Softening Surprises
Hiccup knew learning to be Chief would be difficult. Not because he couldn't think of solutions or figure out problems to the benefit of both sides of an argument. He could do that. He could invent things, add to the defenses of the island with new plans, and manage the diplomatic intricacies of dragon-dragon conflict, and dragon-viking conflict. And viking-viking conflict, probably the hardest of all.
The problem was the people.
Not that individually he didn't love the people of Berk, and the village itself. He loved his home, now that he felt like he belonged in it.
But dealing with people all day, different problems, different noises, different voices in his ears, all brought to his window at the forge, dropped in his lap at mealtimes, following him home at night… it wore him out. He knew how he was supposed to do his job, all of his jobs, and he knew he was capable.
But there came a time each afternoon when he felt… hollow. Like a fire burnt down to one weak ember. Each moment with people took a piece from him, until he felt himself growing dark and tired inside. So Hiccup would go find some silence.
Silence was scarce in Berk. He could fly away with Toothless for an hour or so, but he felt the needs of the village follow him. He felt their welcome when he flew back, and watched as they met him with smiles and eager unasked questions. He loved his neighbors; he loved his village. But he hated feeling depleted at the end of every day.
Hiccup couldn't bring himself to be rude to anyone, though. He didn't actually dislike anyone who asked him for help or for an ear to listen to a problem. He wished he knew what was wrong with him, that each person took something small but vital away from him.
Hiccup knew he had only a few minutes of silence before someone knocked on the door, and he tried not to feel angry as he sat on the side of his bed, rubbing his neck, then his eyes. A few minutes were better than nothing.
He lifted his legs onto the bed, and slowly removed the straps holding his prosthesis in place. Taking it off, despite how it made him feel vulnerable, also made him feel at rest. He wasn't going anywhere, not quickly anyway, if he took it off and laid down. It meant he had to stop. It meant rest. Peace. Quiet. For as long as he had.
He shifted onto the bed, pushed the covers back, and slowly stretched out.
The minute his head hit the pillow, he jerked up….
That wasn't his pillow. It was...new. Softer. Thicker.
He looked at it, then, carefully, lifting one corner with two fingertips, he peeked under it. He wouldn't put it past the twins to booby trap his bed.
But there was no sign of any note, or indication of how it got there. No imminent explosions of jam or, worse, something foul from the stables. It was just a pillow.
Maybe his father had bought it? He'd have mentioned something. Maybe he got new pillows for both of them? Hiccup could go downstairs and look at his father's immense bed, but he didn't feel like it. He wanted to rest, not solve one more curiosity.
The pillow was nice. It didn't explode, or seem like it would, and it was cool and soft beneath his head. He laid back down, and closed his eyes.
In minutes, he was asleep.