She buried her face in her hands. “They’re just… visitors, exchange students. That’s it.”

“Visitors who look like professional wrestlers and call you ‘my girl’ in front of the entire team?” Coach Tilly asked. “Sweetheart, if that’s what Norway’s exporting, I’m taking my annual leave early and booking a ticket.”

“Forget Dagur,” one of the midfielders—Nia—piped up, her grin absolutely feral. “The blond twin? Tuffnut? I’d hit that. Like, immediately.”

Obviously, Cora, Eli and Layla had been running their mouths because how else did these girls know their names? There was a chorus of snickers, followed by another voice from the back: “Ruffnut’s kinda hot too, not gonna lie—”

“And Heather—” said another

“Nuh-uh!” Layla snapped, stepping forward like she was about to square up, jerking her thumb toward the sideline. “Heather’s mine. You keep your thirsty little eyes to yourself.”

The group went silent for half a second before erupting into laughter. “Heather?” Cora gasped, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god, you’ve claimed her?”

“Damn right I have,” Layla said, arms crossed, chin up defiantly. “She’s mysterious, she’s emo, she’s mine.”

She groaned into her hands, for what felt like the billionth time. “This is my nightmare. You guys are feral. Also, Layla, how do you even know she’s into girls? I honestly don’t think they even know what a lesbian is!”

Layla just shrugged, totally unbothered. “Then I’ll teach her,” she said, chin raised in defiance.

Coach Tilly scribbled something on her clipboard, definitely not related to footy drills. “Alright, we’ll pretend to believe you about them being ‘just visitors,’ but honey… those aren’t exchange students, those are romance novel covers waiting to happen.”

“Admit it, though,” Jaz said, leaning in with a grin, “the whole group is hot in that dangerous way. Like… knife‑fight‑in‑a‑bar hot.”

Eli nodded. “Okay, but who’s into Astrid? Because she’s terrifying-hot, and I know some of you are into that.”

“Definitely me,” one of the halfbacks admitted immediately. “I’d let her kill me and say thank you.”

“Oh my god, same,” another agreed, laughing. “What about Fishlegs? He’s, like, big teddy-bear cute. Gives off a boyfriend‑who‑makes‑you‑breakfast energy.”

“Excuse you, that’s my type of cute,” someone else shot back. “You can have Astrid; I’m calling dibs on Fishlegs.”

Eli, sensing chaos, grinned wider. “Alright, show of hands—who thinks Hiccup’s hot?”

A handful of arms went up instantly.

“Fishlegs?” Three more.

“Astrid?” Nearly half the group, two of them raising both hands.

“Heather?” Layla, with a death glare at everyone, raised a single possessive hand.

“The twins?” …awkward pause, followed by a couple hesitant hands and one whispered ‘I like chaos’.

“Snotlout?”

“Oh my god, I forgot about him!” Cora squealed.

Only one girl shot her hand up—so fast she nearly fell over. The entire group turned on her, howling with laughter as she blushed scarlet.

“What?!” she spluttered. “I’d let him climb me, okay?!”

The laughter doubled, teammates ribbing her so hard she covered her face. She was laughing too, momentarily forgetting that she’d been the original target, right until Eli slipped behind her, arms wrapping around her middle.

“Okay, okay,” Eli purred, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Last one. Dagur?”

All the girls turned on her like sharks scenting blood, evil grins stretching across their faces. She blinked, caught like a rabbit in headlights as every single pair of eyes locked on her.

“Dagur?” she echoed, voice already pitching higher than usual. “Why—why me? I don’t—he’s not—”

“Ohhh, she’s stammering,” Nia sang, bouncing on her toes like she’d just won a prize.

“I’m not stammering, I’m just—” she tried to step away, but Eli’s arms tightened around her waist like a vice.

“She is stammering,” Eli confirmed, her grin evil. “That means something. Look at her ears, they’re red.”

“They are not!” she protested, which only made everyone laugh harder.

Inside, despite wanting to melt into the turf, she couldn’t help but laugh. This group was ridiculous, loud, shameless, but undoubtedly hers. Even when they were turning her into the team’s favourite joke, she loved them for it.

Eli, apparently sensing her momentary softness, decided to strike. “Aww, you love us, don’t you, babe?” she cooed, and then started peppering her cheek with obnoxious little kisses.

She screeched. “Eli! Stop! Ew—no—get off—!”

“Nope.” Mwah. “Not until you admit you like him.” Mwah. “Dagurrrr, right?” Mwah-mwah-mwah.

By now, half the team was crying from laughter, doubled over and wheezing, phones out to record the chaos.

“Wait—wait—holy crap,” one of them gasped, pointing toward the sidelines. “Is he staring at her?”

Instant silence. Every single head turned. Sure enough, there he was, sitting forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at her like the rest of them didn’t even exist. Even when he realised that everyone was staring, he didn’t flinch or turn away instead letting a toothy wolfish grin spread across his face.

The girls lost it.

“Ohhhh my GOD.”

“He’s actually obsessed with you!”

“You’re done. You’ve got a stage five clinger.”

She yanked free from Eli, face flaming hotter than the oval’s floodlights. “You’re all insane!” she barked, storming a few steps toward the changerooms just to escape their screeching laughter.

From behind, she could still hear Eli cackling, “He’s looking at you like you’re lunch, babe! Lunch!” and Cora yelling, “HE LIKES YOUUUU!” in the most sing-song voice imaginable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She dropped into the ice bath with a hiss that escaped through clenched teeth. The sting wrapped around her calves and thighs instantly, but she leaned back and let herself sink further, arms draped over the sides of the tub. The cold dulled everything—the chatter in the change rooms, the embarrassment from earlier, even the phantom warmth still lingering on her face from Eli’s ambush-hug and Dagur’s look. She focused on breathing, on not screaming when the icy water crept higher around her hips. This was her happy place, or at least her necessary one.

“Alright, ten minutes,” she muttered to herself, closing her eyes.

Ten minutes became fifteen, then twenty. When she finally climbed out, shivering and pink-skinned, she realised the changeroom was empty except for one girl she didn’t know well heading into the showers. She grabbed her towel, dried off quickly, and got changed into her hoodie and track pants. She assumed the rest of the team had already scattered, either home or to the social room. Thank god, she thought. No more teasing for tonight.

She slung her gear bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the hallway, only to hear voices coming from the lounge area. Familiar voices. Her stomach dropped. No way.

Sure enough, when she rounded the corner, there they were: her Vikings, decidedly not where she left them. Sitting on couches, perched on tables, leaning against walls, looking like they’d been part of the club for years. And surrounding them? Her friends. She froze in the doorway.

Oh no.

Ohhh fuck no.

Nia was draped across an armrest, legs crossed, leaning toward Ruffnut with a sly smile while simultaneously brushing her fingers along Tuffnut’s arm. “So are you two always this… close?” she murmured, voice dropping into something sultry.

Ruffnut grinned, sharp and feral. “Always. We’re a package deal.”

Tuffnut beamed. “Two-for-one chaos special!”

Nia’s eyes lit up like she’d just won a jackpot. “Lucky me, huh?”

On the next couch over, Jaz had Hiccup’s undivided attention, her grease-stained hands sketching invisible diagrams in the air while he talked about airflow systems and metal integrity. The way they were leaning in might’ve been the nerdiest thing she had ever seen, but also weirdly wholesome.

Meanwhile, right next to them, Astrid and Heather, were sitting across from Layla, whose hands were moving animatedly as she explained something she couldn’t quite catch at first—until she realised: Oh my god, Layla is explaining lesbianism.

“...so basically, you know how some girls like guys? Yeah, well, some girls like girls. That’s me. I’m that.” Layla smiled, proud.

Astrid blinked at her, then tilted her head. “So… you’re saying… You don’t like men at all?”

“Nope. Girls only, baby.”

Heather’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Huh. That’s… actually kind of cool.”

Layla looked like she’d just been handed a marriage proposal. “Yeah? You think so?”

She turned to Ella, who was leaning forward, her eyes bright with that I’ve found my people glow, hands moving as she explained something about ocean currents and biodiversity. Fishlegs was right there with her, nodding along, animated in a way she hadn’t seen outside of dragons. The words bony fish and cartilage floated out of the conversation, but she tuned them out, mostly because Ella looked like she was two seconds away from adopting him as her new marine biology best friend.

When she finally looked over to Dagur, Eli and Cora were whispering conspiratorially to him, leaning close like they were plotting a heist. Cora was the one to open fire, of course.

“So,” she drawled, leaning her hip against the table, “what do you think of our girl? Cute, huh?”

Dagur’s grin was immediate, sharp as a knife. “Cute? She’s perfect. Fire in her eyes, fights like she means it. I like that.”

Eli smirked, tilting her head. “Yeah, she’s great. I’d know—I dated her once.”

Dagur’s grin faltered just a fraction, his eyes flicking over Eli like he was assessing an opponent. “You did, huh?”

“Relax, chief.” Eli held her hands up in mock surrender, clearly enjoying herself. “That was ages ago. I’ve got a girlfriend now.” She leaned in conspiratorially, voice dropping. “You don’t have to puff your chest at me.”

Dagur’s smile returned, sharp and predatory, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned closer.

“Good,” he said simply, then tilted his head. “But tell me… back when you were dating her…” His grin sharpened into something even more wicked. “What was she into? She looks innocent, but she’s gotta have a thing. Biting? Being pinned? Tell me she’s a scratcher.”

Cora choked outright, smacking her chest. “Oh my god.”

Eli was wheezing, one hand covering her face. “You are deranged—I am not telling you that!”

Dagur just leaned back, utterly shameless, eyes gleaming. “Worth a shot,” he said, smirk curling. “I like to be prepared.”

And that was the exact moment she decided to let herself be known to everyone in the room. She coughed, towel still slung around her neck, hair damp from her ice bath, one sneaker halfway untied. Every head in the room snapped toward her, but the looks were different now. Cora’s eyes went wide as saucers. Eli straightened up so fast she nearly fell, mouthing a silent oh nooo. Dagur? Dagur didn’t flinch. He just turned his head slowly, grin curling lazy and dangerous, like he’d been waiting for her to hear it.

“Hey, babe,” he said casually as if he hadn’t just asked someone if she liked being pinned. “Good ice bath?”

Her entire face went nuclear. “Wha—what—what the hell are you even—”

Cora burst out laughing again, Eli hiding behind her hands because she clearly couldn’t stop herself. Dagur, still looking entirely too smug, leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head like he’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing.

“Oh my god, I hate all of you,” she blurted, throwing her hands up and storming toward her bag just to have something to do besides combust on the spot.

Behind her, she could hear Eli whispering, “Ohhh, she heard all of that”, and Dagur’s voice, low and satisfied: “Good. Saves me asking twice.”

She snatched up her bag like it was a lifeline, trying to ignore the snickers around her. “Okay, we are leaving. All of you—up. Now.”

Cora, of course, didn’t budge. “Oh, come on. We were just bonding.”

“Bonding?” Her voice cracked high enough to make Ruffnut snort from across the room. “He just asked if I—you know what, no. We’re leaving.”

Eli was laughing too hard to even stand properly. “You should’ve seen your face—”

“Eli, I will actually fight you.” She faced all the Vikings in turn and pointed to the door, jaw tight. “Out.”

Dagur, naturally, took his sweet time standing, stretching like a smug cat. “Relax, Valkyrie, I was just getting to know your friends.” His grin turned wolfish again. “They’re very… informative.”

She grabbed Dagur by the sleeve and started physically hauling him toward the exit. He didn’t resist, which somehow made it worse because he definitely leaned in enough to murmur near her ear, low enough that only she could hear:

“So… are you a scratcher?

Her soul left her body on the spot.

“Dagur, shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word,” he replied, clearly saying a word, and still wearing that smug grin like it was welded on.

As she herded them all out, Eli called after her, “Love you, babe! Oh, and tell Dagur thanks for the entertainment!“

Cora, of course, had to add: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, honestly, isn’t much!”

She practically shoved them all through the door, face on fire. “You are never meeting my friends again,” she hissed, though from the way Dagur was chuckling under his breath, she knew this was exactly what he’d wanted.

Chapter Text

She was starving.

S. T. A. R. V. I. N. G.

The kind of hunger that made her stomach churn in protest, demanding immediate attention. She’d always felt this way after her main training session of the week, the exhaustion from the previous night’s exertion leaving her body desperately craving fuel. The routine was drilled into her by now: push through the pain, sweat, and fatigue of the workout, then refuel afterward. But today was different. She had slept in—a rare indulgence, especially for someone with her schedule. The alarm had been silenced by a very on-purpose swipe, and she hadn’t woken up until twenty past 10, a full three hours later than usual.

She groaned, rubbing her face as the remnants of sleep clouded her mind. It wasn’t ideal, but hunger had a way of sharpening focus. All she wanted was a quick meal, something easy, nothing fancy. Maybe a chicken wrap, or leftover rice if she was feeling lazy. Her mind drifted to the small comforts of food, something uncomplicated to get her through the day.

Dragging herself to the kitchen, she opened the lower drawer where she kept her spices, hoping to find something to jazz up whatever she threw together, when she felt the presence before she heard it: two sets of quiet, fascinated breathing just behind her shoulder. Fishlegs made a reverent sound, something between a gasp and a squeak.

“Oh... oh, gods above,” he whispered. “What is this?”

Confused, she glanced over her shoulder. The sight before her was both unexpected and completely absurd. Hiccup was standing right next to Fishlegs, both of them peering down at the spice drawer as though they’d just discovered an ancient treasure chest. She blinked, still processing what was happening. They weren’t even looking at the food she was about to prepare—no, they were mesmerised by spices. She glanced down at the drawer, half-full of mismatched spice jars, some bought, some refilled from bulk bins, one or two still in tins faded by age. To her, it looked like grocery-store normal. To them, apparently, it might as well have been a chest of enchanted relics.

Hiccup blinked a few times, squinting at the jars. “Are those all… spices? Different kinds?”

She stared at the array, half amused and half baffled by their reactions. To her, this was just the usual jumble of her kitchen—nothing special. Just the basics, really. "Yep, just the spices I need for my food."

She could feel the weight of their attention as they waited for an explanation. Her stomach grumbled again, reminding her of the very reason she had opened the drawer in the first place, but there was no escaping this now. The Vikings were about to get a crash course in her world.

“Well," she sighed, "this is paprika. And that’s turmeric. Cayenne, nutmeg, cinnamon, fennel, star anise, cloves, that’s sumac, which is a little sour but really good on roast veggies…” She trailed off as Fishlegs crouched down to inspect the jar closest to him, as if it might reveal its secrets.

“Salt,” he muttered, his voice filled with reverence. “And dill, I recognise that. Mustard seed… thyme, parsley… wait, is that cardamom?”

“Yep.” She nodded, and pointed to the one beside it. “And coriander.”

“What is this green one?” Hiccup asked, holding up a jar of oregano. “It looks like dried grass.”

“Dried herb leaves, also known as oregano” she explained. “I think they were originally used in the Mediterranean or Greece--something like that. ”

"Oh, I've heard of that before!" Fishlegs stated excitedly, turning to Hiccup. "When I was talking to Mala a couple of moons ago, she was talking about some herbs this strange trader bought through their island. Things i'd never heard of like mugwort, waybroad, uh, stime, and atterlothe, and maythen, that they said would be good for medicine. She also mentioned that they'd brought spices from places even further than Serkland, one of them was oregano."

She raised an eyebrow. "Serkland?" she echoed, glancing between Fishlegs and Hiccup. "Is that—where is that? I don't think I’ve heard of it before."

Fishlegs’s face lit up with the excitement of someone who has just unlocked a new piece of obscure knowledge. “Oh, do you not know where that is?" She shook her head no. "It’s this land far to the East, past the Great Sea, near the hot deserts. It's one of the places the more experienced traders travel to find supplies. I don't think Trader Johan made it there, though, I've just heard about it from others."

Hiccup rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No, I don't think he had. I did trade furs and some of my inventions to another trader who had some weapons from them. They were very developed in their smithing.”

Now thoroughly intrigued, she shuffled over to the counter, her stomach growling in protest at the change in focus as she rifled through the mess of her kitchen to grab her phone. "Let me look it up," she muttered, half to herself, before quickly unlocking her phone and pulling up Google.

She typed in "Serkland" and hit enter. The screen filled with search results. There were a lot of older, historical sources—maps from centuries ago and references from scholars, but not much by way of modern knowledge.

"Okay, I’m not finding anything too recent here," she murmured, before her eyes landed on a medieval website with a map that looked a little more relevant. "Huh... Serkland... it's a, uh, a name 'used in old medieval literature for regions in the Islamic world, including parts of Africa.'"

Fishlegs and Hiccup leaned in to see what she was looking at. “Wow this is an extremely developed map, where did you get this?” Hiccup remarked, scratching his head.

“It's on the internet," she replied. Ignoring their confused expressions, she continued. "I'll explain it to you another time but it says here that it covers parts of Spain, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, and even some places in Italy. And wait, here's something about Sicily..." Her eyes narrowed. "I think it was used by some old texts to describe the Muslim-controlled lands—like, the lands ruled by caliphs and sultans during the Middle Ages. All the places where people practiced Islam.”

There was a long silence, only broken by the slight rumble of her stomach. The Vikings exchanged glances, processing this new information.

"So you're saying that... Serkland is like a big mix of countries?" Hiccup asked, his voice still sounding a little unsure.

"Basically," she confirmed, scrolling through more images of ancient maps. "And it looks like it was a really important place for trade back then. Is were you live cold and wet?"

Hiccup grimaced and nodded. "Yep. It snows nine months of the year, and hails the other three."

She nodded, thinking. "So... not exactly the weather for growing many crops, is it?"

They both shook their heads, Hiccup speaking. "Berk relied on trade for a lot of things, spices were one of them. Although... even when Berk was the most prosperous, we never had enough gold to purchase this amount of spice."

She stared at the spices, feeling a little surreal. Here she was, talking to literal Viking dragon riders, explaining to them things like dried herbs and medieval trade routes. It was bizarre, but strangely captivating. She’d thought she was just going to grab a simple lunch, not engage in a cultural exchange that might change the entire way she looked at the world. But now, with the Vikings, nothing felt simple.

She shook her head, trying to ground herself. "Okay, so you didn’t have enough gold to buy this much spice, but you did have some spices, right?" She turned to Hiccup, trying to reframe things. "How did that work? Was it like... a luxury thing? Only for the rich?"

"Krokos, for example,” Hiccup said, his voice quiet with reverence, “was one of the most precious. And cloves, ginger, and pepper. Some were worth their weight in gold. Literally.”

She blinked. “Gold? You’re not exaggerating, are you?”

Fishlegs’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “Not at all! Some spices, like the ones Hiccup said, were so rare and valuable that people would trade entire kingdoms or treasure just to get a little bit. That’s how important they were.”

She blinked again, her mind still trying to catch up with the sheer weight of the information. "So, you’re telling me, people would trade kingdoms for a little bit of spice?" she asked, incredulous. “I thought my textbooks were overemphasising when they talked about the Silk Road and stuff, but this... this is something else.”

Hiccup nodded, still somewhat wistful. "Yep. People literally fought wars over trade routes for spices."

"You've travelled a lot, then," she said, more to herself than to anyone. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the idea of these Vikings going on treasure hunts for spices, but it was starting to make sense. If they lived in a world where winters were endless and crops were scarce, of course they’d have to find other ways to survive. And spice wasn’t just for flavour—it was medicine, preservative, and sometimes currency.

Fishlegs scratched the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, we’ve visited a few places with the dragons in search of things like furs, weapons, or... spices.” He paused, then glanced at the Hiccup, as if unsure whether to keep talking.

“You’ve probably heard of Constantinople, right?” Hiccup asked her, tone suddenly thoughtful.

She furrowed her brow. "Constantinople? The old capital of the Byzantine Empire? I mean, yeah, I've heard of it in history class. It was a major trade hub back in the day, wasn’t it?"

Fishlegs practically vibrated with excitement, full of confidence again. "Yes! That’s where all kinds of goods and spices were traded through Serkland. We were there for a couple months when Hiccup wanted to expand his map and it was mind-blowing. The sheer amount of people was unlike anything i'd ever seen before in my life. And there were religions and languages spoken that i'd never heard before."

Her jaw dropped. “Wait... you’ve been to Constantinople?” She tried to picture it: bustling markets, the ancient Hagia Sophia towering overhead, people bartering with silks, spices, and treasures. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how out of place the Vikings must have looked.

Hiccup nodded, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. "We’ve seen a few things. I mean, when you live in a place like Berk, the world feels so... limited. You don't know how much you’re missing until you see it for yourself. We ended up in Constantinople through a series of traders. We followed their routes, rode with them, and then once they stopped, we used their directions to fly the rest of the way.”

She stared at him, her mind racing. "That’s... incredible. So you’ve been to a place like that, and... you just found your way there?"

“Pretty much," Hiccup said, shrugging slightly. 

She was barely wrapping her head around the fact that they'd walked on the streets of the ancient city of Constantinople, when Fishlegs' excited voice cut off her thoughts.

“And then there’s Madīnat-al-Salām,” Fishlegs added eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “The City of Peace! You can’t even imagine how much I learned there. It was this huge centre of learning, a place of knowledge, art... well, everything. I met scholars who had texts from all over the world. Some of them were written in languages I couldn't read, but they had everything: medicine, astronomy, mathematics...”

“Wait, hold on,” she interrupted, her mind trying to keep pace. “Madīnat-al-Salām? I’ve never heard of that. Is that—where is it?”

"In Serkland." Hiccup replied matter-of-factly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She furrowed her brow. Serkland again. Something clicked, though, and she immediately pulled her phone out once more, her fingers moving rapidly across the screen. 'Madīnat-al-Salām', she typed in, trying to get a better idea of what they were talking about. She quickly found a website titled The Golden Age of the Islamic World, and sure enough, there was the name she’d heard Fishlegs mention—Madīnat-al-Salām.

The page loaded slowly, filled with images of ancient structures, ornate calligraphy, and a world map covered in the sprawling expanse of what she’d learned at school to be the Islamic Caliphate. Her eyes raced across the text, reading about how Madīnat-al-Salām was an intellectual and cultural centre during the Abbasid Caliphate, located along the Tigris River. There was mention of its flourishing during the 8th to 13th centuries, its libraries filled with groundbreaking works on science, astronomy, and philosophy.

“Wait a second…” she muttered aloud, scrolling through the page. It didn’t quite add up. She continued scanning the website, eyes snagging on pictures and maps, until she came across something that made everything click into place. She read aloud to herself, “The city fell around 3282 years ago and is now known as the capital of Iraq, Baghdad”

Her eyes darted up from the phone, meeting Hiccup and Fishlegs' faces—still somehow so calm, as if they weren’t hearing this for the first time, as if they hadn’t just said they were there, standing in the same city that had fallen 3282 years ago.

Her hunger momentarily forgotten, she could hardly process what she was hearing. “Wait, so you're telling me... you’ve been to Constantinople and Baghdad? For real? So, all this... history, these cities, you’ve walked through it all?”

“Yep,” Hiccup said with a slight chuckle. “A lot of travel, a lot of places, and a lot of dragons.”

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart thud in her chest. “This... this is insane.”

“Well, it’s just the life we know,” Hiccup said, with a grin that was equal parts excited and completely unbothered.

“Yeah,” she murmured, feeling a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to sit down. “Just the life you know. Okay. Sure.” She glanced at her phone again, still staring at images of Madīnat-al-Salām and the Tigris River. "Baghdad... how is that even possible?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if to clear the fog.

She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she just stood there, silently, feeling the weight of the thousands of years between her and the Vikings, feeling like the earth beneath her had shifted just a little. The world felt larger now—more ancient, more full of strange adventures she could barely wrap her head around.

Just then, the door to the house creaked open, and the rest of the gang stumbled in. She'd been wondering where they'd gotten too but right now was not in the headspace to ask about what they'd been up to. At least, she thought, Astrid and Heather were with them and possibly kept them under control. Dagur is the first one to speak when he sees her.

“Did someone say Constantinople?” he grinned, his eyes practically sparkling with mischief.

“Oh no,” she muttered, already knowing what was coming. “Here we go.”

Heather entered behind him, looking far more composed, but there was no hiding her curiosity as she raised an eyebrow at the conversation. She glanced at Dagur and then at Fishlegs and Hiccup standing behind her.

“You guys are talking about those weird cities again?” Heather asked, crossing her arms. “Really? Every time, it’s the same thing with you.”

“Oh, I’ve got a lot to say about Constantinople,” Dagur declared, leaning in close to her and clasping his hands behind his back. He was trying hard to look serious, but the sparkle in his eyes said otherwise. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of crowds they have. Epic. We were there when the market was at its peak, and I almost got into a fight with a guy selling jade.”

“Really?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You almost got into a fight with someone over jade?”

Dagur’s grin widened. “Of course! What do you think I am? A pacifist? I was about to throw some fists, but then… well, let’s just say I charmed my way out of it.”

She blinked. “You charmed your way out of a fight?”

“Yep,” Dagur said, puffing his chest out. “I'm not just a warrior, you know. I’m a diplomat too.” He turned to Heather with a wink. “They call me Dagur the Diplomatic. Right, Heather?”

Heather looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t. Instead, she sighed and took a seat at the table, where Astrid already sat, reaching for a piece of fruit as she glanced at the group. Oh how she wished she could join her.

Snotlout came into the kitchen just in time to hear Dagur's boast. He scoffed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ha! Diplomatic?” He stepped forward with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. “Let me tell you something, big guy—I was the one who made it out of Constantinople unscathed. You nearly got us killed trying to fight that jade trader, he had, like, three bodyguards. And then I single-handedly took on an entire group of traders trying to scam us out of our furs.”

“You did what?” She asked flatly, her eyes narrowing.

Snotlout looked proud of himself, puffing his chest out. “That’s right. I didn’t just charm my way out of a situation. I fought my way out of it. You know, like a real warrior.”

“Did you punch a merchant in the face?” she asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.

“No,” he said, his expression faltering for a second before he quickly recovered. “But I did talk my way out of it. Same thing. Just with more style.”

“Oh, right,” Dagur chimed in, his grin practically doubling in size. “You talked your way out of it. Classic Snothat. Always the diplomat.”

Snotlout glared at him. “Shut up, Dagur. You’re just mad because I’ve got more style in one finger than you’ve got in your whole body.”

The two of them started bickering, their voices growing louder, until she sighed, and tried to go back to her original objective--eat breakfast-lunch.

She tried to tune them out, her mind still reeling from the information about the ancient cities. But then, out of nowhere, Ruffnut and Tuffnut burst into the kitchen, bickering as usual, but this time their chatter caught her attention as they listened to the reason for Dagur and Snotlout's arguement.

“Have we told you about the time when we almost got hung?” Tuffnut’s conspiratorial voice came from right beside her and when she turned Tuff was grinning like it was the best story in the world.

“Oh yeah! That was awesome,” Ruffnut added enthusiastically.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her stomach momentarily forgotten as she turned to them.

Ruffnut smirked, grabbing Tuffnut by the collar and pulling him closer. “Well, there was this little incident we had when we decided to do a little ‘shopping’ in a military camp.”

“The coastal military camp, Hebdomon,” Tuffnut added with a dramatic flourish. “The Imperial Processions camp.”

“We got caught stealing food, weapons—basically anything that wasn’t nailed down,” Ruffnut continued. “They almost strung us up for it. I’ve never seen so many soldiers at once.”

“And there we were, caught in the act, looking like the world’s most incompetent thieves,” Tuffnut added with a laugh. “But you know what? We escaped. Because we’re awesome.”

Hiccup, who had been half-listening, suddenly blinked. “Wait… what? You what?”

They side-eyed each other uneasily, realising their mistake.

Hiccup’s face twisted in disbelief, his hands held out as if trying to physically stop the madness. “Are you serious right now? You nearly got yourselves hung. Hung, you two! For stealing. In an Imperial military camp. What were you thinking?”

He took a breath, pacing for a second as he ran a hand through his hair. “Do you realise how insane that is? You could have started a full-blown war with that kind of stunt. And you’re sitting here, laughing about it like it’s some kind of joke!” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head in utter frustration. “You’re lucky you made it out alive."

It almost sounded like he was done before he started again. "Also, how come I was never aware of this stunt?"

She felt the conversation float around her, but her attention had already shifted. She felt the overwhelming weight of everything happening. She needed something familiar, something that felt like home.

Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the chaos of the kitchen. “Okay, I’m going to make my lunch now,” she said firmly, hoping to create some space for herself. 

As she made her lunch, a chicken and salad wrap, and moved away from the noise of the bickering and laughter, the sounds of Hiccup trying to take over the conversation, of the Twins telling their ridiculous stories, it all faded into the background. The weight of their world, the sheer magnitude of everything they had done, slowly started to ease itself out of her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to completely dive into their history of travel or dragons just yet. So for now, she ate her lunch in peace, sitting silently at the table with Astrid and Heather while the noise from the kitchen echoed around her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was gently lowering itself towards the horizon, painting her house and garden in molten gold, a delicious late-day heat warming her skin. She lay on a towel in nothing but her bikini, a book lay open in her hand, though her focus had long since drifted away from the words. She wasn’t reading so much as just existing in the warm, quiet moment.

A plate of snacks rested beside her, a hodgepodge of crackers, olives, cheese, and the half-eaten block of chocolate that she was savouring with each slow bite. The water bottle within arm’s reach gleamed faintly in the soft light, promising refreshment whenever she needed it. Everything was perfect. She had learned long ago that Wednesdays were the day she could use truly unwind, a much-needed rest day sandwiched between the chaos of her regular routine. A day to breathe. A day to let go of the madness that so often clouded her thoughts. And today, like all her Wednesdays and despite the chaos of ancient cities and the bickering of displaced Vikings, was just as peaceful.

And then, like clockwork, it all came crashing down. Or, more accurately, thudding.

She didn’t immediately respond to the first soft thump, chalking it up to a stray leaf falling or a bird landing too heavily. But then came another—louder this time—and then another, each one echoing with a subtle impatience. It was almost like a warning, and sure enough, her suspicion was soon confirmed as the mischievous sound of boots scuffing on grass drifted over the lawn.

"Dagur," she called out, her voice level and calm, though she didn't bother looking up from her book. “Cut it out.”

There was no immediate response. Instead, the thudding continued, like an incessant drumbeat demanding her attention. She couldn’t quite ignore it anymore, not when it was becoming a rhythm. Half-expecting to be pelted with something else soon, she finally lifted her eyes over the top of the book. And there he was. Standing at the edge of the backyard, looking far too pleased with himself as he held a pebble between two fingers, ready to toss it again. His eyes gleamed with mischief, and that goddamn grin was back in full force. The sort of grin that only ever spelled trouble.

“Not again,” she muttered, but it was too late. The moment she spoke, he flicked the pebble in her direction with an almost deliberate lack of accuracy. The rock sailed past her head and smacked into the snack plate with a soft clink. Crackers, cheese, olives, and most tragically, half of her block of chocolate, spilled to the grass in a sad little heap.

“Oops,” he called out, his grin widening. He took a step forward, clearly enjoying the way her gaze shifted from the wreckage of her snacks to him, her patience fraying with each passing second. “Looks like your snack time is over.”

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth pressing into a tight line. That was it. Her peaceful afternoon had been shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. The warm, lazy feeling she had just been basking in now felt distant and out of reach. She looked at her snacks, then back at Dagur, the irritation bubbling up to the surface.

“Dagur, seriously?” she said, setting her book down in a huff. The book might’ve been her lifeline in moments like this, but even it wasn’t enough to save her this time. “What is your deal? Can’t you see I’m trying to have some peace and quiet for once?”

Dagur didn’t even flinch. He just laughed, loud and carefree, as though her frustration was the most amusing thing in the world.

“Peace and quiet?” he repeated, glancing around with a mock-surprised expression, as if she had just uttered a foreign concept. “Who needs peace when there’s fun to be had?”

Before she could respond with anything resembling a coherent argument, he crouched down beside her towel, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his body. Too close. She was still processing the injustice of her ruined snacks when, without warning, he poked her side, the exaggerated motion almost cartoonish in its playfulness.

“You looked so serious there,” he teased, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to interrupt someone’s solitude in such a way. “I thought I’d lighten the mood.”

She shot him a look that could’ve melted steel, her patience now entirely gone. “By ruining my snacks and invading my personal space?”

“Exactly!” He grinned, his self-assurance barely contained. “You’ve been too quiet. I’m helping you out.”

She groaned, pressing her palms into her eyes, trying desperately to stave off the annoyance that was building up inside her. Why did he have to do this every single time? It was like he couldn’t resist messing with her, even when all she wanted was a break. She had finally managed to carve out this tiny sliver of calm for herself, only for him to come and upend it without a second thought.

“Can’t you just… I don’t know, leave me alone for once?” she muttered, not really expecting an answer.

Dagur, of course, had other plans. He didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned in closer, his grin widening as he brushed his shoulder lightly against hers. “C’mon,” he coaxed, giving her a playful nudge. “It’s not like you’re doing anything important anyway.”

She shot him a flat look. “I’m trying to relax, Dagur.”

Dagur just smirked at her, not the least bit bothered by her irritation. “Trying to relax, huh? Looks to me like you’re doing a whole lot of nothing.” He stretched his arms dramatically, the kind of over-the-top motion you’d expect from someone auditioning for a role in a slapstick comedy.

“Are you seriously not gonna let me have five minutes of peace?” she asked, exasperated, but it wasn’t like she could stay mad at him for long.

He didn’t respond at first, instead plopping down beside her on the towel without asking and stripping himself of his t-shirt. She let out a noise of protest, but it was half-hearted, because, honestly, she wasn’t even sure why she cared so much. It was just one of those days, wasn’t it?

With his signature grin plastered on his face, he lay down flat on his back, his arms behind his head like he owned the whole damn backyard. “Five minutes of peace sounds nice,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But that’s not how fun works. Trust me, I’ve got it all figured out.”

She shot him a sideways glance, eyeing him skeptically. “You have nothing figured out.”

“Oh, I have plenty figured out,” he said, barely glancing at her as he stretched again, the kind of stretching that made her want to roll her eyes but also… kind of admire his abs and chest and the way they moved under his skin--

She averted her eyes quickly, staring down at the grass and towel below her, trying to ignore the fact that the guy had completely invaded her bubble, but there was something oddly... relaxing about having him there, even if he was being a pain. Even as she tried to ignore him, she found herself subtly aware of how the sun’s rays hit him. The way his body seemed to absorb the heat, turning his skin even more golden. It was frustrating. She’d been enjoying the warmth herself, but now it felt like he was just… invading her space in every possible way.

She focused on the towel again, gripping its edge with the intensity of someone trying to force themselves out of a daydream. Focus, she told herself. Concentrate on the sun, the warmth, the peace.

But then, Dagur shifted beside her, making a noise that snapped her back to reality.

“So,” he began, his voice muffled by the ground as he spoke into the towel beneath him, “you’re just... lying here, in the sun, half-naked. What’s the deal?”

She shifted a little on the towel, trying to shake off the weight of his presence beside her, but there was something about his voice, his proximity, that kept pulling her in. Despite everything, she found herself responding to him, her words slower, more deliberate as she started to describe the comfort of the moment.

“It’s just… nice, you know? To be able to just stop for once. To feel the sun on my skin, not having to think about everything else,” she said, her voice almost a whisper as she let the words float out. “Most of the time, I’m running around, going from one thing to the next, and sometimes it's nice to just... sit.”

Dagur, who had been lazily listening, propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze turning from half-closed to fully focused. She noticed the subtle shift, his eyes now locked onto her as if he was hanging on every word. And then, just as she was about to keep going, she felt the weight of his attention so heavily that it made her hesitate, unsure whether she should continue.

But he didn’t let her retreat into silence. He leaned in closer, his face drawing near hers as his voice softened with that same playful lilt, though there was something a little deeper in his tone now, a sort of curiosity.

“Sounds peaceful. I think I get it. I mean, I’ve been to some crazy places, but it’s not often you get a moment like this. To just… breathe.” He smiled like he was in on some private joke, and for a second, she thought he might say something offhand to ruin the mood, but instead, he surprised her.

“When I was in Constantinople,” he continued, almost dreamily, “I found this green plant. Don’t know what it was, but I remember thinking, ‘this could be useful.’ So, I burned it—"

She glanced at him, already half-suspecting where he was going, but she let him finish.

“…It helped to calm down the rage inside me,” he said, dragging out the last part like it was a confession. “Not that I need any calming down, but it’s nice to have.”

Her brows lifted slightly at the mention of it, her curiosity piqued. "What exactly did it do? You make it sound like some sort of ancient remedy."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, something like that. I guess you could call it… an herb? Not sure, but it was… soothing. Like the kind of thing you inhale and suddenly everything just feels a little more… relaxed. Can’t say it works on all the crazy stuff in your head, but it’s a start, right?”

She was silent for a beat, considering his words. Then, without missing a beat, she sat up a little, brushing the grass off her legs and glancing toward the small wicker basket beside her that she’d almost forgotten was there.

“Well, funny you should mention that,” she said, her voice casual, as though they were talking about something as simple as the weather. She reached into the basket, pulling out a small, discreet pouch. “I actually have some. Been keeping it around for days like today.”

Dagur’s eyes widened slightly, and before she could blink, he was sitting up too, turning toward her with that ever-present grin.

“You have some?” he asked, his voice somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Now, that’s a coincidence.”

She shrugged, slipping her fingers inside the pouch and pulling out a few small, dried buds, each one faintly green and aromatic. “It's not a rare plant, really. We call it 'weed'. It's a depressant and it can help you to calm down.”

His grin had transformed into a more boyish, almost eager expression as he leaned in to take a closer look at what she held. “You sure it’s the same stuff? I don’t know much about plants, but this smells... familiar.”

She laughed lightly, amused at how quickly he got sucked into the idea. “It’s the same. I don't use it often but it's just a little something I keep around for days when I need to unwind. And it looks like today’s one of those days.”

Dagur was practically vibrating with excitement. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he said, leaning closer again, like a kid waiting for a treat. “Let’s see if it’s as good as the one in Constantinople.”

She didn’t waste any time. Her fingers moved with a kind of practiced ease as she ground the buds into a small, hand-rolled joint. She put it softly between her lips cupping the end and bringing her cute little neon-pink lighter to the end, the flame eating at the end and setting it alight.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him with a half-smirk. “Let’s see if your rage really can be calmed.”

Dagur’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he leaned forward, his fingers brushing against hers when he took the joint from her. For a brief second, the air around them felt charged, almost intimate, like the simplest of exchanges had just shifted something between them. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, this is it, before bringing the joint to his lips. He took a long, slow drag, watching her out of the corner of his eye, as though to gauge her reaction.

She leaned back, the last of the joint between her fingers. She blew out the final puff of smoke, then tossed the remains onto the grass and let it smoulder there, a small symbol of the calm they’d just found.

“Alright,” Dagur said, his grin returning in full force after the lapse in conversation. “Next time, we’re getting Tuff and Ruff in on this. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

She shot him a playful glare. “Don’t you dare. The last thing I need is those two ruining my zen.”

Dagur burst out laughing, the sound ringing out through the stillness. “No promises. But maybe we can do this again?”

His eyes turned to her and she was hit with how intensely green and emotional they were. She met his gaze, feeling a slight shift in the air between them, the usual annoying banter suddenly feeling quieter, more intimate. She almost felt the heat from his eyes, the way they lingered on hers, then her lips, and for a split second, everything else seemed to fade away.

"Maybe," she said, her voice softer than before, not quite a promise but something close. “But only if you promise not to drag everyone else into it.”

Dagur’s grin softened, a rare moment of sincerity slipping through his usual cocky demeanour. “Deal.”

And just like that, the moment felt like it held a promise of something more.