Title: The Lost Heir

Summary: Hiccup goes through with his plan to run away, leaving behind no loose ends… or so he believes. After discovering the Nest and then fleeing north, Hiccup builds a utopia at the Dragon Sanctuary, working towards his ultimate goal of destroying the Queen. But no good deed goes unpunished, and ghosts from his past are destined to resurface.

Chapter Twelve: Possibilities

Snotlout hits the deck with a solid thump. He's about to give Fishlegs a piece of his mind, but by the time he's picked himself up, the big guy is just… gone.

"What just happened?" Snot asks the twins, grumpily brushing dust from his tunic.

"This twerp tricked you into calling down a dragon," Ruffnut says. She's holding the older boy by the ear, looking at him with a mixture of respect and annoyance. "Fish pushed you out of the way in the nick of time, but the dragon flew off with him instead."

"Reinn, you know Hic doesn't like you messing with greenies," the little girl admonishes her brother.

"Wait, Hic as in Hiccup?" Snotlout questions eagerly.

"Shut up, Dalla. Don't you remember what Mom said?" the boy, Reinn, hushes.

Dalla huffs. "Of course I do. She said if you see a Hooligan, don't mention Hiccup."

She turns to her brother with a grin, probably expecting to see how impressed he is with her perfect recall, but he looks furious.

"Dalla. These people are Hooligans."

"... Whoops."

"Come on, let's get out of here," Reinn urges, twisting his head out of Ruffnut's hold. She lets him go; they are only kids.

"Alright. I won't tell Mom you were messing with them if you don't tell her I mentioned Hiccup's name."

"Dalla!"

The kids scamper off, bickering all the way.

"What do we do now?" Snotlout asks, staring up above, looking for any sign of Fishlegs.

Being the recipient of a selfless act is a first for Snotlout. Sure, everyone watches everyone's backs on Berk, but the raids have petered away in the last five years, and Snotlout's life has been in danger far less than he would've liked. Life-threatening situations forge life-long friendships – everyone knows that. But Snotlout's social life has been thus far bereft of mortal danger.

The rescue has left him feeling indebted to Fishlegs. And… concerned for his well-being. Gross.

It's not like he's inconsolably worried or anything. Snotlout's pretty confident Fish won't be eaten. Most likely the worst that will happen to him is he'll get lost, but it won't be long before someone sends him back to their temporary lodgings. This place… it's not nearly as treacherous as its reputation would have Snot believe.

"Astrid is off working her little liaison with lover boy. Fishlegs is gods knows where. So much for sticking together," Ruffnut laments dispassionately.

"Maybe we should wait for them back at the house," Snotlout suggests. "I, for one, don't want to wind up with stable duty again."

"Could've fooled me," says Tuff. "You and the Dragon Master were hauling ass like your lives depended on it."

"Please, he couldn't keep up with me. He was a good sport, though," Snotlout allows.

He wouldn't go so far as to say he likes the Dragon Master, but Snotlout can't deny he's got skills. He's not anything like Snotlout imagined him to be either. He's so much younger and more canny than the stories made him out to be. His rhetoric has a way of making you question everything you thought you knew. It's confusing. It's making Snotlout think, which is his least favourite pastime. But maybe that's not the worst thing for once.

Maybe this time it's important.

"Hey, where's that guy?" Snotlout asks suddenly.

"What guy?" Ruff pulls a face of confusion.

"You know, the one we kidnapped. From the flower garden."

"Looks like he escaped while we were distracted. Bummer," says Ruff. "He was our insurance."

"Then we'd better hurry. We don't want to be accused of sneaking off on our own," Snot urges, crossing the half-moon bridge in what he hopes is the direction of the residential district.

"But we were sneaking off," Tuff points out.

"What Princess Stronghold doesn't know, won't hurt him," 'Lout assures.

They manage to find their house again without too much difficulty, and miracle of miracles, when they arrive both Astrid and Fishlegs are waiting for them. Once everyone is satisfied that Fishlegs is okay, it becomes apparent they both have news from their respective grand adventures.

"Fishlegs, you go first," Astrid encourages.

"Right. Guys, I saw Hiccup!" he exclaims.

There's a collective gasp.

"Where are they keeping him?" Snotlout asks.

"That's the thing, he's not a prisoner," says Fish. "I met – a friend of his? – and she flew me to this fancy antechamber halfway up the mountain. I only got as far as the front door–"

"You mean he didn't invite you in?" Ruff asks, offended on his behalf.

"I only saw him for a second," Fishlegs explains. "And he didn't see me at all. Aesir popped up from nowhere and shooed me away."

"But you're sure it was him?" Astrid presses. "It doesn't sound like you got a very good look at his face."

Fishlegs shrugs. "He answered to 'Hiccup'." He thinks for a moment. "And his hair was the right colour."

"Well, that proves it!" Tuff declares sarcastically.

Snotlout isn't sure he's convinced either, as much as he wants to be.

"What about you, Astrid? What did you find out?" he asks.

Astrid chews her lip. "This is going to sound crazy, but I think Valka Haddock is alive."

"The chief's wife?" questions Ruff.

"Hiccup's Mom?" Tuff reiterates.

Auntie Valka? Snotlout was barely two when his mother's sister was taken, but Mom always made an effort to patch those hazy childhood memories with stories of her, so he wouldn't forget. He can almost remember playing hide and seek with her when he shuts his eyes and concentrates hard.

"Yeah," says Astrid, oblivious to the bout of squishy emotions Snotlout's currently grappling with. "I went to the Archives this afternoon, and I found a book about the Red Death. It's written by all the people who've seen it, and one of the authors was Valka Haddock. It can't be a coincidence."

"That's awesome!" Snot manages, at last. Mom would be so happy to see her sister again, and Snotlout's pretty stoked for the chance to meet his long-lost aunt as well.

"I'm not so sure," Astrid replies doubtfully.

Snotlout rises from his seat in anger. "How can you say that!?" he asks.

"I read her testimony. She's one of them, a dragon sympathiser."

"Oh," Snot mumbles, the wind taken from his sails.

"There's more," she continues. "I think the Dragon Master is using her against Hiccup."

"What makes you say that?" Fishlegs asks inquisitively.

"Look around you," Astrid gestures wide, "Everything you see, every house, every bridge, every inch of this city was designed by Hiccup. The Archive was full of his blueprints. And the Dragon Master's taking credit for it all while Hiccup's name goes unspoken."

"But that doesn't add up," Snotlout points out. "Everyone's talking about Hiccup. Or rather, deliberately not talking about him. What I mean is, they all know who he is – even the little kids."

"Maybe we need to consider the possibility that Hiccup's one of them too," Fishlegs says in a small voice.

Maybe… we need to consider the possibility that it's not a bad thing, Snotlout thinks but tactically doesn't say.

Astrid tosses and turns all night. She can't stop thinking about everything they've uncovered, as well as everything they still don't know.

Hiccup's alive. He's here in Ísfjall, and for one reason or another, he's helping the Dragon Master. The Red Death could be propaganda or a scapegoat, but Astrid's no longer sure she believes that. She's starting to think it's real.

But even if it is, that doesn't automatically make the Ísfjallans the good guys. They say the enemy of your enemy is your friend, but who's to say the Archipelago won't end up beholden to the Dragon Master for ridding them of the Queen? It's hard to trust the intentions of someone who hides their face. And this bargain regarding Hiccup is suspicious.

Suppose Hiccup is alive and well, and he's joined the Ísfjallans, why not have him talk to the Hooligans on their behalf? Unless he doesn't know they're here. But everyone from the herbalists to the archivists seems to know about the anti-dragon barbarians in their midst. So something else is keeping Hiccup from coming forward.

They could be threatening his mother, threatening him, or, and this is the worst of all options: threatening no one at all.

Because that would mean he doesn't want to see them.

Hiccup wasn't exactly treated very kindly before dragon training and his miraculous transformation. Astrid wouldn't put it past the Dragon Master to manipulate Hiccup with false acceptance and overdue praise to make him feel as though he belonged here… so long as he continued to furnish him with plenty of new contraptions, of course. Oh gods, Hiccup could be brainwashed when they find him.

Astrid doesn't know how she falls asleep that night, but she must manage somehow because she wakes up to a light tapping on the bedroom shutters.

Ruffnut doesn't stir, even when Astrid opens the window and sunlight streams into the room.

Mouse is perched on the windowsill, regarding her silently with one beady eye. Astrid double-checks that Ruffnut's still sleeping soundly – she is – and rounds on the Terror.

"What do you want?" she asks caustically. "Here to play the part of obedient little dragon again? I know your Aesir's pet. She probably put you up to it. Ugh, listen to me, I'm talking to a dragon as if it understands me." Astrid massages her temples.

Yesterday was mortifying. Stoick saw her taming dragons. Seven at once! Albeit miniature dragons, but that won't matter to him. It looked… really bad. Worst of all? Astrid finds herself more concerned with the optics of the situation rather than the moral dimension of her actions. It didn't feel like some great trespass; like a betrayal of everything her Chief and tribe stand for. It felt easy.

She felt… powerful.

Not as though she held some great power over Mouse and his compatriots, but powerful in a different way. It was like she'd been digging with her bare hands all her life, only to be finally given a shovel. But men like the Dragon Master don't go handing out shovels for free without making you dig where they tell you to. Right?

He's building an army. Under the guise of killing the Red Death, sure, but then what? Where next? With an army of dragon riders, there's nowhere he couldn't conquer.

Astrid sighs. She's so confused.

Mouse chirps at her, refusing to take a hint and leave.

"Just leave me alone," she says.

He squarks again, louder, kicking out.

"Shh! You'll wake Ruff," she hisses.

Finally, Astrid notices the scrap of parchment fastened to his back leg. Mouse sits still for her to untie the cord keeping the note in place and keenly watches her unroll it.

Sorry for bailing yesterday. I wound up in some trouble for stealing you away. Worth it, though. Come to Aurvandil's Hollow again. I'll be there, promise. ~H

Astrid grins, catches herself at it, and stops. He's just a friend. A charming, handsome, useful friend. She can't afford to get too attached and go forgetting that he's a means to an end. A source of information. Not just good company.

She hates that the first question she wants to ask is why H didn't send her a message like this yesterday to let her know he wouldn't be there. She's acting like he spurned her or something. Ha! She ought to be planning how to get him to slip up and reveal something useful to her mission. Or help arrange a meeting with Valka Haddock without the Dragon Master knowing. Now that's a good idea.

She finds a stylus in a pot on the desk and writes her reply on the reverse.

You better be there this time. Last chance. ~A

When Stoick and the rest of her sorry excuses for trainees don't answer her first knock, Valka lets herself in. She stomps through the house and throws open the men's door. They're all still fast asleep, snoring like a pod of congested thunderdrums. Next door, she finds the women much the same. Louder, even.

"You won't get out of training that easy," she says, mostly to herself.

In the kitchen, she finds the remains of yesterday's nattmal. The pantry was stocked at the beginning of the week, but Valka must have forgotten how large a Hooligan's appetite can be. It's day three, and supplies are already dwindling.

The mead is long gone.

At last, she finds what she's after: a large cooking pot and ladle. She strikes the first with the latter as hard as she can.

"Wake up, you lazy sea slugs!" she yells at the top of her lungs. "We've got work to do."

Some Vikings startle awake, but just as many gently stir in their sleep. Mostly satisfied, Valka returns her percussive tools to where they belong and waits for them to join her outside.

The first one ready is Stoick.

Valka's stomach does something strange and uncomfortable. Does he know?

She was lying yesterday when she managed to convince Hiccup she wasn't worried about Stoick finding out about her. Of course, she's worried. If he knew the truth, he'd hate her even more than he hates 'Aesir'. After all this time, the thought of Stoick hating her, the real her, is too much to bear.

And how could he not? She left him behind to keep herself safe. It was the single most selfish thing she's ever done.

If Valka can't forgive herself, how could she ever expect Stoick to? Stoick, who's only ever done what he thought was right for his people. Who continually puts others before himself. That's what makes him a great chief, and it's part of why she loves him. Still. As ardently as ever.

It's surprising how much you can miss someone who's standing right in front of you.

"Stoick," Valka acknowledges at length.

He merely grunts at her. It's no worse than yesterday, so Val thinks Gobber must've kept her confidence after all.

She sighs in relief. "About yesterday," she starts, choosing her words carefully. "I wanted to apologise."

"You did, did you?" He sounds sceptical.

She's been thinking it over, and Valka feels she may have been a bit… overzealous. It's not like trust exercises aren't regular training practice, but she may have started them off at the deep end.

She thought they'd need a challenge to stay interested. But she wanted them to struggle too. A part of her even wanted to see the Hooligans give up. Because if they did… she wouldn't feel this awful about the choices she's made these last twenty years. Staying away is a choice she makes every day. And it's been killing her, bit by bit. Sure, it's been better since the war effort began, but her heart is breaking, even with the balm that is Hiccup at her side.

So yes, she's ashamed to admit it but was setting them up to fail.

But that's just it: they didn't. Everyone participated. Even Stoick. Hiccup's hair-brained scheme to win Berk over may work after all.

And now she has more to lose than ever.

Hiccup, she reminds herself, has too much to deal with as it is. How could she – in good conscience – tell him how afraid she is? No, better to keep it together while he's around and relegate her moments of weakness to when she's alone.

Valka soldiers on. "I was too harsh. I–"

"Save it for someone who cares," Stoick mutters, brushing past her to wait alone in the gondola.

Another crack appears on her damaged heart.

Gobber comes out shortly after. Perhaps it's because Stoick's facing away that he shoots her a hesitant smile.

That's as unexpected as it is heartening. Gobber had seemed so shaken up yesterday. Given time to think it over, it seems he's coming to terms with her apparent resurrection. Valka returns his smile under her mask. Somehow, she thinks he can tell.

Today, Valka takes the Hooligans down to the catacombs for training. They can see Hiccup's class in the next courtyard, but Valka keeps them separate for now. She can hear his voice running uninterrupted and level. That's good.

She clears her throat. "Yesterday, we made some real headway," Valka begins. "It might not mean much to you, but you've all earned my respect." Though that's hardly saying anything; most of them had it all along, they just didn't know it. "So today, I want to teach you how to defend yourselves against dragons."

"I thought you don't fight dragons!" Phlegma exclaims in confusion.

"We avoid it, where we can. Just as we avoid fighting other people. But that's not what I mean. I said defend. I bet you didn't know there are non-violent ways of protecting yourselves against aggressive dragons, did you?"

There's an encouraging murmur of interest. Valka takes that as permission to begin her lecture.

"I hope that you will not abuse this knowledge," she says gravely. "Passifying dragons should only be done to neutralise a situation. I can show you how to make a dragon lower its defences, I can tell you what makes a dragon cower in fear. But if you misuse these lessons, may the gods strike you down where you stand. If you think you can live with the shame of killing a creature at its most vulnerable, then none of you deserve to call yourself a Viking. Do I make myself clear?"

The group nods, but it's not enough.

"I said, do I make myself clear!?"

A chorus of assent sounds this time.

"Better. Now, the first thing you need to know about is dragon nip. Even the smallest handful can render a charging dragon immediately passive. With sufficient exposure, most dragons will roll over and show their bellies. But! The second your hand touches a weapon, the effect is over."

Valka produces a handful of dragon nip for inspection. Cloudjumper isn't a fan of the catacombs, so today's lesson stays in the theoretical realm.

"There's loads of that down in Halvard's Heath," says Spitelout.

"I wondered why I kept finding dragon tracks but no scorches," comments Phlegma.

Gobber has a thoughtful look on his face. Stoick is poorly feigning disinterest.

"The next thing could very well save your life, but I repeat, do not use this against dragons unless strictly necessary," Valka continues. "It's a little-known fact that dragons are cheliphobic," she tells them.

"In Norse, please," says Spitlout. It's slightly snide but more than civil. Valka could jump for joy.

"They're afraid of eels," she explains.

"Eels?" he repeats.

"Precisely. No one's quite sure why, but you can always count on a dragon to shy away from the things. Whether you're armed or not."

Next, she tells them about dragon root but is careful not to endorse its use outside of extreme cases. "It's a tricky substance. Prepared incorrectly, it can leave dragons nauseous for days."

She goes on to give examples of situations where these tricks saved lives – both human and dragon alike – or diffused incidents that would've otherwise turned ugly. And it feels like the Hooligans are actually listening to her. They ask questions and seem genuinely interested in the answers. It's fantastic.

Then, when Valka's done talking, something incredible happens.

Stoick steps forward.

"That was…" She watches him search for the right word. "Informative. Helpful." There's a long pause. It looks as if it's physically painful for him to say the next bit, but he does. Unprompted, uncoerced. Simply because he feels he needs to. "Thank you."

"What?"

"Don't make me say it again," he says gruffly.

Valka doesn't know what precipitated this, but it is incredible.

"You're welcome," she says breathlessly.

He nods stiffly.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Gobber interjects.

"We'll talk back at the house," Stoick replies.

Gobber shakes his head. "Not you. You," he says to Val.

"Okay," she agrees warily and allows herself to be led away. She can feel Stoick's disapproving glare on her back. "What is it?" she asks when they're out of earshot.

"Did you ever come back?" he asks out of the blue.

"What do you mean?"

"To Berk. About five years ago? Maybe to check on Hiccup?" he proposes.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Because somehow… he knew this. Maybe not all of it, but enough to excel in dragon training. I found an eel in the Zippleback cage after Hiccup cowed it with not so much as raising a brow. So I was wondering if maybe you visited. Showed him a thing or two so he would stand a chance in training. Am I right?"

Valka wishes it were true. The Valka of Gobber's imaginings is so much better than her. So much braver.

"No," she says, ashamed. "I've never once returned. Hiccup had to figure it all out for himself."

Gobber looks frustrated. "But how?"

"You'll find out soon. That's the agreement we struck with Stoick," Valka says firmly.

"But that was before. We didn't know if we could trust you then."

"Can you now?"

"I trust you. Stoick's a hard nut to crack, but I think he's coming around. If you and Hiccup would only come forward–"

"Out of the question."

"He's your husband, Val."

"Don't call me that here," she says with a note of warning.

"Gods, you're both so stubborn, you know that? That's why you're perfect for each other."

"Gobber, stop."

"You have the chance to be a family again. Don't you want that?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then what's holding you back?"

"There's a war going on if you haven't noticed."

"Why are you so afraid?" Gobber asks as if she hasn't spoken.

"STOP! Just stop!"

The blacksmith is taken aback by her sudden outburst. She feels immediately guilty for shouting at him, but can't bring herself to apologise. Can't manage another word without welling up. She turns on her heel and storms out of the courtyard, away from Gobber and his incessant questions.

He doesn't understand. No one does. Not even Hiccup.

Can't they see that once Stoick learns her true identity, he'll no longer love even her memory? Every good moment they shared will be forever poisoned. He'll curse her name to the end of his days. He'll hate her. Maybe never as much as she hates herself for all the pain she's put him through, but enough to foreswear any love that ever existed between them.

She can't let it end that way. She just can't.

A/N: Why does my Hiccstrid fic have so little Hiccstrid? It's taking forever to get to the good parts because I keep on thinking 'So-and-so is such an underrated character, let's give them the spotlight for a second'. But I do have a plan! So stick with me. Thanks to everyone who favourited, followed, and reviewed last time. You made my day!