Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Back In the Saddle

The sound of charcoal scratching on parchment filled the room, slanted handwriting stretching out like a web across the page. Copious lines of notes filled the empty space beneath several drawn models of dragons, five in total, as Hiccup brought a sleeve up to wipe his forehead. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d been awake, only that bright rays of sun were now punching through the unopened shutters; this wouldn’t take much longer, and they’d be open soon. The young Viking continued to write at his desk, occasionally stretching out one leg to alleviate the stiffness, barely noticing the strange weight that now hung from it instead of his foot.

Hiccup had been counting every day of the last few weeks with bated breath. The thrill of his first moments waking up from a coma—and going out into a Berk entirely different from the one he lived in just months ago—had proven short lived. Re-learning to walk was more tedious than training a dragon by far, and kept him in the house until he could balance properly; he thought he’d respected Gobber already, but now it bordered on genuine awe. The prosthetic, while the sight of it still made him pause every morning, had been a heartwarming gesture. Thor knew Hiccup did not want a peg leg. 

Thankfully for him, the raw feeling of the fake appendage against his flesh had faded, and he could balance and walk well enough — and a good thing too. If Hiccup didn’t get out of this house for a full day, he’d ram his head through a wall.

And apparently he wasn’t the only one; a bang on the wall shook the entire house, sending the charcoal pencil spinning from his fingertips. Hiccup groaned, snorting as he carefully rose from his chair. With a stretch of his back—still bruised from the crash despite weeks of rest—the Viking crossed the floor gingerly, a thunk following with every other step… but free of pain, thank the gods.

The shutters flew open, letting the sunlight in — a little. The rest of the view was taken up by a large black head hanging upside down, ears dangling, as a gust of hot air brushed Hiccup’s hair.

“Well good morning, mister bossy,” he greeted, both hands reaching out to caress the Night Fury. 

Toothless let out a gentle croon, pressing a warm nose to Hiccup’s cheek, then nodded his head back in expectation.

Hiccup sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll see what my dad says, ok bud?”

The Night Fury let out a draconic groan, leaning forward. Hiccup ducked as paws batted at him through the windows, leaving a few scratches against the wood. “Hey, I think I’ve had enough recovery too—mind the shutters!”

A low hum in disappointment — then a shriek as the black shape vanished, Toothless evidently losing his grip. Thankfully there was grass under the window, and waves of warm light now filled Hiccup’s room.

“That’s what you get!” he called out, rising to his feet. “I’ll be down in a minute!”

Ignoring the impatient huff from outside, Hiccup carefully closed his notebook, threw on his vest, and made for the stairs. Those still hurt somewhat, at least on the one foot, but when stepping slowly he found he didn’t notice it much. The rest of the house was warm, embers still burning in the hearth, yet empty. His father was gone… instead, resting on his oak chair was a piece of folded parchment.

A few steps, and Hiccup’s thin fingers unfolded the message. Stoick’s handwriting was like a thundercloud, more charcoal smudges than words on the page, but thankfully there wasn’t much to translate;

Go get some fresh air — you’ve been cooped up in here long enough.

S

Crumpling up the parchment, Hiccup let out a sigh of relief, but his chest felt warm. Weeks of little movement, while frustrating, had given him plenty of time alone with his father — truth be told, it was more time the chief of Berk had spent in his house, with his son, in years. They had needed it.

The young Viking still wasn’t used to his father being so… open. Supportive — no, that wasn’t true. Hiccup had discounted all the times Stoick had tried to be encouraging, on the count that it was usually for things he was abjectly bad at or disinterested in — killing dragons, most of all. He wouldn’t pretend that his father’s words in the Great Hall that day still didn’t interrupt his sleep; but he also remembered what Stoick had said at the Dragon’s nest. It was no small thing to admit in front of your entire tribe that you were a fool.

Few men took back their harshest words — but his father, the proudest Viking he’d ever met, had. For Hiccup, that was enough.

Of course, it hadn’t all been peaceful; his father’s insistence that he take his rehab slowly had quickly gotten old, but now—with confirmation of his approval in hand—Hiccup wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Tossing the parchment into the dying embers, he crossed the house with uneven strides. A hand pushed open the door, and the Viking found his face flushed with a morning breeze.

He quickly found his dragon, still rolling around in the grass. Toothless’s ears perked up the instant he heard his best friend’s uneven steps, and the Night Fury righted himself, bounding forward with a chirp.

“Well, bud, we got our wish!” Hiccup exclaimed, the dragon practically jumping with excitement in front of him. “Free at last.”

Toothless licked the side of his face, eliciting a disgusted groan, before running to the empty stable on the back side of the house. Hiccup didn’t manage to make it a few steps before the Night Fury walked backwards, dragging something along the ground — the saddle apparatus, and Gobber’s replacement tailfin.

Toothless nudged the pile forward with his snout, emitting a soft coo as green eyes looked at Hiccup in expectation.

He didn’t need to be told twice; the saddle flew onto Toothless’s back, and Hiccup was so focused on tightening the various straps and gears that the sound of a dragon touching down nearby didn’t faze him — it would’ve in the past, but those days were over.

A bright voice snapped him out of his concentration. “Look who’s finally escaped his house!”

Hiccup stood up in an instant, twisting to see Astrid sliding off of her Deadly Nadder, fur boots crunching in the grass. He immediately felt his ears start burning; since when did she come to visit me?

“Oh, hey Astrid, hi, Astrid—woah!” Hiccup stammered, a scaled nose choosing that moment to press into his back. He lurched forward… straight into Astrid’s arms, who held him steady while he found his footing. 

“Do you want me to fall again? Sheesh,” he muttered, hoping Astrid didn’t notice how scarlet his face was sure to be. Her fingers lingered just a moment on his arms, soft and warm, before she turned towards Toothless.

Astrid gave him an affectionate scratch. “Oh, you poor thing — you’ve been waiting to fly for so long, and Hiccup’s already being mean.” The Night Fury practically melted into her hand, tongue lolling out.

His mouth fell open. “Excuse me,” he shot at his dragon, “I had to re-learn how to walk, and you’re betraying me already? I just got outside!” 

Toothless chortled, and Astrid stood back up, pushing a loose strand of blond hair from her eyes. She smiled at him; it was bright and genuine—something he wasn’t used to seeing, or receiving for that matter—and his face grew hotter.

“I’ve been visiting him since he can’t get around much,” she admitted, before striding back to the Nadder’s side. “But since you’re finally up… you two wanna go on a flight with me and Stormfly?”

Hiccup found himself nodding before she had even finished. “Of course — Stormfly, huh? Seems fitting.”

“Isn’t it?” Astrid leaned into a nuzzle from the blue dragon’s beak, stroking her tail. “She deserved a fierce name for a fierce dragon. Isn’t that right, girl?”

The Nadder squawked, her beady eyes quickly flickering over Hiccup and Toothless once before lowering for Astrid to climb on. Gosh, she’s beautiful—

Hiccup snapped himself out of his daydream, turning back toward the impatient Night Fury still waving a tail at his feet. Checking the last few pieces with care, he climbed into the saddle, the prosthetic clicking into place. He really had to thank Gobber properly.

Barely a moment to grab the saddle, and Toothless tore into the air like a flying arrow. The wind rushed through Hiccup’s hair as a yell escaped him, the world spinning along with his dragon; a flick of his foot, and the Night Fury righted himself. 

They were finally back where they belong.

Berk’s houses spread out underneath them — Vikings hard at work, the still unfamiliar presence of dragons around bringing a grin to Hiccup’s face. He had been too shocked to believe it at first; but up here, seeing the village now, it hit him. They really had done the impossible, changed three hundred years of war in a matter of weeks.

A gust of wind rushed by them as Stormfly tore past, Astrid whooping with glee. She turned around, sun catching her hair sharply as she shot Hiccup a taunting grin. “Are you just gonna hover there, or are we gonna race?”

He laughed. “Just cause I’m off of bedrest doesn’t mean we’ve gotten any slower.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

Stormfly’s wings beat hard, Astrid’s braid lashing behind her like a banner. “Race you to the cove!” she shouted, already banking away before Hiccup could answer.

Hiccup laughed. “You ready, bud?”

Toothless chirped, the corners of his mouth curling in that unmistakable toothless smile. With a pulse of his wings, they shot forward after her.

The village quickly vanished from under them, the cliffs spread wide — Astrid had a head start, but the Night Fury streaked forward like a bolt of lightning. They quickly pulled up alongside as the rock beneath gave way to fields of blurring forest. They were just pulling ahead…

… and the Night Fury jerked hard, slamming to a halt, body trembling in midair. His warble turned sharp, panicked.

The girls, in their haste, blew right past them — Astrid’s taunt was lost in the wind; she probably hadn’t even turned her head.

The Night Fury was reeling backwards, wings beating them away from the break in the trees where the cove lay. “Whoa, whoa, bud!” Hiccup clutched the saddle, trying to soothe his friend. “Whats wrong? It’s just the cove—our cove.”

But Toothless continued to back up mid-air. His ears flattened, tail stiff, his eyes darting toward the trees below as though something inside them was watching. He let out a whine, looking back at Hiccup… in fear.

His brow creased in concern. “What’s gotten into you?” Another whine — and the race was forgotten. “You’re ok, we’re ok… let’s just go back and wait for the girls.”

The Night Fury hummed in agreement, the prosthetic shifting into place as dragon and rider twisted back toward the village. 

Hiccup turned his head to look back as they flew. The forest looked normal enough — rustling trees, a bird or two. Harmless. Peaceful.

 The young Viking turned back forward, letting a free hand rub his best friend’s neck. He could feel a slight tremble under his skin, and his stomach knotted with worry. What on earth has Toothless so spooked?

The cove rushed to meet her, still as serene as it had been when she’d first tracked Hiccup there. Astrid and Stormfly touched down in the clearing with a triumphant whoop. “Beat you again!” she called, looking up for the sound of Hiccup’s reply, or a Night Fury’s warble. 

No response.

She glanced around. “Hiccup?”

The boys were nowhere to be seen; the sky was empty. No Night Fury, no scrawny Viking. They were right behind us, she thought.

Frowning, Astrid swung her leg up, dismounting Stormfly with freshly practiced grace. The cove seemed just as peaceful as she remembered, from its pond down to the small trees — she’d hoped, after all that had gone down on Dragon Island, this could become a normal place for her. Maybe Hiccup would like that—

But the more she stood there looking, the more… wrong, it began to feel. Quieter than she remembered, like the air itself was holding its breath.

Looking around, she frowned. The spot where Hiccup’s shield had once jammed against the rocks was empty. Come to think of it, the entire cove was almost completely barren. No scattered scales, no claw marks gouged in the stone. Even the pile of ashes that she had assumed was Toothless’s bed was gone — swept away without a trace. It was as if the Night Fury had never lived here at all.

This is weird. Hiccup hadn’t been out of the house, and Toothless had been grounded. No one else knew about this place.

Stormfly prowled forward on her two legs, head low, nostrils flaring. She sniffed a root grown from the earth, nothing special… and froze, pupils thinning in a fraction of a second. 

Then, without warning, she screeched — a volley of spines blasted into the tree line.

The forest exploded with the rush of wings.

Crows — dozens of them. A hundred black wings tore into the sky, shattering the tranquil silence with their shrieks. Just birds… but why had the Nadder thrown her spines?

Astrid stared, heart hammering. “What was that—?”

Stormfly didn’t wait. She lunged back, crouched, and shoved Astrid hard with her tail. The young shieldmaiden cried out, tripping, and fell into the neck of her dragon; her hands quickly tightened around the saddle. “Hey!”

A second later, the Nadder launched into the air, leaving the cove behind as fast as her wings could carry them.

Astrid clung on, breath sharp. “Stormfly! What's the matter with you?!”

Her dragon just responded with another shriek, and the pair tore away from the cove. Astrid’s protests carried into the trees — her Nadder didn’t care, no doubt flying them all the way back to the village.

The forest cove returned to nature’s silence — once a Night Fury den, now scrubbed bare.

Silence… except for the crows still circling overhead. Watching.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: A Different Kind of Night

Hiccup still wasn’t sure why they’d asked him to come. Even less sure why Astrid had apparently been the one to suggest it. A fire on the beach, the whole group of teens together — humans and dragons in one noisy, smoky circle. It wasn’t the kind of thing they’d ever invited him to before.

But when he got there, they’d made space for him, and no one looked like they regretted it. That alone was enough to set his head spinning. For once, he wasn’t the one trailing behind or trying to wedge himself in. He was… there. Welcome with them.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. But it felt good.

The crackle of the fire gave him something to look at, hands fiddling with a stray stick while everyone laid around. Toothless curled protectively behind him like a dark hill of scales, watching the others with his bright green eyes.

“So,” Hiccup said, a little too loudly, trying to sound casual, “how’s everyone getting along with their dragons?”

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for an answer — better yet, no one made any snide remarks.

Fishlegs shot his hand up like a student in class. “Oh! Oh, Meatlug’s amazing. She hauled stones for our house repairs today—like, actual piles of it. Though she did try to chew half the rocks.” He reached back and patted the Gronckle, who burped happily behind him.

Across the circle, Ruffnut smirked. “At least she didn’t eat your house.”

“I wonder if houses and rocks have different flavors to a Gronckle,” Tuffnut mused, removing a cooked fish from the end of a spear. “Like, would Meatlug think Snotlout’s house tastes bad, or—”

Snotlout leaned against Hookfang with forced nonchalance, hands behind his head. “Having a dragon’s cool. Totally under control. Hookfang just needs, y’know… a strong hand sometimes.”

Hookfang promptly stretched his wings and knocked Snotlout sideways into the sand.

The twins howled. “Yeah, real strong hand!” Tuffnut jeered. “Like when he decided you needed a bath and dumped you into the harbor yesterday.”

Even Astrid couldn’t hold back a laugh, Stormfly tilting her head with a proud squawk.

Hiccup found himself smiling, listening, almost relaxed. For the first time, it didn’t feel like he was an outsider watching their lives happen without him.

Astrid leaned back against Stormfly’s flank, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “Stormfly and I have been getting along great! It’s nice having someone around who can actually keep up during training.”

“Training,” Ruffnut repeated, dragging the word out. “Was that what you were doing this morning? Because from where we were standing, it looked like you were dangling from Stormfly’s saddle while she tried to set a speed record.”

The twins both sniggered at her.

Astrid rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t prepared for the takeoff—”

“Sure,” Tuffnut cut in, “or the landing straight into someone’s chimney.”

Hiccup cleared his throat, a little sharper than he meant to. “Actually, we were racing. And Stormfly was doing great, until… well, until she got scared of something.” He glanced at Astrid, then back at the others. “It wasn’t her fault. Toothless did the same thing first.”

That caught their attention.

“Wait,” Fishlegs said, frowning. “Toothless got scared? The Night Fury? Since when?”

“Yeah,” Hiccup admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “We were headed toward a cove in the woods, and he just—he panicked. Wouldn’t go in.” A rumble behind him, and an ear lightly slapped the side of his head. “Hey! I’m being honest.”

Snotlout snorted. “Seriously? You two just killed a dragon the size of a mountain and now he’s scared of some trees?”

“He’s not scared of trees,” Hiccup shot back, a little defensive. “He’s just… I don’t know. Nervous about something.”

That earned a thoughtful hum from Fishlegs, but the twins were already whispering to each other.

“Obviously the woods are haunted, is what I’m hearing,” Ruffnut declared.

“Yeah, totally haunted,” Tuffnut agreed, eyes wide in mock seriousness. “By, like… actual ghosts. Or maybe the spirits of all the women Snotlout will scare away.”

“Hey!” Snotlout barked.

But the twins were already grinning. “We should go find out. Tomorrow. Haunted forest hunt!”

“I’ll pass,” Hiccup muttered. “I’ve got to get back in the forge. It’s been… too long.”

The twins shrugged, undeterred. “Fine. More adventure for us.”

Fishlegs was still frowning into the fire, absentmindedly rubbing Meatlug’s jaw. “You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve been wondering. Dragons must be a lot better than us at sensing danger, right? Smelling, hearing, whatever other senses they have. Maybe Toothless and Stormfly were just picking up on something we couldn’t.”

That actually made Hiccup pause. “Huh. Yeah. You’re right. They definitely notice other dragons before we do. If not smell, then some kind of sixth sense? But Toothless was in those woods for a while before now.”

Fishlegs’ face lit up. “Exactly! Dragons are definitely more socially attuned than we’ve ever realized. But for Toothless’s case, maybe he did sense something but couldn’t leave until you made a tail—”

“Great,” Snotlout muttered, throwing a stick into the fire. “The two resident dragon nerds. And I thought I couldn’t get more bored."

While Hiccup and Fishlegs continued to theorize between themselves, Ruffnut sat forward with a wicked grin. “Speaking of dragons, we still haven’t tested how much gas Barf can actually make.”

At once, the Zippleback perked up, both heads swinging eagerly toward her.

“Oh no,” Astrid groaned.

“Oh yes,” Tuffnut corrected, already bouncing to his feet. “C’mon, my gaseous compadres, let’s see the biggest cloud you’ve got. Over there.” He pointed well down the beach, away from their circle.

“Terrible idea,” Astrid quipped.

“Best idea!” Ruffnut cheered.

Soon, Barf and Belch were trotting a safe distance away, heads swinging in eager unison. The twins egged them on, chanting “Bigger! Bigger!” while Astrid muttered something about them blowing up the entire village.

One Zippleback head inhaled deeply, swelling like a bellows, and belched out a massive green haze that shimmered under the moonlight.

“More gas, my pyrotechnic friend!” Tuffnut commanded. The cloud of gas soon swelled to a towering height, the size of a small building–

And then, with zero warning, a searing bolt of plasma cut across the sand and ignited the whole thing with a WHOOOMPH!

The fireball rolled into the sky, lighting up the cove as if dawn had come early.

Everyone leapt to their feet — the humans at least; the dragons continued to rest, unbothered. The twins howled with surprise, falling over each other to avoid the flames. Astrid’s head fell into her hands, and Fishlegs ducked behind Meatlug.

“Toothless!” Hiccup groaned, whirling on the Night Fury. “Seriously? What were you—? That was dangerous! You can’t just—”

But Toothless just sat smugly, tail curled, eyes gleaming like he’d pulled the best prank in the world.

Hiccup rubbed his face with both hands, trying to hold the lecture. And, seeing how the twins were still cheering from the ground, failing. A laugh broke out of him anyway. “Okay, yeah—that was… actually pretty good.”

The others were still half-protesting, half-smiling, while the twins loudly declared Toothless an honorary Thorsten.

The laughter and arguing eventually burned themselves out as the night stretched on, the fire snapping low as the teens started gathering their dragons. Hookfang was already snoring on the sand, Meatlug plopped herself into the shallows with a sigh, and even the Zippleback looked satisfied with its mischief.

Astrid stretched, brushing sand from her boots. “C’mon, it’s late. Some of us have got early training tomorrow.”

One by one, the group broke apart, chatter and laughter echoing as they vanished into the night. Before long, it was just Hiccup and Astrid chatting together, their dragons padding quietly to their sides.

They took to the air quickly, Stormfly and Toothless gliding low over the trees. Astrid pulled her braid tighter against the wind, her voice carrying across the night air as she kept talking. “My parents still don’t know what to think. I mean, they like that the raids are over obviously. But a dragon in the yard? My mom nearly fainted when Stormfly peeked through the window yesterday.”

Hiccup chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, I can imagine waking up to that wasn’t fun.”

She glanced over at him, smirking. “Maybe I’ll get my dad a Nightmare. That’ll cure him of being nervous.”

“Or give him a heart attack,” Hiccup countered. His smile softened, his gaze dropping to Toothless’s ears flicking below him. “You know… it’s not just your parents. There are still a lot of dragons out there with no place to go, and a lot of Vikings who don’t know how they feel about that. We’ll have to figure something out. Maybe some kind of… dragon training academy.”

Astrid tilted her head. “An academy?”

“Yeah. Teach people how to ride, work with them, maybe even… I don’t know, live with them. Make it official. A way to actually be together.”

Her thoughtful silence stretched between them until the cliffs of Berk came into view. Then, as Stormfly and Toothless drifted lower, Astrid leaned over in her saddle. “Hey.”

Hiccup blinked. “Hm?”

“I’m glad you survived.” Her voice was quiet now, words meant just for him. “And… I want things to be different. From before. I wasn’t fair to you.”

The words surprised him more than any fireball. His throat felt tight, but he managed a smile. “Astrid, you’re by no means the only person in the tribe who thought I was hopeless. I don’t blame you.”

“I do.” Her eyes were fierce in the moonlight. “You didn’t deserve it.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Well… I forgive you anyway.”

Something unreadable flickered across her face before she suddenly urged Stormfly closer. Without warning, she leapt from her saddle, landing on Toothless behind Hiccup. His dragon jolted in surprise.

“Wha—Astrid?” he started, whipping his head around.

But she only grinned, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Before he could stammer a word, she vaulted over the other side. Stormfly swooped in at the perfect moment, catching her in a smooth dive.

“Goodnight!” Astrid called back, shooting him one last smile before wheeling away toward her house.

Hiccup sat frozen in the saddle, ears blazing, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Toothless gave a long, knowing grumble.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hiccup muttered, running a hand over his face as his lips curved helplessly into a grin. “We’re going to bed.”

Toothless rumbled again, flicked his tail, and carried them home through the silver-lit night.

They landed without a sound, dragon claws settling into the dirt just beyond the front steps. The house loomed in the moonlight, warm fireglow spilling faintly from the shutters.

Hiccup slid down, patting Toothless’s side. “Alright, bud… quiet as we can. Dad still isn’t exactly thrilled about you sleeping inside.”

Toothless blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes and a soft croon. Hiccup sighed, shaking his head. “He won’t be that upset. Just… try not to knock anything over this time.”

He eased the door open, wincing at the faint creak. The hearth was still burning low, filling the room with a soft amber glow. Stoick was slumped in his great chair, arms crossed, head bent forward. His snores rolled through the house like distant thunder, but there was something peaceful in the sight that made Hiccup pause on the threshold.

It was strange. For once, his father didn’t look like the great unshakable chief, or the man who had shouted in the Great Hall. He just looked… tired. Human.

Hiccup found himself smiling, but he quickly slipped inside before Toothless grew impatient. The Night Fury ducked his head, carefully squeezing through the doorway. Somehow—gods knew how—the dragon managed to climb the staircase with only the faintest creak of wood, wings tucked in, tail held high like a cat.

Hiccup trailed behind, shaking his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. For a dragon who explodes half the house when he sneezes, you’re still the stealthiest creature I know.”

By the time he reached his room, Toothless was already curling up in the corner, purring softly as though he’d claimed the space long ago.

Hiccup leaned against his bedpost, unstrapping the prosthetic from his leg with careful fingers. The weight slid free, and he set it down beside the desk with a sigh. His muscles still ached, but at least it wasn’t pain anymore — just fatigue.

“Night, bud,” he whispered, pulling the blanket up around him.

Toothless hummed low in his throat, eyes half-lidded, watching as Hiccup’s breathing slowed into sleep. The boy’s hair stuck up in every direction, face slack with exhaustion, but the Night Fury’s emerald gaze lingered, protective.

Hiccup’s breathing steadied into sleep, but Toothless kept his eyes open. The boy’s chest rose and fell softly in the moonlight, his face finally at ease. The Night Fury tilted his head, watching silently. 

He still hadn’t forgiven the other humans for pushing his friend to the side all those years — least of all the big one who slept in the chair downstairs. But Astrid… She was kind enough now. She saw Hiccup for what he was, not just what he wasn’t.

And Hiccup himself — he had never looked so alive as he did today, running, laughing, flying. Even when they first met, Toothless could see how much he longed for the sky. Now, at last, he looked like he belonged here. He belonged with him.

Toothless shifted his wings, curling closer to the bed. If only his human could understand him — really understand him, know how much he meant. Know that Toothless would follow him into fire, into storm, into death itself. He was sure Hiccup knew, felt the same way… but it would still be nice to talk.

To be honest, humans weren’t so bad without the queen’s command driving dragons to attack. Loud, yes. Smelly, certainly. But gentle in their own way. Not like the creatures in the forest. No — those had never been gentle, not even to dragons; he couldn’t imagine what they would do to a human. 

Toothless’s ears flicked back, a low growl rumbling in his throat at the thought of what lingered beyond the forest edge. He wished that cove wasn’t in its territory, but he didn’t have to go back now anyway. He could stay here with Hiccup.

Outside, a crow cawed sharply. Another answered. 

Spies. Always spies. Toothless’s pupils narrowed to slits — his tail twitched.

The Night Fury silently wound himself around the bedframe, framing Hiccup’s sleeping form with his dark body.

Toothless could protect his human if it came to it — he would protect his human. Everything would be fine. 

He just hoped no one disturbed the ancient one until it went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Something In The Trees

Fishlegs tugged nervously at the edge of his tunic, the familiar weight of the hammer at his belt not nearly as comforting as he’d hoped. He stood just outside the looming gates of the old Training Arena, Meatlug at his side like a squat boulder with wings. The twins were already gathered, both heads of the Zippleback weaving restlessly behind them, claws scraping against the ground.

“Where’s the rest of them?” Ruffnut asked, bouncing her spear against her shoulder. “Still bummed Hiccup can’t show.”

“How should I know?” Fishlegs answered, feeling a little too much like the class messenger. “At least Hiccup gave a reason for not coming. He’s got forge work to do.”

“Uh huh,” Tuffnut snorted. “More like making some strange device to snatch the ghost and take the glory for himself.”

“So where's Astrid?” Ruffnut pressed.

That was when Snotlout swaggered in, Hookfang’s nose smoking behind him. “She’s not coming either,” he announced, as if he’d just returned from a grand adventure. He gave his best smirk. “Had a talk with her this morning; she’s helping her parents with stuff and can’t make it.”

The twins both shot him a strange look. “A talk?” Ruffnut snorted. “Like, with words? And you didn’t end up with a Nadder spine in your face?”

Tuffnut scratched his chin. “Guess blessings do get extended to the needy.”

Snotlout bristled, but kept his grin. “Laugh all you want. She’ll come around. No shieldmaiden resists the Jorgenson charm forever.”

Fishlegs groaned softly, rubbing Meatlug’s snout as if to steady himself. He was already regretting this. Not the flying, or even the woods — but the fact that he was the only one who actually believed there might be something to Toothless and Stormfly’s behavior yesterday. The others were just here for the love of the chaos.

“Alright, warriors of Berk!” Ruffnut declared dramatically, swinging herself onto Barf’s neck while Tuffnut scrambled onto Belch. “To the haunted forest!”

The group took to the air in a flurry of wings and laughter. Meatlug was slow to rise, her grunts matching the anxious thudding in Fishlegs’ chest. The flight wasn’t long; the green line of the woods soon stretched below them, dark and heavy against the horizon.

But as they descended, something strange happened.

The dragons slowed.

Barf and Belch flapped uncertainly, necks craning toward the trees. Hookfang snorted smoke, then banked hard, refusing to go forward. Even Meatlug—stubborn, steady Meatlug—beat her wings with unusual unease, huffing nervously below Fishlegs.

The entire group wavered at the treeline, circling but never entering. The shadows beneath the branches looked thicker somehow, swallowing the morning sunlight.

Ruffnut frowned. “What’s their deal? Don’t tell me they’re actually afraid of the woods. What's a ghost gonna do to a dragon?”

“They’re still dragons, though,” Fishlegs whispered, heart pounding. “They would know something’s wrong.”

Snotlout rolled his eyes, patting Hookfang’s leathery neck. “Or they’re just scared of squirrels. Either way, we’re Vikings, right? Dragons or no dragons—we can handle some trees.” His chest puffed out with bravado.

Fishlegs shifted nervously as the dragons touched down at the edge of the treeline. Their claws scraped at the earth, but none of them budged closer. Even Barf and Belch, usually eager to poke their heads into anything, had their wings clamped down tight.

“This is it,” Tuffnut announced dramatically, sliding off his saddle. “The entrance to certain doom.”

“Or at least creepy doom,” Ruffnut corrected, already poking her dragon’s snout. “Come on, you big babies, they’re just trees.”

But the dragons stood their ground, tails flicking, eyes bright with something Fishlegs had learned to recognize — unease. He stroked Meatlug’s side, whispering gently. “It’s okay, girl. I know. You don’t want to go in.” Her low rumble of agreement made his stomach twist.

“They don’t like it.” He glanced back at the others, clutching his hammer a little tighter. “And if they don’t like it, maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Oh, come on,” Snotlout cut him off, already drawing his weapon with a cocky grin. “Didn’t you hear my inspiring words? Dragons are afraid of a lot of things. Doesn’t mean we have to be.”

The twins exchanged a look, then shrugged. “Guess that means ghost hunt is a go.”

Fishlegs paled. “Guys, we’re not seriously gonna find any ghosts, are we—”

Ruffnut waved him off. “Relax, Fishy. You’ll be fine — you and Snotlout go that way. We’ll go this way. First one to find the haunted cove wins!”

Before he could protest, they were already crashing off through the brush, giggling like maniacs.

Fishlegs turned to Snotlout helplessly. “Maybe we should—”

But Snotlout was already striding forward. “Whatever. Let ‘em have their little contest. We’ll find something real to hunt.”

Fishlegs swallowed and hurried to follow. The forest closed in fast once the others were out of earshot. It looked normal enough—pines stretching high overhead, the ground soft with fallen needles—but every step felt like it echoed too loudly. The sunlight punched through the canopy in many places, giving the woods a beautiful air, but with a distinct lack of animals.

He tried to focus on the details, the way he always did. Bark stripped by elk, mushrooms clustered in damp soil, the faint smell of moss. Anything to distract from the way his heartbeat seemed to be rattling in his ears. Ghosts weren’t actually real — but nature was a wild if interesting place.

“Ugh.” Snotlout suddenly groaned, swinging his axe over his shoulder. “This is stupid. If I wanted to waste my time looking for invisible monsters, I’d sit through one of Gobber’s tales about trolls. I’m going to find something I can actually eat tonight. You… do whatever.”

“W-wait, you’re leaving?” Fishlegs stammered.

“Relax. You’ve got a hammer, you’ll be fine.” With that, Snotlout vanished into the trees, his heavy footsteps growing fainter and fainter.

Fishlegs stood alone, clutching his hammer. He licked his lips, trying to steady his breathing. “It’s just a forest,” he whispered to himself. “Perfectly ordinary. Full of interesting fauna.”

He bent to examine a set of tracks in the dirt—rabbit, almost certainly, but still worth noting. His notebook would be glad for the entry. That thought calmed him.

He looked up just in time to see a crow perched on a branch, black eyes sharp and unblinking.

“Oh. H-hello there,” Fishlegs said weakly. “You alone here? Or—or part of a nearby nest?”

The black bird cocked its head, as if listening, and then with a sudden flap of wings, it flew deeper into the woods.

The sound of its departure faded fast from Fishlegs’ ears. And then there was nothing.

The forest was very, very quiet.

The forge was alive again, clanging and crackling with every strike of hammer on metal. Hiccup stood at the workbench, carefully guiding a pommel into place, sweat pouring down his neck. The heat prickled at his face, sweat beading at his temples, but he couldn’t help smiling. After weeks trapped indoors, it felt good to be here again. 

Gobber glanced over, grinning as he tightened a clamp with his good hand. “Well, look at ye. Back in the forge, makin’ proper work of it. I almost don’t recognize ye, lad, standin up so straight.”

Hiccup smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll probably drop something on my foot soon. Balance and I are still negotiating.”

Gobber barked a laugh. “Ha! There’s the Hiccup I know. How's the overgrown lizard?”

Toothless uttered a sleepy chirp in the corner, curled up tight like a cat, tail twitching against the stone.

Hiccup glanced over at him, the smile slipping a little but still warm. “Sleeping. He’s kinda been in a mood lately. Yesterday, Astrid tried to race us into the woods. Toothless wouldn’t go in. He panicked, like… really panicked.”

Gobber leaned on the anvil, stroking his beard. “Wouldn’t go in the woods, eh? Hmph. Maybe he knows what’s what.”

“What’s what now?” Hiccup asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He senses the woodland spirits,” Gobber said simply, as if it explained everything. He waved the pair of tongs he was holding like a priest with a relic. “Summer’s past, winter’s comin’. It’s the season o’ Vetrnætr. If ye don’t make yer offerings, the spirits’ll take offense. And if a Night Fury doesn’t fancy goin’ near their ground, I’d wager he’s got good reason.”

Hiccup frowned. “Spirits. Right, of course. Because the giant mountain-sized dragon wasn’t terrifying enough.”

“Laugh all ye like,” Gobber grunted, “but the old ways kept folk alive long before we were ridin’ dragons. Spirits don’t forgive easily, lad. Mark my words.”

From the counter came a snort. A villager leaned on the edge, waiting with a broken axehead.

“Gobber, stop stuffing the village hero’s head with nonsense. Spirits in the woods, pah! Next you’ll have us carving the hammer of Thor on all our doors.”

Gobber shot them a look, muttering something about the effectiveness of runes in scaring off trolls. Hiccup, caught between a smirk and a frown, turned back to the sword he was making. Winter was coming, but he doubted Toothless was afraid of woodland spirits. Those didn’t exist.

Fishlegs adjusted the strap of his satchel and pushed through a patch of undergrowth, the forest canopy closing in overhead. Without the others around, every creak of a branch sounded sharper, every rustle in the brush seemed louder. He told himself it was fine. This was a perfect chance to study what kind of plants and animals thrived in places dragons avoided. That was useful information — well, to him, all information was useful.

He knelt at a patch of mossy ground, scribbling a quick sketch in his notes. “Strange… same climate as home, but this undergrowth is thinner. Maybe more grazing pressure without dragons in here?” His voice cracked in the silence, and he almost wished Snotlout were still nearby — almost.

Another crow landed on a branch above, head cocked, staring down at him with one beady eye.

“Uh… hi?” Fishlegs muttered. He jotted a quick line in his notes: multiple crows present. The crow did the same as the first; it blinked once, then let out a harsh caw before flapping deeper into the trees. Fishlegs sighed and followed.

The deeper he went, the stranger it felt. The air smelled damp, heavy with pine and sap. Shapes loomed between the trunks — fallen branches, twisted roots, rocks covered in lichen. He wrote observations, his handwriting crooked, but clear and meticulous.

That was when he saw it.

At first, he thought it was another tree, just oddly shaped. But the longer he looked, the more wrong it seemed. As he stepped closer, the outline sharpened: a structure of lashed wood, crooked branches rising in a triangle pattern, crowned with a bleached deer skull. Empty sockets stared through him.

Fishlegs froze, pulse racing. Then his scholar’s instinct overrode his fear. He crouched, pulling out his map and marking the spot. “Totemic marker, unknown origin,” he whispered. “Bone use… decorative stag head. Binding twine looks… looks human. Purpose unclear.”

He swallowed, edging closer. Runes—if they were runes—had been carved into the wood, but not in any alphabet he knew. Some looked like scratches, others like spirals, symbols that seemed to shift if he stared too long.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Charcoal back in hand, he began copying them into his notes. His hand shook so badly that the symbols came out warped.

Something cracked in the brush behind him.

Fishlegs whipped around, heart pounding, one hand reaching for his hammer. Nothing there. Just shadows, and the faint scrape of wind through branches. 

He turned back to the totem, and for a breath he swore he saw a darker shape standing among the trees, tall, still, watching.

But there was nothing but trees.

Then the crows exploded.

They poured from the canopy in a flurry of wings, cawing and shrieking so loud it felt like the air itself was breaking. Fishlegs yelped, stumbling back as they buffeted him, claws and wings scratching his face. His notes tore loose, scattering.

He dropped his hammer, managing to catch them before he bolted.

Branches whipped at his arms, his lungs burned, and the world blurred around him; but Fishlegs heard it, pounding behind him. Paws. Heavy, hungry. 

He risked a glance — multiple eyes glinting low to the ground. Wolves. A whole pack.

He tried to scream, but it stuck in his throat.

Then came more shouting — this time human.

“Hyah! Go on, fleabags!” Ruffnut’s voice cut through the chaos as she sprinted. A shifting of wood through the brush, and Tuffnut came charging after her, spear swinging wildly. “You picked the wrong Vikings to mess with!”

The wolves scattered, whimpering back into the trees. Fishlegs staggered to a halt, panting so hard his chest hurt.

Ruffnut clapped him on the back, evidently surprised to see him. “Oh, hey Fish! You look like you saw a ghost!”

Fishlegs glanced over his shoulder, back into the trees. The totem loomed there in his mind, the shape that might’ve been watching him — but there was nothing. His skin crawled.

“… Just wolves,” he managed. He forced a smile, though his hands still shook around the scraps of his notes.

The twins laughed and marched on, fearless as ever. Fishlegs followed, clutching his pages, and kept his eyes firmly on the ground.

He didn’t dare look back.