I have my mum to thank for this idea.

I know I should be doing the other stories but I just lost three documents, okay? I've slightly lost inspiration.

Get ready for a relatively long author's note.

The inspiration for me to write this story was back in February, I think. Back when I was writing the early chapters of The Only Thing Under Siege Is Your Brain. Anyway, we went to dinner at a family friend's house, and when we left, my mum, stepdad, and our family friend stood outside chatting for about ten minutes. There were a few chairs on the porch, and I wanted to sit down. My stepbrother and halfbrother were both sitting on one, and our family friend sat down on another. Her sons were sitting on two more. I noticed that everybody seemed to be avoiding this one armchair with a blanket over it, and knowing that the family friend's husband had died about a year ago, my overly curious brain started thinking, "Oh my god. What if it's because that was her husband's chair? And nobody's allowed to sit on it anymore because it makes her sad? Ooh. I could make a Hiccstrid AU of this. Modern or original? Modern. They didn't have porches in Viking time. Did they?"

When I got home I googled whether or not Vikings had front porches, concluded they didn't and resolved to write this sooner or later.

(IT WAS LATER)

A big thank you to DaisytheDoodleDog for improving this heaps. Daisy, you're the reason this is good. You're amazing!

The neighbourhood children all knew old Miss Hofferson was crazy. She almost never retreated from her quaint home, painted with vibrant colours, the columns delicately carved, a garden of little blue flowers left unkept, but still was appealing to the eye. The house stood out from the rest on the block, but it told a story unlike anything else... not that the children knew that. They always drew crazy conspiracies and spread rumours for giggles and dares that would end in them squealing as they ran for the hills at the old black dog that barked like thunder as they approached, even if all he wanted was an extra playmate.

Miss Hofferson only left for groceries and the occasional outing to the other side of town. The kids never knew why she travelled out that way, but they were too afraid to follow. They had begun to think that she was a witch. Or maybe just crazy?

You could occasionally hear the mellow plinks of her ancient rickety grand piano echoing from the attic, or the howling of the wolf-like dog in the glow of a full moon on those clear summer nights.

Sometimes, children would gather around the front and throw pebbles at the windows, just to be spiteful. Miss Hofferson would come outside when this happened, and just stare at the kids sorrowfully until they got over the apparent hilarity of the situation and ran off. Sometimes, however, she'd come out, hands on her hips and a tremble-in-your-boots scowl that made the kids run away in fearful shrieks that would later turn to fits of giggles.

Certainly the oddest thing about her was the fact that she kept an armchair out on the front porch. It was small and red, a few claw marks scattered on the cushions and the one leg slightly shorter than all the others. Miss Hofferson would not stand for it if you sat on that chair. The few brave would dare near the lot, let alone sit on the front porch, but to the few that did, they never did it again. Every so often, she would come outside and sit on the other chair; a wooden blue-painted garden seat that looked considerably less comfortable than the armchair. So why, wondered all the children when they saw her, did she never sit in the armchair? What was the point in having it there if Miss Hofferson never sat in it?

They would never know.

Astrid shooed the bird off the kitchen counter, swiping the open bar of chocolate away from her curious beak. "No, Stormfly. Don't eat that!" The bird squawked in response, raising her tail feathers in attempts to get her human to play.

Stormfly flew from the counter and landed on the old dog's head, squawking at him happily. Astrid shook her head but couldn't keep her smile at bay. "Naughty bird." She grabbed the chocolate bar and deposited it in a drawer. Walking into the living room, she sat down on the couch and opened a book littered with dog-eared pages, the smell of worn pages and coffee stains wafting near her nose. But she wasn't thinking about Jo March.

She closed her eyes.

It had been exactly six years since the day that he had passed away.

Six years since she had sat there in the hospital and the heart monitor had stopped, the annoying, incessant beeping ceasing to exist, but never had she missed the noise so much. The nurses had rushed in but known by the paleness of his freckled skin, that it was too late. One nurse with bouncy black hair, and green eyes almost as mesmerizing as her husband's, had looked up at her with those doleful eyes and a grim expression and said-

No. No, she couldn't do it. She couldn't relive that moment again. She had already had a million and one nightmares about it, and she was not going to have one while she was awake! No, no, no, no, n-

"Gram?"

Astrid opened her eyes shakily. She looked up to see where the voice had come from and smiled when she saw her granddaughter standing to her left. "Ivy! What a pleasant surprise, sweetie. Is your mother here as well?"

The nine-year-old shook her head. "No, I walked from school. Am- am I in trouble?" Her voice shook, and Astrid felt her heart melt. She shook her head and replied, "No no, sweetie, you're not in trouble... I'll call your mum. Do you want some hot chocolate or something?"

Ivy smiled a little and replied, "Can I have some beer?" Astrid threw her head back in laughter and lead Ivy to the kitchen. "I mean, you could, but I don't think your mummy would be very happy with me. Would hot chocolate be sufficient?"

Ivy giggled. "Okay! Do you have any cookies?" Astrid smiled and pulled out the dragon-shaped cookie jar that made Toothless go wild in hopes for a share. Astrid handed the jar to Ivy who snuck an oatmeal cookie to an ecstatic Toothless.

"Hello? Yes, hi, Zephyr. Uh, Ivy's over here. What?... oh, don't be like that! She just wanted to see her old gram- didn't you, Ivy? Okay. See you in twenty." Astrid put down the landline and smiled. "So... how's school?"

Ivy looked at her, lips pursed and a side eye that said she did not want to talk about it.

"Okay then. Well... what do you want to do until your mother comes?"

Ivy said nothing, only pointed at the Boggle box in the games cabinet. Astrid looked where her granddaughter was pointing, and smiled sadly, thinking of all the times she and Hiccup had played that. "Alright. Why don't you go and get it? I'll get the paper and pencils."

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Astrid threw down her pencil in fake frustration. "I give up, missy. How many words did you get? I only got seven..."

Ivy smiled and held up her piece of paper, which had at least fifteen words on it. Astrid shook her head for the third time that day and said, "You always win! You must have gotten your intellectual talent from your grandfather."

And as Ivy laughed and started comparing her words to Astrid's, the latter's mind wasn't there.

It was yet again, somewhere else.

I growled. "Hic, every time. Every. Single. TIME. Don't you ever get tired of this?"

My husband grinned. "Nope. Anyway, the whole point of Boggle is to enjoy yourself. I enjoy winni- ow!" He rubbed his arm. "Ast, every time. Every. Single. TIME. Don't you ever get tired of this?"

I chuckled like I would have back when we were engaged. "Nope. Anyway, the whole point of life is to enjoy yourself. I enjoy being a b- hey! Give that back!" Hiccup had grabbed my pencil and was now holding it over his head so that I couldn't get it. "That's my- uh- my... my special pencil! Yeah, that's right, my special pencil!" He raised his eyebrows. "We're both using my good -may I just add- MY pencils."

I laughed harder, as he began to pelt me with kisses. "Stop it. No, stop, Hiccup! That- that tickles!" And he looked at me with that stupid goofy smile I knew so well, and he said, "I know."

"Gram?"

Astrid blinked. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Are you okay?"

She smiled. "Of course, honey. Just thinking... oh, that'll be your mum! Come on, Ivy. I'll see you on Sunday."

Astrid led her granddaughter to the front door and opened it. "Hi, Zephyr!"

Zephyr smiled. "Hi, Mum. How are you?"

"Good, good! Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? Or do you have to run home?" Ivy nodded mournfully, eyes pleading to stay.

"I have a cello lesson at 4:45."

"Indeed," Zephyr replied. "And we'll be just on time if we leave now. Thanks, Mum. Love you. Bye! Come on, Ivy. Let's go."

"Bye!" called Astrid as Zephyr and Ivy got into the dark green Corolla, and it buzzed to life and they drove off. She sat down on her blue chair on the front porch and held her breath in anticipation as a group of teens from the local high school walked by, laughing and swearing. Once they had passed, she let out a sigh of relief. No rock-throwing today.

She looked over at the armchair in front of her. She regretted all the times when she had yelled at guests for sitting in it. Of course, she had apologised and explained, but she still felt guilty about it.

But nobody was allowed to sit in Hiccup's armchair... well okay, maybe Toothless was. Speaking of which, the big dog sauntered out onto the front porch and jumped into the chair, sitting upon his throne like a king. He whimpered sadly and licked Astrid's hand as a gesture of comfort.

"I know, bud. I miss him too."

Hiccup sat on the armchair drawing something in a notebook. I looked over. "What are you drawing?" "What? Oh, nothing. Just a thing," he replied.

I looked closer. "That's Toothless and Stormfly! That's great, Hiccup- honestly amazing."

He smiled. "Thanks, Ast."

An awkward silence ensued, and then he said, "Toothless ate half a watermelon today."

"What? Doesn't he hate them or something?"

He smiled. "So I thought. But I accidentally dropped some while cutting one up today, and he just ran over and started nibbling on it. Or, I suppose, he could have been attacking it like the hero that he is..."

I let out a breathy laugh and shrugged. "Possibly."

We sat there in silence for a few more moments, Hiccup drawing and me watching him, and then he suddenly dropped his pencil. I bent down to pick it up for him, but he grabbed my shoulder and clenched it tightly. "Hiccup- could you let go? That sort of hurts." His face was white.

"Hiccup? Are you okay?"

"Astrid?"

"What?" I demanded, perplexed.

"I- I don't feel too good..."

And he collapsed.

A sob escaped from my throat as Toothless licked away the tear that rolled down my cheek.

I wanted Hiccup back.