"Fishlegs knows," Hiccup tells Valka that evening over nattmal. "He promised not to tell, but he knows the truth."
They're in Valka's rooms, the fire pit blazing and with Toothless and Cloudjumper enthusiastically devouring barrels of cod nearby.
"That you're the Dragon Master?" Valka asks, picking at her food. She doesn't seem to have much appetite this evening and Hiccup wonders if something happened at training to upset her.
"What else?" he questions, intending it rhetorically.
Valka looks arch. "That you're Astrid's new friend H; that H is Stoick's missing heir; that I'm alive and moonlighting as the fearsome Dragon Master's second in command; that you're lovesick for one of Fishlegs' close friends. Take your pick, darling," she says sweetly.
"Mom," Hiccup groans, turning scarlet.
He wishes she wouldn't tease him about Astrid and his unfortunate preoccupation with her laugh, her smile, her eyes. She's not wrong – it feels like a sickness. One with no hope for a cure. Hiccup coughs and bids to reroute the conversation.
"But now that you mention it, Fishlegs probably does know you're alive too. Astrid found the book of testimonies yesterday and read yours. I expect she's told the others already," he reveals.
Valka takes a sip of mead. "That's not ideal," she comments blithely.
"It's worse than that," Hiccup goes on. "Astrid's determined to meet you. She says she wants your advice as someone from Berk. I won't make you say yes," he adds hurriedly. "I know this has been hard enough on you already, and I'd understand if it's asking too much…"
He reaches across the table to give her hand a few quick squeezes. I. Love. You.
Valka lays down her fork, weighing her options. "I'll meet with her if you agree to take over teaching my half of the tribe – just for tomorrow, mind. Gobber's putting pressure on me to unmask myself. He thinks that's all it will take to fix everything." Valka gives a hollow laugh. "His heart's in the right place, I know, but I don't think I'm ready to face him again just yet," she says, a belying waver to her voice.
As much as she denies it, the Berkians' presence in Ísfjall has been a strain on her. If she's letting herself ask for Hiccup's help, then she's struggling even more than he thought. His heart aches for her and he'll do anything to lessen her burdens.
"I'll see if Heather will cover for me," Hiccup says, nodding his agreement. "You should rest tomorrow. Cloudjumper misses you and I'm sure you'll feel better after a day spent flying," he suggests, a thinly-veiled imperative.
Valka forgoes her usual token protests, giving him a tired but genuine smile. She returns to her meal, looking more like herself than she has in days.
Astrid slips out of the apartment later that night to sit on the open porch. She can't think with Ruffnut talking in her sleep and the boys snoring so loudly across the hall. She's in her small clothes, but it's dark enough that no one would notice that she's not properly dressed. The water laps at her ankles, the right side of too cold. She leans her head against a timber beam and sighs in frustration. Fishlegs still hasn't spoken about what's been bothering him despite all her prodding and instead spent the rest of the evening with his nose buried in his new book. He knows something, she's certain, but he seems determined not to spill.
Astrid has resigned herself to a sleepless night of deep thought when a sudden wind almost knocks her into the water followed by a thump that rattles the veranda floorboards. Something large and winged has landed next to her. Astrid jumps but begins to relax when she sees who it is.
"Stormfly," she breathes. "You scared me, girl."
Stormfly trills apologetically. Astrid wonders how she knew where to find her, before remembering that nadders are some of the best natural trackers. Predators. Some of her earlier fear returns, but when a few fraught moments have passed and Stormfly stays placid and gentle, the hunted feeling leaves her.
"What are you doing here?" Astrid asks, reaching out to stroke her snout.
Stormfly leans into the touch and continues to bend until they're eye to eye, then lower still as the dragon bows deep. She stays crouched for a while before Astrid finally understands why she's fluttering her wings impatiently.
"Are you offering me a ride?" Astrid breathes.
She can't think of what she's done to merit the honour. This boon seems too great for the price of a few pets and a new name. She feels unworthy. And yet… she's tempted. She can't deny the pang of jealousy she feels watching Ísfjallans glide through the city – the freedom, the thrill, the rush. She's wondered what it might feel like to fly since the day Johann brought word of dragon riders to Berk, maybe even longer. Many of her daydreams have featured feathered wings of her own. A large part of her always considered winged beasts an injustice from the gods. Why should dragons have such a gift only to use it to rain fire on innocent Hooligans? But now she understands that dragons weren't created to terrorise Vikings. They're capable of so much more.
Astrid bites her lip. It could be dangerous. She could fall.
But Stormfly would catch her. There's not a doubt in Astrid's mind that she wouldn't.
She moves to Stormfly's flank, the nadder chirping happily when she pulls herself astride. Astrid grabs hold of two prongs of Stormfly's crown and tenses her thighs, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
"Okay, girl. I'm ready," she says.
She's seated and holding on tight, but she'll never be ready. Nothing could've prepared her for the way her stomach drops out as Stormfly leaps into the air with a powerful beat of her wings. The wind streams through her loose golden locks and she blinks away the sudden dryness of her eyes. She has to remember how to breathe, but when the slight panic subsides, her heart swells. This is amazing!
She has goosebumps, but not because her linen nightshirt ripples in the breeze. She feels weightless, as though she's shed too-thick winter furs. The residential district looks so small from above, star-studded with torchlight, the neat lines of the canals and square huts looking like a blue-brown tartan. She can see everything from up here. The empty market square, the tunnels leading to the botanical gardens and the archives, the dragon roosts, the locks. She could reach the Sparrowhawk if she wanted. But why bother when she could fly straight out of Ísfjall and keep going until she reached Berk? The idea is painfully tempting. She could tell her parents not to worry, she could talk to them about everything that's happened. No one could stop her.
She could be back before morning. Back? Well, of course, she wouldn't abandon her friends, but that hadn't been the true feeling behind that particular thought. She had been thinking about not missing training. Not missing the opportunity to learn more about dragons. She hasn't given it much thought before now – before Stormfly gave her back the choice – but she wants to stay. Not forever, but at least until training's over.
She feels so steady, so confident flying with Stormfly that she releases one horn and lets her hand glide through the air. It feels thick and fluffy between her fingers. She laughs, elated.
Then she hears the shriek of impossibly fast wings.
"LAND, NOW!"
A bolt of dread pulses through Astrid's veins. The sudden voice tears her gaze left, where the night fury and his rider have appeared. He sounds angry, and Stormfly must hear it too, already complying with the order. They're back on solid ground in a matter of seconds, alighting somewhere within the Roosts' commons.
"What were you thinking?" the Dragon Master hisses.
"I wasn't trying to escape, if that's what you're asking," Astrid defends sourly, clambering down.
Okay, she was thinking of leaving, but with every intention of returning, so she doesn't see why she should have to answer for it.
"I don't care where you were going," he snaps. "Do you know how dangerous bare-back riding is? You could've gotten seriously hurt, Astrid."
Astrid's heart stutters at his use of her given name. He was… worried about her? His hands hover close to her person but fall just short of touching. As he continues to fuss from an appropriate distance, Astrid remembers how inappropriately she's dressed. She's wearing a thin sleep shirt and loose trousers, borrowed from a stack of clean clothes left at the apartment. They're perfectly comfy, soft against her skin, but not at all modest enough to wear in public. Not to mention her hair is down. Astrid's face heats.
"I trust Stormfly," she answers, fighting the urge to shrink from his gaze, hoping her indifference might ensure his. He's not looking at her, not in that way – not yet.
She notices how her declaration catches him off-guard. He falters, but only momentarily. "Stormfly's never had a rider before," he compounds eventually. "She could've stopped too sharply and skewered you on her spines. She wouldn't have meant to hurt you, no, but you'd be just as dead." He sounds much less angry than before but still not happy.
"We weren't even going that fast," Astrid maintains. She refuses to be lectured to by a consummate adrenaline junkie like the Dragon Master. Besides, it's true – they weren't going that fast.
When the Dragon Master can't refute that, the night fury gives a snort not entirely unlike laughter and rises a little in Astrid's estimations. She still hasn't quite forgiven him for chasing her and H through the city just a few weeks ago, but new evidence has effectively absolved him of the rest of her grievances. He hadn't killed Hiccup and H was ultimately unharmed.
"Maybe so," he allows, "but riding without a saddle is still forbidden, especially for fledgelings like you."
"How was I supposed to know?" she defends, a little hotter than necessary, disliking the condescension implied by 'fledgelings'. He hadn't said it derisively, but it still rankled her.
"Spoken like a true criminal," he returns, a teasing lilt to his voice. Something prickles at the base of Astrid's neck. Where has she heard that line before?
"Right, well I guess I should head home," Astrid says when she can't place it.
She's not looking forward to the long walk back, made longer by a desire to keep to the shadows, where she's less likely to be caught in her skivvies. Barefoot, too. Her toes curl involuntarily with thoughts of unsanded piers. She's also not ready to say goodbye to Stormfly so soon after sharing their first flight. It feels too important to walk away from, but if she loiters much longer, the Dragon Master might start meting out punishment, and she really doesn't want to get lumped with stable duty. Especially not on the eve of her audience with Valka Haddock.
"Not so fast," says the Dragon Master. Astrid's hope sinks. "Come with me."
He starts walking towards a barn-like structure that Astrid had seen that morning but hadn't taken much notice of.
"Why?" she asks, sceptical of his intentions.
Something in the way she asks must affect him, a vulnerability she hadn't meant to express. The Dragon Master turns back to Astrid and her state of dress finally registers, marked by subtle discomposure in the form of him looking anywhere but at her. Whereas before, he couldn't keep his eyes from her, clinically checking her body for damage, he now addresses a spot somewhere to her left.
"We keep spare saddles in this storehouse," he tells her. "And cloaks," he adds hoarsely. "Really thick cloaks. Wait here while I find one to fit a nadder. A saddle, I mean, not a cloak. The cloak's for you, obviously." The Dragon Master makes a strangled noise. "I didn't mean obviously, as in you need one because you're, uh, yeah. I just mean – you look cold," he rambles before all but running towards the safety of the barn.
"Is he always like this?" Astrid asks the night fury.
He vocalises something to the effect of you have no idea.
A lesser man might've looked his fill, but the Dragon Master isn't like that. She's not entirely sure what kind of a man he is; hasn't yet been able to take his measure. Every time she thinks she's close, he does something to surprise her. First, when he offered the bargain – the Ísfjall Experience in exchange for information about Hiccup, which first seemed an insurmountable hardship, but proved to be an invaluable gift. Then, when he tricked her into training dragons in front of her chief, painting her a turncoat before she knew where she stood herself. Despite her ever-softening attitude towards dragons, she still hasn't forgiven him on that account. Now this? Grounding her, scolding her, and, what, protecting her? She can't get a read on him and it's infuriating.
A few moments later, the Dragon Master emerges from the storehouse, nadder tack and furs in his arms. He lays them at Astrid's feet like an offering. She slips on a pair of boots and wraps herself in the bearskin. It's a little bit large on her, and a little bit too warm in the humidity, but she feels much better for having it. Stormfly chirps with excitement, recognising that the saddle is meant for her. She stays commendably still while the Dragon Master tightens the various straps and buckles required to fasten it to her back, and she appears immensely pleased with the outcome. Astrid rewards her good behaviour with chin scratches and compliments, making Stormfly preen from the praise.
"Are you up for some real flying?" the Dragon Master asks, holding up a matching harness for Astrid. "Unless you still want to head back."
"Real flying?" she asks, intrigued.
"Outside the mountain," he clarifies. "You can go so much faster over the open ocean."
He really hadn't cared that she could've been trying to sneak back to Berk. He must know by now that he's got to her, that she'll stay of her own volition at least until she finds Hiccup, probably longer. Because she wants to learn. As long as he's willing to teach her, Astrid is willing to stay. It doesn't mean she trusts him, but there's a certain respect there that – if his behaviour tonight is any indication – goes both ways.
She puts the harness on over the coat, yielding to the Dragon Master's polite request to double-check the straps, his hands swift and proper, never lingering nor drifting where they shouldn't.
"I think I'd break Stormfly's heart if I said no," Astrid replies, trying to disguise how much she longs for the skies herself.
Stormfly bows down for Astrid once again. She'd managed before, but it had been inelegant, and that had been without the cumbersome fur coat. Even with the help of the pommel, she struggles to pull herself into the saddle.
"Here," murmurs the Dragon Master.
Instead of hoisting her up as she half expects him to, he goes to his knees, almost in supplication, and offers Astrid a boost. As if he weren't the leader of quite possibly the greatest army in Midgard. As if he didn't have untold riches to his name. Or, she thinks a little wildly, as if she were his Queen. She stares at his interlocked fingers in complete bewilderment for at least five heartbeats before accepting his offer. He straightens, and mutely she watches him hook her harness to Stormfly's saddle. His eyes flicker to her face, her lips, before he averts his gaze. She wonders what the rest of his face might tell her, hidden behind his mask like a Winter Night reveller.
"Why do you hide your face?" Astrid asks gently.
At first, she'd assumed it was protection. Stoick had already swung at his head once, why shouldn't he be taking precautions against a follow-up attack? But when the immediate danger passed and the Dragon Master wore it still, Astrid began to suspect there was more to it. A snub? A test? A rite of passage? He hadn't been forthcoming when Snotlout had asked, but that was Snotlout.
"Because people don't always like what's underneath," he answers, just as softly.
It almost sounds like he's talking about a disfigurement, but not quite. Astrid doesn't know what to make of his answer.
"People are stupid," she tells him.
She doesn't know why she's trying to soothe an injury she doesn't understand for the sake of a man she hardly knows, but the thought of anyone passing judgement superficially makes her angry.
"That's why I prefer dragons." He laughs, breaking the weird tension between them.
The Dragon Master swings himself into the night fury's saddle and they gallop towards a large opening in the cave. Stormfly needs no encouragement to follow. They reach the precipice moments after the night fury dives off, the Dragon Master whooping in delight. Astrid squints to see them soaring through the sky, to the strain of whistling wings and raucous cheers.
Stormfly leaps. They sail on cerulean wings, high above the ocean. The air is salty and bitingly cold against the apples of her cheeks. She can't stop smiling. Her hands, gripping the cusp of the saddle, are bathed in silver moonlight, and so is Stormfly, her scales gleaming like liquid metal.
The night fury banks his wings, circling them.
"Good form," the Dragon Master comments.
"Not too bad yourself," Astrid banters.
He's more confident in his seat, sure, but so far she hasn't seen anything to set him apart from any other rider in the Ísfjallan Guard.
"Not impressed, huh? Well, alright then. Game on," he returns, voice touched with incredulity.
He and the dragon start climbing, up higher and higher until Astrid can't see them anymore before Toothless shuts his wings and they plummet out of the sky. He snaps them open moments before they meet the water, leaving a shimmering spray in their wake. The dragon rolls, writing verse in streaking vortices, before shooting up a second time. She loses sight of the pair until the night fury loops back, flying sedately alongside Stormfly.
The saddle is empty.
"On your left."
Astrid gasps. The Dragon Master has wings! He's gliding on her other side without the aid of his dragon. It's the most incredible thing she's ever seen.
"How are you doing that?" she asks, not bothering to mask the awe in her voice.
He contorts himself in the air and steps onto Stormfly's back, crossing back to his dragon, who looks decidedly smug. His feet find the stirrups and he disengages the locking mechanism on the tail rig.
"Flight suit," he explains. "And lots of practice."
"I'll say. Another one of Hiccup's ideas, I presume," she can't help but snipe.
"One of his best," confirms the Dragon Master.
"Aha, so you admit it?"
"Admit what?"
"That you've been stealing his ideas. Taking credit for Hiccup's work."
The Dragon Master laughs. "It's really not like that."
"Then why did H think you designed The Astrid?" she asks, cheeks flaming.
He shrugs. "How am I supposed to know what H was thinking? That guy's always running his mouth. Gets himself into a lot of trouble that way."
"Hey, I happen to like H's mouth," Astrid blurts, without properly considering her words. She coughs. "That's, uh, not what I meant. I mean, he's a good man. Don't write him off, okay?"
The Dragon Master regards her silently; she struggles to interpret his pause.
"Okay," he says at length.
"So, he has recognition, then?" Astrid prods when she realises that's all she's likely to get.
"Hiccup? Well, yeah. Everybody knows he's Ísfjall's mad inventor," the Dragon Master replies.
"Oh, okay. That's good. I'm… glad."
"But…?" prompts the Dragon Master.
He's good at reading her; she's not sure how she feels about that.
"But it's a shame we couldn't do that for him while he was on Berk. If we had recognised his talents back then, maybe he would've come home by now. I can't help feeling like we drove him away. Like I drove him away."
She doesn't know why she's telling him this. It's too personal, but he's a good listener. His anonymity helps bypass her walls and she enjoys conversing with a face that can't pass judgement.
"I've known Hiccup for a long time, and I can promise you he doesn't feel that way."
"Really?"
"Really," he affirms. "Come on, let's head back. Something tells me your friends don't know you left, and I don't want a repeat performance of the last time that happened."
She laughs. "Me neither."
The flight back to the mountain doesn't take long as they didn't stray far. The Dragon Master accompanies her back to the apartment, which doesn't seem to have roused in her absence. He waits patiently while she tries to remove the harness, but one of the straps has gotten twisted.
"May I?" he offers.
She drops her hands without protest. He steps closer, clever fingers working the knot. He's so close she can feel the warmth of his body, his breath puffs close to her ear. She tilts her head to look up at him, the contours of his neck, the curve of his jaw. He smells like fresh saltwater and lye soap. The harness slips from her shoulder, loose at last, but he doesn't move away. Her hands move on their own to his helmet, and he doesn't try to stop her when she pushes the visor up. She stops only halfway, the slitted breaths of the Grima resting over his eyes, his mouth carefully exposed.
She rises on her toes and presses her lips to his. His mouth falls slightly open in surprise, but he doesn't choose to deepen the kiss – barely kisses her back at all. She strokes her thumb over his cheek; his hand finds her shoulder and… pushes her gently away. Astrid lets herself be pushed, disappointment spreading through her. She thought… but he didn't… gods, she feels so stupid.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs.
Astrid shakes her head. "Don't be. I, uhm, I don't know why I did that," she admits. She hopes her smile isn't as obviously watery as it feels.
The Dragon Master flips his visor shut. She practically throws the harness back at him, turns quickly on her heel and bolts for the door.
What a total and unmitigated disaster.
A/N: You may have noticed the new title. I said on day one that I felt it was uninspired, and I finally, finally, came up with a better one. I'm also going back through old chapters and fixing mistakes as well as the lines that bothered me most, but largely I don't want to be going back and making improvements. This story is a time capsule for me. It shows me how much my writing has improved in the last four and a half years, and I don't want to erase that.
In other news, I have solidified the plot! I know how this baby's going to end, and I can finally give a (tentative) chapter count of 8 more chapters, so roughly 27 in total. We're basically on the home straight, guys. As always, thanks to everyone who followed, favourited, or reviewed last time. You guys are the best!
Originally published 25/06/24