One moment you’re looking for poisonous plants, the next everything goes into darkness. Turns out you’re got kidnapped by the dragon hunters, who caught wind of your ability to create poisons and all that. Obviously, you try to buy yourself time by stalling the progress making a poison for dragons. Unknowingly also buying time for some dragons riders…
𖣘~ this is long overdue😭😭 anyways here you have it🙂↔️
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The tide pools at the edge of the cliffs steamed faintly in the afternoon light, salt crystals glittering along their edges. You crouched low, careful to scoop the thin sheet of iridescent algae with a shell instead of your hands. The stuff was mildly caustic when fresh, irritating the skin, hardly lethal, but irritating enough to keep your curiosity piqued.
Another jar snapped shut, and you tucked it into the basket slung across your shoulder. To anyone else, these pools were useless. To you, they were libraries.
“Concentrated, you make a dragon sneeze itself into helplessness,” you muttered under your breath, jotting a quick note in your field book. “Diluted with a touch of bitterwort, you’ll clear congestion in humans. Funny, that. Equal opportunity ingredients.”
The scratch of your quill stopped when a pebble rolled somewhere behind you.
You stilled, fingers tightening on the basket’s strap. Tide Glider shifted restlessly in the surf below, head lifting with a low, warning trill.
That was answer enough. You were not alone.
“Step away from the pools,” a gruff voice barked. “Hands where I can see them.”
You turned slowly, eyes narrowing. Dragon Hunters. Six of them. Two with crossbows leveled, the others with swords half drawn. Their armor stank of tar and smoke, their expressions hard with the confidence of men who thought numbers guaranteed success.
Internally, you sighed. Externally, you arched a brow. “Really? All this for one apothecary? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t move,” the leader snapped. His beard was streaked with grey, his teeth yellowed. He looked like the kind of man who confused cruelty with intelligence. “We know who you are. What you know.”
“Oh?” you drawled, shutting your field book with deliberate calm. “Do enlighten me. Sometimes I forget myself.”
“You make poisons,” he growled. “Poisons that work. Our master has plans for you. You’ll be coming with us.”
You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “And if I say no?”
One of the hunters grinned, cruel and expectant, while another kicked the sack he dragged behind him. The faint, muffled whine that escaped told you everything. A dragon, hatchling-sized, terrified, caged inside.
Your stomach clenched, but you kept your face neutral. “Ah. The persuasion method.”
“Smart girl,” the leader sneered. “Now move.”
They bound your wrists, rough rope cutting skin, and shoved you toward the waiting ship. Tide Glider hissed, thrashing the water to froth, but a net weighted with iron spikes was thrown before she could rise from the waves. Her scream of frustration echoed as the ship pulled you away.
You forced yourself to breathe slowly, logically. Panic wasted energy. You needed clarity.
Observation one: Their knots were sloppy. Any decent knife could cut them.
Observation two: They stank of smoke and oil, they’d been burning something recently. Possibly bodies, possibly tar pits.
Observation three: They thought they were clever. They were not.
The moment they dragged you below deck, into a cramped hold stinking of rot and stale water, you catalogued everything, the number of steps, the position of the door hinges, the way the guard leaned too heavily on his left leg.
You sat, legs tucked under you, and smiled faintly to yourself.
“Yes,” you murmured. “This will be interesting.”
By nightfall, you were marched into a makeshift “lab.” Wooden tables sagged beneath piles of herbs, powders, and jars, all scavenged, none stored properly. Half the plants were already molding. Someone had clearly tried their hand at mixing, given the array of foul-smelling brews littering the shelves, but their incompetence was obvious.
You wrinkled your nose. “This is… insulting.”
“Make it work,” the leader barked, shoving you toward the table. “You’ll give us something that can bring down the big ones. Skrill. Monstrous Nightmare. That damn Night Fury.”
Your eyes flicked up sharply. Night Fury. So they wanted weapons for the Riders’ dragons.
You smirked, ignoring the cold knot of unease twisting your gut. “Do you want me to brew you poison, or are you asking me to perform miracles?”
The leader slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t test me, girl.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly. Then you picked up a jar of dried leaves, turning it in your fingers. “Although, if you’re planning to poison a dragon with this, you’d be better off seasoning your stew. At least it would taste better going down.”
The guard snorted before catching himself. The leader glared. “Enough talk. Work.”
So you did, or at least, you appeared to.
You ground herbs, measured powders, and let your hands move with precise familiarity. What they didn’t notice was that you were deliberately selecting the wrong concentrations, the wrong combinations. Enough to look convincing, not enough to harm anything larger than a flea.
When they forced you to write instructions, you scribbled in your usual shorthand, effective for you, useless to anyone else.
And all the while, you made mental notes.
Dragon Hunters possess neither basic botany skills nor the ability to tell parsley from deathwort. Tragic.
Their “lab” is a breeding ground for mold. Recommend burning the entire establishment before it develops a sentient fungus.
They want a weapon for dragons. Will stall as long as possible. Experimenting with harmless formulas disguised as dangerous.
Secondary plan: create something volatile. Smoke. Distraction. Escape.
You glanced up, catching one of the guards watching you. His brow furrowed, clearly suspicious of the faint smile playing on your lips.
“Problem?” you asked, tone sweet.
He scowled and turned away.
You went back to work, heart steady, mind calculating.
If you were going to survive this, it would be on your terms.
Heather landed hard on Dragon’s Edge, kicking up sand and gravel. The Riders gathered immediately, Astrid and Snotlout rushing in first, Tuffnut and Ruffnut tumbling after, Fishlegs stumbling with his notebook already half open.
The way Heather’s expression hardened as she dismounted told them this wasn’t a friendly visit.
Hiccup pushed forward. “Heather? What happened?”
Heather’s jaw worked, as if she were chewing the words before spitting them out. “The Dragon Hunters have someone. They… they’re trying to use her.”
Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Use her how?”
Heather’s voice dropped. “She’s an apothecary. Knows everything about plants, poisons, remedies. They’re forcing her to make something to take down dragons. Something powerful.”
The air around the group seemed to snap taut. Even Ruffnut, who had been in the middle of braiding Tuffnut’s beard, froze.
Fishlegs sputtered, “W-wait, so they’re planning to use… what? Poisons? On dragons?!”
Heather nodded grimly. “That’s the plan.”
Snotlout crossed his arms. “And what? We’re supposed to care because—”
“She didn’t choose this,” Heather cut him off sharply. “They took her. She’s their prisoner. And if they get what they want, it could mean the end of every dragon we’ve sworn to protect. Including Hookfang.”
Snotlout’s jaw snapped shut.
Hiccup rubbed a hand over his face, processing. “Okay. Where are they keeping her?”
Heather exhaled slowly. “Outpost east of a deserted island. Hidden cove, cliffs on all sides. The ship that took her docked there last night. I only overheard bits before I had to leave, but… she’s not just any apothecary. From what I’ve gathered, she’s brilliant. Too brilliant. If they break her…”
“They won’t,” Hiccup said firmly, though a chill crept down his spine. “We won’t let them.”
Astrid’s hand found his shoulder, steadying. “What’s the plan?”
They crowded around the map table inside the Edge’s clubhouse. Hiccup spread a fresh sheet of parchment, sketching quickly as Heather described the outpost: guard towers carved into the cliffs, ships anchored in a crescent bay, narrow paths winding to a central compound.
“They’re keeping her in here,” Heather pointed, tapping the sketched square at the center. “Heavy guard, but not impossible.”
Hiccup nodded, mind already racing. “We’ll need distraction. Something to pull their focus off the main compound while the rest of us get her out.”
“Explosion?” Tuffnut suggested brightly.
“Fires?” Ruffnut added hopefully.
“Dragons,” Astrid corrected. “Target the towers. Knock out their line of sight.”
Fishlegs frowned. “But if they realize what we’re after, they might…” He trailed off, shivering.
“They won’t,” Hiccup said quickly, sharper than he intended. He cleared his throat, softer this time. “They won’t. We’re in and out before they know what we’re doing. No risks to her.”
Heather’s gaze flicked to him. “You don’t even know her, Hiccup.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shot back. His fingers curled tightly around the charcoal in his hand, smudging the map. “She’s not just some stranger. She’s the key to their plans. If Viggo gets his hands on someone with her knowledge…” His voice faltered. “We can’t afford to lose her.”
Astrid studied him quietly but said nothing.
Snotlout finally spoke, voice gruff. “Fine. What’s my part in all this?”
Hiccup glanced at him. “You, Fishlegs, and the twins will handle distraction. Fire, noise, chaos. Keep them looking at the cliffs, not the compound.”
“You, me, Heather. We’ll go inside, find her, and get her out.”
“Alive,” Heather added, tone firm.
Hiccup nodded once. “Alive.”
Later that night, Hiccup stood outside the stables, brushing soot off Toothless’ saddle. His chest ached with the weight of the plan, heavier than usual. Normally, he’d thrive in the challenge, but this was different.
He didn’t even know you. Not your name. Not your face. Only that you were out there, alone, surrounded by men who saw you as a tool instead of a person. And if they succeeded… dragons everywhere would suffer.
But it wasn’t just about the dragons.
He didn’t like to admit that part.
Astrid’s voice cut into his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet for someone about to charge into a Hunter base.”
He looked up. She leaned against Stormfly, arms crossed.
“Just… thinking,” he muttered.
Hiccup froze, then tried for casual. “About the mission.”
Astrid smirked faintly. “If you say so. Just remember, you can’t save everyone. You’ll drive yourself mad if you try.”
He met her gaze, stubborn fire sparking in his chest. “Maybe. But I can try.”
Astrid studied him another long moment, then nodded once, satisfied. “Alright then. Let’s go save her.”
The Dragon Hunters smelled like rancid fish oil, sweat, and poor life choices. You sat cross-legged in the corner of their makeshift “laboratory,” which in truth was just a damp hut with a table, a mortar and pestle stolen from some poor trader, and bundles of herbs hung upside-down with rope.
Your hands were bound, but loosely. They needed you. That was their mistake.
The leader, a scarred brute with a voice like gravel, shoved a crate toward you. “Make us something that’ll bring a dragon down. Quick. Boss wants results.”
You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Oh, of course. Just whip up dragon-killing elixirs in a rusty pot over a fire pit. Because that’s how science works.”
The man scowled. “Don’t get smart with me.”
Still, you leaned over the crate, examining the contents. Fire Fern. Widow’s Root. Badly dried Nightshade that any apprentice worth their salt would’ve discarded weeks ago. You sighed, long and loud.
“If this is your idea of raw materials, I can see why you kidnap people instead of running a respectable business.”
The brute growled, but you were already working. Grinding leaves, mixing powders — but with small, deliberate errors. A ratio off here, a little too much dilution there. Enough to waste their time without being obvious.
Field Notes: Captivity, Day One
Hunters ignorant of basic botany. Asked if Nightshade is “the spicy one.”
Current mix: harmless irritant. Will sting if rubbed in eyes, not lethal.
Testing escape possibilities: rope knots sloppy. Guard rotation every four hours.
Have hidden splinter of flint in sleeve. Possible fire opportunity.
Side note: If I die here, it won’t be from plague or poison. It’ll be from secondhand embarrassment at their incompetence.
By the second day, they grew impatient. They dragged in a cage, a terrified Deadly Nadder, its fight nearly all gone. Your stomach twisted.
“Test it,” the brute ordered.
You swallowed your disgust, forcing a bored expression. “If you want results, I’ll need more time.”
He shoved the cage closer. “Now.”
Your fingers itched to act, to smash the concoction, to hurl the burning mixture into their faces. But you forced yourself still. Too many eyes. Too many blades. The Nadder’s gaze flicked to you, frantic, pleading.
“Fine,” you muttered. You smeared a dab of the mixture onto a rag and waved it near the dragon’s nose. The Deadly Nadder sneezed violently, scales starting to irritate, but otherwise remained unharmed.
The Hunter grumbled. “That’s it?!”
“Congratulations. You’ve just discovered the world’s first dragon cold remedy.”
They roared in anger, one striking the table hard enough to scatter herbs across the floor. You hid a smile behind your sleeve.
Night brought a thin blanket and nothing else. The outpost stank of tar and salt. Chains clinked outside as Hunters moved barrels, and you counted footsteps, memorized the rhythm of the guards’ patrol.
Every detail was a puzzle piece. Every mistake they made, your splinter of flint, their loose knots, the half-rotted wood of the door went into your growing ledger of “ways to survive this mess.”
But you also knew patience was key. One wrong move, and they’d force your hand with the Deadly Nadder again.
By the third day, exhaustion gnawed at you. You’d feigned enough incompetence to buy time, but they were growing restless. The brute loomed over you as you ground herbs, spit flying as he snarled, “You give us results today, or we’ll find new ways to motivate you.”
You kept your face blank, even as your stomach tightened. “Motivation. Right. Does that involve another stirring lecture about how I’m wasting your time? Because I assure you, I’m very motivated already.”
He grabbed your arm, yanking you close enough that his breath made your eyes water. “Careful, girl.”
You smiled sweetly. “Careful is my middle name. Right after Sarcastic.”
He shoved you back with a curse.
What you didn’t know was that outside, above the cliffs, the Riders were already in the air. Heather’s Stormcutter circled wide. Astrid and Stormfly clung to the shadows of the ridge. And Hiccup, perched low against Toothless, watched the flicker of torchlight in the compound below.
The distraction would start soon. And for the first time in days, you weren’t going to be the only clever one in the room.
The night smelled of smoke before you saw the fire.
One moment you were grinding herbs under the watchful eyes of two guards, the next a deafening whoosh rattled the rafters. Flames flared along the watchtower outside, painting the compound in stark orange light.
The guards bolted, leaving you alone with your half-finished mixture. You arched a brow. “Subtle.”
You rose, tugging experimentally at your bonds. Loose. Finally. But before you could work the knots free, the door splintered with a violent kick. A blur of black and green stormed inside, followed by a boy, no, a young man, lean and sharp-eyed, sword raised.
“Stay back!” he barked, scanning the hut. His gaze locked on you. “Are you—”
“I hope you’re here to rescue me,” you cut in, unimpressed. “Because if you’re another one of theirs, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
He blinked, caught off guard by your tone. “Uh… yeah. Rescue. Definitely rescue.”
“Good,” you said crisply. “Untie me.”
He hesitated just long enough for you to notice the way his eyes flicked to your wrists, then back to your face. Suspicious, but not unkind. “You’re the apothecary?”
“And you’re wasting time.” You thrust your bound hands toward him.
That snapped him back into motion. He slashed the rope with a quick motion. “Name’s Hiccup.”
You flexed your wrists, smirking despite the situation. “Figures.”
Before he could ask what that meant, a roar shook the compound. The Deadly Nadder’s cage had been overturned in the chaos, and the dragon shrieked in fear. Hiccup’s eyes darted to the door.
“They’ll use it as bait,” you said immediately, reading his mind. “That’s what I was for.”
Hiccup’s jaw tightened. “Not anymore. Come on.”
Outside, chaos reigned. The twins had apparently gone for “maximum distraction,” because one tower was already collapsed and smoke billowed from a burning ship. Astrid and Heather cut through Hunters like a storm, Stormfly’s spines whistling overhead.
Hiccup led the way, staying low, his dragon—Toothless, you realized, moving like a shadow at his side. You trailed close, your analytical brain cataloguing every detail. His prosthetic leg. The easy trust between boy and dragon. The way he moved like he’d done this a hundred times before.
He glanced back. “You keeping up?”
A Hunter lunged from the smoke. You reacted before Hiccup did, snatching a vial from your sleeve, smashing it at the man’s feet. A sharp burst of powder erupted. He staggered back, coughing violently, eyes watering.
Hiccup stared. “What was that?”
“Improvised irritant.” You smirked. “Also known as don’t-breathe-this.”
For a second, even in the middle of a burning compound, his lips twitched like he wanted to smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
You reached the dragon’s cage together. The dragon thrashed, panicked, as Hunters tried to force a net over its wings.
Hiccup didn’t hesitate. “Toothless, plasma blast!”
Blue fire lit the night, shredding the net. The Hobblegrunt screeched, scattering Hunters before bolting skyward, scales flashing frantic relief.
The Hunters cursed, regrouping. “Get them! Don’t let the girl escape!”
You rolled your eyes. “Original.”
Hiccup grabbed your arm, pulling you toward Toothless. “Time to go!”
You resisted just long enough to quip, “First date and already grabbing me? Bold.”
He flushed crimson. “Not—! Just—get on the dragon!”
“Fine, fine.” You vaulted onto Toothless’ saddle with more grace than he expected. The Night Fury shot into the air just as more arrows whistled past. Astrid and Heather rose from the smoke to join, flanking you as the outpost shrank below, swallowed by chaos.
The flight was dizzying. Wind tore at your hair, salt and smoke sharp in your nose. You clung instinctively, though not nearly as tightly as Hiccup probably expected.
“Ever flown before?” he shouted over the wind.
“Not on purpose!” you yelled back.
He glanced at you, startled by your flippancy even now. Then his expression softened, just slightly. “You’re safe now.”
You raised a brow. “Safe, while riding the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself?”
He blinked. Then he laughed, a quick, surprised sound, almost disbelieving. “You’re… something else.”
“Flattery won’t get you better medicine, boy.”
But you smiled despite yourself.
By the time you reached the Edge, your adrenaline had worn off, leaving only exhaustion and the faint sting of rope burns. The Riders swarmed the landing platform, shouting over each other.
“She doesn’t look dangerous.”
“Did you see that vial thing she threw—”
“Can we keep her?” (That was Tuffnut. Of course.)
Hiccup dismounted, offering you a steadying hand. “Let’s get you inside. You’ve been through enough.”
You took it, grip firm. “Lead the way… future dhief.”
He froze, eyes snapping to yours. You smirked. “Yes, I know who you are. What kind of prisoner doesn’t listen when her captors rant about their favorite enemies?”
He huffed, shaking his head as he guided you toward the clubhouse. “Great. So you’re sarcastic, dangerous, and too observant for your own good.”
And for the first time in days, you felt like you might finally be in the right hands.
The clubhouse on Dragon’s Edge smelled of smoke, fish, and faint dragon musk. A half-circle of Riders surrounded you as you perched at the edge of the map table, arms crossed, chin tilted high.
“So,” Snotlout began, leaning across the table, “we risked our lives, stormed a Hunter base, set fire to at least three ships… all for her?”
Astrid smacked his arm. “She was their prisoner, Snotlout.”
“Yeah, but look at her!” he argued. “She doesn’t even look grateful.”
You raised a brow. “Oh, forgive me for not swooning at your feet. Thank you ever so much, great and noble warriors, for gracing me with your presence. Better?”
Ruffnut snorted. “I like her.”
“Can we keep her?” Tuffnut chimed in immediately.
Fishlegs pushed his glasses up his nose, peering at you with a nervous kind of fascination. “Actually, if what Heather says is true, then her knowledge could be… invaluable. Herbs, poisons, antidotes… She might even be able to document medicinal plants we haven’t even catalogued yet—”
“Excuse me,” you interrupted. “I’m right here.”
He flushed crimson. “S-sorry!”
Heather, leaning against the wall, spoke for the first time since landing. “She’s dangerous in the wrong hands. That’s exactly why Viggo wanted her. We can’t just let her walk away.”
You narrowed your eyes. “So what, I’m just supposed to trade one set of captors for another?”
Hiccup, who’d been unusually quiet, finally stepped forward. His gaze locked on yours, calm but steady. “That’s not what this is. You’re not a prisoner here. But if you leave… Viggo will find you again. And next time, we might not get there in time.”
Your jaw tightened. “So your solution is what? Keep me here, under guard?”
“No,” he said firmly. “My solution is to give you a choice.”
That caught you off guard.
“You can leave,” he continued, “and risk being taken again. Or you can stay here, with us. Use your knowledge to fight back, not for them.”
You studied him carefully. He meant it. He wasn’t offering with conditions, wasn’t pretending it wasn’t dangerous. But there was something in his eyes, an unshakable conviction that you deserved more than being used as a weapon.
For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. So you defaulted to sarcasm. “You really know how to make a sales pitch. Ever thought of trading instead of dragon riding?”
Astrid groaned under her breath.
Hiccup’s lips twitched. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”
Later, they insisted on introducing you to the dragons. You followed, skeptical but curious, your sharp eyes darting over every detail.
Stormfly ruffled her feathers proudly. “Deadly Nadder,” Astrid explained.
“Colorful. Spiky. Poor sense of personal space.” You crouched low, watching Stormfly cock her head at you with a curious warble. “If her spikes weren’t pointy, I’d say she’s ornamental.”
Astrid bristled. “She’s deadly.”
“I did say Deadly Nadder, didn’t I?” you deadpanned.
Hookfang strutted up next, Snotlout puffing his chest. “Meet Hookfang, the most fearsome Monstrous Nightmare in existence.”
You squinted at the dragon. “Mild scale flaking. Poor diet. He’s compensating with aggression.”
Snotlout’s jaw dropped. “What—he’s not—Hookfang, show her your fire blast!”
Hookfang belched a column of flame that singed the nearby shrubbery. You raised a brow. “Yes. Very impressive. Perhaps get him some seaweed for the skin condition.”
The twins shoved Barf and Belch in your face next. “Our baby!”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Two heads, one brain cell. Perfect match for you two.”
They gasped in delight. “She gets us!”
Fishlegs brought up Meatlug, who promptly slobbered on your sleeve. “Grónckle saliva,” you observed aloud. “Mildly corrosive. Potential as a cleaning agent if distilled properly.”
Fishlegs blinked. “I… never thought of that.”
Finally, Toothless padded forward, sleek and silent, green eyes glowing in the torchlight.
Your sarcasm faltered. Just for a moment.
“Night Fury,” you breathed, analytical tone softening. “The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Last one it’s kind and also an oversized feline.”
Hiccup tilted his head at you. “That’s… oddly specific.”
You recovered quickly, arching a brow. “Did I stutter?”
Toothless sniffed at your hand, then nudged it gently, surprisingly warm for a creature with so much legend draped across his wings. You hesitated, then rested your palm against his snout.
Something in your chest shifted. Just slightly.
That night, you were given a small hut, clean, quiet, overlooking the sea. You sat at the desk, scratching observations into a fresh sheet of parchment.
Field Notes: Dragon’s Edge, Day One
Captors now include motley band of teenagers and assorted dragons. Competency questionable.
Hiccup (the Chief’s son) suspiciously persuasive. Should investigate further.
Night Fury = fascinating. Possible link between plasma blasts and chemical combustion of unknown compound. Requires more data.
Side note: Not a prisoner. Not quite free, either. But for the first time in a while… not entirely alone. Uncertain if this is progress or a mistake.
Outside, Hiccup lingered by the door, unsure why he hadn’t gone to bed yet. He could still hear the scratch of your quill, steady, relentless.
Astrid found him there, arms crossed. “You’re not seriously thinking of keeping her here, are you?”
“She deserves better than being used,” he said quietly.
Astrid’s eyes softened, though she sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
But when he thought of the way you’d looked at Toothless, sharp mind giving way to awe, he knew one thing for certain.
He wasn’t letting you go.
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The Riders noticed it gradually.
At first, they assumed you were just restless, always vanishing down the cliffs, always back before dark, always scribbling notes after. But after three days, the pattern became impossible to ignore.
“She’s always at the shore,” Snotlout muttered, spying from the clubhouse window. “Always. What’s she doing down there? Skipping rocks? Talking to herself?”
“She could be gathering plants,” Fishlegs suggested. “There are a lot of rare seaweeds and shell-based compounds you can only harvest at low tide.”
Tuffnut leaned in, eyes wide. “Or maybe she’s meeting her secret lover who’s actually a selkie!”
Ruffnut gasped. “That explains her hair always smelling like salt water!”
Astrid groaned. “Or more realistically, she’s hiding something.” Her gaze cut to Hiccup, sharp. “Have you asked her?”
Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck. “I was… going to. Just wanted to give her space first.”
“Space?” Snotlout barked. “She’s probably planning to poison us all and sell our dragons to Viggo!”
“Or…” Hiccup shot him a look, “she’s just more complicated than you give her credit for.”
Astrid folded her arms. “Then let’s find out.”
That afternoon, you sat cross-legged on the rocks near the waterline, the tide lapping close enough to dampen your boots. You weren’t writing this time. Instead, your hand skimmed idly over the waves, murmuring something low and soft that the Riders couldn’t hear as they crept closer through the brush.
A sleek, iridescent shape rose from beneath the surf, long wings glinting with a rainbow shimmer. A dragon, slender, fluid, beautiful, eased its head above the surface and pressed it gently against your shoulder.
You smiled faintly, scratching the dragon’s jaw in a practiced rhythm. “Nereid,” you murmured, voice carrying just enough for them to hear now. “You really shouldn’t linger where they can spot you. I told you it’d only be a matter of time.”
The Tide Glider rumbled, low and affectionate.
Hiccup stepped out first, the others stumbling after him in a clumsy chorus of exclamations:
“How come she didn’t tell us?!”
You didn’t flinch. You just kept your hand on Nereid’s scales, turning slowly toward them with your usual dry calm.
“Congratulations,” you said smoothly. “You’ve discovered my secret. What gave me away? My repeated absences, or your utter lack of subtlety while spying on me?”
Astrid’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you say you had a dragon?”
You shrugged. “Because it wasn’t relevant.”
“Not relevant?!” Fishlegs nearly shrieked. “You have a unique Tidal Class dragon! She secretes a paralyzing toxin from her mist that can disable dragons ten times her size! She’s—she’s—” He broke off, wheezing with excitement. “She’s magnificent.”
“Thank you,” you replied dryly, “though she doesn’t need you to tell her that. She’s aware.”
Nereid preened, tail curling elegantly in the water.
Snotlout spluttered, pointing an accusing finger. “So what, you’ve just been hiding her here? Sneaking out to have secret dragon parties while the rest of us thought you were being all mysterious?”
Astrid scowled. “You could’ve told us. We introduce you to our dragons, but you keep yours hidden?”
You met her gaze evenly. “Because trust takes time. And because Tide Gliders are highly sought after by Hunters for their venom. The less people knew, the safer she was.” Your tone sharpened slightly. “I’ve kept her alive this long by being cautious. Forgive me if I don’t immediately abandon that because some strangers told me I should.”
The silence stretched. Astrid’s scowl softened, just a fraction.
Hiccup finally stepped forward, eyes fixed on Nereid with open awe. “She’s beautiful,” he murmured. “I’ve read about Tide Gliders, but I’ve never seen one in person. You’ve… clearly taken good care of her.”
Nereid tilted her head, studying him curiously before flicking a misty spray in his direction. Hiccup froze, half-expecting paralysis, but the mist dissipated harmlessly. You smirked.
“She likes you,” you said. “That’s rare. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Astrid muttered under her breath, “Oh, too late.”
Hiccup ignored her, eyes still locked on yours. “You could’ve told me.”
“I could have,” you agreed. “But I didn’t. That doesn’t mean I won’t.”
He studied you a long moment, then nodded once. “Alright. We’ll do this on your terms. But if she’s going to be here, the Riders need to know. And… I think the dragons deserve to meet her.”
Nereid huffed, fins flaring as though in challenge.
You smirked faintly. “Good luck convincing her of that.”
That evening, the introductions were… chaotic.
Stormfly squawked indignantly when Nereid slithered closer, fanning her fins like a peacock. Hookfang tried to show off by setting half the beach ablaze, only to get blasted with a spray of Tide Glider mist that left him twitching on the sand. The twins were convinced Nereid was “their new best friend,” while Meatlug just blinked sleepily, unfazed.
Through it all, you sat calmly at Nereid’s side, scribbling observations in your notebook.
Field Notes: Dragon’s Edge, Day Four
Riders possess expected lack of subtlety.
Nereid tolerated introductions, though displays of bravado (esp. Hookfang) resulted in predictable paralysis.
Tide Glider social behavior: surprisingly tolerant toward Night Fury. Interesting.
Side note: Hiccup is more insufferably earnest than anticipated. Nereid approves. Still deciding if I do.
Hiccup lingered after the others drifted back to the clubhouse, watching you stroke Nereid’s fins as the Tide Glider sank back into the surf.
“You trust her,” he said quietly.
You glanced at him. “More than I trust people.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “Maybe we can change that.”
You smirked, leaning back on your hands. “Maybe. But don’t get ahead of yourself, Chief.”
And though your words were sharp, your voice was softer than before.
