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Chapter Text

There were dragons when I was a boy. Oh, there were great, grim sky dragons that nested on the cliff tops like gigantic, scary birds. Little brown scuttly dragons that hunted down the mice and rats in well organized packs. Preposterously huge sea dragons that were twenty times as big as the big blue whale.

Some say they crawled back into the sea, leaving not a bone nor a fang for men to remember them by. Others say they were nothing but folktales to begin with. Well, I’m okay with that.

Legend says that when the ground quakes or lava spews from the earth, it’s the dragons, letting us know they’re still here. Waiting for us to figure out how to get along.

Yes, the world believes the dragons are gone, if they ever existed at all.

But we Hooligans, we know otherwise. And we’ll guard the secret until the time comes when dragons can return in peace. In your chiefing hearts and dragon souls, my children, you will guard this secret.

—

The chief had not spoken like that in years. Nuffink still remembered all the words, though, because his father had told that story many times when he was a child. It was a prelude, a beginning to a bedtime story. What followed after were extraordinary tales of scaled creatures that once roamed the Archipelago.

As a little boy, he’d hung onto every word and begged to hear more. What about the sea dragons? Some said the serpents were large enough to encircle Midgard and bite their own tails. How could such large creatures hide in the depths? Had his father ever seen one? What about the little scuttly dragons, might there still be some in the rafters? Zephyr said they’d chew on your toes at night if your feet poked out from your blankets.

Nuffink couldn’t remember his father becoming more animated at any point in his childhood than when he talked about dragons. He would answer the questions, losing himself to memories as he did, forgetting that the dragons had ever gone at all. Yes, he’d seen sea dragons—not the serpents, which slept for thousands of years at a time, but massive bewilderbeasts, which were almost as exciting. No, scuttly dragons did not live in their rafters—Zephyr was a fibber. Those had gone into the sea, too. The ocean was vast and deep—all dragons that ever lived could hide in its depths without detection.

Hiccup had seen every dragon and had a story about each kind. In their home was a massive tome that catalogued them all, written by him and Fishlegs when they were boys. On every page was a beautiful, colorful portrait of some fantastical beast. Some of them were hard to believe. Zephyr had taken to drilling Fishlegs for dragon facts when she saw him, just to see if they were true. They appeared to be.

Of all the dragons, Nuffink knew that one was the rarest and most sacred. Their home was adorned with subtle patterns and red-tailed insignias depicting a fearsome devil known as the night fury.

But there was not a page for this dragon in the book, and his father would never answer questions about the night fury. Sometimes he would even become cross when young Nuffink brought it up. Once, Zephyr had invented a night fury game. It was very exciting—she would be the dragon and Nuffink the viking, and he would chase her around with his wooden sword. Their father had been furious when they explained the game to him. Dragons were not to be hunted, and night furies were not to be chased. On this he was adamant.

—

It didn’t take very long to discover the truth behind the night fury in a gossipy tribe such as the Hooligans. As he grew up, Nuffink learned more about his parents’ past from stories told by vikings in the Great Hall than he did from his parents themselves.

The dragon riders, they’d been called. Before his parents had married, before his father had been chief, in the ancient days when Stoick the Vast ruled Old Berk, the group of vikings that Nuffink knew as his parents and their closest friends had tamed and flown dragons into battle.

All the children in the village adored the riders. They knew all the stories: Fishlegs, who was a giant of a man but friendlier than all others, had been a formidable dragon expert. He’d ridden atop a lava-spewing gronckle and had sometimes been possessed by the spirit of a terrifying warrior during combat. Ruffnut Thorston, one of the fiercest and most unpredictable of Berk’s shieldmaidens (and now its equally unpredictable healer) had commanded one head of a zippleback dragon that belched flammable gas. Her twin, Tuffnut Thorston, a trader particularly loved by the children thanks to his strange gifts and pranks, had managed the other, which ignited the gas. The chief’s cousin, Snotlout Jorgenson, had waged war from the back of a monstrous nightmare. It was said—mostly by the man himself, who was always eager to share stories when prompted—that Berk’s enemies still had night terrors about the dragon, which would alight in flames like a demon from Muspelheim while liquid fire poured from its fanged maw, consuming anything it touched in a roaring blaze.

Nuffink’s mother, Astrid Hofferson, was the most well-respected viking on the island. As a young shieldmaiden she had incapacitated the tribe’s enemies from atop a deadly nadder. This dragon had an arsenal of spines and white-hot fire. She did not tell many stories and rarely bragged—all Nuffink knew from his mother was that the nadder had been called Stormfly. The rest he had heard from his best source, Snotlout.

The first and final of the dragon riders was Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Their leader, their chief, and Nuffink’s father. It was said that as a boy he’d single-handedly captured and tamed a night fury in a time before dragons were trained. In those days they’d terrorized Old Berk. But his father had learned their language, and there was never a dragon he could not conquer by wit or will. He and his band of fliers had taken down dragons the size of mountains—that’s how he’d lost his leg during their very first battle. He’d done it all with his night fury, a phantom shadow of a dragon with whom Hiccup had shared a soul.

And so Nuffink learned his father’s past. The man he knew today—a serious chief who sometimes spent hours looking out over the sea and who always gazed so wistfully at the birds circling in the sky—had not always been this way. Hiccup had fought against dragon hunters for nearly a decade before the dragons finally disappeared, chased to the ends of the Earth and forced to retreat into the sea. Sometimes he could be seen sitting in the Great Hall with the former dragon riders, laughing at something Snotlout or Tuffnut had said, offering a glimpse into an old life when dragons and spirits soared alike. Astrid explained that the chief’s heart was with their tribe, but Nuffink knew that his father’s soul was far away, somewhere in the ocean’s depths.

—

“Helloooo, Nuffnut! Time to wake up!” an obnoxious voice sang through the thick walls of the Haddock household, accompanied by a loud flurry of knocks on the wooden door. In an upstairs loft, Nuffink threw a pillow over his head against the rapping that echoed through the spacious hall.

The muffled yelling only escalated until it became suddenly unmuffled. “I’m coming in!”

Nuffink sat up suddenly in alarm. “Don’t come up!” he yelled, flinging his pillow over the loft’s balcony. “I sleep naked!”

“Gross… since when?” he heard her snicker quietly.

“Since nobody’ll bother to wake me up now,” Nuffink muttered under his breath, scrounging around his room for clean clothes. He was somewhat successful and pulled a brown tunic over his head to accompany his similarly-plain breeches.

“Nevermind all that. Guess what?” Eret Thorston asked as he stumbled down the stairs. She stood in the open doorway with her arms crossed, a knotted blonde braid slung over one shoulder.

“What?” he responded dutifully, locating his boots near the fireplace. While annoying to most, he was used to playing along with her antics. Eret had been his best friend since… always. She was his opposite in many ways—bossy and loud—but she knew how to have fun, and he didn’t mind following the leader.

When she didn’t respond immediately, Nuffink looked up from shoving his boots on. Dramatic pauses never meant anything good with Eret. “Come on, what is it?”

“Uncle Tuff sailed in this morning,” she blurted, grinning widely. Before he could respond, she continued: “You won’t believe what he said. Guess.”

“Just tell me!” Nuffink exclaimed, also grinning. She knew he had never guessed anything correctly in his whole life.

She composed herself to mock-seriousness and leaned in conspiratorially. “He said that he heard some rumors in the Northern Markets. Rumors about a night fury sighting in the Archipelago.”

For a moment, Nuffink thought she was joking. He stared at her for a second, but she didn’t start snickering or tease him for being gullible. She only grinned, real excitement lighting up her pale brown eyes. His mouth formed an ‘o’.

A night fury… it wasn’t possible. Dragons had been spotted by drunk sailors before, and everyone knew there might be a few little ones still running around in the world. But a night fury… if it was true, then his dad would—well, he wasn’t sure what he would do. There was only one way to find out.

“Come on,” she said, looping her arm through his. “He sent for your father the minute he stepped off the Chicken.” That was Tuffnut’s beloved schooner, which he claimed was the fastest ship in the Archipelago.

Nuffink allowed her to tug him from his house, and the pair stumbled together down the hill towards the village. A group of older tribesmen were gossiping near the bread stand in the market, and Eret whistled as they approached, drawing all eyes to her.

“Has anyone seen Nuffy’s dad?” she asked, and Ma Ingerman, who ran the stand, pointed up to the lookout cliff where the chief often went to think and stare at the sea.

Sure enough, Nuffink could see the figures of his father, mother, and Uncle Tuff. His father was sitting near the edge, watching the horizon. His mother sat next to him, one hand on his shoulder, and Tuffnut stood on his other side. He was waving his arms around as he presumably recounted the story.

“Thanks!” Eret quipped, and immediately changed direction, dragging Nuffink along with her.

“Wait!” Ma Ingerman called after them, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Will you watch Torunn if there’s a hall meeting tonight?”

Nuffink thought twelve years was a bit too old to need a babysitter, but he hastily agreed over his shoulder as Eret tugged him away.

The trail to the lookout cliff began down in the meadow, so they descended a flight of wooden stairs and crossed a bridge before reaching the path that led up to the grassy overlook. Eret released his arm—to his relief, as it was beginning to feel a bit numb—so that they could race, half scrambling, up the rocky trail. They spent most of their time racing, climbing trees, and jumping from tall places, so neither was winded as they neared the top and slowed to overhear what they could of the conversation before they were seen.

“I’m telling you, Hikke,” Tuffnut was saying, using his awful and embarrassing nickname for Nuffink’s father. “These aren’t your run-of-the-mill dragon sightings. They weren’t sailors—the scavenger had his whole family with him. Said they were looting the old warlords’ base on Glacier Island when they were attacked by a demon. The other men were mining Thor’s Ore on Dark Deep when they were attacked. They swore it was a night fury—said it spit purple lightning. The stories match up.”

Astrid had been listening quietly, but when Tuffnut finished speaking she spoke up in alarm. “Glacier Island and Dark Deep… Hiccup, those are both close to—”

“I know,” the chief said, a grim edge to his voice. “Dragon’s Edge is right there.”

She moved her hand from his shoulder to place it over his own. “What are you thinking?”

Nuffink couldn’t see his father’s face, but his shoulders were stiffened as if with pain. He knew his father didn’t like talking about dragons anymore, and wondered if Tuffnut’s news was dredging up too many memories. His mother’s eyebrows were knitted together in concern.

Tuffnut turned then, and their eavesdropping was exposed. “Hey!” he greeted, opening his arms wide. “There’s my favorite honorary ‘Nut!”

The duo bounded over and hugged the man, who ruffled Nuffink’s hair affectionately. He’d always been Nuffink’s favorite of his father’s friends. He traveled all over the world and had stories about everywhere he went, from the trading markets of the eastern Rus vikings to the warm seaports of the Mediterranean. His skin was swarthy and his locs bleached white from long days in the sun, and he smelled always of salt.

Astrid gave her son a Look as she stood. “I suppose Eret woke you up to spy on us. Your hair is a mess.”

He wormed his way from Tuffnut’s wiry grasp and smiled sheepishly. His mother tutted and pulled him closer so that she could fix his hair into four tiny braids. His bangs were too short and the sides of his head were shaved over his ears, so even his mother’s deft hands were unable to wrangle his hair into anything more presentable.

The chief climbed slowly to his feet—or, foot. And metal foot. Nuffink had learned recently, from Old Gobber of all people, that the odd design of his father’s prosthetic served a purpose. In the days of dragon riding, Hiccup had designed it specifically to fit into the special saddle his dragon had required in order to fly. The night fury, too, had worn a prosthetic. His father had never changed the design.

“Tuff’, I need you to sail to Berserker Island and deliver a message for me. I need the others here for a council meeting in one week. We’ll decide what to do then,” Hiccup announced, glancing at Nuffink, who watched with wide eyes. What council? His father’s usual council consisted only of the friends and family who lived here on Berk.

“One week?” Tuffnut asked, brows furrowing. “I can get there and back within a week, easy, but don’t you want Mala? She’s all the way out in Caldera Cay.”

“Heather will handle that,” Astrid said, giving Tuffnut a meaningful look.

“How will she—oh! Ohhh.” Realization washed over Tuffnut’s face and he grinned at Hiccup, who gave a small, hopeful smile back.

The sailor clapped. “Alright, then. Come hither, young ‘Nuts,” he addressed Nuffink and Eret. “I’ve got a lot of stories to tell before your dad sends me back across the ocean.”

Nuffink’s mother released his braids and Tuffnut slung one arm over his shoulders and the other over Eret, steering them away from the chief and chieftess and towards the trail as he began a story about the sandy desert land he’d visited that summer.

Craning his neck, Nuffink looked back over Tuffnut’s arm. His mother was pecking his father on the cheek.

“I see that old Hiccup-y spark in your eye,” she told him, beaming.

“Hey!” his father objected, “Come on. I’m still me, even after all these years.”

“I know,” she responded. “But I was worried you might be forgetting that.”

Nuffink looked away then, feeling a little grossed out by their affection, but his parents stayed at the cliff for a moment longer, watching the calm sea. Then they followed their old friend down to the village, bracing themselves for a barrage of questions from their rowdy tribe.

—

The group of gossiping vikings had migrated up to the plaza, growing into a small mob in front of the statue of Stoick the Vast when Nuffink, Eret, and Tuffnut arrived.

One familiar voice was booming authoritatively from within the crowd. Nuffink couldn’t see Snotlout thanks to the man’s short stature, but the whole village could probably hear him. “Listen, listen, I don’t know anything about this—LOOK! There’s Tuffnut!”

Everyone turned to the sailor, who gave a small wave. “Greetings, fellow Hooligans.”

The crowd rippled as vikings were jostled aside to reveal Zephyr pushing her way through, pulling Bjorn Jorgenson along behind her. Their cousin looked uncomfortable in his sister’s grip, and Nuffink knew she was probably cutting off circulation to his arm too.

“Ow, ow, oww, Zeph, you’re killing me,” Bjorn complained, tearing his wrist from her iron grasp, but her focus was already locked onto Tuffnut.

“Explain,” she demanded, her dark blue eyes stormy and fierce.

“No hello?” Tuffnut grinned and ruffled her reddish hair, messing up her milkmaid braids. “You’ll hear all about it in the Great Hall this evening, kiddo. I’ve gotta run—see you later ‘Nuts and friends.” He saluted Nuffink and Eret, then swiveled around, heading down towards Eret’s house. He probably wanted to catch up with his sister before being sent away again.

Snotlout finally squeezed from the crowd and shouted at Tuffnut to wait for him, to which the latter complied. The gathered vikings had begun to disperse, so Zephyr rounded on her brother.

“What’s going on? I know Tuffnut told you everything,” she managed to ask and accuse in the same breath.

Nuffink looked to Eret, who shrugged. Between the two of them, they recounted the morning and what they’d overheard. When they’d finished explaining, Zephyr looked just as bewildered as Nuffink had felt. Bjorn looked confused too.

“Wait, you sleep naked?” he asked, a slightly horrified look on his face. Zephyr smacked him in the chest, and he yelped in pain.

“My pec!” he complained, rubbing the spot. She rolled her eyes, but Nuffink had been on the receiving end of her ‘light’ punches before—they stung.

“I don’t care what Tuffnut says,” she declared, crossing her arms. “I don’t think the sightings are real.”

“Luckily it doesn’t matter what you think,” Eret shot back, taking offense on behalf of her uncle. “It only matters what the chief thinks. Hiccup believes my uncle.”

Zephyr glared at the younger girl and Bjorn glanced uncertainly at Nuffink. It was a glance that said, should I step in before they fly at each other?
Nuffink shook his head. He knew that his sister believed her opinions were the most valuable of their group’s. And to be honest, they usually were—the rest of them had pretty dumb ideas. But being the heir to Berk didn’t mean she got to boss everyone around just yet, and leave it to Eret to remind her of that.

“Well, I’m going to talk to dad. I should know what’s going on,” Zephyr decided.

Eret shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “Nobody’s stopping you,” she droned.

Zephyr huffed and brushed past them, taking the stairs two at a time, and Bjorn sighed.

“Nobody invites me to talk to anybody. I’m in this family! I’m important!” he whined. Eret giggled and Nuffink gave his cousin a half-hearted pat on the shoulder.

“Technically, you’re their second cousin, so like, who cares?” Eret teased, and covered her mouth to laugh at his offended expression.

“Let’s do something normal,” Nuffink announced before she could pick another fight. “Let’s play bashyball.”

Bjorn agreed to play and Eret quickly added that she was in. She just wanted to see Bjorn shirtless—despite all the teasing, she’d once told Nuffink that she was going to marry the Jorgenson. When he’d asked how she knew, she’d responded that he was the only other guy their age on Berk. Nuffink didn’t count because he was basically a ‘Nut, and the kids a few years younger than them were still basically babies.

The trio set off to find Torunn, who usually declined to play but was always invited anyway, and tried to set aside their thoughts of Tuffnut’s news and what it meant for Berk.

—

As the sun disappeared beyond the mountains, what seemed to be the entire tribe crammed themselves into the Great Hall to hear what Hiccup had to say about Tuffnut’s news.

Nuffink and Eret had dropped by the Ingermans’ house to collect Torunn while her father carefully decided which fur-trimmed vest he’d don for the meeting, but after a while of hanging around the square they’d decided to sneak her into the hall anyway. Squeezing in at the back of the crowd, they inched along the wall until their view of the council table was only somewhat obscured, rather than totally obscured.

Hiccup sat in the middle, with Astrid on his right and Snotlout on his left. Fishlegs and Tuffnut sat with Snotlout, while Eret, son of Eret, and Ruffnut sat with Astrid. The hall was aroar with clamoring viking voices, and Hiccup smacked his fist against the table several times. When that failed to quiet them, Astrid stood up and shouted for silence.
The voices died immediately, and she smirked at Hiccup, who rolled his eyes as she sat down.

“I know everyone’s probably heard about what Tuffnut learned in the Northern Markets,” he began, addressing the hall. “Or some version of it—but I’m going to clarify so that we’re all on the same page.

“A scavenger family claims to have seen a night fury on Glacier Island—”

The hall exploded with questions, most of them some form of ‘where is that?’, and Nuffink found himself wondering the same. Hooligans weren’t too keen on geography, but Eret Senior shouted, “Northeast!”

The chief lifted his hand for silence. Astrid simultaneously gave the crowd a Look, and they quieted down.

“A band of miners also claimed they’d been attacked by a night fury on Dark Deep. Now, according to Tuffnut, these sources seemed to be telling the truth. Or at least, what they believe is the truth.”

Tuffnut nodded in confirmation.

“So, what’s the plan, chief?” a voice asked from the crowd. Even unable to see him, Nuffink knew that it was Old Gobber who posed the question, an elder who was more like their grandfather than a family friend.

He stood on his toes to peer around the room, and found him sitting near the hearth with Nuffink’s grandmother, Valka, and Bjorn’s grandfather, Spitelout. They were the oldest people Nuffink knew, ever since ancient Gothi had died. His grandmother had the most incredible stories about surviving alone with wild dragons, and she always beat Spitelout at arm wrestling—though he suspected the old man might be letting her win. Old Gobber was strange and funny, with the most hilarious tales about Nuffink’s father and Stoick the Vast. He often remarked how much like his father was, but he found that hard to believe. Maybe before he was the champion of dragons, Hiccup had been a bit like Nuffink. But that certainly wasn’t the case any longer.

The adults up on the dais had all begun talking over each other—Fishlegs and Snotlout were leaning back in their chairs to argue behind Tuffnut, while Astrid and Eret strategized together and Ruffnut examined the divining rune stones she’d cast across the table. Hiccup had to speak up to be heard when he responded.

“It’s not a decision that I can make alone,” he shrugged. “Tuffnut will set sail tonight for Berserker Island. He’ll carry a message asking their chief and his council to return with him for a full meeting between our tribes. I’ll have plenty of time to gather my thoughts before then, and I’ll hear what Dagur has to say and request his support in whatever course we take.”

He spoke confidently despite his uncertainty, and Old Gobber and Valka still smiled proudly at his performance as chief, though he’d held the position for decades. Spitelout, however, stood creakily.

“Do you really think we need to ask the Berserkers for permission?” he asked. “I know you love ‘em, chief, but they’re not reliable allies.”

“I agree,” Snotlout griped, and half the table glared at him. “I’ve never liked that guy.”

Other vikings began to murmur at the Jorgensons’ bold words. Nuffink didn’t know much about the Berserker tribe, and looked to Eret, who shrugged. They both looked to Torunn, who mouthed, ‘later’.

Astrid stood up this time, turning her fierce gaze from one Jorgenson to the other, less gray-haired one. “Dagur has been our closest ally for over twenty years, and his sister my closest friend. And did you all forget that Gustav Larson, a son of Berk, has lived among the Berserkers for nearly nineteen years?”

Snotlout rolled his eyes, but she seemed almost disappointed in them all. Nuffink didn’t know any of the people she was talking about, but he knew her tone of voice well. It was the Nuffink, I cannot believe you’ve done something this stupid voice.

“Not to mention that the Defenders are closely affiliated with the Berserkers. To not consult our allies would be foolish.” She looked back to Spitelout as she said this, who grimaced and sat back down. Valka shook her head at him.

The hall meeting was adjourned soon after, and most of the village filed out, leaving only the chief’s friends and those needing a dinner from the communal soup to enjoy a quieter Great Hall.

Torunn explained what she knew of the Berserkers as they walked her home. They were bloodthirsty warriors, half mad, and Torunn claimed to be part Berserker herself. Everyone knew the exploits of her father’s transformations during battle, when he could not differentiate between his allies and enemies, and that was due to only a drop of Berserker blood. Nuffink couldn’t imagine what the actual Berserkers were like, and thought the Jorgenson’s might’ve been right about inviting them to Berk. Eret thought they sounded awesome, and decided she couldn’t wait to see them. Torunn was just happy to escape their company to her room full of books.

After dropping Torunn off, they went to the meadow to watch Tuffnut depart. Berk was surrounded on all sides by cliffs that dropped straight into the sea. To reach the docks, vikings had built wooden pathways and lifts that led all the way down the eastern cliff face. Most of their island was covered in mountains and precipices, and even their village spanned multiple levels, so Nuffink didn’t find this strange in the least. It was the only home he’d ever known.

The duo waved down at Tuffnut until he noticed and waved back, and then they kept waving until he was too far away and it was too dark to see his ship. Then they parted ways, with Eret promising to wake Nuffink up again the next morning.

He slipped quietly through the door when he got home, not wanting to disturb his parents. To his surprise, his mother sat alone by the fireplace. She studied something strange in her hands, something that shone brilliant blue in the flickering light. It looked like some sort of… mask. Then the first stair squeaked and she turned quickly, blocking the mask from view.

“Oh, honey. You heading to bed?” she asked.

Nuffink wasn’t sure if he should ask about the strange mask or not. His mother was clearly hiding something. “Yeah, uh… is dad home?” he asked awkwardly, just to have something to say.

“Not yet, he’s with Fishlegs at the Jorgenson’s. He’ll be back soon, though. Why, do you need to talk to him?”

“No, I—I’m just gonna go to bed. ‘Night, mom.”

She stood and walked over, not-so-discreetly holding the mask behind her back. With her free hand, she ruffled his bangs and kissed him on the forehead, wishing him a good night. He then clambered up the stairs, half on all fours, and got ready for bed.

It was a long time before he could fall asleep, though. It had been such an eventful day, and the dragon sightings were making his parents act so weird. He couldn’t tell if it was a good weird or a bad weird—they seemed happy, but also sort of sad. His mother had been looking at that odd mask, and his father… well, he wasn’t sure what to think about his father’s plan. What could the crazy Berserkers do to help them? What could anybody do about a dragon somewhere as far as Glacier Island, wherever that was. Would his father leave Berk to hunt it down? Would he tame the dragon? If he did, would he need to speak the dragon language, like some said, or could a single touch really render the beast under his control? And once tamed… what would he do with it?

Nuffink didn’t usually have so many racing thoughts, and it made him feel queasy. He knew his father’s soul had always been with the dragons—everyone knew. He had chosen his tribe all those years ago, but Nuffink didn’t think his father would be able to make that choice again. The dragons called too strongly. Especially the night fury. It would be dangerous if Berk’s chief left on a dragon hunt, but he realized his father wouldn’t really have a choice, not if there was truly a chance that the night fury was in the faraway eastern Archipelago. Hiccup would have to go. His soul would pull him away or tear him apart.

—