Chapter 2
They remained in what Hiccup now knows is Kingshouse, for three days, gathering what they could before moving on. The small town, nestled against the rocky cliffs of Skagos, was rough and practical, its people hardened by their isolation and the unforgiving sea.
Hiccup had managed to barter a few small blades and extra clothing in exchange for food and supplies, but the most valuable thing he acquired was a map. It was crude, stained, and some of the ink had faded, but it was enough.
Enough to tell him that Westeros was massive.
Far bigger than any land he had ever seen.
His fingers traced the parchment carefully, studying its jagged coastlines and sprawling names, committing them to memory. A familiar excitement stirred in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t had in years. Not since his early days as a chief, when he had scoured the Archipelago for uncharted islands, discovering lands untouched by Vikings, meeting dragons where no human had dared to tread.
It was easy to forget that kind of curiosity when the weight of leading his people had become his only focus.
By the third night, it was time to leave.
Toothless, having hunted and rested, was energized and ready to fly. The cover of darkness was their best protection, the vast ocean below their safest path. Hiccup kept their course low, flying close enough to the water that their reflection rippled beneath them, obscured by the waves. He didn’t know how the people of Westeros would react to dragons, but the fact that Skagos had never seen one before was reason enough to be cautious.
They followed the coastline, passing the Bay of Seals, veering around the looming Grey Cliffs where jagged rock formations jutted from the sea like the bones of a forgotten beast. The peninsula of Widow’s Watch was next, a stretch of land that faded into the sea, its towers and strongholds dark against the moonlit sky.
By the time they reached the Bite, the sea had become more populated, dotted with smaller islands, their fires flickering from the distant shores. Hiccup urged Toothless higher, past the clouds where the air thinned, the cold sharper against his skin. Below, the vast sprawl of Westeros came into view, stretching beyond what little light the stars offered.
White Harbor was just ahead.
They had only left Skagos four hours ago, yet the city was still awake, buzzing with life despite the late hour. Hiccup guided Toothless toward the outskirts, where the land met the cliffs, tucking them into the safety of a small cave southeast of the city.
From here, he could hear the distant hum of movement, voices rising and falling, the clang of metal from the harbor, the steady rhythm of the sea beating against the stone.
Pulling off his armor, Hiccup changed into something less conspicuous, hoping to blend in among the locals. Toothless wasn’t pleased.
The dragon thumped into his side, nearly knocking him over.
“I know you don’t like me going off alone,” Hiccup murmured, steadying himself as he secured his cloak. “But we don’t know how these people feel about dragons. We can’t risk them being hostile.”
Toothless huffed loudly, wings twitching in irritation.
“It’ll only be for a few hours,” Hiccup reassured him, adjusting the small pouch of coin tied at his waist. He ran a hand along Toothless’ jaw, scratching behind his ear until the dragon’s tension melted into something softer.
Toothless licked a long stripe up the side of Hiccup’s face.
Hiccup groaned, wiping at the mess with his sleeve. “Really?”
The dragon rumbled in amusement.
Shaking his head, Hiccup gave him one last pat before disappearing into the night.
The streets twisted like veins, narrow and uneven, winding their way through the city. It was larger than Berk, wider, taller, its buildings looming with stone foundations and wood-beamed rooftops. The air carried the scent of salt and damp timber, mingling with the sharper bite of smoke from the forges.
He moved carefully, hood drawn low, watching the people as much as the city itself. They were different from those of Skagos, better dressed, more refined, yet just as hardened by the life they led. Their speech was fast and clipped, the cadence strange to his ears, and more than once, he caught lingering glances thrown his way.
He kept walking.
Stopping only to purchase a few more layers, Hiccup quickly realized his clothes weren’t the only thing that made him stand out. The longer he wandered, the clearer it became that he was an outsider, his posture, his stride, the way his eyes flicked to every alley and escape route.
He had been taught to assess everything, to always be aware of his surroundings. But here, in a place where no one knew him, it made him look exactly like what he was—a stranger.
When he turned onto a wider street, his gaze landed on a building lined with warm torchlight, its windows filled with women in very little clothing.
Hiccup’s face burned as he jerked his eyes away.
He spun on his heel, walking, quickly, in the opposite direction.
A tavern seemed like the safest bet for gathering information, so he pushed through the heavy wooden doors, stepping into the humid space within.
The heat hit him first. Then the smell.
Sweat, ale, damp wood, and something sharper—metallic, like old blood. The room was thick with it, bodies pressed together in clusters, some deep in conversation, others laughing over their drinks.
Navigating through the throng, he found a seat at the bar, where a heavyset man with a graying beard was already wiping down the counter.
“What can I get for you, lad?”
Hiccup hesitated only for a second. “A mug of ale and maybe a bowl of soup. Please.”
The words felt awkward on his tongue, and he regretted them immediately. His accent stood out, heavy against the Common Tongue.
A few heads turned. The shift in attention was subtle, but he felt it all the same.
The bartender, however, didn’t seem fazed. He set the mug and bowl down in front of him without question.
Hiccup ate in silence, listening.
He finished his drink, ordered another, and moved to a quieter table, letting the noise around him fade into something familiar. For the first time since landing on this strange continent, he let himself relax, just for a moment.
Then a crash split through the room.
A table was knocked over, chairs scraping against the floor as two men tumbled into a fight. A crowd gathered instantly, some cheering, others shouting, but Hiccup barely spared them a glance.
His attention was on another conversation just within earshot.
An older man with a thick gut and a scraggly beard chuckled to himself, watching the fight as he leaned closer to his drunken companion.
“They’re almost as bad as the Targaryens,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Fighting over that woman like it’s the Iron Throne.”
Hiccup’s fingers stilled against the rim of his mug. Targaryens. There was that name again.
The other man, barely keeping himself upright, slurred, “What do you know about the Targaryens, Addam? You’ve never stepped foot in King’s Landing.”
“Oh, feck off,” Addam scoffed, but his face darkened, his expression shifting from humor to something heavier.
“I lived there for a time. Worked in the stables when I was a green boy. Nearly lost my head because one of the princes didn’t like how long it took to saddle his damn horse.” He took a long swig of ale, swallowing hard before continuing. “Didn’t lose my head in the end, but got whipped bad enough to make me leave.”
Hiccup tensed, gripping his mug tighter.
Princes. Kings. Whippings. These weren’t just stories—these were firsthand experiences.
Addam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Anyways, they fought over that throne like children with a favored toy.”
The other man furrowed his brow, his drunken haze flickering with curiosity. “But isn’t the Princess Rhaenyra the heir? The king decreed it himself. I thought it’d put an end to the squabbling.”
Addam barked out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “And where has she been, then? Hiding in the Red Keep with her ladies, away from the kingdom she’s supposed to rule.” His lip curled, voice lowering as he leaned in. “Rumors are running rampant about her dark-haired spawns. People are questioning if they’ve got any right to that throne.”
Hiccup’s heart kicked against his ribs.
Dark-haired spawns. Was that significant? What did that mean?
He kept his head tilted down, twisting his empty mug between his fingers, pretending not to listen.
The other man, Owen, Hiccup thought he heard his name was—frowned. “You’d risk speaking treason so openly?”
Addam scoffed, slamming his mug onto the table. “Treasons the word the highborns use when they don’t like hearing the truth.”
Hiccup flicked his gaze toward the two men, careful not to look directly at them, careful not to draw attention. He knew the sound of suppressed resentment when he heard it.
Addam leaned forward, voice dropping even lower. “The people’s loyalty is shifting, Owen. Toward the boy.”
Owen’s eyes widened. “The Queen’s son?”
“Aye,” Addam muttered. “The king’s second wife, that Hightower woman—her son. The boy’s a prince, and a true-born one at that.”
The words sat heavy between them, but Hiccup could feel the weight of them too.
A war was brewing—one fought not with shields and axes, but with bloodlines and whispers.
Owen ran a hand over his face, looking around the tavern quickly, as if someone else might be listening. His gaze flickered toward Hiccup for half a second too long.
Hiccup froze.
He didn’t react. Didn’t lift his head. Just shifted slightly in his seat, trying to shrink into the shadows.
Addam, too deep in his own drink and irritation, didn’t notice. “The girl’s done nothing to stop it,” he continued, voice thick with contempt. “She’s let her enemies run unchecked, let these rumors fester. And where’s her dragon, then? Where’s her might? Sitting behind her castle walls, same as her.
“She’s given the smallfolk nothing, but she expects us to die for her?” His laugh was bitter, the kind that came from disillusionment and anger all wrapped into one. “War’s coming, and we’re the ones who’ll bleed first. Only then they'll swoop in on their dragons to claim a throne they've worked so little for.”
Hiccup swallowed hard, a sharp unease crawling up his spine.
The us in that sentence carried weight.
Hiccup had never cared much for kings and thrones, but he knew a revolt when he saw one brewing.
Owen straightened, suddenly more sober than before. His voice dropped low, serious. “You speak of treason, Addam. To question the legitimacy of the princess’s children—say that in the wrong company, and you’ll be without your tongue.”
Addam only snorted, unconcerned. “Aye, well, I won’t be in Westeros long enough for that to matter. I’ll take the next ship to Essos. Let them burn each other for the throne, I’ll not be dying for any of them.”
Owen muttered something under his breath, then pushed himself unsteadily from the table. “Let’s speak no more of this. We’ve had too much drink.”
Hiccup ducked his head lower as the two men rose.
Addam followed sluggishly after his companion, leaving behind only the fading echoes of their conversation in Hiccup’s mind.
He sat there, unmoving, staring at the worn wood of his table, his empty mug still clutched between his fingers.
This was not the world he had expected.
The thought had settled in earlier, when he realized how vast Westeros was, when he saw that there were no dragons in the skies, that no one even spoke of them in the streets.
But now it was clearer than ever.
Dragons were not partners here.
They were not treated as equals.
They were weapons.
And if the Targaryens used them like swords to carve out power, then they weren’t riders.
They were something else entirely.
Hiccup exhaled through his nose, setting his mug down carefully before rising. He slipped out the door without a sound, weaving back through the city streets, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders.
The wind had changed.
Something had settled into his gut, something uncomfortable, something disappointing.
He had hoped to find kinship in this world.
Now, all he saw was war.
His steps quickened as he made his way back toward the cave. He needed to rethink everything. His next move. His plan.
Because this wasn’t just a new land.
This was a land on the brink of collapse.