he nights on New Berk are warmer than those of its predecessor.
Summer's long fingers weave their way through the island, braiding crops and flowers and life into everything its nimble hands can touch.
Chief Hiccup Haddock the Third watches over his village, walking through the town and checking the perimeter. He finds no threats but the yearning to patrol on the back of the king of dragons rather than on foot.
At his side, walks his wife, ax hidden beneath a white cloak of fur.
The patrol ends with them, as it always does, at the cliffs of New Berk. Behind them, the lights of the village twinkle as the Hooligans prepare for the night's rest. Before them, the great ocean spans the horizon. Somewhere, far, far across the sea, the home of the dragons rests.
The chief's eyes, green as the grass strings of a forest Vættir 's lyre, watch the waves crash against the rocks below. He tries to hide it from his wife, but she sees as his eyes turn skyward.
There's a longing in him that neither she nor the earth can grant him.
"You have to stop looking for him," Astrid soothes, her hand reaching out to clutch at his.
"For who?" Hiccup asks, playing naïve, though he knows it's a fool's game.
"Toothless," She says, and the name sounds like a long-forgotten being of lore more fitted to be scribbled in the sand by Gothi's scared staff or carved into the ivory bones that protect her hut than uttered on the lips of the chief's wife.
Hiccup feels her arms moving up his own to rest on his shoulders. It's a comforting weight, but he steps out of her embrace, choosing to kneel, alone, at the cliff's side. Hand moving through the tall grass, he searches intently for something once common and now lost.
"He's always looked after me," Hiccup says to her—and maybe himself, "Ever since I was a boy...he's looked after me. I don't think it's ever occurred to him to stop."
From the grass, he produces a single black scale.
Holding it against the moonlight, the scale shimmers in the darkness.
The scale is freshly shed.
It has to be.
In the weeks following the dragons' departure, Berk gathered every scale and talon and fang that could be found across the island, hoarding the pieces like precious gems.
Besides, even if the scale avoided the gaze of a Hooligan for the past year, it had not dulled in color or aged with the seasons.
Seeing the scale in her husband's hand causes something inside Astrid to stir. Pushing it down, she remains stoic. Stable. She knows that she is Hiccup's rock and she has learned when to steel her own emotions to ensure that his do not overflow like the great waterfall that took his friend from him.
"Snotlout found a Zippleback scale in the grain field a few days ago…It's just a shed scale, babe." Astrid says, "He isn't coming back. He can't come back. You know that."
She steps forward to grip his shoulders. Her grip is too tight and not tight enough.
Hiccup doesn't respond, and she looks down, noticing how his eyes have left the scale and are trained on the sky once more.
It's a clear night with few clouds to block the stars. Above them, an entire universe opens. The nine realms are spread out before them and amongst the glittering stars, the Asar Battlefield rages.
She knows he isn't looking at the luminescent portrait of Thor, but rather, searching for the space of sky blacked out by the great, black wings of the last Night Fury.
Eyes refined by years of combat and dragon riding, she scans the night sky. As always, she sees nothing to quell his pain, and so, she turns her eyes back the earth.
Squeezing his shoulders, she moves to sit beside him, pushing their chiefly cloaks away until her arms are wrapped around his body, enveloping in the comfort she can give.
He leans into her touch, his hands clutching at the black scale as though it was the only thing grounding him.
"You've always looked after him too, you know," Astrid says.
Her response makes him look at her, and she can see the beginnings of tears in the corners of his eyes. She rubs soothing circles along his back, smiling as she speaks in soft whispers. "Think of the battles you've fought in for his safety…think of the risks you took for no other reason than Toothless."
"We used to do some really dangerous stuff," Hiccup says, voice thick with sadness.
"Praise Freya the two of you didn't cause me to go grey early." Astrid jokes and beneath her, Hiccup chuckles softly. It's a small victory. "Danger or not, you were there for each other."
"Always."
"Always." Astrid agrees. "And you still are, Hiccup. But it has to be different now."
Her hands move from his shoulders to his face. Holding his head in the palm of her hands, she counts the freckles that drown beneath his tears. His eyes are focused intently on her, so she continues.
"The best way to protect him—to be there for him—is to live your life, Hiccup. Here. On New Berk."
"I know, Astrid. I know. " He says and she hears the frustration in his voice. It breaks through the sadness and the nasal snark that comes so naturally to him.
Under her touch, he curls up tighter, retreating into his father's cloak like a boy. "It just feels like there isn't a life to live here without him. Not one that I want, at least."
"Hiccup." Astrid chides.
"Behind them, the last lights of the village dim as the Hooligans succumb to sleep.
"It's true." He says.
Sighing, Astrid leans forward, her lips hovering delicately above his ear causing goosepimples to rise along his arms and the back of his neck.
The chief of Berk stills as his wife whispers in his ear, telling him one of the few things that could send his heart flying in ways to rival his old life. Tear-stained and dry-lipped, he smiles. Looking up at the face of his wife, he searches for any sign of jest.
Head held lovingly in Hiccup's hands, Astrid nods to end his silent questioning.
Jubilant, his hands move from her face to her stomach as he kisses her.
Above them, the sky is eclipsed by black wings.