Hello again, dear readers! I apologize for being absent for so long. I've been working on several different things, including a Harry Potter AU fic that is looking like it's going to be as long as my Avengers one! So bear with me. In the meantime, I've been meaning to edit and post this one for a little bit, so here we go! A little How to Train your Dragon future-fic! This one is set when the gang is about 38 years old or so. It's ten chapters.
As always, I love hearing your thoughts and opinions! Leave a comment for me! Have a story idea you'd like me to consider writing? Leave a comment! Seriously, you guys are awesome, and I love when you share what you're thinking. Thanks for reading!
Astrid smiled to herself as she bent, putting the bread into the flames of the oven and dusting the flour from her hands. This loaf was likely to be her best one yet. For nearly twenty years, she had been learning anything the older women of Berk would teach her, doing all that she could to improve her abysmal cooking skills. Even Hiccup had had a thing or two to show her.
Over the years, she had improved—as Hiccup had always so graciously pointed out via an unintentionally snarky remark—in her own skills, though (neither of them mentioned it) he was still better. When he had the time, he would wordlessly take the initiative and do the cooking, something for which she had always been grateful. It had never seemed like a bother to him; in fact, he had always said it helped him unwind at the end of a long day of chiefing. "It's no night flight," he'd say with a somewhat tight, wistful grin, "but it's something."
Astrid didn't need to be told to understand how he still—after nearly fifteen years—sorely ached for his dragon. For a long time after all the dragons had left Berk, they all had. Hiccup, however illogical it was, clung to the hope that someday, they might return; in the meantime, he had suffered in ways that only one who had lost a best friend could suffer.
He rarely mentioned Toothless, but Astrid knew he thought of him often. Just about everything in the world reminded her of Stormfly; Hiccup, who had always been unfathomably close with his Night Fury, probably had never truly stopped searching for him every time he looked to the horizon. The dull pain of it was a scar that hardly ever showed on him, but she remembered just how broken he had been when the Toothless had first left. Even after all this time, a shadow of that emptiness surfaced whenever anyone mentioned the dragons.
Cooking seemed to help Hiccup with that a bit, too; Astrid often caught him staring into the fire that burned under a pot of soup, occasionally coming out of his own thoughts long enough to stir the broth, and then disappearing back into his head almost immediately. After an hour or so of this, he'd come back to reality, and, if she placed her bet correctly, he was happier. He smiled more, at least. She had never quite understood why he did this, but she let him, respecting that everyone needed to grieve and cope in their own ways. She would always be there for him if and when he needed her, and she knew that he would do the same for her in a heartbeat.
She picked up an old rag and wiped off the table, where she had prepared the dough that was now baking in the oven. As she worked, the flour clouded up around her, and she smiled, closing her eyes. Moments like this and extremely foggy days were the closest she ever came to being up in the clouds anymore.
She hummed a little tune to herself as she resumed cleaning; the song reminded her of Hiccup, for some reason. But then, almost everything reminded her of Hiccup when he was gone. For the past two weeks, she had been alone with their children while he had been away on a rather sensitive diplomatic mission to a nearby island whose inhabitants had been showing undue interest in Berk and, apparently, considering an invasion. Hiccup, being Hiccup, had decided to pay them a visit first, with the intent of introducing himself and offering peace at the mutual advantage of both tribes. He did quite a lot of this; as such, Astrid wasn't unaccustomed to being without him for a time, but she was always more than ready for him to come home. And she never tired of the way his face lit up when he saw her running down the dock and into his arms.
Gods, she wanted him to just get home.
She already knew what she'd do the second she saw his face—that face that, to her, was the most beautiful thing in the world, freckles and all. She'd throw her arms around his neck and pull him as close as she could, and she'd kiss him, right there, in front of everybody, including their three children, who would undoubtedly make faces or otherwise show that they didn't appreciate their parents' open, publicly acknowledged affection. He would say something sarcastic, like, "Looks like somebody missed me," and then he would throw his traveling pack over one shoulder and let the other arm fall to her waist as they walked back up the hill to the village, discussing his journey and her time at home and laughing about both whether they were funny or not. He swore she even smiled in her sleep the night he returned from a trip, and, while she had no way of testing the validity of his claim, she did know that, the next day, her cheek muscles were always a tinge sore.
"Mom!"
Astrid looked up to see her youngest practically bouncing in the doorway, a massive smile on her face. "Come on, mom!" she said. "The boat's back!"
Without missing a beat, Astrid dropped her rag on the table, hurrying to follow her daughter. "Jorunn, wait!" she called, when the girl started running down the hill. Astrid laughed at her daughter's gait, her young, uncoordinated legs nearly stumbling more than once. There was a reason the girl's knees and palms were almost always grass-stained. "Slow down! He's not going anywhere," Astrid said, catching the end of Jorunn's blonde braid in a teasing tug that made the girl groan and slow to a slightly less precarious pace. "Where are your brothers?" she asked.
"Probably already down there," Jorunn said. "Vali said, if I didn't hurry, I might miss him!"
"Then why didn't you make Vali come get me?" Astrid asked, already sensing the answer on her daughter's tongue.
Jorunn sighed, raking her unruly bangs out of her face. "It was my turn," she grumbled.
Astrid laughed. "Kory hasn't done it in a while. You ought to make him do it next time."
"Mom," Jorunn moaned, "you know Kory doesn't listen to me. Most of the time, he won't even listen to Vali. Dad says he's just like you were when you were younger."
"Well, you know your dad," Astrid said. "He's very perceptive. And so are you." She gave her daughter's hair a little ruffle, watching in amusement as she habitually raked it back into place. "What do you think he brought back with him this time?" she asked.
Jorunn's eyes grew wide at the reminder that Hiccup always brought each member of his family something special every time he went away to a new place. His gifts were always exotic, and they never failed to please. Once, he had even brought Astrid a bright, beautiful gemstone, the exact color of one of Stormfly's scales. She had had him mount it as a pendant, and she hadn't taken it off since. "I hope he brought me more of that special colored charcoal," Jorunn said. "I've tried to save the last ones, but they're almost gone."
Astrid grinned at the memory of her daughter's multicolored hands the day Hiccup had given her the chalk. She had gone through her sketchbook, adding splashes of color to every drawing she had put in the numerous pages. "You never know," she said to the girl. "He might have brought you more charcoal. Or he might have something even better."
As they crested the hill that hid the docks from view of their house, Astrid saw the mass of people convening at the freshly-moored ship; everyone on land was boarding to help unload, and everyone onboard was handing crates and baskets and satchels up from the hold. It was impossible to identify anybody in the melee, though Astrid tried anyway. When her efforts proved as fruitless as ever, she turned to Jorunn, placing her hands on her shoulders. "I'm going to go find your dad, alright? Do like we always do and wait up here in case—"
"In case there's anything dangerous on the ship," Jorunn finished, though she didn't seem too happy about it. "I know." And, with that, she sulkily sat down in the grass at the top of the hill, watching her mother run down its slope as fast as she could.
By the time Astrid was at the dock, she could catch snatches of the conversation. It didn't seem as carefree as usual. Oh no, she thought. The treaty. If that treaty didn't go through, Berk could be in serious trouble. Still, Astrid knew better than to take the tone of the voices around her as any indication of how things had gone; being married to Hiccup for so long had taught her that. A terrible situation to some was a problem in need of a solution to him, and he always found one. Maybe, if something was truly wrong here, he had already thought of a way to fix it. He had a way of doing that, she knew.
Without being too forceful, she wove her way through the throng of women reuniting with their husbands, children running to their parents, people unloading the ship. Everywhere she went, she looked for that familiar mop of auburn hair that always rose a little above the crowd. She searched the sea of bulky Vikings for the slimmer, taller one with the highly distinct metal leg. Onshore, she didn't see him, so she boarded the ship, squeezing around the men and women hard at work with the unpacking process. He wasn't on deck. She poked her head into the hold. Nothing.
Curious, she made her way back ashore, heading toward another familiar man. "Snotlout," she said loudly, to be heard above the milling group. He didn't seem to hear her, so she grabbed his shoulder. When he turned around, he didn't exactly appear glad to see her. "What's the matter, 'Lout?" she asked, momentarily distracted by the strange, sick expression on his face. "You're looking kind of pale."
He coughed a little. "Seasick," he told her, waving the matter aside.
"Oh. Well, have you seen Hiccup?" she asked. "I can't find him anywhere."
For a long moment, Snotlout stared at her. At his elbow, his wife looked back and forth between them, uncertain as to what was happening. She put a strand of dark hair back into her braid, and Astrid wondered briefly why she looked so apprehensive. Then, Snotlout spoke. "Astrid, he didn't make it."
Astrid blinked at him. "Snotlout, I'm serious," she said.
"I'm serious too, Astrid," he told her, some of the pallor leaving his face as he talked. He took a deep breath, eyes shifting down to the ground. "Hiccup isn't coming back," he said so softly that Astrid almost didn't hear him. But she did, and the second those words worked their way into her mind, no other sound existed outside of the conversation.
She stared at Snotlout, trying to understand what he was telling her. "If he's captured or something, we need to go get him. That's not a problem. I just want to know where he is," she said.
Snotlout pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut and sniffing. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," he said quietly. "None of us would have believed it either, if we hadn't seen him go, right in front of us." When he opened his eyes again, they were sad, pleading with her to realize the significance behind his words. As she looked back, the expression on his face slowly told her everything she needed to know.
She felt her knees go weak, and she had to fight to keep her balance. "What are you saying Snotlout?" she asked. "That he's—that he's—dead?" As soon as she choked out the word, she wondered how she was still standing. "That's impossible. Have you seen how many things he's survived that should have killed him? He can't be dead. He can't be."
Snotlout took another breath, and—was Astrid imagining it?—his eyes looked like they had been touched with mist. "There was a party of rogues," he told her slowly. "They attacked after the signing of the peace treaty. They said that, no matter what their chief did, they'd never align themselves with a tribe led by a dragon rider. The chief of their tribe had them executed immediately, but it was too late. They had already gotten to him." He took a shaky breath, and his wife drew closer, taking his hand. "We burned his body at sea," he told her slowly. Then, after a pause: "He's gone, Astrid. I'm sorry."
He tried to reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away, eyes burning with angry tears. "He can't be," she said adamantly. "He promised he'd come back." She backed away from Snotlout, shaking her head. "This is a sick joke. Even for you."
"He's not joking, Astrid." Fishlegs approached her quietly, his large hands carrying something close to his chest. When she opened her mouth to protest, he held the object out to her, and she gasped.
Hiccup's shoulder paldron. Complete with the insignia he had developed for himself and Toothless. The worn leather was spattered with blood at the edges.
Astrid's hand shook as it covered her mouth, her mind spinning out of her control. "No," she muttered, voice growing thick. "No."
Fishlegs wordlessly held the piece of armor out to her, looking very close to tears himself. "He was a good man, Astrid," he said. "The best I've ever known."
For a moment, she just stared at the paldron, knowing she should do something but not having the presence of mind to know what. Finally, she reached a trembling hand out and took it. As she pulled it closer, every inch of her body seemed to grow numb. "Hiccup," she said, running her fingers over the leather as a tear slipped from her eye and splashed onto the faded red insignia.
"I'm so sorry, Astrid," Snotlout repeated softly, his wife unconsciously gripping his arm a bit tighter as she watched Astrid through two of the most sympathetic eyes Astrid had ever seen. Fishlegs sniffed a bit and laid a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort and shared grief.
But it wasn't shared. Not truly. Nobody knew Hiccup like she did.
Had. Nobody knew Hiccup like she had.
She wasn't sure what to do. No conversation with her mother or Valka could have prepared her for this moment. Not even Hiccup himself could have told her how to behave. Somehow, she managed to nod once or twice and slowly turn away from Snotlout, his wife, and Fishlegs, all of whom felt far too close to her all of a sudden.
On dead legs, she trudged through the crowd, clutching the piece of Hiccup's armor as tightly to her body as she could. She could feel the tears streaking down her face; she could feel the eyes of people slip over her as she hurried past. For once in her life, she didn't care that people could see her crying. All she cared about was the oval piece of leather in her hands.
She had to get away from the throng.
Like Snotlout and Fishlegs had begun to feel suffocating, the crowd was at least a hundred times worse. All the people and all the activity surrounding her were crushing; she had to get out.
She moved as fast as she could, looking nowhere but at the empty space beyond the sea of bodies. The more she walked, putting one disoriented foot in front of the other, the closer she got. Soon, she pushed out into the open air, leaving the people and their stares behind. She didn't stop there.
Astrid kept going, responding to the abruptly overwhelming need to just get away. Nothing else even crossed her mind beyond that single mission—a fact for which, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was grateful.
She didn't stop walking until the sun had gone down and the air had grown cold enough to wake her from her daze. When she looked around, she saw that she was on the opposite side of the island. Her face felt tight with dried tears, and, when she unclenched her freezing hands, she saw the paldron. Then, she remembered.
Hiccup is dead.