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.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Just a Totem

The morning sun was sharp and clean, glinting off the sea as Astrid worked a stiff-bristled brush along Stormfly’s tail. The Nadder stretched her wings with a pleased trill, back arching like a cat as Astrid dug the brush down the line of raised spines. Little flecks of dirt and dried sap shook loose, catching the light as they fell to the ground.

Astrid smiled despite herself. Training was one thing, but this had become… strangely grounding, like taking care of one’s weapon — except this particular weapon stared back at her crooning with satisfaction. Stormfly deserved the care, and Astrid liked the way her dragon leaned into her touch, trusting and content.

“There we go,” she murmured, tugging a loose pine needle free from between two scales. “No splinters in your hide today.”

She was so focused she didn’t notice Fishlegs until he was halfway down the path, a satchel bouncing against his hip. He had his nose half-buried in a notebook, muttering to himself, when Stormfly gave a loud, chuffing snort.

Fishlegs nearly jumped out of his boots. “Oh! Uh—hi, Astrid.”

Astrid smirked. “Hey. You look like you’re doing some serious research, as always.”

Fishlegs offered a nervous laugh, clutching his satchel tighter. “Uh, yeah. Just… thinking.” He adjusted his grip, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

Astrid straightened, resting the brush across her shoulder. “So, how’d your big ghost hunt go yesterday?”

For a moment he froze, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he gave a weak shrug. “Oh, you know. We… explored. Took notes. Nothing unusual.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’re a terrible liar, Fishlegs.”

Stormfly tilted her head, curious, as if agreeing.

Fishlegs sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine. I found something. A structure. Like a… totem.”

That caught her attention. Astrid lowered the brush. “A totem? What kind?”

“Wood lashed together in a triangle pattern. With a deer skull mounted on top,” he said quickly, voice dropping as if even speaking of it was risky. “There were markings too, carved into the wood. Not runes I recognize. Not Viking, I don’t think.”

Astrid blinked. For a second, she pictured it — skull glaring from a crooked tower of wood — and felt the tiniest flicker of unease. But she crossed her arms, the feeling quickly fading. “Don’t tell me—you think that's what spooked Stormfly and Toothless, do you?”

Fishlegs nodded furiously. “Why not, it gives me the creeps! The rest of them wouldn’t go near the forest either. Stopped dead at the treeline — Meatlug, all of them. Whatever it is… they can feel it, I’m positive.”

Astrid’s mouth twisted. “Or maybe it’s nothing. Could’ve been some old hunting marker. Or just wild dragons claiming territory. Our dragons smell it, don’t like it, end of story.”

Fishlegs frowned. “But… the carvings—”

“Don’t prove anything,” Astrid cut him off. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Until we know for sure, I’m not buying the whole ‘mystical spooky spirit’ angle.”

Fishlegs’s satchel strap creaked under the death grip of his fingers. “I’m just saying—it’s not normal.”

Astrid exhaled sharply through her nose. “Fine. Then I’ll make it normal. If it bothers you that much, I’ll go see it myself.”

His eyes went wide. “Wh-what? No, no, Astrid, that’s a terrible idea. If it’s dangerous—”

She stepped closer, planting the brush against his chest like a spear tip. “Or maybe it’s just a pile of sticks with a skull on top. You really think I can’t handle a wooden statue?”

Fishlegs sputtered, his face pink. “I-I just think—”

“Fishlegs,” Astrid pressed, voice firm, steady, the way she did when Stormfly got too excitable in the air. “If you’re this nervous about it, let me prove it’s nothing. Hand me the map.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t have one—”

“You trust me, don’t you?” Her blue eyes locked on his, unwavering. “If there’s something to be afraid of, I’ll deal with it. If not, you’ll finally be able to breathe again anyway. So. The map… I know you had one, you’re you.”

Fishlegs looked like he wanted to sink into the earth. After a long pause, he fumbled the roll of parchment out of his satchel and passed it over with shaking hands. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

Astrid smirked, tucking it into her skirt. “You never like anything that isn’t written in a book.”

He winced but didn’t argue, backing away with his satchel clutched close. “Just… be careful.”

“Always am,” she said lightly, waving him off before turning back to Stormfly.

The Nadder warbled, glancing after Fishlegs as he trudged down the path. Astrid resumed brushing, pushing down the little flicker of unease his words had left.

Stormfly’s spines were starting to gleam in the sunlight now, each one a jewel of polished blue and gold. Astrid’s mouth quirked into a smile. “They think you’re scared of some dead animal on a stick,” she muttered. “Bet it’s nothing.”

She leaned harder into the brushing, firm and quick. Dragons weren’t afraid of spirits or totems. They only bowed to things with wings and fire. If Toothless and Stormfly were nervous, it meant something else — a rival, maybe. A wild dragon staking territory.

The thought made her pulse quicken, but not with fear. If she found a dragon strong enough to make their own flinch, it would be a challenge worth taking.

Her smirk widened, brushing rhythm steady. And maybe… maybe if the cove wasn’t off-limits anymore, she and Hiccup could actually spend time there again. Just the two of them. C’mon, Astrid, get a hold of yourself—

Stormfly gave an uncharacteristically high trill, but Astrid only patted her neck. “Relax, girl. Tonight I’ll prove there’s nothing to be scared of.”

The hall was quieter than usual. Thankfully, Hiccup hadn’t been herded into sitting at the chieftain’s table or coaxed into endless small talk — the sensation of being the village hero was a strange one, indeed. Once he’d have given anything to be included; now that that want seemed assured, he found he actually liked the privacy more than he’d cared to admit.

He’d claimed a bench at the far end with a slab of bread, a sketching board, and a stub of charcoal. His peg leg rested against the bench, sketches of possible improvements filling the page. Something with a steadier balance, maybe a slightly broader foot — but the weight and shape had to stay the same, otherwise it wouldn’t lock into Toothless’s flight petal.

He was mid-line when the bench across from him groaned under sudden weight.

“Hi.”

Hiccup looked up into Fishlegs’s nervous smile. His friend’s eyes darted side to side as if checking for eavesdroppers.

“Hi?” Hiccup echoed, with a lilt of questioning.

“Okay, so, funny thing happened yesterday during the hunt—”

“—Fishlegs found a stick!” Ruffnut blurted, dropping onto the bench beside Fishlegs and nearly knocking his satchel off.

“Not a stick, a totem!” Fishlegs protested.

“—A spooky stick,” Tuffnut chimed, plopping down opposite Ruffnut, his grin wide. “Like, the kind of stick that watches you when you sleep.”

Hiccup set his charcoal down. “Uh… what?”

“Exactly,” Snotlout cut in, swaggering up and leaning against the table. “Apparently Astrid’s off to fight the big bad log or something, without Stormfly.”

Fishlegs groaned, clutching his head. “It’s not a log! It’s—it’s carved, decorated, like a marker or warning! And Astrid said she’s going to knock it down to prove it’s nothing.”

Hiccup’s brow furrowed. “When?”

“Now.”

Oh, for the love of Thor. Hiccup shoved his sketches aside, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t much for ghost stories, and he wasn’t buying into the idea of spirits haunting Berk’s woods. But Astrid wandering out alone, on foot, in the dark? No dragon, no backup? That he didn’t like at all.

“And you guys decided to let her go into the woods alone this late?” Hiccup questioned, his lips thin with disappointment.

Snotlout shrugged, tearing into an apple. “It’s Astrid. She’ll probably have it chopped into firewood by the time we get there.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup muttered, “or she’ll be stuck out there if something real shows up.” He stood quickly, brushing crumbs off his tunic. “Ok, I’m going to find her. If she doesn’t need help, fine. But if she does—”

“Wait, you’re going?” Snotlout raised a brow.

“Yes,” Hiccup shot back, already limping toward the door. Then he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “And what does it say about you four if the one-legged Viking is the only one who doesn’t leave her in the woods?”

That landed. Ruff and Tuff exchanged a look. Snotlout scowled but straightened. Fishlegs fiddled with his satchel strap, torn between dread and guilt.

“Fine,” Snotlout growled. “But if we get eaten by tree-spirits, I’m blaming you.”

“Great. Weapons. All of you. Fishlegs, you lead the way — I’m sure you remember the spot.”

“Uhhh, ok… wait, where are you going?!” Fishlegs stammered.

“To convince Toothless to join us!” Hiccup called back, opening the door.

The four of them muttered, shoved each other, and finally started toward the door. Hiccup, already outside, turned for his house. Toothless wouldn’t like it, but if Astrid was wandering into the woods, they needed to be there. She could take care of herself, but they really had no idea what was in those woods — every set of hands and paws could help.

And if she’d already started breaking things… all the more reason to hurry.

Toothless was exactly where Hiccup expected him — curled on the grass outside their house, polishing off what was left of the fish pile Hiccup had dropped earlier. The dragon’s jaws worked happily, tail thumping on the ground.

“Hey, bud,” Hiccup said, a little breathless as he jogged up. “We’ve got a situation.”

Toothless glanced up, bits of cod falling off his chin. His eyes narrowed at Hiccup’s tone, the happy chomping slowing.

“Fishlegs found something in the woods yesterday,” Hiccup explained quickly, crouching by his side. “A marker, a totem — whatever it is, Astrid went out there tonight to knock it down.”

That got a reaction. Toothless froze, then gave a sharp, uneasy growl, the ridges along his spine stiffening. His gaze flicked toward the tree line beyond the houses, then back at Hiccup, anxious.

“I know,” Hiccup admitted, holding his hands out, palms up. “You haven’t been liking the woods lately. I don’t know why, and I’m not going to force you in there if you don’t want to. But Astrid’s out there, alone, without Stormfly.”

Toothless growled again, lower this time, ears flattening.

“Look… I know you’re trying to protect me. I know you’re scared of something.” Hiccup’s voice softened. “But Astrid helped me save you when you needed it. If she gets hurt and we didn’t even try, I’ll never forgive myself.”

The Night Fury’s eyes softened, his whole body sagging just a little, like the air had gone out of him. He huffed, head tilting to the side with a reluctant whine.

“I don’t like it either,” Hiccup admitted. He stepped closer, resting a hand against Toothless’s jaw. “But I can’t leave her out there alone. C’mon, we’ll all be fine.”

For a long, tense moment, Toothless stayed crouched, unmoving. Then, slowly, he shifted his weight forward and lowered himself into that familiar crouch, tail fins twitching. An invitation.

Hiccup smiled faintly, both relieved and guilty all at once. “Thanks, bud.”

He swung into the saddle, fastening his prosthetic into the tail mechanism in one practiced motion. Toothless let out one last grumble under his breath, then padded toward the edge of the village with quick, deliberate steps.

The woods closed in quickly once she left the village lights behind. Astrid pressed on, torch held high in one hand, axe in the other. The flame sputtered whenever the night breeze wormed its way through the branches, throwing shadows that twisted and leapt around her like restless spirits.

She ignored them.

Fishlegs’s map had been neat, precise — shockingly so, considering how jumpy he’d been while telling her about it. Astrid had memorized the lines and land formations before tucking it away, and now she traced those mental directions step by step. For all his nerves, Fishlegs had some serious talent. She’d never realized it before.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet, maybe, but Astrid told herself that was a good sign. No wolves howling. No shrieks of wild dragons lurking. Just the faint crunch of her boots and the steady hiss of her torch.

She adjusted her grip on her axe. I’m a Viking. A little dark forest isn’t going to scare me.

The deeper she went, the more she understood why the others had gotten spooked. The air felt different here — damp and cold, with a smell like rot hidden under the moss. The trees grew so close together that even the moonlight barely trickled through, leaving her fire the only true glow. Every so often, she thought she saw movement at the edge of the torchlight, but when she swung the flame, there was nothing.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an hour. She tightened her jaw, refusing to let her nerves show—even here, alone.

Then she saw it, almost indistinguishable in the darkness.

The totem stood in a shallow clearing, half-concealed by brush and dangling moss. Taller than she was, it was exactly like Fishlegs had described — rough timber lashed together in a triangle, crowned by the bleached skull of a stag. Carved markings, twisted and uneven, spiraled down its length. Something about the shapes—jagged, looping, and uneven—made her skin prickle.

Astrid stopped at the edge of the clearing, flame raised high, breath clouding in the cool night air.

“Fishlegs wasn’t exaggerating,” she muttered. Her stomach turned despite herself.

Still, she stepped closer.

It wasn’t Viking work, that much was obvious. The carvings didn’t match any clan she knew, the bindings didn’t even have any knots in them. And the skull, bleached bone glaring in the firelight, seemed to watch her. She felt her grip on the axe tighten.

Astrid set her jaw. “Well. If this is what’s making everyone nervous…”

Astrid planted her torch in the earth and pressed its flame against the rough lashings. Smoke curled, wood hissed, and then the whole thing caught — burning with a hungry rush as fire licked its way upward. The skull toppled into the blaze with a hollow crack.

She stood back, axe in hand, and waited.

Nothing happened. No spirits screamed. No shadowy beast leapt from the undergrowth. Just fire and smoke and the faint hiss of sap boiling away.

“See, Fishlegs?” she muttered. “It’s just wood.”

By the time the last flame died and the idol had crumbled into glowing ash, Astrid was grinning to herself. A random thing in the woods. That was all it was. Tomorrow, she’d rub it in Fishlegs’s face.

She turned to head home, lifting her torch—

—and froze.

She hadn’t noticed it before — or had it even been there? At first her mind told her it was only another tree, twisted by shadow. But the longer she stared, the less that lie held together.

It wasn’t a tree.

It towered above the clearing, so tall its antlers seemed to tangle into the canopy. Its limbs hung low, impossibly long, like branches stretched into fingers. Its body was a lattice of bark and sinew, too narrow to be natural, too still to be alive. And mounted where a head should be was the pale, hollow skull of a stag, antlers sprawling like black lightning against the sky.

The moment she realized it, her body locked tight. She didn’t decide to freeze — she simply did. Every instinct screamed that to move was to die.

It loomed in silence, head tilted just past her, fixed on the ashes of the burning totem. Could it even move? Would it?

Astrid’s lungs burned with the effort of holding her breath.

A fragment of her torch broke free, hissing into the soil.

The thing’s skull snapped toward her, the wood of its body groaning like ice under strain.

Astrid didn’t see the roots stretching from the forest floor until the torch was ripped from her grasp.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Lord Of The Wood

The forest seemed endless at nighttime. Every tree looked the same, every shadow stretched too long. The party of Vikings’ boots crunched in the vegetation, loud enough to make each of them wince.

“Great plan,” Snotlout muttered, swiping a branch out of his way. “Split up the group, wander into the creepiest woods in the archipelago — who exactly put Hiccup in charge again?”

“Himself, since he actually had a plan,” Fishlegs hissed back, holding his hammer so close his nose practically brushed the stone. “And this is the fastest way to cut her off.”

“Cut her off?” Ruffnut snorted. “She’s Astrid. She’s probably already chopped the monster’s head off and is halfway back to the village by now.”

“Yeah,” Tuffnut agreed, eyes darting left and right. “Or she is the monster scaring the dragons. You ever notice how sharp her teeth look when she’s mad?”

“Will you two—” Snotlout began, but Fishlegs held up a trembling hand.

“Wait. Look.”

Through the trees, a faint light flickered — warm against the cold night.

That had to be Astrid’s torch.

Relief swept over the party, loosening their shoulders.

“See? Told you,” Ruff said smugly. “She’s fine.”

The flame sputtered.

They froze.

The glow faltered, shrank, and then was gone — snuffed out as if swallowed whole.

“… okay,” Tuff whispered, “maybe not so fine?”

A scuffle broke the silence — branches cracking, something heavy thrashing against bark. And then, sharp and clear, Astrid’s scream tore through the trees.

They didn’t hesitate. All four surged forward, leaping over bushes and fallen logs until they crashed into a clearing—

—and stopped dead.

Astrid was there, lashed to a trunk by writhing roots, her limbs bent in cruel angles. Her axe dangled uselessly in her bound hand, her other arm twisted horribly wrong. She gasped as the vines tightened, dragging her higher against the bark.

Snotlout tried to rush forward, but Ruff clutched his arm, eyes wide.

Something else was there.

It stood impossibly tall, a silhouette of blackened wood and bone. A stag’s skull loomed at its crown, antlers scraping the canopy, sockets empty and staring. Its limbs stretched too long, too thin, clawed fingers curling like roots breaking through soil.

The woodland creature did not move; it did not need to. The forest moved for it — branches creaking, roots tightening, the weight of its presence pressing down like the breath of the earth itself.

For once, Ruff and Tuff had no remarks.

Astrid strained against the vines, voice breaking. “G—go! Run—!”

The words cut short as a root snapped tight around her throat, choking her back into silence. Her wide eyes pleaded with them, but no one listened. Her axe slipped to the forest floor.

“Like Thor we are!” Snotlout roared, charging first with his hammer raised. The weapon glanced uselessly off the demon’s bark-hide, sparking as though he’d struck stone.

The stag skull didn’t even move, hollow sockets watching Astrid choke.

The twins swarmed in next, spears flashing. Ruff’s blow bit into its arm, but when she wrenched back, the steel came away clean — like she’d hacked a tree trunk. The wood groaned, deep and guttural, and the ground surged beneath their feet.

“Uh… guys—” Fishlegs began, but a low snarl cut him off. A wolf, its eyes glowing like embers, burst from the brush and slammed him to the ground.

“Fishlegs!” Ruff cried, only for the shrub beside her to twist, lash out, and drag her spear-arm into a thicket of snapping branches. “Hey! Hey, no fair!”

Tuff stabbed at the living bush, yelling, “Back off! She’s mine to fight with!”

Snotlout managed another strike — this one clipping the creature’s rib-like chest. The demon barely flinched, but he’d clearly struck a nerve. One massive limb swung out, striking Snotlout square in the chest; he flew backward, crashing into a fallen log and crumpling with a groan.

The towering beast turned back, roots dragging Astrid higher against the tree, vines digging into her bruised skin. Its antlered skull tilted as though to study her, empty sockets drinking in her fear.

The groaning of trees was shattered by a roar.

A black shape hurtled from the forest, slamming into the demon with the force of a boulder. The forest floor shook as Toothless bowled it over, antlers scraping across the dirt as the Night Fury shrieked.

“Hiccup!” Ruff shouted, relief flooding her voice.

Hiccup was already moving. He leapt from Toothless’s back, stumbling onto the forest floor. His eyes quickly scanned the chaos — Fishlegs still beating off a wolf, the twins wrestling with a living bush, Snotlout rising to his feet. And the axe on the ground.

Hiccup didn’t hesitate, taking Astrid’s fallen axe in his hands, and threw himself at the roots binding her. “Hang on, Astrid! I’ve got you—” 

He hacked and hacked, each strike splintering wood, until the vines finally snapped loose. The axe slipped from his hands, the drain of adrenaline reminding Hiccup just how heavy it was, but it didn’t matter — Astrid collapsed into his arms, coughing, but free.

Behind them, Toothless and the woodland creature were tangled in a monstrous struggle. The Night Fury was fast, striking with a plasma blast that lit the clearing purple-blue. Covering itself in roots, the monster disappeared behind a flaming pile of wood… but was unharmed.

The burning branches fell away, and the spirit retaliated with nature itself; roots coiled around Toothless’s neck, branches punching holes through his wings, pulling him down toward the soil.

“No!” Astrid tried to rise, only to stumble on a twisted ankle. Hiccup caught her, but not before a wooden claw lashed across his chest. He staggered, blood slicking his tunic.

“Everyone—back!” Hiccup rasped, half-carrying Astrid toward the others. “He’ll be ok!”

The demon loomed again, turning its hollow bone eyes on the broken circle of Vikings.

But Toothless wasn’t done.

Wood splintered, and the dragon lunged, forcing the beast down, wings flaring despite their damage. He coiled around it, muscles straining, almost twisting himself into a living vice. Vines whipped tighter around his neck, but he refused to let go.

With a guttural snarl, Toothless shoved his muzzle against the stag-skull face and unleashed a stream of plasma point-blank. Blue fire poured out of his throat, flooding the wooden sinews with searing light. The being convulsed, wood shrieking as fire split through its body, antlers blazing like torches.

The ground shook. Branches rattled. And then the woodland spirit collapsed beneath the Night Fury’s weight, its body burning from the inside out. The others immediately found their battles halted — Ruff and Tuff stabbed a bush no longer moving, and the wolf scampered away with a whimper.

Silence fell — broken only by combusting wood and Toothless’s low, trembling whine.

The demon ceased writhing under the dragon’s grip, antlers blazing as blue fire ate through its chest all the way down to its feet. The forest roared with the sound of a bonfire.

But Hiccup didn’t wait to see if it fell for good.

He hauled Astrid to her feet, half carrying her toward Toothless even as blood trickled down his own shirt. “Up—now!” he barked, voice breaking with urgency.

Astrid winced as he shoved her onto Toothless’s back, her arm bent awkwardly against her body. The dragon snarled, wings trembling with holes punched clean through, but still crouched low to take them. Hiccup climbed up behind Astrid, one arm snaking around her waist to anchor her.

“Go, bud! Go!”

The Night Fury didn’t need telling twice. With a powerful leap, Toothless dragged himself away as fast as he could, the other four Vikings scrambling after them through the brush. Behind them, the clearing still burned, blue fire crackling where the woodland spirit had fallen.

None of them dared to look back.

The door to the chief’s house shook under Hiccup’s fist. “Dad!” he shouted, his voice breaking with strain. “Open up!”

It swung wide almost instantly, the shadow of Berk’s chief spilling over all in the doorway. Stoick’s eyes fell first on Astrid—bloodied, her arm bent at a terrible angle, one foot dragging—and then swept over the battered teens crowded in behind. Without hesitation, he stepped aside.

“Inside. All of you, quick.”

Gothi was summoned before the fire even had time to roar back to life, Gobber clattering in right after with an armful of bandages and splints. The next half hour was a blur of mumbled instructions, muffled cries, and the sharp smell of salves. Astrid’s arm was reset with a decisive crack, her ankle bound tight, her pale face betraying more pain than she’d ever admit. The others sat in a weary line by the fire, arms and faces wrapped and cleaned, muttering through their own aches.

Toothless kept to the corner, wings splayed awkwardly as he licked at the ragged tears and shallow cuts across his hide. Thankfully none of the holes in his wings were terribly large, likely to heal quickly; his ears twitched at every one of Astrid’s muffled cries, but he never grumbled of his own hurts.

When at last the worst was seen to, all eyes turned to Hiccup. He sat hunched on a stool, chest bandaged, but his gaze was sharp. 

“It wasn’t wolves, or a dragon. Or anything like that,” he said quietly. “It was… something else. A creature—tall as a dragon, like a living tree. It fought Toothless like it was his equal.” He swallowed hard. “If he hadn’t been there, Astrid—”

Gobber grunted, folding his arms. “I told ye there was a woodland spirit!”

Stoick didn’t argue, only shook his head gravely. “The beast is dead, that’s what matters. You’re all alive, and you’ll stay here tonight. All of you.” His eyes softened a fraction, lingering on Hiccup with a smile. “I’ll speak to Astrid’s parents.”

The great chief turned for the door, halting in front of the Night Fury still licking its wounds. Blood was covering the floor — Toothless looked at Stoick with a low hum, almost in apology. 

Stoick merely sighed. “Don’t worry about my floor, dragon. You… have my thanks, once again.”

With that, he threw open the door, stepping into the night — Gobber and Gothi followed close behind. Toothless watched the door shut, eyeing the place where Stoick had vanished for a moment, before resuming cleaning his bloodied hide.

Astrid managed a faint, tired smile. “Thank you,” she murmured, looking from Snotlout to Fishlegs and the twins, then to Hiccup — and finally to Toothless, whose green eyes glimmered in the firelight. “Thank you… for rescuing me. All of you.”

Her good arm stretched out; the Night Fury didn’t hesitate to walk over, blood still dripping lightly on the floorboards, as he licked her hand gently.

The moment lingered, quiet and heavy with relief—until Ruff elbowed her twin. “Told you Loki’s on our side.”

“Please,” Tuff snorted, holding up his newly bandaged wrist. “If Loki was on our side, I wouldn’t be this bruised. He’s on Toothless’s side.”

Snotlout puffed his chest, despite the fresh cut across his cheek. “Just gonna point out, I landed the only real hit on that thing.”

Fishlegs rolled his eyes. “And then it hit you halfway across the forest.”

For the first time since the woods, laughter broke out — weak, exhausted, but real. Astrid’s hand snaked into Hiccup’s as he stood by her bedside. He looked down, then at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Everything was gonna be fine.

The woods were black and still, broken only by the hiss of Gobber’s torch as he pushed through the undergrowth. A barrel of spirits bounced under his arm, a bundle of grain tucked alongside it, and his favorite mug prosthetic swung with every step. He followed the faint scrapes and blood trails left in the earth until he reached the clearing. 

There it was — the wreckage of the beast. 

What was left of it, anyway. Toothless’s fire had long since died, but splintered bark still twitched faintly, groaning as if the forest itself were knitting it back together. Grass snaked across the dirt, curling toward the broken trunk that had once been its body. The stag skull stared into the darkness without eyes.

Gobber snorted. “Well ye weren’t ready for the Night Fury, were ye, ye woodland freak?”

The torch entered the ground without ceremony. Letting the barrel fall with a clunk a few feet away, Gobber set the grain down into the wreckage in a neat pile; drawing a small knife, he nicked his forearm with practiced ease. A few drops of blood darkened the grain bundle before he pulled away. Then he heaved the barrel upright, sloshed most of the fine spirits over the half-living corpse… and poured a generous splash for himself.

Raising his mug-hand high, he called out, “An offering to the Aesir. For blessings on our hearths, for the strength of our people, for dragons and Vikings alike. May Thor’s winter storms strike us gently, and may ye keep this thing from dragging itself out of the dirt again.”

He tipped the mug back, swallowed a few generous gulps, and spat the last mouthful onto the pile. With a grunt, he shoved his torch into the grain. Flames crackled up in a rush, orange and fierce, climbing over the twisted bark and withered grass until the whole heap was ablaze.

Gobber stood a moment longer, squinting into the firelight. “Nonsense, my arse,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “But no harm in covering yer bases.”

The woods swallowed him as he trudged back toward Berk, the fire snapping and spitting behind him until it was only a dull glow among the trees.

End