Hiccup's Point of View
The warmth of dinner still lingered in the air, the crackle of the hearth a steady heartbeat through the cabin.
The plates were empty. The fish crisped to perfection. The fries devoured faster than I could blink. And Freya had licked the plate.
Twice.
We were still laughing when I leaned back from the table, arms folded behind my head, watching them.
Luna wiped her lips with a cloth, regal even in a simple setting like this. Astrid, flushed from laughter and a glass of berry wine, leaned against her shoulder—still adjusting, still uncertain, but she was trying.
And then there was Freya, draped over her seat like a little dragon who just conquered the world, tail lazily flicking behind her, wings half-spread from satisfaction.
But it was late.
And tomorrow was the start of something darker.
I stood and began stacking the plates. "Alright, everyone up. Time to clean before bed."
Astrid groaned. "I just got comfortable..."
"You can be comfortable after the table doesn't look like a battlefield."
"I see no difference," Luna said, smirking.
I glanced over at Freya. She blinked at me, chewing the last sliver of her fry.
"You," I said, pointing. "Bath. Now."
Freya puffed her cheeks. "I don't wanna."
I arched an eyebrow. "That's fine."
She grinned in victory—until I added, "But no bath means no pancakes."
Her entire body froze.
Eyes wide.
Mouth slack.
Tail stuck straight up.
"...No pancakes?" she whispered.
"No pancakes," I repeated, deadpan.
She let out the most dramatic gasp in recorded history, staggered off the chair like she was dying, and cried, "Not my pancakes!!" as she scampered to the washroom.
I nearly dropped the plates laughing.
Luna buried her face in her hands. Astrid wheezed beside her, thumping her chest.
"She's such a menace," Astrid coughed.
"She's our menace," Luna said proudly.
I turned to them both with a grin. "Alright, ladies. Sit down."
Astrid's amusement dimmed slightly. Luna gave me a curious look.
"I told Stoick I'd give him the location of the dragon nest," I began, stacking the plates into the water basin and scrubbing. "Now it's time I tell you why."
They stayed quiet, sensing the change in my tone.
"This is more than strategy," I said, voice low. "This... is revenge."
I paused, staring into the water, seeing not my reflection—but his. Stoick. Towering. Commanding. Lying.
"You see, all my life, all that bastard has ever wanted was the location of the dragon nest. That was his dream. His obsession. His ambition."
I grabbed a dish, dried it, continued.
"He wanted it more than peace. More than understanding. More than his family."
My eyes narrowed.
"Even when Valka was still in Berk... he cared more about that nest than her thoughts, her beliefs. She tried to show him the truth about dragons. She begged him to see. And what did he do?"
I threw the towel onto the counter.
"He chose his precious village."
Luna didn't speak. Astrid's eyes shifted—focused, calculating.
"And when she was taken—ripped from the skies, pulled from everything—did he chase her?"
I turned to them, fire building behind my eyes.
"No. He doubled down. Pushed harder. Devoted his life to wiping out dragons. Her beliefs? Forgotten. Her words? Buried. Her memory? Twisted into some symbol of martyrdom."
Astrid blinked. Something passed through her gaze.
She noticed.
She heard it.
The way I spoke.
Not "was."
Is.
Not "she used to."
She does.
Her eyes widened.
"Wait..." she whispered, sitting up. "You... you're speaking about her like she's still alive."
Luna looked at her. Then at me.
The room fell quiet.
My claws clenched slowly around the edge of the table.
"Because she is."
Astrid's breath caught.
"That bitch is alive." I snarled out.
Astrid said nothing.
She just stared—frozen—eyes wide and shining in the firelight. Even Luna, usually so composed, tensed beside her.
I could feel their silence pressing against me. Judging me? No. Not them. Listening.
Finally, I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Clawed fingers laced together. My wings twitched behind me—restless, coiled, alive with something old and venomous.
"She's alive," I repeated, quieter now. "Valka."
The name tasted like ash.
"She was taken by a Stormcutter when I was just a babe. And everyone believed she was dead. Torn from the skies. Killed. That was the story, right?"
Astrid nodded slowly.
I leaned forward, staring into the dancing flames. "But the truth is... she bonded with that dragon. The very creature that stole her from her family. And in that moment, she had a choice. She could have returned. She could have taken me."
Luna's eyes narrowed.
"She had the power, the knowledge, and the freedom. And she left me."
I growled the last words, teeth bared.
"She left me behind in this festering insect hive. Left me to rot under Stoick's shadow. Alone. Beaten. Hated."
Astrid whispered, "I didn't know..."
I turned my head sharply toward her.
"Don't feel sorry for me," I said. "Not anymore. You're mine now, my beloved. And I told you before—hold your head high. You are my mate. You will carry my mark soon, my name, my flame. That's all that matters."
Her breath caught, but she nodded, fingers trembling just slightly as she laced them together in her lap.
I stood again, pacing slowly.
"I plan to use her," I said, voice darker now, rumbling with intention. "Not Valka. She's not worth the breath."
I turned to face them.
"The Queen."
Luna's tail flicked. Astrid sat straighter. Both were locked onto my every word.
"The Green Death. The queen of the nest," I explained. "Massive. Ancient. Brutal. She controls from the shadows, only surfacing from the nest when it's feeding time and only leaves the nest when something threatens her kingdom. And when that moment comes—when Stoick finally breaches her sacred walls with his proud little army..."
I smiled.
"She will not hesitate. In her rage, she will burn everything. Her fury will eclipse the sun. And she will kill every man, woman, and dragon that dared interrupt her sanctuary."
Astrid paled.
"And once the queen is done—once I take her life myself—and the last of Stoick's soldiers scream their final breath..."
I exhaled slowly. Calm. Controlled. Cold.
"Then, and only then, I will walk up to Stoick... look him in the eye... and reveal the truth."
Luna's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Astrid stared at me, almost not breathing.
"I wonder what kind of delicious despair will twist his face," I mused aloud. "When he realizes that Valka—his wife, the woman he never stopped mourning—didn't die... but chose the dragons."
I licked the inside of my cheek, barely suppressing the chuckle. "The very beings who slaughtered his men. Who destroyed his warriors. Who bled him dry through fire and fang."
I tilted my head.
"And worse... she chose them over me. Her own son."
Luna hissed softly in shared rage. Astrid looked devastated, guilt sinking in like stone—but she said nothing. She knew this wasn't about her.
Not anymore.
"Stoick," I continued, "won't die in that nest."
I turned my back to them, staring out the window into the forest beyond.
"No. Death is mercy in my eyes. And he doesn't deserve mercy. I want him broken. I want his legacy in ruins. I want Berk crumbling around him, his name a curse on the lips of survivors."
I turned back slowly.
"Because once his warriors are dead... once his people lie in ash... the other villages will smell blood. They will circle like wolves. And they will want his land. His resources. His head."
Luna smiled in delight. Astrid looked shocked—but something about her didn't pull away. She listened. She understood.
"But I won't let them kill him," I said.
"No... I will protect him."
I walked toward them, each step slow, calculated.
"Because only I have that right. Only I get to decide when his suffering ends. And I will use him. Milk him. Break him again and again until there's nothing left but a ghost of the chief he once pretended to be."
"I already have one clan under my control," I added casually. "And another waiting. That crazy bastard's been sharpening blades for this day for years. Once I give the signal..."
I smiled.
"It's over."
And in the quiet that followed...
There was only the sound of fire. And the slow, even rhythm of my breath.