12. Of desire and destiny
The Crystal Caves bled smoke into the twilight sky, great plumes of darkness that turned the setting sun into a wound carved fresh across the horizon.
Freyd stood at the edge of their encampment, watching ash dance on the wind like corrupt snow, trying not to remember the screams – both dragon and human – that had painted the air when she had first arrived here.
As part of his fleet.
The Monstrous Nightmare beneath her shifted restlessly, scales the color of old fire and soot catching what little light remained, almost as if it refused to reflect any of it.
She still refused to name it, refused to acknowledge the intelligence in those amber eyes that sometimes seemed to plead for… something. Connection? An understanding?Freedom?
There was no place for those in Drago's army. She knew that the moment he took over their village by force, burning everyone who resisted.
Better to keep distance between herself and the creature she rode. Better to remember it was just another weapon in Drago's arsenal rather than something with a soul.
Better to forget the way it had hesitated before firing on the Crystal Caves' defenders, the way its roar had sounded almost like grief.
"They say the dragon whisperer escaped." Kára's voice carried on the smoke-laden wind as her Singetail landed beside Freyd's position. "Took half the cave's dragons with her."
"He won't be pleased." The words felt ashen on Freyd's tongue, like the remnants of homes and hopes that now painted the evening sky.
"When is he ever?"
There was fear beneath Kára's attempted lightness, the same fear that lived in all of them – those who rode dragons with chains around their hearts, who followed orders with chains around their souls.
The sound of approaching wings made them both tense, but it was only Lars, their unit commander, his scarred face catching the last light like badly healed wounds.
"Meeting in the main tent," he said without preamble. "He's… in a mood."
The words sent ice through Freyd's veins.
She'd seen Drago's "moods" before. Had watched what happened to those who failed him, to dragons who resisted too long, to villages that dared deny him what he wanted.
Sometimes, if he was in a good mood, he killed them quick.
Other villages…were not so lucky.
She had watched her own home burn when they refused to yield to his control.
If only she had the courage then.
She sighed and began to walk down the perilous edge, almost willing the rocks to throw her down.
The command tent loomed before them like a monster's maw, its shadows seeming to reach for them with hungry fingers. Inside, the air hung thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood – whether dragon or human, Freyd couldn't tell anymore. Didn't want to know.
"The dragon whisperer escapes with our prizes," Drago's voice rolled like thunder through the gathered riders, though the man himself remained in shadow at the tent's far end. "And you all stand here, still breathing, having failed to stop her."
No one spoke. No one dared. Freyd could feel her Nightmare's restlessness in a distant part of her mind. It's heat bleeding through her armor like fever.
How did she even form a connection? Dragons only formed connections with those they found worthy- of the little she knew about dragon training, that was an important part.
No dragon ever found anyone in Drago's army worthy of an actual connection. And yet…
"Sir," Lars stepped forward, his voice carefully neutral. "The caves were more heavily defended than intelligence suggested. The alpha—"
"The alpha is dead." The words fell like stones into water, creating ripples of unease through the assembled riders. "As are those who failed to prevent this… inconvenience. Unless anyone else would like to make excuses?"
Silence stretched like a bowstring about to snap.
Freyd thought of Unit Three – Erik, Maja, young Finn who'd only been riding three months. All gone now, their dragons either dead or given to new riders.
She couldn't even remember whose screams she'd heard last.
"The resistance grows stronger," one of the senior commanders spoke from the shadows. "Not just the dragon whisperer. There are rumors from the south – Arendelle gathering allies, dragons appearing in their fjords…Our scouts report-"
"Arendelle." Drago finally emerged from the shadows, his scarred face twisted in what might have been amusement or rage. "The kingdom of ice and snow, thinking they can stand against dragon fire? Perhaps it's time we showed them the true meaning of power."
"The queen," another voice ventured carefully. "They say she has magic of her own. Ice magic, powerful enough to—"
"Magic?" Drago's laugh was like steel on stone. "I break dragons, bend them to my will. What is one witch-queen against such power?"
But Freyd had heard the stories, whispered around campfires when commanders weren't listening. A queen who could freeze whole fjords, who had mastered her powers not through force but through love. A kingdom that welcomed dragons as allies rather than slaves.
A chance at something other than this endless march of conquest and death.
But she was too far gone now. To even try and escape would mean certain death.
Drago was not a forgiving man. If he was a man at all.
"We start the move south," Drago declared, his massive form seeming to fill the tent with shadows. "Now. Tonight. Before they can gather more strength."
"Sir," Lars stepped forward again, either brave or foolish. "The dragons need rest. After the battle, the younger ones especially—"
"The dragons will do as they're told." Drago's staff struck the ground, the sound echoing like breaking bones. "As will you all. Unless anyone objects?"
The silence that followed held the weight of unmarked graves.
"Dismissed." The word carried the finality of an executioner's blade.
They filed out into night that had fully claimed the sky, stars hidden behind smoke that still rose from the Crystal Caves' ruins. Freyd's Nightmare snapped at the air, tasting ash and fear on the wind.
"We lost half of Unit Seven last week," Kára murmured as they made their way back to their position. "Unit Three yesterday. How many more before…"
She didn't finish the thought. Didn't need to. They all knew the price of failure in Drago's army. They had paid it in blood and bone and the screams of dragons forced to turn on their own kind.
"They say the resistance is different," one of the younger riders whispered, falling into step beside them. "That they work with dragons instead of controlling them. That they—"
"Quiet," Lars cut him off, but not unkindly.
"Walls have ears here. And some thoughts are dangerous to voice."
But Freyd had seen it in the battle – the way the dragon whisperer's forces moved together with purpose against them. The fierce joy in dragons flying free, choosing to fight alongside their rider rather than being forced to obey.
Her own Nightmare's eyes haunted her dreams sometimes. Eyes full of an intelligence she tried so hard to deny. What would it be like, she wondered, to fly without chains? To trust instead of command, to partner instead of control?
"Check your gear," Lars ordered, his voice pitched low enough that only their unit could hear. "All of it. And…" He hesitated, glancing at the shadows that seemed to watch their every move. "Be ready. For anything."
The meaning beneath his words sent chills down Freyd's spine. Be ready to run, he meant. Be ready to choose, when the moment comes.
If they lived that long.
They dispersed to their tasks, shadows among shadows in the smoke-stained night. But as Freyd checked her Nightmare's saddle, she found herself meeting those intelligent eyes for longer than usual. Saw something there beyond the forced obedience Drago's control demanded – a spark of… waiting. Watching. Hoping.
"Soon," she whispered before she could stop herself, the word barely a breath in the darkness. "Soon."
The dragon's answering rumble held neither the mindless aggression Drago demanded nor the broken submission he forced. It sounded almost like… promise.
Above them, the smoke finally began to clear, revealing stars like scattered hopes across the night sky. They pointed south, toward Arendelle, toward stories of ice magic and dragon riders who flew free.
Toward war, yes. But perhaps also toward something else. Something worth fighting for instead of just fighting against.
Around her, the camp prepared for march, dragons and riders moving through darkness thick with fear and ash and unspoken dreams of freedom. Drago's shadow seemed to touch everything, turning even the stars cold with its reach.
But Freyd had seen something else in the Crystal Caves' battle. Had glimpsed another way, another path, another possibility. Had seen dragons choose to fight alongside riders instead of being forced to obey.
Had seen hope, bright and terrible as dragon fire, burning in the hearts of those who dared to dream of freedom.
Perhaps that was the most dangerous thing of all.
A glimpse of hope. So near. Yet so far.
The Nightmare shifted beneath her checking hands, its scales warm with more than just natural fire. She still refused to name it, refused to acknowledge the connection growing despite her best efforts to prevent it.
But maybe, she thought as the camp stirred with preparations for their march south, some connections formed whether you wanted them or not. Some bonds couldn't be denied, even in the heart of darkness.
Some choices, once glimpsed, couldn't be forgotten.
The stars continued their silent watch as Drago's army prepared to move south, toward ice magic and free dragons and possibilities that tasted like hope on the ash-laden wind. Toward war, yes.
And also, perhaps, toward freedom.
If they remembered how to choose.
The dragons blackened the dawn sky like storm clouds gathering for war. Hundreds of wings beat against the morning air, their rhythmic thunder drowning out even the crash of waves against the Southern Isle's ancient shores.
He'd never seen these many in once place before. Not since…Berk.
Snotlout stood at the edge of the cliff, watching the greatest gathering of dragon riders in history prepare to take flight. His heart beat in time with Hookfang's restless shifting beneath him, the Nightmare's scales gleaming like fresh blood in the rising sun.
They were leaving. All of them.
The Defenders of the Wing's precise formations cut through the chaos, their dragons moving with the practiced grace of dancers. Behind them, the Berserkers' war-painted wings caught the light like burning metal, led by Dagur and Heather, their dragons flying together in perfect coordination. The Bog Burglars' lighter dragons darted between them all like fish through waves. Even the Peaceable tribe had armed themselves, their usually gentle dragons now bearing the weight of war.
Mostly Gronckles, which of course, which were not as cool as Monstrous Nightmares.
Totally the coolest dragons of them all.
"You don't have to do this." Hiccup's voice carried on the wind as Toothless banked back toward them one last time. The chief's son – no, their leader now, whether he wanted the title or not – looked older than his years, shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before Berk burned. He looked everything and nothing like Stoick at the same time.
"Someone else could—"
"Right, because you know so many other people stupid enough to volunteer for certain death."
Snotlout's attempt at his usual bravado felt hollow, even to himself. Hookfang rumbled beneath him, sensing his rider's unease.
"Besides, someone has to make sure Dragon's Edge stays hidden. Might as well be the guy who's best at everything, right?"
The joke fell flat between them, heavy with memories of younger days, of competitions and boasts that seemed so important before they learned the true meaning of loss. Before they watched their home burn.
Snotlout knew that his was practically a suicide mission. But he couldn't bring himself to care. As long as Hookfang could escape.
When had he started to care so much for that annoying bag of scales and fire anyway?
Hiccup's expression softened with understanding.
"Snotlout—"
"Just go already." He waved a hand at the assembled forces waiting above. "Your dramatic exit is getting less dramatic by the second. And tell Astrid if she gets herself killed, I'll never forgive her."
A ghost of a smile touched Hiccup's lips. "Tell her yourself when this is over."
Toothless gave a soft warble that might have been farewell or apology or both. Snotlout didn't know- he wasn't the dragon expert now, was he?
Then they were airborne again, rising to take their place at the head of the greatest dragon army the world had ever seen. The sound of hundreds of wings filled the air like thunder, like destiny, like the ending of one age and the desperate hope for another.
Snotlout watched them go, the massive formation stretching across the horizon like a living storm. Watched until the last dragon disappeared into the distance, until even Toothless's black shape was swallowed by the dawn.
Until he and Hookfang were alone with the wind and the waves and the weight of duty pressing down like armor grown too heavy to bear.
"Well, that dramatic enough for you?" he asked his dragon, scratching the scales beneath his hand. Hookfang snorted, a small burst of flame expressing what they both felt about being left behind.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But someone had to do it."
Someone had to watch their backs. Someone had to make sure that if – when – they needed somewhere to retreat to, Dragon's Edge would still be standing. Someone had to stay behind and face whatever came, buy time if Drago's forces discovered them.
Someone had to try to make up for failing to protect Berk.
The thought burned worse than Hookfang's flame ever could. He'd been there, that day. Heck, he was supposed to lead the charge. Odin help him- instead, he had watched his home burn. Heard the screams. Seen dragons turned against their own riders by Drago's cruel power.
And failed to save any of them, in the end.
Hookfang's worried rumble pulled him from the memories. The Nightmare turned his head, intelligent eyes meeting his rider's with something too knowing to ignore.
"Yeah, I know," Snotlout said quietly, resting his hand against warm scales. "We've got work to do."
They took to the sky together, rising above Dragon's Edge's camouflaged peaks. From above, Hiccup's work was even more impressive – the entire island seemed to shift and change as they circled, natural features blending seamlessly with constructed ones until it was nearly impossible to tell what was real and what was deception. Not that he'd ever tell his cousin that.
It would have to be enough. It would have to hide them, this last piece of what they'd lost, this final hope they clung to.
Below them, the waves beat against the shore in an endless rhythm, like war drums in the distance. Like heartbeats counting down to whatever end awaited them all.
And now.
They waited.
Seconds turned to minutes.
Minutes turned to hours.
It was annoying and horrible at the same time.
A constant sense of being on edge. Like you had before you were about to do something crazy, like sing in front of a crowd. Hide in an abandoned island waiting for someone to discover you. Train a dragon.
Only, the feeling didn't disappear.
Instead, it kept building up. You heartbeat always audible. Your mind set, but anxious at the same time.
Snotlout turned Hookfang toward their patrol route, the weight of responsibility settling across his shoulders like a cloak. Or maybe like chains. Or maybe like wings.
Behind them, the horizon had long ago swallowed their allies, their friends, their family, leaving only silence and duty and the desperate hope that somehow, somewhere, a better ending awaited them all.
If they lived long enough to find it.
The sun had begun its slow descent when Snotlout spotted a lone figure against the clouds. A dark silhouette, barely more than a speck, but moving with purpose – too much purpose for any wild dragon. His heart lurched into his throat even as his mind snapped to crystal clarity.
This was it. The moment they'd prepared for.
"Easy, Hookfang," he whispered, feeling the Nightmare's muscles tense beneath him.
They'd hidden themselves in one of the concealed caves Hiccup had built into the mountainside, perfect for exactly this kind of ambush.
"Let's see what we're dealing with first."
A single rider wouldn't be much of an issue, really. Even though it had only been a few months, Snoutlout was confident enough in his bond with Hookfang. Something no flyer from Drago's army would possess. And when a viking and his dragon worked together- there were few things that could stop them.
The figure grew closer, resolving into a rider atop another Monstrous Nightmare – this one a deep, smoky gray like storm clouds at dusk. The dragon moved with the jerky precision Snotlout had come to associate with Drago's forces, its natural grace constrained by imposed control.
But it was the rider who caught his attention.
She sat straight-backed in her saddle, armor gleaming dully in the fading light. Hair the color of wheat fields caught the wind, escaping from beneath her helm in wild tangles. Even from this distance, there was something in her bearing that spoke of steel and grace in equal measure. Something that reminded him of Astrid, if he had to be honest.
She was also a totally a babe.
"Great," Snotlout muttered to Hookfang. "She had to be pretty. Why couldn't Drago send some ugly old guy? What if I embarrass myself in front of her now?"
His dragon's answering rumble sounded suspiciously like laughter.
They watched as she circled the island, her pattern methodical and precise. Snotlout's hand tightened on his weapon, muscles coiled for action. One blast from Hookfang would end this threat before it began. They'd probably even survive the counterattack from whatever backup she surely had waiting beyond the horizon.
But something made him hesitate.
Something in the way she flew – not with the brutal efficiency of Drago's usual soldiers, but with an almost questioning grace. As if she were looking for something beyond just enemies to report.
It was not just because she was pretty. Pretty beautiful.
Did he say that?
Of course not.
Snotlout was the man with a plan.
That rider and her nightmare probably had been flying non-stop for several hours now. They'd have to stop for a rest. Probably here on the edge itself. Either that, or they'd spot something on the Edge that Hiccup hadn't hidden well enough (totally his cousin's fault) and land to investigate.
Either way, all he had to do was wait.
The gray Nightmare banked suddenly, heading for a clearing on the far side of the island. Snotlout felt his breath catch. She'd spotted something. Some flaw in their camouflage, some sign they'd missed…
"Time to move," he whispered to Hookfang. The dragon slipped from their hiding place like a shadow, months of training allowing them to glide in perfect silence. They landed in the dense forest near where the scout had touched down, Hookfang's claws finding purchase in the soft earth without a sound.
She'd already dismounted, moving with careful precision through the underbrush. Up close, she was even more striking – blonde hair and grey eyes the color of storm-tossed seas, a thin scar tracing her jaw like a silver thread. Her own Nightmare watched with unnaturally still attention, but Snotlout caught something in its eyes. Something almost like… hope?
Meh. It didn't matter. He wasn't the dragon feelings expert anyway.
He waited until she'd moved past his position, then struck.
Years of training with Astrid had taught him well – one smooth motion had the scout pinned, his blade at her throat even as Hookfang surged forward to subdue her dragon.
"Look at what we have here," he smirked. "A lone flyer?"
"Well," she said, voice steady despite her position. "This is unfortunate."
"Depends on your perspective." Snotlout kept his grip firm but didn't press the blade harder. "I'm having a great time."
A slight quirk of her lips, there and gone like lightning. "Are you always this charming when you're about to kill someone?"
"Who said anything about killing? Maybe I just wanted to meet the beautiful woman sneaking around my island." The words slipped out before he could stop them, old habits dying hard. What could he say? That was how he rolled.
But they drew another almost-smile from her, so maybe they weren't entirely misplaced.
"Your island?" She tilted her head slightly, studying him with those storm-gray eyes. "You're one of them, then. The resistance."
"And you're one of Drago's." He didn't phrase it as a question. "Though you don't fly like most of his soldiers. Almost like you actually care about your dragon."
Something flickered across her face – pain or memory or both. "His name is Storm," she said quietly. "Not that I'm supposed to name them. Makes it harder when they…" She trailed off, but Snotlout could fill in the blank.
Makes it harder when they die. When they're forced to fight their own kind. When they're broken by Drago's control.
"I'm Freyd," she added after a moment. "Since we're sharing names."
"Snotlout." He eased back slightly, blade still ready but no longer pressing. "And that's Hookfang. Who, as you can see, is currently making friends with Storm."
Indeed, the two Nightmares had moved from confrontation to curious inspection, Storm's rigid posture slowly relaxing as Hookfang rumbled something that might have been encouragement.
"They're not supposed to do that," Freyd whispered, watching the dragons with wonder. "They're not supposed to-choose," she continued, though they way she spoke it, Snotlout didn't believe her. It sounded like she didn't believe herself, either.
"Maybe that's your problem." Snotlout stood, offering her a hand up. She didn't have a weapon, anyway.
"You've forgotten they always have a choice. You just have to let them make it."
She took his hand, rising with warrior's grace. "And what about my choice? You know I have to report back. If I don't…" Her expression hardened. "He'll send others. Many others. And they won't be as… understanding… as I am."
"Or," Snotlout said, an idea taking shape like dawn breaking over the horizon, "you could make a different choice. We could make it together."
Freyd's eyes widened slightly. "You mean…"
"Run away with me." He grinned, adding a waggle of his eyebrows that made her roll her eyes. "I mean, technically I'm supposed to be having a heroic last stand here, but I'm open to alternative suggestions."
"He'll know." But there was something in her voice now – a spark of hope, dangerous as dragon fire. "He'll send scouts to check my entire patrol route."
Snotlout's grin widened. "I have an idea though, if you care to hear."
Her answering smile was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Do tell."
Behind them, two Nightmares watched their riders with ancient, intelligent eyes, while the sun painted the sky in colors of endings and beginnings and choices yet to be made.
After all;
Snotlout was the man with a plan.
Fear tasted like metal in Freyd's mouth as she guided her Nightmare through Drago's camp. Storm's wings cut through smoke that never seemed to fully clear, each beat carrying them closer to either salvation or doom. The plan Snotlout had laid out spun through her mind like autumn leaves in a storm – beautiful in theory, but so fragile in execution.
She couldn't believe she was actually going to do this. Every instinct told her this was a stupid idea. That she would be killed.
But she didn't care. If she continued living like this- well, she was dead anyways.
It all hinged on Eret, son of Eret. What kind of name was that, anyway? What kind of man carried his father's name like an echo?
Probably the kind who might be brave enough – or fool enough – to betray Drago Bludvist.
She found Kára by the healing tents, tending to her Singetail's battle-scorched wings. Her friend's eyes widened at whatever she saw in Freyd's expression.
"You've seen something," Kára said softly, checking that no one was within earshot. "In your sector."
"Yes." Freyd knelt beside her, pretending to examine the Singetail's wounds. "And no. And… I need you to trust me."
Kara's hands stilled on her dragon's scales. "The last time you said that, we nearly died outrunning that Whispering Death."
"This is worse. Or better. Depends on how you think it is."
"Of course it is." But Kára was smiling now, that wild edge of a smile that meant her friend had already decided to follow whatever mad scheme Freyd proposed. "Tell me."
So Freyd did, in whispers beneath dragons' wings, in fragments between patrol duties, in glances heavy with meaning as they prepared for the evening debriefing. With each word, she watched Kára's expression shift from disbelief to hope to that dangerous spark of possibility.
But they had to carry out this next part flawlessly.
If they didn't…well. They wouldn't really have to worry about flying away. Or flying. At all.
They'd be dead.
The command tent loomed before them like a beast waiting to strike. Inside, Drago's massive form dominated the shadows, his scarred face catching torchlight like old battlefields caught moonlight.
"Report," he commanded, voice rolling like thunder through the assembled riders.
One by one, the scouts spoke of mostly empty seas, of islands devoid of resistance forces, of winds that carried no hint of dragon wing beats. Freyd's heart hammered against her ribs as her turn approached, each beat a war drum counting down to her moment of truth.
"Nothing in sector seven," she said when Drago's gaze fell upon her, forcing steel into her voice. "Three wild Terrible Terrors, one abandoned fishing vessel. No signs of resistance activity."
Those pale eyes bored into her like glacier ice, searching for cracks, for weakness, for lies. She met them steadily, years of practice keeping her face neutral even as her pulse roared in her ears.
"You're certain?" The question carried weight beyond its words.
"Yes, sir." She didn't blink. Didn't breathe."The sector is clear."
An eternity passed in heartbeats before Drago's attention moved on. Beside her, Kára released a breath so soft only Freyd could hear it.
They waited until full dark before approaching Eret's position near the dragon pens. The infamous trapper was checking harnesses with practiced efficiency, his scarred face unreadable in the torchlight.
Freyd's voice nearly failed her, but she forced the words out, glad she could remember them.
"How's the weather up north?"
Eret's hands never paused in their work, but something shifted in his bearing – subtle as a shadow, quick as thought. "Cloudy," he replied, voice carefully casual, "but you can see the sun if you're high enough."
The shock hit her like a physical blow.
It was true then – this man, one of Drago's most trusted captains, was working against him. Had been all along.
Eret glanced up, a slight smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "You're not the only ones who've seen another way," he said softly. "There are more of us than you'd think, just waiting for the right moment."
"But why?" Kara breathed the question Freyd couldn't voice. "You're his best trapper. His most loyal—"
"Loyal?" Eret's laugh held no humor. "Let's just say a boy and his Night Fury showed me what loyalty really means. What partnership could be, instead of subjugation." His expression softened slightly. "Sometimes all it takes is one moment of truth to change everything."
He straightened, all business again. "Night patrol's light to the northwest. Two-hour gap between sweeps. Don't waste it."
They didn't. Storm and Kára's singetail lifted into darkness thick as dreams, wings silent against star-scattered skies. Behind them, Eret's voice rose in complaint about lazy guards and missing supplies – a perfect cover for their absence, at least for a few crucial hours.
They flew hard and fast, cutting through night air sharp as blade edges. Freyd's mind spun with the enormity of what they'd done, what they were doing. Everything she'd ever known, ever believed, falling away beneath them like abandoned armor, like broken chains.
Every moment, she expected Drago to find out that they'd escaped. For his alpha to force their dragons to return.
For their painful and cruel deaths while the mad man laughed.
But with every mile they flew. The more it seemed like a bad dream than a horrid reality.
Dragon's Edge rose from the darkness like a dream taking shape, its camouflaged peaks barely visible even when she knew where to look. And there, waiting at the highest point, a familiar silhouette against the stars.
Storm landed beside Hookfang with grace that surprised her – as if he too felt the freedom in this moment, this choice, this new beginning. Snotlout's grin was visible even in the starlight, somehow both insufferably smug and genuinely delighted.
"Told you it would work," he said as she dismounted. "I mean, not that I was worried. Much. At all. Okay, maybe a little, but—"
She cut off his rambling the only way that felt right in that moment of starlight and victory and possibilities spreading before them like dragon wings against dawn skies. Her lips found his, and for once, Snotlout Jorgenson was completely silent.
When they broke apart, his expression was dazed enough to make her laugh – a sound that felt foreign in her throat, but welcome. Behind them, Kára made a sound that might have been amusement or exasperation or both.
Then, she realized what she'd just done.
"Mother of-" she covered her face with her hands. "I am SO sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"Kiss me?" Snotlout smirked. "Don't worry about it babe. You're not the only one. Though," he winked, "I don't mind."
Freyd wished the earth would swallow her just then.
What was she doing?
Kára chuckled, and Freyd froze at the familiar sound of her friend's warm laughter.
"Live a little, Freyd! You're free now. You can do what you want. Go where you wish. And," she added meaningfully, "live as you want."
Freyd nodded, trying to overcome her embarrassment. Fortunately, Snotlout was either to dense or too pig-headed to read her mind.
"So," Snotlout said, once he'd completed a few checks of the perimeter. "Ready to learn how to really fly with dragons?"
Freyd looked at Storm, at the intelligence in those ancient eyes that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. At the way he moved now, without the rigid control Drago demanded. At the future stretching before them, uncertain and dangerous and beautiful as the stars above.
"Yes," she said simply. "We're ready."
Around them, the night wind carried promises of dawn, of choices yet to be made, of battles yet to be fought. But for now, in this moment, there was only this – dragons and riders and trust freely given, as natural as breathing, as powerful as hope itself.
"Tell me again," Bolar whispered, his weathered hands checking dragon harnesses in the dim light of evening, "how a dragon trapper became a dragon trainer."
Eret's fingers traced the scars on his chest – a map of failures and lessons written in flesh. The bewilderbeast's massive form loomed in the distance like a mountain given malevolent life, its presence a constant reminder of Drago's terrible power.
"Would you believe it started with getting lost at sea?" He kept his voice low, matching Bolar's careful movements as they worked. "Worst storm I'd ever seen. Destroyed my ship, scattered my crew. I was certain that was the end."
"And then?"
"And then… the darkness split open, and there he was. A Night Fury, black as death itself, with a rider who looked more boy than warrior." Eret's lips curved in a slight smile at the memory. "I thought I was hallucinating when they pulled me from the waves."
A distant roar made them both tense, but it was only the night patrol taking wing. Bolar leaned closer, pretending to examine a torn strap. "The dragon whisperer himself. What was he like?"
"Nothing like the stories. No grand speeches about destiny or freedom. Just…" Eret paused, searching for the right words. "Just kindness. Understanding. He showed me how dragons could be more than weapons or prey. Showed me what trust looked like."
"And that was enough to turn you against Drago?"
"No." Eret touched his scars again. "These were enough for that. But Hiccup… he gave me a purpose beyond the hatred. Asked if I wanted to help change things from the inside."
"Risky, trusting a trapper."
"That's what I said." Eret's laugh was barely a breath. "You know what he told me? 'Everyone deserves a second chance. Even dragon trappers. Even me.'"
They worked in silence for a moment, the weight of choices and consequences heavy in the air between them. Above, Drago's armada stretched across the horizon like a wound in the world, dragons and ships moving south with inexorable purpose.
"The council meeting today," Bolar murmured, "when they mentioned Arendelle's queen…"
"I saw his face." Eret's voice hardened. "He's not just planning conquest anymore. This is about breaking something beautiful. Something free."
"Like everything else he touches."
The bewilderbeast's shadow fell across them as it moved through the fleet, its presence making every dragon shudder in their restraints. Eret fought the urge to shrink back, to hide from that ancient, enslaved power.
"We've gotten what we needed," he said instead. "Tonight. The Rumblehorn in the third pen – I've been working with him. He's ready."
Bolar's eyes widened slightly.
"That's… earlier than planned."
"Plans change," Eret grunted as he checked the position of the moon. "Two hours past midnight. The Thunderdrum in pen seven is yours, if you're ready."
"Born ready." Bolar's grin was fierce in the darkness. "Though I have to ask – why a Rumblehorn? Could have taken something faster."
"Because," Eret said grimly, "sometimes the best way forward is to break down the door and deal with the consequences later."
Bolar gave him a quick nod, and while Eret went on his routine checks, the older man silently headed towards the stalls. He soon lost site of the old man, but that didn't matter. They would meet again, soon enough.
Those consequences came sooner than expected.
The night exploded into chaos as Eret burst through the dragon pens, alarms rising like angry hornets through the fleet. The Rumblehorn – Skullcrusher, he'd named him in quiet moments between duties – roared defiance at his former captors.
They took to the sky in a storm of wings and weapon-fire, Bolar and his Thunderdrum close behind. Crossbow bolts cut the air around them like deadly rain, but Skullcrusher moved with a tracker's precision, every dodge perfectly timed. Even the ones that hit- it was like throwing a rock at a yak. Skullcrusher was unstoppable.
"Come on, boy," Eret whispered as they climbed higher, the fleet falling away beneath them. "Show them how a real dragon flies."
The alpha had fallen asleep. The larger the dragon, the more rest it needed. In fact, their entire fleet revolved around it. Drago didn't care in the slightest about the other dragons. They were replaceable. It was the alpha that mattered.
Which was what made him predictable.
The stars spread above them like scattered hopes, pointing south toward Arendelle, toward destiny, toward a final confrontation between slavery and freedom. Behind them, Drago's roar of rage echoed across the waves, but it grew fainter with each wingbeat.
They were too far along now for the alpha's call to be powerful enough. The sea was their friend, and the night was their ally.
Eret looked back once, watching the armada shrink into darkness. The bewilderbeast was a pale shape in the moonlight, terrible and beautiful and tragic.
Someday, he promised silently, they would free even creatures that massive from Drago's control.
But for now, there was only the wind and the stars and the beat of dragon wings carrying them toward war. Toward hope. Toward whatever end awaited them all in the kingdom of ice and snow.
Skullcrusher rumbled questioningly beneath him, and Eret smiled. "Yes, my friend," he said, patting the dragon's armored hide. "We're finally choosing our own path."
The forge's familiar heat washed over him like a welcome embrace as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of coal and heated metal mixing with crisp mountain air that drifted through Arendelle's streets. It felt like ages since he'd last been here- and yet, here he was.
Old Thor looked up from his anvil, hammer frozen mid-strike, his weathered face cycling through surprise, understanding, and something that might have been pride. Or maybe just soot.
"So," the old blacksmith said, returning to his work with deliberate casualness, "this is why you'a been taking all those 'emergency family leaves,' eh?"
"Would you believe me if I said yes?" Hiccup's attempt at an innocent smile was somewhat undermined by Toothless poking his head through the forge's wide windows, curious about the familiar sounds and smells.
Thor's hammer missed its mark entirely as he stared at the Night Fury. "By my beard…"
"Thor, meet Toothless." Hiccup scratched his dragon's scales absently. "Toothless, this is Thor. He's the one who taught me everything I know about metalwork. Well, the legal parts anyway."
"HICCUP!" The joyous cry preceded a blur of motion that resolved into Olaf practically tackled the unfortunate viking to the floor.
"You brought dragons! Real dragons! And they're not eating anyone or burning down buildings or – oh, hello there!"
This last was directed at Toothless, who had retracted his teeth and was giving his signature gummy smile. Olaf's answering grin threatened to split his face.
"I knew it!" Another voice joined the growing crowd as Ingrid emerged from the back room, her usually immaculate apron dusted with coal.
"I knew there was something different about you these past months. The way you talked about flight, about freedom. Like you were a dragon or…" She trailed off, meeting Toothless's intelligent gaze with wonder.
"Different is one word for it," Bjorn grumbled from his corner, though Hiccup caught the way the old warrior's eyes widened at the sight of the Night Fury. "Madness might be another."
"Says the man who once tried ta fight a bear with nothing but a rusty spoon and 'is overconfidence," Thor pointed out, finally setting down his hammer.
"Let the boy explain before yer start wit teh judging."
So Hiccup did, words spilling out like molten metal taking shape. He finally told the first people he'd ever met in Arendelle about his story.
The entire thing. Everything from Berk to Arendelle. Of learning to see dragons as more than monsters. Of building something beautiful only to watch it burn. Of finding hope again in resistance, in choices made despite fear, in the possibility of a different ending.
Destiny had a funny way of catching up with you. More persistent that even Snotlout on a rainy summer day.
"And now Drago's coming here," he finished, watching understanding dawn in their faces. "With an army of enslaved dragons and something worse – a bewilderbeast, an alpha species that can control other dragons. We need every ally we can get."
"Which is why you came to us," Ingrid said softly. "You need weapons. Armor. Things that can stand against dragon fire."
"And who better to ask than the people who taught me everything I know about crafting?" Hiccup managed a slight smile. "Well, most of what I know. Some things I had to figure out myself – turns out traditional forge techniques need some adaptation when you're working with Gronckle iron and Night Fury plasma blasts."
"Gronckle wha' now?" Thor's eyes lit with professional interest.
Before Hiccup could explain, a commotion erupted outside. He rushed to the windows to see a Deadly Nadder landing in the street, its rider trying to calm both the dragon and a group of startled merchants whose carts had scattered their wares across the cobblestones.
"I'll handle this," Hiccup sighed, but Ingrid's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Let me," she said, already moving toward the door. "They know me. Trust me. Sometimes it's better to have a familiar face introduce new ideas."
Hiccup nodded with a smile.
He really had the best friends on both worlds. All worlds.
He watched as Ingrid approached the scene with practiced grace, her voice carrying clearly: "Master Erikson, remember last winter when you said nothing could surprise you more than those mechanical puppets from Corona? Well…"
He had to give it to her. She was a natural.
"Say, if Ingrid ever wants to quit the forge-"
"I've already lost my best 'prentice," Thor grumped. "I'm not losing 'nother."
Hiccup smiled sheepishly.
"Noted."
Gradually, the tension eased. The Nadder, sensing the calming atmosphere, settled its spines. One of the merchant's children, braver than the rest, crept forward to offer the dragon an apple from the scattered produce. The resulting happy chirp seemed to break whatever remaining fear gripped the crowd.
"She's good," Hiccup murmured, watching Ingrid expertly navigate the cultural collision.
"Always 'as been," Thor agreed. "She 'as a way of making tha impossible seem reasonable. Much like someone else I know." He fixed Hiccup with a knowing look. "Though I 'ave to ask – all those design modifications yer kept tinkering with, the ones ye said were 'just t'eoretical'…"
"Were for dragon riders? Yes." Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about the deception. We needed to keep it quiet until we were ready."
"Bah." Thor waved away the apology. "Ye did what ye had to. Now, tell me more about this Granola-"
"Gronckle-"
"Grackle-"
"Gronkle"
"Well," Thor threw his hands up in the air, "What'ere lad. That iron of yours. And whate'er that black devil of yours uses to make those plasma blasts – might be something 'ere we can work with aye?"
Hiccup grinned.
"I'll be honest. I've been waiting years for this moment."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of explanations and demonstrations.
Toothless seemed to enjoy showing off (when did he not), particularly when his plasma blasts drew appreciative gasps from Olaf. Even Bjorn emerged from his corner to examine the dragon's scales with professional interest, muttering about armor designs and impact resistance.
Hiccup didn't really hear him, but he didn't mind. It had been a while since the surly old weaponsmith had found something interesting either way.
Not everyone was as easily convinced though.
Hiccup caught the distrustful glances from some passersby, heard the whispered concerns about dragons in their city. But for every fearful look, there was also a child's delighted laugh, a merchant's calculating gaze considering new possibilities, a guard's thoughtful nod seeing potential allies instead of threats.
"It's a start," Ingrid said when she returned, having successfully mediated three more dragon-related incidents. "People will adapt. They always do."
"Some faster than others," Hiccup agreed, watching Olaf attempt to teach Toothless a complicated…handshake routine?
"Speakin' of 'daptation," Thor called from his workbench, "come look at this. Been working on somethin' that might help yer with those dragon-grounding weapons ye mentioned."
The design spread across his table was both familiar and innovative – a marriage of traditional Arendelle metalwork and the modifications Hiccup had "theoretically" suggested over the past months. Thor had taken those ideas and expanded them, adding his own expertise to create something entirely new.
"See 'ere?" The old blacksmith traced a pattern on the parchment. "Your dragon scale designs gave me the idea. If we layer th' armor like this, it'll flex without breaking. And these channels 'ere? Perfect for threading spines through – might give us a way to counter those hook-launchers before they can ground our dragons."
"Our dragons?" Hiccup raised an eyebrow at the possessive pronoun.
Thor's weathered face creased in a smile. "Well, someone's gotta 'elp you lot stay in one piece. Might as well be the finest forge in Arendelle."
A crash from outside interrupted them – apparently Toothless had gotten a bit too enthusiastic about Olaf's handshake lessons and knocked over a rack of shields. The resulting clatter drew every head on the street, but instead of fear, most faces showed amusement. One elderly woman even waggled her finger at the sheepish Night Fury, scolding him like she would any other troublemaker in the kingdom.
It was funny, to be honest. Hiccup had to admit, it was not everyday you found the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself covering in fear under the severe speech of someone's lost grandmother.
"See?" Ingrid's smile carried understanding beyond her years. "They're already becoming part of our story."
"That's what we're hoping for," he said softly, watching his best friend try to help Olaf restore order while somehow managing to tangle himself in more fallen equipment. "A new chapter. A better ending."
"Well t'en." Thor clapped his hands together, the sound ringing like a bell calling to work.
"Let's make sure it's a good one. Olaf! Stop playing with the dragon and fetch me tha' new batch of spring steel. Bjorn, I'll need those measurements you took of the Night Fury's scale patterns. Ingrid, see if you can round up some volunteers for testing – people who won't faint at the sight of dragons breathing fire, aye?"
As the forge erupted into purposeful activity, Hiccup felt something tight in his chest begin to ease. He'd always dreamed about this day. Somehow, it always went worse in his head.
This was what they needed – not just allies in battle, but people willing to build something new. People who could look at dragons and see not monsters or weapons, but possibilities.
Toothless bumped his head against Hiccup's side, warbling questioningly. Above them, through the forge's windows, more dragons wheeled against Arendelle's crystal sky, their shadows dancing across snow-touched streets where children pointed and laughed instead of running in fear.
"Yeah, bud," Hiccup said, scratching his friend's scales. "I think we might actually have a chance here."
And for the first time since watching Berk burn, he truly believed it.
Astrid watched from Stormfly's back as sunset painted Arendelle's harbor in hues of amber and gold, the water reflecting back fragments of sky like scattered gems. The Deadly Nadder's wings cut through evening air with practiced grace, their patrol of the city's perimeter becoming a dance between shadow and fading light.
If you had told her a few months ago that she'd be a dragon-riding sentry in Arendelle, she'd have probably chopped you to bits. Horizontally or vertically, depending on her mood.
But fate had a strange way of working.
Sometimes, it took the most unusual of people and put them in positions to change the world. Simply because they looked at things a different way, she though, as she fondly recalled a brown haired viking from her village who was now busy co-coordinating the escape tunnels that were being filled in the nearby mountain.
And mostly because they were just stubborn and kept trying no matter how many times they were knocked down.
She had to give it to him. Hiccup was one tough viking.
Below them, life continued its cautious adaptation to their presence. Fishermen had begun timing their returns to port around dragon patrol schedules, some even waving as Stormfly's shadow passed overhead. Children played games that seemed to involve pretending to be different dragon species, their shrieks of laughter carrying on the wind.
"Well, girl," Astrid murmured, patting Stormfly's scales, "I guess we're not completely unwelcome."
The Nadder's answering chirp held a note of pride. She'd been particularly pleased earlier when a group of the city guard's archers had asked to study her spine-shooting technique, treating her more like a respected warrior than a beast to be feared.
Movement near the marketplace caught Astrid's attention – another minor crisis brewing as a young Terrible Terror decided the local baker's cooling pies made a perfect napping spot. She guided Stormfly down, ready to intervene, but someone else got there first.
"Now then, little one," a woman's voice carried clearly, warm with amusement rather than fear. "That's not your bed, is it?"
Ingrid – she recogonized the blacksmith's assistant Hiccup had mentioned – stood with hands on her hips, regarding the Terror with the same expression Astrid's mother used to give her when she tracked mud through a freshly cleaned house. The small dragon actually looked sheepish, especially when the baker emerged with a proper basket lined with warm cloths.
"Here," the baker said, setting the basket in a sunny spot near his shop. "Much more comfortable than my merchandise, yes?"
The Terror considered this offer, head tilted in that particular way that meant it was deciding whether to be difficult or agreeable. Finally, it chirped and relocated to the basket, curling up with obvious satisfaction.
"Well handled," Astrid called as she dismounted, unable to hide her smile. "Most people's first instinct is to chase them off."
"Yes, well." The baker adjusted his apron with dignity. "My sister has cats. Dragons aren't so different, just… larger. And with better table manners, surprisingly."
A burst of laughter drew their attention to where a group of children had gathered to watch Stormfly preen. The Nadder, ever conscious of an appreciative audience, was putting on quite a show.
"She's beautiful," Ingrid said softly, watching the dragon's scales catch evening light like polished jewels. "They all are, really. Once you learn to see past the initial…"
"Terror?" Astrid supplied when she trailed off.
"I was going to say 'assumptions.'" Ingrid's smile held understanding beyond her years. "Like most things that frighten us, they're not what we expected once we take the time to truly look."
Before Astrid could respond, a commotion erupted from the direction of the docks. They rushed toward the sound, rounding a corner to find a scene that made Astrid's hand instinctively reach for her axe – then pause, taking in the full picture.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut's Zippleback had apparently decided the fishing nets made an excellent toy, and was now thoroughly tangled in several of them. The twins, rather than helping, were offering increasingly ridiculous suggestions to the gathered fishermen trying to free the dragon.
"Have you tried asking nicely?" Tuffnut was saying, lounging against a barrel. "Barf and Belch are very sensitive to proper etiquette."
"Oh yeah," Ruffnut agreed, braids swinging as she nodded sagely. "Very refined. Total sophisticates."
One of the dragon's heads chose that moment to unleash a small gas cloud, which the other head helpfully ignited, singing several eyebrows and perfectly undermining their point.
"Right," Astrid sighed, striding forward. "Everyone back up. Stormfly, help me with this?"
Together, they managed to untangle the nets while keeping property damage to a minimum. The fishermen, to their credit, seemed more amused than angry, especially when Barf and Belch attempted to help by presenting them with a large fish it had somehow acquired during the chaos.
"See?" Tuffnut beamed. "Totally sophisticated."
"That's not what that word–" Astrid began, then gave up.
Some things never changed.
"They grow on you, don't they?" Ingrid appeared at her elbow, helping coil the rescued nets. "The dragons and their riders both."
"Like fungus," Astrid agreed dryly, but there was fondness in her voice. "Very destructive, occasionally explosive fungus."
The incident drew more spectators, including several of Arendelle's guards. Astrid tensed, expecting confrontation, but their captain merely surveyed the scene with professional interest.
"Your dragons," he said, approaching Astrid with direct courtesy. "They follow commands? Can be coordinated in battle?"
Huh. Straight to the point.
She liked this guard.
"When they choose to be." Astrid matched the captain's tone. "They're partners, not weapons. The more you treat them as thinking beings with their own minds, the better they work with you."
The captain nodded thoughtfully, watching Stormfly help reshape a bent fishing pole with surprising delicacy. "We've been working on integration possibilities. Ways to work together before Drago arrives." He hesitated, then added, "Would you be willing to assist with some more training exercises? Help our forces learn to fight alongside dragons rather than against them?"
"I'd be honored," Astrid said, and meant it.
The sun had fully set by the time they finished dealing with the aftermath of the Zippleback incident. Stars emerged like scattered diamonds across Arendelle's sky, their light mixing with the warm glow of lanterns being lit along the streets.
Astrid and Stormfly took a final patrol loop around the city's perimeter, watching night settle over their temporary home. Below, life continued its adjustment to their presence – dragons curled on rooftops like oversized cats, their riders mixing with locals in taverns and marketplaces. The forge glowed with constant activity, and Astrid had a weird feeling that Hiccup was behind all of it.
Movement on one of the wider streets caught her attention. A group of children had convinced Fishlegs to give them rides on Meatlug, the Gronckle's natural gentleness perfect for nervous first-time flyers. Their parents watched with expressions ranging from concern to cautious wonder, but no one interfered.
"Kind of beautiful, isn't it?" A voice called from above as Hiccup and Toothless glided into formation beside them. "The way they're all starting to come together?"
Astrid studied his profile in the starlight, seeing both the boy she'd grown up with and the man he'd become.
"It's a start," she agreed. "Though we still have a long way to go before…"
She trailed off, not wanting to voice the fears that haunted them all – the memory of Berk burning, the knowledge that Drago's forces grew closer with each passing day.
"Hey." Hiccup guided Toothless closer until their dragons' wings nearly touched. "We're not alone this time. And maybe that's what we needed all along – not just a place to make a stand, but people willing to stand with us. People who can look at dragons and see possibility instead of threat."
Below them, Arendelle glowed with warmth and life, its streets filled with the sound of dragons and humans learning to live together. Not perfectly. And definitely not without mishap.
But with growing understanding. With hope for a better future.
"You really think we can do this?" Astrid asked softly. "Build something strong enough to stand against Drago?"
Hiccup's smile held both determination and faith- something she found lacking in herself these days.
"I think we have to try. And looking down there…" He gestured to where dragons and humans moved through star-painted streets, where children laughed and warriors planned and life adapted to new possibilities. "I think we might actually have a chance."
Stormfly chirped agreement, her scales catching starlight like scattered hopes.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new adjustments, new steps toward whatever future they were building here in this kingdom of ice and snow. But for now, in this moment between sunset and dawn, Astrid allowed herself to believe in the possibility of victory.
Not just survival, but triumph. Not just resistance, but renewal.
A future worth fighting for.
She shot a glance at Hiccup and Toothless, who were now gliding down towards the palace.
She shook her head and smiled.
All this…because of one boy and his dragon.
The greatest adventures are the ones we dare to take