Valka briefs Hiccup on the previous two days' training as she rubs Cloudjumper's scales with fish oil ahead of their morning flight. Hiccup doesn't need to wheedle her twice for once; they're in agreement that she's overdue for some quality time with her dragon. She tells him about the second day of training – after that first lesson in the throne room with the Bewilderbeast – when Valka took her group to the upper grounds for trust exercises.

("Mom! Cliff jumping is part of the advanced drill set – what were you trying to do? Haze them?" Hiccup sputters.

"I was trying to prove a point," she defends, perhaps a little sheepishly.

Hiccup rubs his temples.)

Valka then says she lectured on non-violent defence techniques on day three. To the surprise of no one, this was received markedly better. But the older warriors are still lengths behind Hiccup's group. When he tells Valka that Astrid had her first flight last night, she lights up, her hands flying to her mouth.

"That's wonderful, Hiccup. I can't wait to ask her all about it this afternoon," she says.

That's the other thing – Valka is pretty excited to meet Astrid. She hid it well at first but asking for a respite from dragon training as an incentive was just a ploy. She was always going to agree to the meeting, just as Hiccup was always going to excuse her from training, only now a part of him wishes she said no. Mom has ulterior motives – most likely dark designs to deeply embarrass him.

With a final warning not to say anything weird to Astrid, he leaves for the upper training grounds with Toothless. He finds his father, Gobber, and the other warriors already waiting there.

"Where's Aesir?" Gobber asks as Hiccup's dismounting.

"I encouraged her to take some personal time, which means I'll be leading today's lesson," he replies jovially.

"Is she okay?" Gobber demands.

Hiccup's heart grows warm with the man's obvious concern for his mother. Hearing he was putting pressure on her to reveal herself washed Gobber in a dubious light, even though Valka insisted his urging was made with the best intentions. But seeing firsthand how much he cares has sloughed the film of doubt gathering on his person and puts Hiccup's mind at ease. Gobber is and always will be a true friend to their family.

"She's fine, sir. Just needs some time to… collect herself. These last few days have been pretty emotionally draining for her."

Gobber nods in understanding, looking appropriately contrite for his role in her absence, but Stoick's face only hardens.

"For her!?" he roars. "You're saying this has been emotionally draining for Aesir? Oh, that's rich – we're the ones who have been imprisoned, threatened, and pushed from cliffs! When do we get personal time, huh?"

Up until now, Hiccup wasn't sure how to spend the lesson, but Stoick's question sparks a brilliant idea.

"An excellent suggestion, Chief Stoick," Hiccup says, snapping his fingers. "Sounds like Aesir's been putting you lot through the wringer, and you're absolutely right – you all need a break." His father looks suspicious, which isn't so very unwarranted. "I think I'll show you how I like to spend my free time, starting with my favourite place on the whole island."

"The war room, probably," Gobber murmurs to Spitelout.

"Three coppers says it's a henbane den," Spitelout wagers under his breath in return.

Hiccup tries not to feel too insulted when he notices Gobber surreptitiously shake Spitelout's hand. They're both wrong, of course; he hates the war room, there are no henbane dens in Ísfjall, and while he's always liked Aurvandil's Hollow, it's rather the nursery that has stayed his favourite through every discovered cave and with the completion of each longhouse and pavilion. Toothless would argue – if arguing was a thing dragons could do – that outside the sanctuary is better than any confining structures within and, well, Hiccup would be inclined to agree. But he can't exactly take everyone flying, so this is the next best thing.

Hiccup and Toothless lead the warriors past the throne room – the Bewilderbeast fortunately out hunting ahead of feeding time – and through the hatchery, which is predictably barren this time of year. A couple of warriors peer curiously into the incubator pools as they pass, attempting to divine their purpose. He hears excited murmurs of hot springs and bathhouses and wonders if he hasn't miscalculated; while certainly more diverting than the war room, their destination won't be the sort of leisure the warriors are now anticipating. He almost hates to disappoint, but if they can't appreciate such a beautiful place, well, that's their loss.

"Welcome to the dragon nursery," he announces, spreading his arms wide, and gesturing to the vibrant playground before them.

There must be nearly fifty younglings at present, chirping and trilling as they play. Over the years, Hiccup has built slides, swings, ramps, and tunnels to keep them entertained, meticulously baby-proofed so they never hurt themselves, everything wool-lined and leather-wrapped – not to mention triple-reinforced to stand up to inevitable rough treatment. Dragons may have thick skin, but he worries it's still not enough, so he likes to check up on the younglings as often as his busy schedule allows. He doesn't have to – more often than not, the Bewilderbeast watches over his charges, and when they're both occupied, Hiccup can always count on the nannies. Nope, not Ísfjall's prize goats but a troupe of dedicated dragons who deputised themselves with the protection of some of the city's most precious inhabitants.

The nannies' roster varies depending on who's available. Today, it's Wallop, a brownish hotburple, who's surprisingly effective in a crisis for a creature so lethargic; Lullabye, a death song, whose ability to corral younglings and put them down for nap time is unparalleled; Gruff, a poor young hobblegrunt, blinded by trappers, but always ready to console a youngling in distress; and Thornado, a fiercely protective thunderdrum, with a weakness for large eyes and little wings. Also on duty are a handful of members of the Ísfjallan Guard, namely Skuf, Naddod, and the other hapless soldiers who suffered the teens' abuse earlier in the week. Hiccup figured they earned themselves a reward. Though, being mere observers of the tykes' fun is another trial altogether, at least until their shift ends. Hiccup waves them a perfunctory hello before turning back to the Hooligans.

"I don't understand. Why have you brought us here?" questions Stoick.

Hiccup shrugs. That's something they need to figure out on their own, though he thinks it's fairly obvious. The nursery represents everything Ísfjall stands for – hope, life, and new beginnings. It's the same with the creche in the residential district, but the Hooligans have all seen toddlers before. He hopes bringing them here will show them that dragons aren't so different, not when it comes to their young; he hopes the mothers and fathers among them might recognise something of themselves in the nannies.

"Seriously, whaddya expect us to do here? Surely not relax," Gobber says, gesturing to the playground as if it were a pit of poisonous snakes.

"Why not?" Hiccup asks. "As long as they don't see you as a threat to their babies, you're perfectly safe here. Go on, say hi."

Predictably, no one moves.

Hiccup isn't worried about putting the younglings in danger. Hooligans may have been trained from birth to kill dragons, but they were only defending themselves, same as their enemies. There's no honour to be found in killing younglings, and even if Hiccup so thoroughly misjudged his tribe that someone among them would be stupid enough to attack, they're unarmed. Then again, Hiccup still remembers his favourite story come bedtime as a child – of Stoick the Vast popping a dragon's head clean off its shoulders, no weapons necessary. He glances at his father. Stoick doesn't seem happy to be here, but that's not the steely gaze of a cold-blooded killer. He looks on edge, but it's not the sort of twitchiness likely to precede violence. The younglings are safe with him, Hiccup's sure, even if the Hooligans can't be convinced of their own safety.

The adult dragons are perched on podiums of basalt in the middle of the nursery. Hiccup and Toothless wend through slides and ramps to the rock formation to pay their respects to the nannies, dodging little ones determined to get underfoot.

"What's he playing at? What is this meant to achieve?" Stoick asks Gobber.

Gobber looks about the iced atrium. He sees a trio of gronckles tumbling down slides, a nadder pushing its zippleback friend on a swing, and the smallest terrors he's ever seen playing peekaboo in a hollowed-out tree trunk. He's never been a father himself – not in the traditional sense – but the sight plucks at Gobber's heartstrings, a tune not played in five years. Hiccup would like this place, he thinks. He wonders if Val and Hiccup ever come here to while away a couple of hours together. There are a few other visitors – parents and their children, mostly – petting the creatures and feeding them chicken legs, under the watchful eyes of the big guardian dragons that the Dragon Master is currently fawning over. Once appeased, those dragons clear a perch for him and his beast, and the pair climb up to join their vigil, the Dragon Master soon settling against the night fury's flank.

Gobber sees a nightmare kit sneeze and accidentally flame up, but before the panic can fully set in, one of the guards has already doused it with a bucket of water. It still sniffles though, upset, and heads for the adults in a distressed waddle. A species Gobber doesn't recognise lifts its wings and lets the kit snuggle in close. It reminds Gobber of when Snotlout was learning woodwork and gave himself an admittedly large splinter; he ran straight to his mother, who calmed him down and pulled it right out before kissing it better. Snotlout was twelve and lucky Gobber was the only one around to see (although he's never been above a good bit of teasing himself). That was around the time Hiccup accidentally hammered his thumb so hard the nail turned black. His bottom lip trembled and tears welled in his eyes, but Hiccup kept working. He didn't have anyone to kiss it better. Gobber made sure he iced it though, which was probably more effective anyway.

For all his faults, Stoick wasn't a bad parent, he just didn't have enough time for Hiccup. Keeping him out of trouble was a full-time job, and even shared between the whole village, they couldn't watch him constantly. He was too slippery, too wily, just like his mother. Aye, she was a very resourceful woman and had a great mind for tactics, which is probably why the Dragon Master wanted her by his side. Valka's a brilliant leader in her own right, but Gobber doesn't understand why she would exchange one chiefdom for another, not when Berk was her home, where her family lived. She still had her father when she was taken, but too many harsh winters sent Old Wrinkly to the afterlife long ago. And she missed all of Hiccup's childhood. Gobber needs to know what could've possibly induced Valka into staying here. And since Valka won't tell him for whatever reason, and Hiccup's still missing, there's only one other person to ask – the Dragon Master himself.

"I don't know what his angle is, Stoick," Gobber replies at last. "But I'm going to ask him. You better stay here," he adds, searching for a reason why Stoick shouldn't be privy to their conversation. He can't let it seem like he's keeping things from his chief, but he can't very well ask about Valka in front of him either.

Fortunately, Stoick supplies one himself. "Good idea, I'd probably intimidate him too much," he says.

Gobber feels that the Dragon Master isn't quite as intimidated by Stoick as the man seems content to believe but recognises now is not the time to disillusion the Chief and instead nods his agreement.

"Yes, exactly," he says, hoping he doesn't sound noticeably sarcastic.

He leaves Stoick and the others on the fringes, none too keen to move further into the room, and makes his way towards the basalt dias. The night fury's head turns when he notices Gobber's approach, prompting the Dragon Master to look down.

"Erm, excuse me," Gobber starts, wondering where all this deference has come from. "I wanna talk to ye," he says. Ah, much better.

"No, I can't tell you about Hiccup. Yes, the Red Death is real. No, I don't control dragons. Do you think that covers everything, bud?" he checks, looking to his dragon.

"Not quite," Gobber presses. "I want to talk to you about Aesir. Valka."

His green eyes widen behind his helmet and he sits up straight. "Right, of course. What do you want to know?"

"What, just like tha'? You'll let me ask whatever I want?"

"Some secrets aren't mine to tell, but I'll try to answer what I can," he allows.

Gobber expected reticence and tight lips, but with this willingness to engage, he'd be wise to take everything the Dragon Master says with a pinch of salt. He's not a man to be trusted, this one.

"Alright, I want to know how she became your second in command," Gobber says.

"She insisted." Gobber scoffs. "No, really. I offered her the chiefdom from the outset; I certainly never wanted it. Still don't. She's so much more competent than me – when we met, I'd only been flying for a week, and she had fifteen years under her belt. I told her she should have the job, but she said I had the heart of a chief and the soul of a dragon, and that she only wanted to be my second," the Dragon Master explains.

This only raises more questions. "How did you meet her?" Gobber asks next.

"Toothless and I were camping on Freezing to Death, not far from here. She thought Toothless had escaped from trappers and meant to bring him home. See, back before we built this city, Valka was running a search and rescue op for wounded dragons, like Gruff here." The Dragon Master gestures to the beast with the nadder kit under its wing. "When she realised I was a rider, same as her, she took both of us in."

"What were you doing on Freezing? Place ain't exactly some balmy holiday destination." You'd have to be barmy to want to visit, he thinks.

"You can say that again. I would've gotten frostbite on my spleen if Toothless hadn't been with me. But what was I doing there? Well… uh, I was sorta made persona non grata when my village found out about the night fury I was harbouring, so we left before things got ugly," he answers, rubbing the back of his neck.

Gobber's eyes narrow. "So you're an Outcast."

"I'm not an Outcast-with-a-capital-O, no – Alvin doesn't like me, and he's just lucky I let him live – and technically I didn't stick around long enough for my village to cast me out either, to answer your question," says the Dragon Master, fairly prickly for someone usually so calm. Woe betide Alvin for getting on this man's bad side – sounds like there's some real bad history there.

Gobber puts his hands up in a placating gesture and resolves not to ask the Dragon Master any more personal questions if he can help it. Besides, he would rather hear more about Valka.

"Alright, got it. Do you, uh, know why Valka didn't come home?" he asks next.

"To what end?" returns the Dragon Master flippantly. "Whatever dragon she rode home on would be forced back into the Red Death's horde. And she would be back to killing dragons to defend herself. At least out here she could do some good. She'll tell you it was selfish, but to me, it's the bravest thing I've ever heard of. I see every day how much she wants to return to her husband, but as long as the war continues and for as long as Stoick has his vendetta against dragons, she can't."

"Ah, but he only has that vendetta because they took his wife and son. And you can make sure they're both returned to him," Gobber points out helpfully. Sometimes you've just gotta spell these things out.

"They've changed, Gobber," sighs the Dragon Master.

"Not so much that Stoick wouldn't still love them," Gobber promises.

"You'd be surprised."

Gobber's ready to argue the point, but there's a commotion from the other side of the nursery, a flutter of wings followed by a thud.

"GET THESE THINGS OFF ME!"

That's Stoick's voice. Gobber watches as the Dragon Master snaps to attention, but the blue thunderdrum on the lowest podium is already sailing over. Gobber races to help his chief, but the Dragon Master beats him there.

Hiccup finds Stoick pinned under a pile of baby thunderdrums, attempting to extract himself. He's red in the face but handles the younglings with not an ounce of undue force. They seem utterly fascinated with the chief's impressive beard and appear to have toppled him so that they might get a better look. Thornado issues a single sonic roar, short and softened, but entirely effective. The younglings hop off Stoick's chest and return to their adoptive father. Bing, Bang, and Boom are the oldest in the nursery and don't yet know their own strength. They'll soon be too big to play with the other younglings, especially once the hatchlings arrive next Snoggletog, but at least Thornado can keep them in check for a little while longer. He gives them a few disappointed growls then sends them on their way, before slinking back to the rocks himself.

Hiccup offers Stoick a hand up. He doesn't take it.

"This isn't working," he says, pulling himself to his feet.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for things to get out of hand. I realise this isn't the most relaxing–"

"Not just this," Stoick interrupts. "Everything."

"What– what do you mean?" Hiccup asks.

"The Ísfjall Experience," he spits. "Maybe we didn't know what we were up against. Maybe you are better equipped to end this war of ours. And maybe you even have my Hiccup. But whatever you're trying to achieve, Dragon Master, it's clearly not working."

This feels like deja vu. He's heard his father tell him his ideas aren't working more times than he can count – to give up, to stop trying so hard. He thought this time might be different, but it just goes to show that it's not the pitcher or the delivery. Stoick just hates his ideas. They're too ideologically opposed. It isn't working.

"Okay, so what do you propose?" Hiccup asks.

"I want us to go home," Stoick appeals tiredly. "How do we make that happen?"

"You finish training," he replies evenly.

"Aside from that," Stoick growls.

Hiccup thinks. There is one thing he could ask for, something that he really does need. Something that would serve his needs just as effectively.

"I want an alliance with Berk and access to the woods north of Raven Point for the next two moons," Hiccup tells him.

"What for?" Stoick asks, suspicious.

"I want to launch the final attack on the Queen as close to the Nest as possible, somewhere with enough land to host a small encampment. Berk fits that criteria."

"You want to plant forces on my island?" Stoick confirms.

His voice is forceful, almost angry, but not quite; more like he's asking if Hiccup hears how mad that sounds. He knows it's a tall order, but if Stoick is this desperate to renegotiate, it might just pay off.

"Temporarily," he confirms.

Stoick actually seems to be mulling this over.

"Done," he says, offering his hand before withdrawing at the last second. "On one condition."

Hiccup gulps. He knew he was counting his chickens too soon.

"My son will be part of your retinue. A non-combatant, obviously–"

"Obviously," Hiccup agrees, trying not to chuckle at the irony, that he'll actually be the one leading the charge. "Fine – but what about my trainees?" he asks.

If this deal means Astrid and the others are thus barred from training dragons, he can't take it – not when they've come so far in so little time. Astrid and Stormfly have sealed their bond and any attempts to cleave them apart now would be reckless. If Stoick doesn't change his mind about dragons soon, there won't be a place on Berk for Astrid anymore either. Hiccup wonders if she's realised this yet, then remembers the reason she gave for wanting to meet his mother. She's confused. She's fully aware she's reached such a crossroads, Hiccup only hopes she'll have the option that neither he nor Valka were afforded when it was their turn to choose. Home and friendship.

Stoick barks a laugh. "You can't seriously think they'll want to continue." Hiccup bites his tongue, knowing that if he speaks now it will only be an insult. "Oh, no, he does!" Stoick exclaims, turning to his brothers- and sisters-in-arms, who all laugh uproariously too. "Well… I'd be inclined to leave it up to them," Stoick manages after he's done mocking.

Hiccup would wager that won't break the way Stoick thinks, but isn't about to press the issue.

"So we have a deal?" Hiccup asks.

"Perhaps. These are my final terms – take 'em or leave 'em. You may come to Berk, but you may only stay if my son can vouch for you."

Hiccup inhales sharply. He knew he'd have to prove the heir's presence on Berk one way or another, but this paints him into a bit of a corner. Maybe he can get Stoick to change his terms. A brief appearance from the heir before putting that particular mask back on the wall. Not to mention, if Stoick knows Hiccup is already on Berk, his forces may need to fend off Hooligans sneaking into camp to 'rescue' him. No, better they think he will be left behind.

"Counteroffer. Hiccup will wave you off at the docks and remain in Ísfjall until we've dealt with the Red Death," he tries.

"Counter-counteroffer. Hiccup waves us off at the docks as a show of your goodwill, and comes to Berk with your party," Stoick tables.

Hiccup's only losing ground this way and he can't afford to let this one chance slip through his fingers. A goodbye at the docks will help Hiccup gauge Stoick's true feelings ahead of whatever form of contact vouching will take.

"Fine," he growls eventually.

Stoick re-extends his hand and Hiccup shakes firmly, still feeling as though he's won more than he's lost.

As soon as Heather ends the lesson, Astrid takes off. She's sure that on any other day, she would've enjoyed listening to Heather's lecture. After all, she should know about riding tack now that she's a dragon rider. But Freja is that a terrifying thought. Stoick outlawed dragon riding at the last Thing, announcing that anyone caught fraternising with dragons instead of killing them on sight would be executed themselves, if the dragon didn't get them first, of course. The last time she saw her chief, he was frowning down on her from the spectator boxes at the obsidian courtyards after catching her training terrors. Did he see how she stopped the terror chowing down on Snotlout's arm, or did he only see her treasonous actions? Will it matter that she did it on foreign soil and under duress, or will Stoick still be unable to pardon her? When it's finally time to leave, Astrid knows she won't receive the hero's welcome they were all promised when they set sail for Ísfjall, but she never imagined she wouldn't be welcome at all. Did she subconsciously ask for this meeting to prepare herself for that eventuality – so that Valka might show her how to move forward after she loses everything to this path? No, Stoick will understand. He has to.

H's note said Mrs Haddock would meet her at the archives. She flags down a gondola from the jetty near the mouth of the catacombs. The ferryman nearly leaves her stranded there when she tells him she doesn't have any coin, but when she mentions she's one of the Hooligans from Berk, he apologises profusely and tells her that the Dragon Master has made arrangements for their travel expenses and not to worry. It reminds her how much the Dragon Master has invested in them; housing them, feeding them, and clothing them – all that on top of training them. She's never liked being indebted to anyone and she's still anxious about how the Dragon Master will choose to cash in. Maybe he expects Astrid to join his army. Maybe he's even counting on Stoick banishing her so he'll have no other loyalties to contend with. That doesn't sound like him, but then again, how well can she know a man who hides behind a mask? After all, her heart has misled her once already.

The guards outside the war room challenge her when she bids entry to the archives, but easily move aside when she gives her name and purpose. She finds a conclave of officials standing around the head of the war table, the Dragon Master numbering among them. Her pulse rushes with his sudden proximity. He doesn't immediately glance up, busy moving figurines across the table. It's canvassed with a giant map of the Barbaric Archipelago, and Astrid recognises the small landmass he just covered with wood-carved pieces.

"You're going to invade Berk!?" she cries.

Her heart shatters – she expected more from him. She can't believe she thought he was good, that he cared.

The Dragon Master's head snaps up. "Miss Hofferson? Wha-what are you talking about?"

She shoulders her way through the crowd, shoving anyone who can't get out of her way fast enough. She faces him, chest heaving, and points aggressively to the dragon figurines she just watched him brazenly shuffle onto Berkian territory.

"Ohhh," he says, comprehension dawning. "That's not what it looks like. That's totally above board, sanctioned by the Chief himself."

"You expect me to believe Chief Stoick the Vast is letting you send riders to Berk," Astrid drawls.

"Well, yeah. We hammered it all out this morning," he tells her as her brows climb higher. "Good news, Hofferson. You're going home."

Astrid's breath stutters. No, that can't be. Her heart rebels at the thought of leaving this place. She's being forced to choose between Stormfly and her chief sooner than she anticipated. Why couldn't she stay in this– this limbo as H put it – just for a little while longer?

"What? How?" she asks breathlessly.

"Well, between you and me, Stoick couldn't hack dragon training," he stage-whispers. The peanut gallery of officials titters, making Astrid want to punch something. How dare they mock her chief? "He asked me to name another price, so I told him everyone could go home tomorrow if he would be so gracious as to host my forces for the next two moons."

"But what about–" Us? Astrid violently squashes the thought before it's fully formed – it's silly and childish and she should know better. There is no us. "Training," she finishes, her voice taut.

"You can continue your training on Berk if that's still something you would like to pursue. Chief Stoick made no objections," he tells her levelly.

That's something Astrid needs to see to believe, but she nods along.

"Good. I'd like that," she says, her temper cooling.

He nods too. Suddenly, all of the awkwardness her ire was keeping at bay comes crashing back in. She kissed this man, and he didn't kiss her back. His apology from the night before seems to hang between them like a physical thing. She staggers back.

"I have somewhere important to be," she says abruptly, which while perfectly true, sounds cheap and manufactured to her own ears.

"Right, of course," he responds woodenly.

She scurries towards the large oak doors leading to the archive and escapes inside. Astrid allows herself a moment to feel the sting of his indifference, before letting it wash over her. A broken heart is good for the soul, or something.

The archive is just as lively as ever, with some scribes dashing about and others tediously arranging documents, chattering among themselves. There's a woman sitting alone, watching the door, who perks up at her arrival. That has to be Mrs Haddock.

Astrid joins her at a table, her stomach broiling with nerves.

"You must be Astrid," the woman says warmly. "I've heard so much about you."

Mrs Haddock takes Astrid's hands in hers and ushers her into a chair. She has auburn hair, streaked with silver, braided into a knot atop her head. She's wearing an apron dress, dyed an expensive green, with a high split revealing tan riding trousers. There's a little of Hiccup in the way she smiles.

"You have?" Astrid asks.

She can't imagine Hiccup talking much about her, and she hasn't known H all that long either.

"Of course! You're the shining star of the Dragon Master's newest recruits. He's full of praise for you, my dear," she explains.

Astrid can't stop herself from blushing. The acclaim comes from an unexpected quarter; he's praised the class before, but to tell others how she's distinguished herself is an even greater flattery. And it hints at an unexpected familiarity between Mrs Haddock and the Dragon Master.

"He's a great teacher," Astrid demures, feeling a little guilty for how heatedly she spoke to him a moment ago, even if it was a totally reasonable conclusion to draw at the time.

"Aye, that he is," Mrs Haddock agrees. "But nothing trumps hard work and raw talent, and he tells me you've got both in spades." She hopes that's all he's told her. It's embarrassment enough that the Dragon Master felt the need to tell his sister of their kiss, but if he has no discretion at all, she'll be ruined regardless of her stance on dragons. "I can't fathom why you need my help, dear – it sounds like you're doing just fine on your own," Mrs Haddock muses.

Astrid shakes her head fervently. "I'm really not. I feel like I don't know right from wrong anymore. I used to know – beyond all doubt – that dragons were evil, hateful beasts. I'd seen it all my life. I'd lie awake at night wondering if the roof was about to cave in or the walls catch fire. And then H showed me Mouse, and I met Stormfly, and now nothing makes sense!" She bites her lip, realising she's close to causing a scene. She lowers her voice. "How did you do it? How did you look past all the pillaging and the bloodshed? How did you stop fearing them?" she entreats.

The Dragon Master can blame the Red Death for the raids until he's blue in the face but Astrid knows what dragons are capable of. It's not that she doesn't believe they're being controlled, it's that she still wears the scars of a generations-long war, still knows the bitter taste of ash and the ache of bruised ribs, the pang of hunger because dragons made off with half the village livestock, her parents' sallow cheeks as they insist she has the last scrap of food – it haunts her.

Mrs Haddock gives her a gentle smile. "Oh, Astrid. There's no special secret to letting go of your fear and anger towards dragons. There's no easy rationalisation, you can't just snap your fingers and leave it all in the past. It's going to take time. You haven't even been here a whole week, and you've already opened your heart so much," she says, voice rich with adulation.

Perhaps too much, thinks Astrid bitterly. She's always tried her best to be a critical thinker, but she's let her interest in green-eyed Ísfjallans cloud her judgement and has only made a series of questionable decisions since being released from the dungeons. She wants Mrs Haddock to tell her they were all in her tribe's best interests, that she's doing the right thing, but she doesn't know how to ask.

"Time isn't a luxury I have anymore," Astrid laments. "Apparently the Dragon Master renegotiated the bargain with the chief. We're going home – perhaps as early as tomorrow."

"So I've heard," Valka intones. She sounds disapproving.

"Will you be returning with us?" Astrid questions.

The other woman flinches – must be a sore spot. But why?

"The Dragon Master has invited me as part of his retinue, yes," Mrs Haddock confirms, almost offhandedly.

Astrid tries to ignore the words she doesn't say. Home, family, reunite… She didn't expect to hear such detachment in her voice. Isn't she excited to get her old life back?

"That's wonderful! What did Stoick say when you told him you were coming home?" she asks, hoping to cheer her a little.

Astrid can't quite imagine how the chief must have reacted to seeing his wife again after all these years. She's only ever seen her chief brought to tears once – the day of Hiccup's disappearance – and never at all to tears of joy, but she thinks the miracle of seeing his wife alive could very well make him cry. He might've held her close or twirled her around, it might've been a quiet kind of happiness or he might've shouted it from the rooftops. But one thing's for sure – he would've been ecstatic.

"He doesn't know," Mrs Haddock says.

Astrid frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Stoick doesn't know I'm alive."

The vibrant storybook ending Astrid was imagining fades from her mind's eye.

"How could you not tell him you're okay?" she asks, bewildered. "He thinks you were killed by a dragon! Are you just going to let him go on believing a lie?"

"The woman that he married did die that day. I may be alive, but the chieftess of Berk is long dead," Mrs Haddock says with conviction.

"You have to tell him, Mrs Haddock. He deserves to know," Astrid appeals.

"Too many people know already," she says, shrugging. "Go ahead and tell him what I've become – a dragon sympathiser and a traitor to my species – and then watch as his heart hardens against love. He won't accept us, Astrid. Not me, not Hiccup, and not you when he sees you riding that nadder of yours."

"I will," Astrid says firmly. "And if he can't accept us for who we are, then fine! I am a dragon rider and I won't apologise to anyone for it, and neither should you!"

Astrid clamps a hand over her mouth. Did she mean all that? She stopped worrying about what other people thought of her actions and found a truth within herself she was too afraid to acknowledge before. She is a dragon rider. Stormfly is her dragon and she belongs to Stormfly. If that's wrong, then Astrid doesn't care about being right.

Mrs Haddock is looking at her in astonishment. Then her face splits into a glowing smile.

"I knew he liked you for a reason," she laughs, but before Astrid can ask who – Hiccup? H? The Dragon Master? – Mrs Haddock has already moved on. "You came here today looking for my guidance, but you've just told me something I very much needed to hear. I have been apologising for who I am for too long. I may not have always made the right choices, but I know that I did them with love in my heart. I can't keep living in fear of the people I care about hurting me. It's unfair to me and it's unfair to them for never giving them the chance to prove me wrong."

Astrid's heart swells. She feels a fellowship with Mrs Haddock that takes her back with its intensity. She feels like they've given each other the tools to retake control of their own lives. She feels lighter than she has in days, weeks, months, even.

"So you'll talk to Stoick?" Astrid asks.

"Soon," she promises. "I think it would be a conversation better had on Berk, where Stoick will feel more comfortable," Mrs Haddock says.

Astrid nods. "You're probably right," she agrees. "But I will hold you to that, Mrs Haddock," she warns gently.

"By all means. And please, call me Valka," she insists.

"Okay, Valka," she tries hesitantly.

Despite the emotionally raw turn the conversation took, Astrid still fully intends to ask about Hiccup, even if they're headed home soon and though she's already found out so much along the way. She knows Hiccup wants to help end the war, she knows he's Ísfjall's mad inventor, and she knows he wants to prove how useful he can be before facing his father, even though from Astrid's perspective he's already done that. But she doesn't know how it all started; how he found a life here away from Berk. As perfect as Ísfjall seems, Astrid can't imagine living anywhere other than her home.

"Can I ask how you and Hiccup found each other again? Ísfjall is such a big city, and you were separated when Hiccup was only a baby. How did you even recognise each other?" Astrid asks.

"We didn't meet in Ísfjall, and it's the silliest thing – I recognised this tiny little scar on his chin, right here," Valka says, pointing to a spot on her own. "He'd gotten it the night I was taken. Ah, but I probably shouldn't be telling you this, I don't want to give the game away," she laughs, tapping the side of her nose conspiratorially. "Now, why don't we talk about what happened last night? I want to hear everything!"

"A-about what?" Astrid stammers, turning crimson to the tips of her ears. She feels phantom lips against her own, a warm hand on her shoulder…

"Your first flight, of course! Spare no detail, I love bonding stories," Valka enthuses, clasping her hands together, stars twinkling in her eyes.

Astrid breathes a sigh of relief and recounts a heavily abridged version of the night before. If Valka finds her storytelling skills wanting, well, at least she's too polite to say.

Henbane is a period-typical drug that can induce fits of rage, thought to be taken by Berserkers. I'm not sure henbane dens were ever a thing, but it was a fun throwaway line.

A/N: I'm experimenting with longer chapters, so let me know what you think of this double-length one. We're celebrating two milestones in this chapter – we reached 100,000 views and 600 follows!

The idea to use Bing, Bang, Boom, and Thornado goes to Nothing is true 2008. It's not exactly like we talked about because the scene wasn't from Stoick's perspective, but I hope you liked it anyway! Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, you made my whole week!