Astrid. Astrid, Astrid, Astrid. This is the constant litany that twangs in the back of Hiccup's mind, every hour of every day. And he couldn't be happier.
Astrid ran through the forest, enjoying the effortless motion of her body and the easy flow of air in and out of her lungs. When she runs, she is free to think of anything. And right now, that anything is a certain young man. Hiccup. Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup.
For, ever since the battle, when much was lost but more was gained, Astrid and Hiccup have been inseparable. Oh, they spend time apart, sure enough. Not much, but some. Never, however, are they out of each other's thoughts.
Anyway, Astrid runs. Unconsciously, she finds herself making for the grotto where she first discovered Hiccup and Toothless. It makes her cringe to imagine what would have happened if she had managed to escape the grasp of Hiccup and his reptilian companion that day – all would have been lost. Although unable to voice it, she is filled with shame at the thought of the way she treated Hiccup – without even knowing the least about him. She shakes the thought away; Hiccup loves her. That much is obvious.
She has reached the grotto, and jumps the twelve feet to the ground with little more than a second thought, her powerful legs flexing to break her fall, her subsequent roll onto the soft grass a tactile pleasure. She's hot – the day is unusually warm for Berk, and her usual outfit is too much for the warm day. Confident that she is alone, she removes her boots, leggings, and the rest of her clothing, revealing her lithe, alabaster body to the heavens.
It is so rare in Berk to feel the sun on skin other than the face and arms that she lies, luxuriating in the warmth, for some time. But, truly Astrid, she cannot remain still for long. Her relentless desire for movement incites her to climb to her feet, and run to a smooth rock at the shore of the blue lake. The rock where she sat, sharpening her axe, not two months before, waiting for the truth to out. Oh gods, if things had gone differently that day… she shakes the thought out of her head. That's all in the past now.
She vaults off the rock, arcing through the air with the graceful fall of an arrow true to its course. She makes barely a splash, as, like a pale and perfect fish, she slices into the blue.
It is wonderful. She can float in the cool water, lighter than air. Her hair floats out in a corona about her head, and she can feel the bubbles from her dive running up the sides of her bare body. This is a sensation rarely felt, like the tips of fingers brushing just barely against her skin. And that brings us back to Hiccup.
Speaking of Hiccup, he is, at this moment, speeding through the sky towards the grotto, unaware of the shock that, in about thirty seconds, he's going to get. Not that it's a bad one, necessarily…
When he arrives, Toothless makes a graceful, and more importantly, silent landing on the grass, hidden from the pool by some trees. Hiccup makes his way around them, and to his shock, sees Astrid, his Astrid, floating, eyes closed, by the pool. But, moreover, she doesn't have any clothes on.
Hiccup, as a young Viking boy of seventeen or so, is pleasantly surprised. However, he calls out gently. "Astrid?"
She starts. Turning with shock, her shoulders rising above the water, her blond hair swinging drops through the air, and Hiccup can hardly breathe. She looks not of this world, from somewhere else, from among the stars. The clear water runs down her neck, across her collarbone, and rejoins the lake below.
He manages to choke out, barely biting back a gasp "Do you mind if I… come in?"
She, almost as speechless as he, shakes her head. Wordlessly, Hiccup unbuckles the flying harness, and lays it carefully on the ground. Reaching behind his head, he grabs his tunic at the back and pulls it over his head.
At this point, it is Astrid who gasps. She hasn't noticed, over the past few months, how his body has filled out from training, flying and working in the smithy. His arms, no longer like wet fish, are strong and lean. He turns to deposit his tunic on the ground, and she sees the way his muscles lie, tensely coiled under the skin of his back. He unlaces his breeches, and takes them off with more grace then she could have expected, given his long standing record of about one broken dish every two days.
No longer a boy, but a young man. Her young man. He paces to the water, slipping in like Toothless slips through the air, as though it offered no resistance at all. With strong strokes, he makes his way to her through the water. She turns to face him, and his eyes capture her, like they so often do. Green as grass, contrary to the blue of her own. He swims to her, and presses their foreheads together. Before this, there were words left unsaid between them, but now these words are no longer necessary. They are communicated in the iron bar of the shared gaze.
He reaches behind her, his fingers tracing imaginary patterns on her back, and presses his mouth to her collarbone. And they stay, cool and comfortable and happy, for a long time.