Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sea stretched out like a bruised sheet of glass, shimmering in shades of steel and ink beneath the waning daylight. Waves rolled and broke against the wooden hull of the ship, spraying cold mist that clung to skin and lashes like ghostly fingerprints. Rowyn stood near the edge of the vessel, gloved hands curled loosely around the worn railing as her gaze trailed the restless horizon. She didn't flinch when the wind bit at her cheeks or when it hissed sharp against her ears—she welcomed the sting. There was something about the vast, open water that made the tension in her chest ease, something about its unpredictability that mirrored her own hopes.

She'd never seen Berk, not with her own eyes, but she'd memorized its place on the map, learned of its dragons and storms and stubborn people. For most in her tribe, Vorkhaldr, it was a distant name drowned in fire and myth. To her, it was a promise.

Behind her, boots thudded against the damp boards, heavy and certain. Evric's voice followed a breath later, low and edged in concern. "You're quiet."

Rowyn didn't turn immediately. She breathed in deep, letting the salt air fill her lungs before exhaling in a soft stream. "I'm thinking."

Evric came to stand beside her, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes squinting against the setting sun. His silhouette was tall and broad, the kind of presence that made people step aside without being asked. "Still sure about this?" he asked, not accusing—just weary. "About Berk. About dragons."

Rowyn glanced at him then, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Evric, we're a few days out. If I wasn't sure, I'd have jumped ship by now."

He snorted, but the sound didn't hide the way his jaw tensed. "You're the reason they agreed to this," he muttered. "You gave them hope when they didn't want it. Now you're walking straight into a village full of fire-breathers, and they expect you to what? Befriend them?"

She tilted her head, amusement softening her features. "Isn't that the point?"

"I think the point was to keep the dragons from tearing our people to shreds," he said, though not unkindly. "And to learn how Berk managed it. Not to get yourself killed trying."

Rowyn leaned a little farther over the edge, her reflection rippling across the sea's surface. Her voice turned quieter, more thoughtful. "You've seen what they're capable of. Not just destruction. Not just war. There's something more to them... something no one in our tribe ever cared to look for."

Evric looked at her, really looked at her, like he always did when she started talking about dragons. That strange reverence in her voice, the fire behind her calm—it made his chest ache. "You're not like them," he said finally.

"I know," she said softly. "That's why they sent me."

He fell quiet, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, after a beat, he added, "Still think they're going to listen to one girl with no dragon?"

Rowyn smiled faintly, teasing this time. "You're staring at me again."

Evric blinked. "Am not."

"You are."

He looked away, jaw clenching as a touch of color crept up his neck. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're obvious," she replied, nudging his elbow lightly with hers. "Don't worry. I like that about you."

For a moment, the sea felt warmer. Evric sighed and leaned his elbows on the railing beside her, his posture relaxing in a way that only happened around her. "Just promise me something."

Rowyn raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Don't trust them too quickly."

She didn't answer right away. Her eyes scanned the endless water ahead, the wind teasing strands of pale blonde hair free from her braid. "I won't," she said at last. "But I'll give them a chance."

Evric nodded, though the knot in his chest didn't loosen. He'd follow her anywhere—even here, even into a village known for taming the things his people once called monsters. Because she asked. Because she believed.

And because he couldn't bear to see her walk into danger without him close enough to stop it.

The ship rocked gently beneath them as gulls cried overhead, the sky bleeding into hues of copper and deep indigo. Sailors moved around the deck with practiced ease, tightening ropes, checking provisions, adjusting course. No one spoke much about their destination. No one had to. Berk loomed in their future like a living myth—and Rowyn, the girl who should have feared dragons more than anyone, seemed to welcome it.

She didn't wear fear like the others. She wore purpose.

Night crept in slow. Lanterns flickered to life along the deck, and the ship's mast swayed like a skeleton against the stars. Below deck, the cabins were tight and filled with the scent of sea brine, leather, and candle wax. Rowyn didn't sleep. She sat upright on her cot, sketching in the notebook she'd hidden from the others. Her pages were filled with dragons—not the ones from the old stories of fire and ruin, but ones she'd dreamed of. Gentle-eyed serpents and sky-dwellers made of mist. She didn't know what they were, only that they were real somewhere.

She just had to find them.

Evric watched her from across the room, pretending to sleep but failing. Her hair caught the dim light in silvery threads, her hand moving steadily across the paper as though the world inside her mind needed to spill onto the page before she could rest. He didn't understand her fascination, not fully. Not the way her eyes softened when she spoke of fire-breathers, or how she sketched their wings with the same reverence others reserved for gods. But he trusted it. And maybe that scared him more than dragons ever could.

Because what if they changed her? What if this place—this Berk—unraveled her in ways he couldn't stop?

Berk was only days away now. They'd dock soon, meet the chief and his riders. Rowyn would step onto foreign soil with only her name and her heart in her hands—and Evric would walk behind her like a shadow.

Because someone had to be there if things went wrong.

Because someone had to remind her who she was, if she ever forgot.

Because if anyone tried to take her from him—if someone tried to make her theirs—he wasn't sure he'd be able to let them.

Not now.

Not after coming this far.

Not after loving her for so long in silence.

His fingers curled in the blankets as he stared into the dark, heart thudding with a slow, heavy rhythm. He'd always known her brightness could draw others in, like fire in a frozen night. But now that they were so close, now that he'd have to watch her walk into the jaws of a world she'd only ever dreamed of... he wondered if he'd have the strength to watch her walk out again—changed. Different. Touched by something he couldn't compete with.

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. Only the sound of her pencil scratching paper. Only the quiet rustle of her breath. Only the unshakable truth that she wouldn't belong to just him anymore.

And that realization burned worse than dragonfire ever could.

Chapter Text

The sky stretched wide and pale above the jagged cliffs of Berk, a place carved by wind and salt, shaped by the stubbornness of the people who called it home. Gull cries echoed in the distance as the ship drifted into port, sails flapping sluggishly as if relieved to be reaching land at last. The longboat creaked and groaned beneath its passengers, the thick ropes groaning as the vessel was pulled to the dock by Berkian hands, their accents foreign and curious to Rowyn's ears. She stood at the edge of the deck, her fingers curled around the rough wood of the railing as the wind teased strands of her braid loose. The scent of sea brine gave way to something else now—ashes, iron, and dragon.

Evric stepped beside her, his stance protective as always, hand briefly brushing against the hilt of the blade strapped to his hip. He scanned the shore with narrowed eyes, his distrust of this island already simmering beneath his otherwise calm exterior. Rowyn didn't blame him. Berk had once been a village of warriors who slew dragons for sport, their legends soaked in fire and blood. Even now, despite the peace they'd made, there was an unease that clung to the stories.

But then the dragons came into view.

They flew in sweeping arcs across the skies, their massive wings blotting out the sun in moments, their roars shaking the seabirds into silence. One dove low, scales glinting like polished bronze, a rider perched comfortably on its back, guiding the creature with effortless grace. Another spun through a spiral in the distance, tail flames trailing in its wake like a comet. Rowyn's breath hitched softly in her throat, not with fear, but awe.

"Gods above," she murmured, almost to herself.

Evric said nothing, his jaw tight, his gaze still scanning the village for signs of hostility. But she could tell even he was taken aback by the sheer presence of these creatures—not caged, not tamed, but... free. Living alongside humans as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The ship rocked gently as it bumped against the dock, the crew tossing ropes to the waiting Berkians who moved with practiced efficiency. Rowyn turned, her boots thudding on the wooden planks as Evric offered his hand. She took it without a word, stepping down onto Berk's docks and into the strange new world that had once only existed in stories whispered in her tribe.

The grass beyond the docks was damp from morning dew, cool beneath the soles of her boots. Just ahead, the stone paths of the village wove between houses built into the hillsides and cliffs. And then it landed—a dragon.

Black as shadow, sleek and terrifying in its silence, the beast touched down mere yards from where they stood. Its wings folded with a leathery snap, powerful hind legs absorbing the weight of the landing as if it were no more than a gentle hop. Steam curled from its nostrils. Its emerald eyes, cat-like and intelligent, flicked between the newcomers with interest.

Rowyn froze, breath caught in her lungs. Evric's hand slid instinctively toward his weapon, but he didn't draw.

Then the rider slid off.

A lean, wiry figure with tousled brown hair and leather armor that had clearly seen years of wear. He patted the dragon's head, murmuring something too soft to catch, and the beast responded with a quiet huff and a swish of its tail. Then, behind them, heavy footfalls approached—the kind that belonged to a man who didn't need weapons to intimidate.

Chief Stoick the Vast was every bit the legend he was said to be. A mountain of a man, beard like wildfire, voice like a storm wrapped in kindness. His presence alone could silence a room. But when he smiled at Rowyn, it wasn't with suspicion or condescension—it was warm. Polite.

"Welcome to Berk," he rumbled, extending a hand. "You must be the Vorkhaldr chieftain's daughter."

Rowyn stepped forward, keeping her posture respectful but not timid, and took his hand with a firm grip. "I am. My name is Rowyn. This is Evric, my companion. We come in peace."

Evric nodded stiffly, his eyes still flicking toward the black dragon now sitting silently like a watchful sentinel nearby.

"Well met," replied, clapping a hand briefly to his chest. "You've come a long way. It's not often we get visitors from your tribe. Truth be told, I wasn't sure we ever would."

Rowyn allowed herself a faint smile. "Nor were we. But times change. And we're ready to understand the world as it is now, not as it was in war."

Stoick chuckled at that, clearly pleased. "Spoken like a true diplomat. Come. Let me introduce you to someone."

Footsteps approached softly, and another figure joined them. Younger, thinner, and visibly more curious, though no less capable. His gait carried a slight limp, but his presence wasn't weakened by it—in fact, it only added to the quiet confidence that clung to him like a second skin.

"This," Stoick said, placing a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder, "is my son. Hiccup."

Rowyn's gaze settled on the boy—no, the man—who had stepped up beside his father. His expression was open, inquisitive. Not the sort of calculating look she was used to from warriors. He was leaner than she expected, not the image conjured by tales of a chief's heir, but there was something else there. A depth, maybe. Or perhaps the weight of what he'd built.

He gave a half-wave, smiling gently. "Hi."

Rowyn tilted her head, intrigued already. "So you're the one who made all of this happen?"

Hiccup shrugged, glancing at the dragon beside him. "Me and Toothless, yeah. But he did most of the work."

"Toothless?" she echoed.

The dragon turned its head at the sound of its name, green eyes locking on hers. For a moment, the world felt like it had gone still. The waves behind them lapped in lazy rhythm, the cries of birds faded into a distant hum, and it was just her and the dragon—two creatures staring at each other with a silent understanding neither fully grasped.

Then, without warning, the Night Fury rose to its feet and padded forward. Evric tensed, stepping forward instinctively, but Rowyn lifted a hand to stop him.

Toothless stopped a breath away, nostrils flaring. He tilted his head, ears twitching, then nudged her stomach gently with the top of his head.

Rowyn blinked, caught off guard, then gave a short, breathy laugh. Slowly—cautiously—she reached out and placed a hand on his head. The scales were warm beneath her touch, smooth like river stones. His eyes closed contentedly.

Hiccup watched in surprise. "Huh. That's... rare. He usually takes his time with strangers."

Rowyn smiled, her hand lingering against Toothless's forehead. "Maybe I'm not so strange to him."

Evric looked ready to interject, but held his tongue. He stood beside her like a shield, silent and brooding as Stoick and Hiccup began to guide them up the path toward the village.

The streets of Berk were alive with sound. Children ran past them, some holding handmade dragon figurines, others chasing each other with sticks shaped like tails or wings. Traders called from their stalls, offering smoked fish and carved charms. Above them, more dragons soared, their shadows brushing the rooftops like passing clouds.

Rowyn's eyes drank in everything. Wooden houses shaped by centuries of storms. Rope bridges swaying between cliffside paths. Smoke curling from chimneys. It was loud, chaotic, and full of life.

Hiccup fell into step beside her, hands clasped behind his back. "So... your tribe. Vorkhaldr, right? I read a bit about it."

Rowyn arched a brow. "I didn't think Berkians had our history in their books."

"We don't," he said with a grin. "But I've made a few of my own. I like knowing who might someday knock on our door."

"That sounds a little paranoid," she teased, unable to help herself.

He shrugged. "Well, when you live with fire-breathing reptiles, a little caution goes a long way."

They passed what looked like an armory—axes and shields hung outside like decorations—and a forge that glowed from within, the clang of metal echoing outward. Gobber was shouting something about "blasted tail spikes," and someone inside muttered about bent iron.

Toothless padded close beside them, his tail occasionally brushing against Rowyn's leg like an affectionate cat. She didn't mind. In fact, she felt oddly... calm around him. As if something in his presence settled the windstorm that often swirled inside her.

Hiccup seemed to notice. "He likes you."

"I like him, too."

They stopped at a cliffside overlook. From here, the entire village stretched below them—people and dragons moving in harmony, not just coexisting, but thriving.

Rowyn folded her arms, taking it in. "This... isn't what I expected."

Hiccup leaned against the railing beside her. "What did you expect?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Bones. Fire. Scars."

"Well, we had all of that. But it got boring."

That earned a soft laugh from her. "So you chose dragons instead."

"I chose them," he said, gesturing toward the sky. "They're not just beasts. They're people, in a way. They love. They grieve. They forgive."

Evric, still standing a few paces back, frowned but said nothing. His gaze never stopped moving.

Stoick rejoined them after a moment, announcing that accommodations had been prepared for their guests. A longhouse had been made ready with the help of Gothi, and meals would be brought in shortly. Rowyn nodded her thanks, bowing slightly—a gesture of her tribe's respect.

As they followed Stoick back down the path, Rowyn found herself glancing once more at Hiccup and Toothless. There was something about the way they moved together. Not rider and mount. Not even leader and weapon. But equals.

She was beginning to understand why dragons had stayed. And maybe, just maybe, why she had come.