Chapter Text
The ocean rages and swirls, a gaping whirlpool ripping through rolling waves and vast sea, tilting the Midnight Rose sideways. Desperate crewmates cling to each other, to the rigging, to the railing, to a sinking ship. Wood cracks and splinters under the force of it all. The captain goes overboard, and no one can spare a helping hand. Seaspray whips up like the fury of the gods is carried with it.
“Hold on, Chip!”
The yell is lost in the roar of the ocean — and of a dragon.
***
He first comes to on harsh, gravelly sand. His throat is numb, and when he raises a webbed hand to it, he feels raw flesh, slick blood; he hears the squelch of it, where his fingertips sink into it a little, and he’s sure if he could retch, he would. Instead, he pulls his hand away, staring at the crimson coating it. Oh , he thinks deliriously, this is where I die.
It’s nothing ceremonious. Nothing befitting a Tidestrider, just a dark beach and the ocean lapping at his legs. He can’t even feel what should be blindingly painful. Finn Tidestrider has no throat left to scream with, no hope of help, and yet he can’t bring himself to care. He can smell it now, the coppery scent of blood. When he breathes in, he feels the wind whistle through his neck, through the slashes there. His eyes slip shut, and he succumbs to the numbness.
The second time he comes to, he’s in a medical hut. His throat still feels numb, but different, in a way he can’t quite place. Finn’s whole body feels sluggish and slow, like pushing through molasses. There’s bandaging around his chest, his right forearm, his left leg, tightly wrapped but not so much that it digs into his skin. He winces as he moves, pain flaring through him.
“You’re awake.” The voice is inhuman, deep, and thick with an accent that Finn takes a moment to place. Outcast Island. He tries to draw breath to speak, but his throat doesn’t seem to work right, his lungs straining with the effort. “Easy, easy. You’re safe here.”
Finn’s eyes dart around until they settle on a figure just beside him; metal glints in the low lighting. A man for sure, but not one he can spot any flesh on. Some part of him dimly wonders if this is the first iteration of automatons that he’d theorised about, back on the Isles.
“Alphonze.” The – man? automaton? – stretches out a hand. Finn uneasily takes it. “Son of Chieftain Blossom. Here, so you can communicate.”
Finn takes what’s offered to him, a simple graphite pencil and journal. You’re the chief’s son? He writes the moment he’s oriented himself.
“That I am,” Alphonze says, jarringly robotic. “You adjustin’ alright to your modulator?”
My what?
Alphonze gestures at Finn’s throat. “Your modulator. Fitted in place of your vocal cords- absolutely shredded, they were. Unsalvageable. What kinda mess did you even get yourself into, anyway?”
Finn exhales slowly, feeling the gears whir as he finally manages to speak. He doesn’t recognise his own voice as it leaves him, metallic and tinny, lacking any emotion. “Submaripper. Titanwing.”
“Oh, shit.”
“How –” There’s a click from the mechanisms inside, momentarily pausing his speech. “How fix?”
“Technology is the lifeblood of this island.” Alphonze gestures at Finn’s throat for a second time. “That was simple enough. Might take you some gettin’ used to. It’ll reset every so often, so you’re a little limited in your speech.”
“Oh.” Finn breathes in, noting how weird it feels to lose the link between that and speech. He presses the granite and paper to his own chest, discarded for the moment. “Thank you.”
“Care to introduce yourself?’
“Apologies.” Finn feels the modulator whirr. “Finn Tidestrider, of…”
He hesitates for a moment. His birthplace feels so far from him now, somewhere across the oceans. Do the Isles miss him, in ways he cannot miss them? Finn doesn’t know.
“Of the Midnight Rose.”
Alphonze inclines his head, moving across the room. He pushes open the door to the hut, letting the sunlight flood in. It’s blindingly bright against Finn’s eyes, and he throws up a hand instinctively to shield himself. As his eyes adjust, he sees igneous rock carved away and worn by generations living and dying here. He sees more huts, some nestled into the entrances of cave systems that no doubt run deep under the island, and vikings milling about, attending to their daily tasks. It brings tears to his eyes, seeing such peace and normality on an island, in ways he never has before.
“Well, Tidestrider,” Alphonze tips his helmet, a wry look about him that has Finn convinced it’s at least halfway mocking, “Welcome to Outcast Island.”
***
Ten years pass just like that, on an island Finn comes to call home. But ten years of this is too much good karma for a Tidestrider, especially Finn.
(Even if he does miss his crew something fierce through it all.)
***
Fire. There’s fire in the sky.
Finn’s lungs burn as he chokes on smoke-filled air, sounds of gunfire and artillery loud in his ears. He can’t even try to fathom what’s being flung at them, what weaponry could cause this destruction, because he needs to escape. To survive. He knew Berk’s insignia the second it was raised, on grand ships the island’s people hadn’t been suspicious enough of as they sailed into the harbour, despite never being himself. Drey had described it in detail a handful of times, during late nights spent on the Midnight Rose – enough for Finn’s chest to explode with terror the moment he saw it.
“Finn!” A figure, hulking amidst the rubble, a flightless dragon at his side. Gryffon. “Get to the other side of the island!”
“Where chief?” He yells back, voice modulator whirring as it works overtime to compensate for the heat. It resets itself after just those two words, leaving Finn voiceless as Gryffon raises his gun arm to shoot at an enemy he can’t see.
“Just get the fuck out of here!”
Finn doesn’t need to be told twice. Pushing any thoughts of the chief from his mind, he scrambles over rubble, scuffing his palms and smearing blood as he goes. Thin webbing between his fingers tears and his modulator whirrs so loud he can’t think between it and the roar of violence. He just scrambles forward, onwards and over, then, when he’s free of the rubble, sprints along empty trails, between empty huts. Screaming rings in his ears, loud and pure cacophony and –
He’s on a ship under attack, a whirlpool dragging them down. There’s a yell as the Captain falls overboard. A dragon roars, muted by the water yet so loud Finn can feel it reverberate in his chest.
“Finn!” Drey’s voice. He turns his head, they lock eyes, and silently swear a pact to go down fighting with a simple nod. Arlin charges past them to catch Chip before he can be flung overboard. A scream splits the air and –
Finn’s on the ground, face pressed into dirt, ears ringing. Blood trickles from his forehead, curving down the side of his nose. He can taste it smeared on his teeth, pain flaring in his jaw, his gums. He aches all over and the sky is full of fire and he has to keep going. Like when the Midnight Rose sank all those years ago, he pushes forward, gets to his feet, and staggers onwards.
“Rose.” The name falls from his mouth unbidden. His modulator whirrs and resets.
“Arlin.”
His modulator resets.
“Drey.”
Reset.
“Chip.”
Reset.
“Lizzie.”
Reset.
“Roofus.”
Reset.
“Jug.”
Reset. The far shore is visible now, Finn’s vision blurring as his eyes water, struggling against the ash and smog. It’s clearer here than the harbour, than the main town, away from the fighting. He can still hear the screams, but he can hear the crunch of rocks underfoot, so he focuses on that, and keeps going. Modulator whirring even as he doesn’t speak, Finn barely notices when the rocks change to the dull thunk of his feet on wooden planks. He sprints down the narrow, flimsy, half-rotted docks of the far shore, barely used and forgotten. He doesn’t even try for one of the view rowboats, flinging himself off the edge into the waves instead.
Finn sinks below the surface and the noise muffles. The heat his modulator had steadily been building starts to dissipate, and he shuts his eyes, soothed by the undercurrents and feel of the ocean around him. He can’t stay here forever; he’ll have to swim back up for air soon, but for the moment, he feels safe.
Then a boulder three times the size of any hut Finn has ever been in barrels into the water and sinks past him at blinding speeds, stirring up the water and pulling him out of it, setting panic back into him in an instant. Flailing, he bursts through the surface again, sulphur on his tongue. His frantic gaze darts back to shore, to the docks he’d ran down, and that’s when he spots him; clad in heavy armour and a thick-furred coat, helmet clipped to his belt, he’s unmistakable.
The Chief of Berk.
All of Drey’s descriptions were accurate, but still didn’t do him justice. Hair like fire, eyes like ice; imposing and staring him down, Finn feels a wide range of negative emotions that can mostly be summarised as small.
“Where’s your dragon, old man?” comes his voice, low and gravelled. Finn’s upper lip curls to bare his teeth, both organic and the new metallic ones that line his lower jaw.
“Do not have.”
Jayson Ferin’s face contorts with anger. “Do not lie to me.”
“Do not have,” Finn repeats, mourning, for the first time in years, the lack of infliction in his tone. Jayson jerks his head. Two Berkian soldiers move, faster than Finn can think, diving into the water. He thrashes as they grab him, nails and armoured gauntlets digging into his skin. The water drags at him and makes him slow, and moments later he’s back ashore.
“I’ll ask you one more time.” Jayson leans in close. “ Where is your dragon? ”
“Do.” Finn’s modulator resets. “Not have.”
Jayson sighs and leans back. “Find it. You two… Deal with him.”
“Get off.” Finn thrashes again, twisting their grips, prying parts of himself free but not enough to get away. The soldier to his left turns and swings at him, landing a haphazard punch to his midriff that drives the breath from him.
“Wait.” Jayson holds up a hand, a crooked smile twisting across his face. “Oh, I know that kind of fighting spirit. Perhaps… A certain merchant ship?”
Finn wishes he had the vocal cords to growl. “What have you –” His modulator resets.
“My brother isn’t going anywhere, pirate. I’ve made sure of it.”
The B.L.O.C.K. That’s all Jayson can mean, with the confidence in his stance. Twisting in place, the metal of his throat groaning in protest, he bites. Sharpened teeth sink through flesh in an instant and settle into bone, the Berkian soldier screaming loud enough to be heard over the cannon fire as he rips his hand away. Reeling back, he twists the other way, biting and snapping again, and he tears his way free. The moment he can, Finn runs.
Anger burns in him, every inch of him screaming not to let Jayson live, not with that grin on his face, but he runs instead. Across the island, through the smoke, away from the harbours. Towards the cliffs, towards the sea, towards escape. A vow forms and sears itself into his heart as he flees, as cannonfire deafens him and his modulator whirrs incessantly.
Drey, I will find you.
***
The B.L.O.C.K. is a fortress. Layers of thick, reinforced stone make up its walls, guard rotations sharp and precise at its singular entrance. Hooded and barefoot at the end of the docks, Finn keeps his gaze firmly on the guards, counting their steps, their rotations. Every detail committed to memory as he stands, still as a statue. To the first guards, those who saw him arrive, he’s an anomaly. To the second, a mildly intriguing stranger. To the third, barely a passing thought. To the fourth, he is part of the landscape.
There’s no sign of weakness. Not yet. Perfect order and strict routine do not give way even for a second. Hold fast, Drey. I’ve almost found you.
His gaze wanders for a moment, drawn to new arrivals on the docks. A large ship emblazoned with insignia he’s never seen before, low on the water as figures bustle about tying it in place. The sunlight bright on his eyes, it takes Finn a moment to realise how distinctly non-Berkian they all are. It’s enough to pique his interest, to say the least. He keeps his gaze locked on these newcomers, on their odd movements and their ship that seems entirely too large for such a small crew.
Maybe, if he’d kept his eyes on the guard, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe, he’d have seen them falter, and slipped in during the chaos, leaving the escape plans for later. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
What does happen is this; the strangers on the ship fire something at the prison. An explosive he’s never seen before, that rattles the earth and shakes the sky in an explosion of reds, yellows and oranges. For a moment, he feels the wooden dock quake under his feet and then the impact radiates outward, and he’s flung backwards. He only falls halfway, though, before he’s caught, jerked somewhat painfully to a halt.
Through slitted eyes, he looks to his rescuer as he’s hauled upright. Despite the destruction and fire raging around him, Finn would recognise the figure in front of him anywhere. Older, taller, more muscular, sun-tanned and still smiling bright and radiant; Gillion .
“I got you, I got you, old man,” he says, hand curled around the underneath of Finn’s bicep to offer support. “Are you alright, sir?”
“Gillion,” his voice modulator chirps robotically. His grandson’s eyes widen in an instant.
“Grandfather?”
“Here. Why?”
“For Drey,” Gillion says. He moves now, hand sliding from Finn’s bicep up to his shoulder. His other hand trails over the metal of Finn’s new throat, in reverent ways Finn had only ever seen him do with weapons back on the Isles, when he was far younger. “... What happened to you?”
“Not now.” Finn’s eyes flick to the Berkian soldiers, to the scramble as they struggle to hasten together a defence. “In. Now. ”
“No, grandfather, it isn’t safe. We have –”
“We?” Finn’s modulator clicks, resetting.
“My friends. Look, just… Please, follow me, it isn’t safe out here.”
Finn says nothing, just lets himself be led down the docks, over rubble, towards the ship. Their goals align, at least for the moment, and that’s enough for him. Gillion’s muttering to him as they go, simple things like warnings of treacherous terrain. Finn only pays mind to the words he says that truly matter. When Gillion offers him a hand, Finn ignores it and hauls himself up the rope ladder, muscle memory giving him some amount of practiced ease to his movements.
“Big ship.”
“It has to be, in order to fit–”
“Gill, the hell did I say about involving strangers?”
Finn squints. “Is that…?”
“Finn Tidestrider, holy shit. Hooooooly shit. Forget I said anything, holy –”
His eyes narrow, then widen the moment his suspicions are confirmed. “Chip?”
“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, two Tidestriders on my ship.” Chip paces back and forth. He’s so much older, yet still so similar to the nine year old boy Finn had known. “Shit, okay, get him below deck, Jay –”
“Can help.” Finn takes a half pace forward, determination set into his expression.
“No. No way, old man –”
“Why here?” he cuts in.
“We’re here for Drey,” Chip says.
“Shared goal.” Finn’s modulator whirrs, then clicks. “Plan?”
“Not… entirely complete.” Gillion’s eyes flick to the B.L.O.C.K. and back to Finn. “Why, did you have one?”
“Somewhat.”
“Care to share?” Jay leans over the side of the ship. Finn doesn’t even spare her a glance, gaze firmly fixed on the B.L.O.C.K. again.
“Alone. You distract.”
“Fuck no. No disrespect, Gill’s peepaw, but we have no idea what’s in there.” Chip gestures wildly, with eyes even wider and wilder. “You’d stand a better chance with one of us with you, if not below decks.”
“Alone,” Finn repeats. “You distract. Other plan, we die.”
“Grandfather, Chip has lead us through –”
“Hold on, Gill.” Chip exhales, dropping his head. “He’s got experience. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but… It’s Berk. Might as well go down swinging, right?”
“Will work.”
“It better.” Jay’s gaze is dark as it settles on him. Finn feels scrutinised in a way he can’t quite place until he spots the bird pin nestled in her hair and he connects her to Drey’s stories back aboard the Midnight Rose of two nieces, one who went missing when the dragons began to return, and another on the path to being Berk’s Chieftess. His heart aches at the thought, and the reminder that he’s so close to Drey, yet not with him. Not yet, anyway. “There’s a lot at stake here.”
“Will do all I can,” Finn pauses, modulator whirring, “To get him out.”
“Good.”
“Weapon.” Finn imitates firing at the prison. “Where?”
“The lower decks,” Gillion says. “We’ll need to reload it, if we’re going to fire it again.”
“Good. How many are you?”
“There’s four of us,” Chip interjects. “Five if you count Ollie, but he’s staying on the ship.”
“How many for weapon?”
“Two,” Jay says, seeming to warm up to the idea of at least listening to Finn’s plan. Turning the details over in his mind, he starts to form a plan.
“Weapon cover fire.” His modulator resets. “Two rush. Chaos. Distract guards further. Keep busy.”
“That gets you in. What about out?” Chip folds his arms across his chest. Finn’s top lip curls into an approximation of a smile.
“More chaos.”
“Sounds like my kind of plan.”
Jay frowns a little. “It’s unpolished.”
“It’s pirate ,” Chip says. “I’m in.”
“Your funeral. Gill, c’mon, let Chip and Alphonze risk their lives, we’ll take the blast cannon.”
Finn blinks. “Alphonze?”
“Our crewmate.” Chip grins, gesturing broadly with an arm upwards, towards the helm. “Alphonze, you ready to go?”
“Finn.” Alphonze’s voice is low. “You made it out.”
“Met chief. Escaped. Looked for Drey.”
“No details? Ever elusive, Tidestrider. We’ll catch up later.”
“You two know each other?”
“Later, Chip.”
“Right, right.” Chip turns his gaze back to Finn. “To Drey.”
“To Drey,” Finn echoes.
***
Turns out, Chip’s crew (the Riptide Flyers, he’s been informed they’re called) are incredible at causing chaos. The blast cannon fires for a second time and Finn fights his way through the aftershocks to the B.L.O.C.K.’s entrance as Chip and Alphonze make nuisances of themselves. The halls are dark, no torches lining them. He hears low growling; dragons . His heart aches at the thought of Outcast Island, of the dragons that had surely been stolen from there, or had been killed, but there isn’t time to think more about it.
Finn turns away from the sounds, pressing into a hallway darker than the first, yawning before him like a cave mouth. Eyes narrowed against the gloom, he takes slow steps on the dirt flooring. Prisoners watch him go with mournful eyes, the skin hanging off them, bones protruding, or blood smearing their knuckles, their faces, their chests. Finn decidedly doesn’t think about what condition he might find Drey in, simply pushing forwards.
A pitiful roar echoes through the halls behind him. Outside sounds are muffled, and the further he walks, the quieter they become. The thought crosses his mind that the Riptide Flyers could die while he was in here, but he grips the terror with both hands and shoves it somewhere deep down inside of himself to deal with later. His modulator whirrs as he breathes, and then;
“Hey! Finn!”
Drey.
Heart pounding, he abandons any sense of stealth, scrambling across the hall to the cell. The lock is simple enough, but his hands shake as he fumbles with it. Mechanisms creaking, the cell door swings open with a harsh, loud clang that makes Finn wince. Grinning through bloodstained teeth, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, Drey meets his gaze.
“Hey, fish boy.”
“Drey.” His voice falls flat, emotionless, robotic. Despite how battered Drey looks, Finn can’t help but think he’s beautiful all the same. Still, there’s no time to linger on that and so he continues with, “Can stand?”
Drey’s eyes narrow. “Why do you sound like that?”
“Throat.” Finn taps it, a tinny sound generated from the clack of his nail against the tech. “Explain later.”
He extends a hand. Drey doesn’t take it; he struggles to his feet, arms limp by his sides. Finn blinks, but even in the dim light, he’s not imagining the way Drey’s arms are twisted and wrong, or the bruising curled up them. He knows better than to ask what happened, not after Jayson’s words back on Outcast Island, not when they need to escape.
“This way,” he says, gesturing.
“Wait-” Drey coughs, blood coming with it, splattering on the stone floor of the cell. “There’s someone else.”
Finn’s modulator clicks. “Someone else?”
“Down- down the hall. I can’t leave him.”
Finn’s eyes narrow, but his voice, robotic as it is, fails to convey the jealousy that starts to roil in his gut. “ Him? ”
“Sureshot.” Drey meets his gaze carefully. “My… My dragon.”
“
Dragon.
” Finn blinks. “Right. Looks like…?”
“He’s a thunderclaw.” Drey coughs again, a more concerning, harsh one this time. “Black and grey. He- Well, they probably took his armour off, but-”
“Got it.” There’s a pause as Finn’s modulator whirrs and resets. “I’ll be back.”
He darts out of the cell and back into the corridor. Darkness looms before him, less intimidating now that he’s walked part of it before. Down the hall, he hears the lash of chains and the low roars, wondering dimly how many dragons here belonged to people like Drey, and how many have since been killed at Berk’s hands.
A thunderclaw. In and out.
His time on Outcast Island had taught him more about dragons than any other point in his life. As he begins to walk through the prison, he turns over all the facts he can remember in his mind, running through species and riders. He recalls Alphonze talking about innate bonds, like Gryffon and Roach, compared to those that took time to build, like himself and Silverslice. Part of Finn regrets passing on the offers to be given his own dragon – though he’s not sure if one would have survived Berk’s attack, nor is he sure he’s ready to connect with one other than the Isles.
Fire flares to his right. Out of his peripherals, he spots a flash of scales and teeth. Monstrous Nightmare; Stoker Class. A glimpse of heavily-armoured hide, castleton green. Rumblehorn; Tracker Class. Crackling lightning, rolling like thunder. Skrill; Strike Class. Why in the name of Odin do they have a Skrill locked in here? Black and grey scales –
“Sureshot,” he chirps through his modulator. The thunderclaw turns his head to look at Finn, armour clanking as he moves. Why the Berkian soldiers left Sureshot’s armour on, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t about to question it. “Time to escape.”
***
They make it out in one piece. Barely.
The Big Chipper is abandoned in the harbour in favour of a safe retreat on the backs of dragons that he didn’t even know they had; Drey motions for Finn to get up onto Sureshot and they take to the skies moments before the soldiers open fire. Four hours in the skies feels too short, because up here, his front pressed to Drey’s back, the wind rushing past him, Finn feels alive, he feels free . When they land on Dragon’s Keep, he mourns the loss of the feeling for a moment before settling into the feeling of safety.
“Careful.” Finn stretches out a hand towards Drey. The man gives him a look that Finn can’t place, something deeper than fond , but traced with lines of annoyance. In the end, he doesn’t need the help.
“So, this is what Chip’s been up to, huh?”
“Gillion and Jay too.” Finn’s modulator whirrs as he casts his gaze around, taking in the huts and walkways. He can see the beach in the distance, waves rolling in calmly. It reminds him of the shores of Outcast Island before Berk’s raid. “Safe here.”
“Good.” Drey grins at him. There’s still blood staining his teeth, the corner of his mouth, his chin. Finn reaches up to wipe it away without thinking.
“Rest.”
“What about…” Drey pauses, gaze dropping. Finn’s heart falls with it as he realises what question the man is about to ask. “What about the rest of our crew?”
“No trace. Searching still.”
“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course.”
“Chip won’t stop.” Finn’s modulator whirrs, resetting, reminding him of exactly why he doesn’t try to form full sentences anymore. “Not until Arlin is found.”
“Good.” Drey’s voice is firm. His eyes drift up to glance over Finn’s metallic, inhuman throat. “Be careful with yourself, yeah?”
Finn’s top lip twitches into the closest approximation of a smile he can give anymore. “Will do.”
“I’m serious, Finn. I can’t –” Drey exhales. “You’re all I’ve got.”
He lifts a hand, cupping Drey’s cheek. “Promise. Will be safe.”
Drey closes his eyes, leaning into Finn’s touch. No more words are said, the moment far too precious to shatter.
“Grandfather, we’ve got a hut setup for you both.” Gillion’s voice slices through it like a knife, prompting Finn to gently step back and turn to look at him. “It isn’t much, but…”
“Thank you.” He holds out a hand towards Gillion, who takes it. Looking at his grandson, Finn can see the shock creeping back in. Amidst all the chaos, they hadn’t had the time to talk about… Anything. Without a word, Finn tugs Gillion forwards into a tight hug.
“You’re here.” Gillion’s voice is small. “You’re really here.”
“I’m here.” His modulator resets. “Tell you everything. Tomorrow.”
Gillion pulls back, but not before pressing a kiss to his grandfather’s cheek. “ Everything ,” he echoes back at Finn, intensity in his gaze. Finn just inclines his head, which seems to satisfy Gillion.
“Last hut on the left.”
“Thank you,” Finn repeats. Drey grunts and gives Gillion a nod, pressing past him to move towards the hut. Finn glances back at Sureshot, but Gillion holds up a hand.
“I’ll take him to our stables. He’ll be safe there.”
Finn bites back a third thank you , instead nodding and making his way after Drey. The wooden planks creak underfoot, scarily comforting. He’s sure if he shut his eyes, it would feel almost like he’s back aboard the Midnight Rose, minus the roll of the ocean. If he tries, he can hear the sea, but it’s not quite the same.
“Finn?”
“Yes?”
Drey pauses on the threshold of the hut, looking back at him. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something important, but then, “Thor almighty, these beds look like ass.”
Finn laughs, a distorted sound through his replaced throat, and the two step inside for the night.
***
For a few weeks, life is oddly normal. A gang of pirates with their own dragons, led by none other than Elizabeth, drops by, bringing with them news and trade. Finn tells Gillion about his life on Outcast Island, about his time on the Midnight Rose, about his modulator, Berk’s invasion. They rescue a grumpy old man from a baby scuttleclaw (that promptly decides to follow him around) by the name of Earl and get an earful of insults as a thanks. He talks to Alphonze about his escape. Chip takes him for a flight over the island and Finn asks if he can map it, to which Chip agrees. Jay gives both him and Drey combat lessons. It’s nice, if overshadowed somewhat by the threat of Berk, and the need to find the rest of their crew.
Finally, it happens. A unassuming night, the moon at its highest, and Finn can’t sleep. He stands on the boardwalks between the huts, staring out towards the sea. It sparkles in the light in ways that make him long for a life long gone.
“Hey, Tidestrider.” Chip’s voice is low, carrying across the darkness. He barely gets to turn to look at Chip before he adds, “Lizzie knows where he is.”
Finn doesn’t even have to ask who he means. “How? Where?”
“Berk intel, apparently. Some of those guys didn’t know John defected and were happy to hand over their hit list. They’ve been monitoring isles for months . The Keep’s safe, for now, but…” Chip pulls crumpled paper from his back pocket. “Here. Dragon activity, one human, identity unknown. Who else could it be?”
Taking the offered paper, Finn’s eyes narrow, squinting to pick up the details in the faint moonlight. A map of the Archipelago, different islands marked with crosses or circles. Each has scribbled details in messy runes; cleared of dragons on one , potential nest on the next. Blinking in an attempt to clear the dizzying levels of information from his mind, he follows where Chip points to a rocky island, not far from Berk. Dragon infested, one human. Identity unknown. Likely to be uncooperative.
“They’re gonna kill him.”
“Drey. Knows?”
“Not yet.” Chip carefully meets his eyes. “Your plan back at the B.L.O.C.K. worked, and I’m a pretty shit leader. I wanted your thoughts, because, well… I trust your judgement, old man.”
Finn stares down at the map, then back to Chip. “Go. Tomorrow. No pirate left behind.”
“No pirate left behind,” Chip echoes, a small smile creeping onto his features. “Go get some rest, Tidestrider. You need it.”
“You too,” Finn says. His modulator clicks, resetting, before he adds. “Proud. Of you.”
Chip says nothing and Finn can’t tell if the sheen to his eyes is from the low lighting, or forming tears. Finn settles a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly, offering him a smile before Chip pulls away, stepping back up the wooden walkways connecting the precariously-built huts of the Keep.
“Sleep well, Finn.”
It’s only later, when he’s settled into bed across from Drey, that Finn realises it’s the first time in over ten years that Chip has said his name.
***
“You ready?”
Finn looks up at Drey, at where he sits on Sureshot’s back. He looks so at home there, in the saddle, like he was born for the adventure that stretches before him. It makes Finn wish he weren’t so tired, that he wasn’t hoping this would be the end of it all. “Yes.”
“... And are you ready to see him again?”
He drops his gaze, not able to bear the look on Drey’s face or the way his eyes seem to reflect his own fears back at him. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. Must go now.”
Drey shifts forwards in the saddle, jerking his head in a motion that Finn recognises as climb on . “No pirate left behind.”
Finn hooks a foot into the stirrups and pulls himself up, chest flush to Drey’s back like it had been the night they’d arrived on the Keep. “No pirate left behind.”
“Hey, lovebirds!” Jay’s voice carries across the open air. “Let’s get going!”
“Calm down, we’re coming,” Drey yells back. Finn fights to stay relaxed where he sits, because she couldn’t possibly know , could she? And yet, with all that’s happened, it wouldn’t surprise him if Jay did.
Finn wears his devotion to Drey on his sleeve; he doesn’t try to hide the way he looks at Drey, the way he treats him, the way he wants to treat him. Hell, he’d even turned down offers from both Chip and Gillion to travel with them in favour of riding with Drey on Sureshot. As they take off, Finn leans forwards into Drey for stability, and revels in his warmth, in the feel of his heartbeat. He wonders, if only for a moment, if Drey feels the same.
He decides to settle for the knowledge that Drey feels comfortable with him, that they can check on one another and both care. In the end, it’s enough. Any way he can have Drey is enough for him.
“Finn,” Drey says, as they cross into Berkian waters sometime later, into the stretch where the Midnight Rose had sunk, “What if he isn’t there?”
“Will be.” Finn leans back a little. “Am sure.”
“Gods, Tidestrider. I wish I had your faith.”
Finn breathes out. Suddenly, he’s all too aware of his own mortality, of the fact that Berk had their eye on this island. They could be flying into a trap for all they know, or at least into the midst of war. If he might die, then he wants Drey to know. He spent ten years thinking about what he’d do if he ever managed to get Drey back; Finn isn’t going to waste any longer waiting.
“Drey, I-” His modulator resets. Sureshot banks hard.
Finn plummets into the sea.