It had been a week since I last saw Hiccup. He promised he'd meet me here. Leaning against a tree, I scanned the quiet forest. He should be here any minute now. Then I heard it—rustling in the bushes.
"Hey, milady," Hiccup said, stepping into view with that signature smirk. "How was your week?" His hair was a wild mess, windswept and charmingly unbothered. The morning sun lit his eyes with a gold-tinged glow, and the way he stood, tall, confident, and clad in worn leather armour, made him look like a Renaissance fair had lost one of its star performers.
"Work's been hectic. Lots of questions about how I managed to survive the storm," I said as I walked toward him.
"And you didn't tell them you were saved by a dashing dragon rider?"
I snorted. "Oh sure, like they would've believed that."
"So I'm unbelievable now? After everything?" he said, voice dripping with exaggerated sass. I shook my head with a laugh. "Let's get going before someone notices the strange man dressed like he's from the Middle Ages." I gave him a subtle signal to follow, and he did—with far too much swagger. "I am from the Middle Ages, born and raised," he said proudly. "Big and muscular, too."
"Oh, very big and muscular," I said with a giggle slipping out before I could stop it. As we walked side by side, he glanced over. "Where exactly are we going?"
"To my place. It's a definite upgrade from your cave."
We passed a pair of runners who gave Hiccup a double-take, clearly confused by his full Viking getup. "I don't think they appreciate my Vikingness," he muttered, gesturing down at himself. "You're in leather armor," I said, poking the solid chest plate. "No one wears that anymore."
"Fashion is cyclical," he declared. "I'm just ahead of the curve."
We stepped into my house, and the soft click of Hiccup's prosthetic leg echoed against the hardwood floor. He took a slow look around, his gaze curious but quiet, until his eyes landed on a framed photo sitting beside the TV. It was a picture of my family—me as a kid between my dad and mom. A small smile tugged at Hiccup's lips as he studied it. "How close were you and your father?" he asked, his voice softer now. "From what you've told me, it sounded like you two were pretty tight."
I nodded, my chest tightening a little. "He taught me everything I know. Told me stories—so many stories—especially about you and Toothless. I always thought he made them up… until I met you." There was a pause, and something about his face made me brave enough to ask, "What about your father?"
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. The stories said that Hiccup's father never wanted him, that their relationship had always been strained. And now I'd brought it up. Hiccup glanced between me and the family photo, then turned fully to face me. "My father... never really cared for me," he said quietly. "I think he blamed me for my mother's death. Even after I killed the Red Death, he never really saw me the way I needed him to." Sadness flickered across his face for a brief moment before he masked it with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said, trying to find the right words. "Everyone deserves a father who loves them."
"It's fine," he said gently. "I had Toothless. He's more than just a dragon—he's my best friend. Honestly, he understood me better than anyone in my village ever did. Still does."
"You mean even after a thousand years with him?" I asked, teasing just enough to lighten the moment. Hiccup chuckled. "He can be annoying sometimes, sure. But... he's always been there."
I smiled back at him, grateful for the shift in energy. "Do you want something to drink? Water? Iced tea?"
"Iced tea sounds great," he replied, that real smile returning at last.
I handed Hiccup a glass of iced tea and sat down beside him on the couch. "Have you ever had iced tea before?" I asked, watching as he eyed the drink curiously. "A couple of times," he said, lifting the glass. "With your father, actually."
I blinked. "Really? What did you two do together?"
He took a small sip, seeming to savor the taste before pausing to think. "Well… we got drunk a few times."
"You and my father got drunk?" I asked, half-laughing, half-shocked. Hiccup chuckled, shaking his head as if reliving the memory. "Yeah. It was great."
I leaned in, hungry for more pieces of a friendship I never knew existed. "What else did you guys do?"
He grinned, his eyes lighting up. "There was this one time we decided to go skydiving. With Toothless."
My jaw dropped. "My father went skydiving?"
"With a little... push," Hiccup said, laughing. "But yeah, he did it."
I could barely imagine it—my dad free-falling through the sky. "Do you still do it? Skydiving, I mean?"
"All the time," Hiccup said, his tone softening. "It's the closest thing to real freedom. The wind, the sky, the weightlessness… It's like flying without limits."
"I've flown in a helicopter," I offered. "But I guess that's not the same."
He gave a small, knowing smile. "It's different. More freeing."
"When did you and my father stop hanging out?" I asked softly. Hiccup leaned back a little, his eyes distant. "After he married your mother. Then you came along, and life just… shifted. We still talked—maybe once a month for a few hours. But when he got sick… I didn't get to see him before he died." There was something heavy in his voice. Regret. Grief. Something that never quite healed. "That must've been lonely," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. He gave me a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It was. Still is, sometimes. But I have Toothless. He's more than enough."
I hesitated before asking, "My father used to tell me about the bond between dragons and their riders—how powerful it is. Do you… have a tattoo of your dragon?"
"I do," he said, lifting the sleeve of his leather tunic to reveal a swirling, inky black design on his upper arm. The shape was unmistakably Toothless, and the lines pulsed faintly like they carried energy. "It connects us. Our power."
"How are you immortal?" I asked, curiosity burning through the haze of everything else. "How does that even work?"
"I'm not human," he said calmly. "I was. But I'm not anymore. I'm what's called a Dravanti." He touched the tip of his ear, slightly pointed, and then I finally started to see it. His slightly glowing green eyes, the slight shimmer to his skin.
"What… what is a Dravanti?" I asked, staring at him a little too long.
"A creature of magic," he replied. "When I bonded with Toothless, I was still human. But humans weren't meant to carry this kind of power. So the magic started changing me, slowly, into something that could. Something that could survive it." His words made my head spin. I could hardly breathe under the weight of the truth unravelling in front of me. "How long did it take?"
"A year," he said. "It starts with strength—your body becomes stronger, faster. Then you start understanding magic in ways you never imagined. I grew taller, too," he added with a half-grin. "Toothless helped me through all of it." His vibrant green eyes gleamed with a power that felt ancient and untouchable, yet somehow warm. I wasn't sure if I was scared or amazed. Maybe both. "Are there more riders?" I asked, studying his frame, still trying to spot what made him different. He nodded, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, most of them are in the Hidden World."
I hesitated before asking the question that had been on my mind. "Why aren't you with them?" Hiccup avoided my gaze, his eyes flickering away. "I have the strongest bond of any rider who's ever bonded with a dragon. It scares the others. I ended up leaving because so many people feared me." There was a quiet sadness beneath his words, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I didn't fully understand his power, but for some reason, I could sense why others might be afraid. "Was there anyone who didn't fear you?" I asked gently. His expression softened. "My best friend, Dorian. I convinced him not to come—he belonged there. But he does visit once in a while. He always makes fun of me for living in a cave. It's nice to see him."
I frowned, trying to understand. "Why would they be scared of you, even with your power? You don't seem like someone who would misuse it."
Hiccup sighed, the weight of years in his voice. "They don't understand the full extent of my power, so they fear it. Or they don't care enough to learn."
I couldn't imagine what it must feel like—being rejected by your own village, and then by the riders you thought would accept you. After hours of talking, the night grew late. He needed to see Toothless, and I had work early the next morning. So, reluctantly, we parted ways.