After Valka reluctantly agreed to return to the palace, she was seen by several doctors and placed in one of Stoick's chambers. After some medicine, a bath, proper food, and rest in a warm, dry environment, Valka would likely make a full recovery.

Still, Stoick didn't know about this great news. But Astrid was about to rectify that situation. She knocked on his office door.

"Yes?"

"It's Astrid, may I come in?"

"Yes." There was a note of confusion in his voice, since she usually barged right in.

She entered, a nervous look on her face.

"What did you do?" He asked.

"Something good, I hope." She was excited to reunite her guardian with Valka, she really was. But there was a gnawing feeling of doubt in her. What if he didn't want to see her?

He merely raised an eyebrow and waited for her to elaborate.

"I…we have a guest," She finally stated. "She's ill, and she needed a place to stay."

"Hmph." Said the Tsar, going back to work. "It's been a while since you've picked up a stray. I thought the twins were the last of that trend."

"I have a feeling you'll be happy to have her here."

Stoick looked up from his letter, intrigued.

"Come on, I'll show you."

So he followed her to his chambers, to Valka's old room when she lived in the palace. He gave her a questioning look, but she did not respond. Instead, she knocked gently, "Are you awake?"

"Yes," said the soft voice within. "Come in."

Astrid opened the door, and led the Tsar in. Then she watched his face as his phlegmatic stare wilted into what she could only describe as heartbroken shock. "Valka…"

"Stoick…" She whispered back, tears on her cheeks.

"How," he looked at the Princess, and then back at his wife, his words nowhere to be found.

"I know it must be difficult to see me again," said the woman. "I was gone for so long…I've probably interrupted your life. I…I wasn't going to come back. I couldn't." Her brows scrunched up. "I didn't mean to embarrass or scare you by leaving. I was your wife, your queen…but it wasn't safe, not for me and Henry, I had to leave." At this point she was just rambling, trying to come up with something coherent to say. "I know that you don't have the same feelings for me, but I…I love you, Stoick. I did when I left, and I still do. And I left because I love you…that doesn't make any sense, does it? I was just scared for you. I just…will you say something?"

As she spoke, he had been staring at her, partially in disbelief and mostly in awe. When he finally found himself, he reached out a quavering hand and caressed her cheek. "You're as beautiful as the day I lost you…"

She didn't feel beautiful. She was sunken, malnourished. Twenty years had passed, and time had not been kind. But he studied her, like she was a piece of art, while tears gathered in his eyes.

She couldn't respond and just broke down into sobs as he kissed her lovingly.

Astrid watched from the door, her heart clenching. Seeing Stoick happy to tears made her feel good, and to see that Valka, the poor woman, was safe and loved...she just felt like she had done a great deed.

She even got to hear Stoick's sweet whisper of, "I love you, too. I did since the day we met."

Finally, Stoick leaned back, his face full of concern. "But wait, if you're here, then where's Henry? Is he—?"

Valka glanced at the Princess. "You didn't tell him?" She asked carefully.

Astrid shook her head.

"What? Tell me what?"

Astrid stepped forward, answering for the mother. She had made enough shocking revelations the evening. "Do you remember when I said that...Hiccup had been revived? That he had been alive at one time?"

Realization hit him like a brick. His eyes blown wide, his mouth hung open as a choking gasp fought its way out. Stoick stumbled back a step, his face pale. "Hiccup is—?"

He fell to his knees. Fists clenched and eyes sewn shut, he made small whimpering sounds. "No...no...no..."

Astrid didn't even know how to comfort him. There was no comfort to be found.

Suddenly, he pounded his fists on the floor. "How did this happen?! How the hell did this happen?!"

Valka shrank at his anger, terrified. But as he looked at her, she only saw pain.

"You said you were scared. Who did this to you? Who did this to him?"

Using great strength, Valka pushed off the bed and crouched in front of her husband, holding his face. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "Chancellor Osvald gave me the choice to save either you or Henry. I choose to leave with him to keep you both safe."

Stoick's nostrils flared.

"I should have sent a note or—or...I was just so afraid."

"Where have you been all this time? How did we not find you?! We looked everywhere!"

"We were in the Narrows…"

"The Narrows!" He moaned. Stoick hugged her tightly, hushing her cries as her tears fell on his shoulder. "Oh Val, it's not your fault. Love, I'm not mad at you. You had to—" His words were cut off as he kissed her again. "You kept him safe...for awhile at least."

That seemed to be the words that broke the dam, as she began to wail into him. "He was such a good boy! He didn't deserve—he starved because of me! He was worried about me and gave me his food—!"

"Where is he now?" Asked Stoick.

"He's in bed, I didn't wind him up today." Answered Astrid.

Stoick coaxed his wife to sit up and look at him. "Val...we can't tell him who he is."

"What...?"

"Did Astrid tell you about what Bludvist did to him?"

"He…doesn't have much time left," Valka provided. "And so he should spend it with us, his family."

"Or should he continue to think that he was just made to make Astrid happy? Does he want to die knowing he's leaving so many people that love him behind? That they'll be sad when he's gone?"

Valka glanced to Astrid, "what do you think, honey?" She asked softly.

The tone was motherly and full of compassion, and made Astrid's bleeding heart burst. "I—I don't know," She answered. "Maybe—I have his journals!" She remembered suddenly. "He's the one that created the system in the first place! If he can read and remember, maybe he'll figure out a way to fix himself! Then he won't have to say goodbye!"

Valka and Stoick looked to each other, and then back at her. "Well, it's worth a shot."

"But first," said Stoick, getting to his feet. He went to the door and called for a guard.

Snotlout was the first to appear, hand raised in a salute. "Sir!"

"Fetch your father for me, son. We have an arrest to make."

—

That night, Astrid had trouble sleeping. Despite having an exhausting day of running around, her mind was frantic with wild thoughts. She rolled over to look at Hiccup, her husband, her confident…

The Crown Prince.

It was bizarre, and down right insane. This whole time, he and Valka were alive. They had been suffering, but they were alive.

In another universe, if they hadn't left, maybe she would have married him on her own. Or maybe Stoick would have arranged it when she was taken in. Maybe she would have never courted Dagur. Maybe her family wouldn't have been killed.

So many 'what if's and 'maybe's.

Astrid snuggled closer to him, pressing her head to his chest. There she was met with the familiar, soothing ticking sound, the soft whirls of gears. No heartbeat, the sound of a machine.

But that didn't stop her from seeing him as a man now. A man worthy of her affections, a man worthy of the crown. More worthy than anyone, really.

And if it wasn't for Bludvist, he could have been the greatest ruler they'd ever had.

Odd how things change. She didn't want to be a Princess and all that came with it, but to be an all powerful Queen? That much power to make anyone do whatever she wanted without being bossed around was a dream. Mostly she wanted it to rid the kingdom of Bludvist, but since that was crossed off her list, she found herself lacking in desire for absolute power. It didn't feel like a goal anymore, just a perk of the title. She'd rule one day, without him. Without any other man at her side. Maybe she'd be allowed to pick a child as an heir instead.

Astrid put these thoughts away as she held his hand. It was callous and cold, but still soft. It fit hers perfectly, as she wove their fingers together.

"What to do, what to do…?" She whispered to herself. She had admitted it to him before she acknowledged it herself. He was her best friend, maybe something even more, and she really didn't want him to leave.

Right, his journals! He would read them, and then surely his memory would return, and he'd figure out a way to fix himself, right?

Right?

Astrid glanced over to the table with the books on it. She knew next to nothing about his old life, except that he was stupidly self-less and dirt poor. It wasn't her business, but still, her thoughts were rapid and her heart uneasy. She needed a distraction. Go to the library, she told herself, or go to the kitchen! But the pull to the unknown was far too tempting.

So, she untangled from his hand, and tip-toed over to the table. There was no reason to be quiet, she wouldn't wake him, but she didn't want to disturb the sacred silence of their secret. If she was quiet, she could pretend he didn't have a key in his back, that he was just sleeping, and that all this was just a bad dream.

She lit the oil lamp on the table, sending the room into a soft light.

There were about ten journals in front of her. Some of them were notes on inventions, not even toys. Some were just sketchbooks, filled with still-lifes and rough portraits.

Then, she found the book filled with his thoughts, his day to day activities, and interactions.

This wasn't her business. She didn't need to know. But the urge to dive into his brain was too strong to stave off. Astrid glanced at her husband once more, as if he had moved, and opened the journal.

"Just one," she told herself. "I'm only going to read one."

And so, biting her lip, she flipped through the book. The entries weren't frequent, and often skipped days in between. But the dates on the pages counted up until…

November 12, 1897

I'm having a hard time thinking straight. This hunger is unlike anything I've dealt with before. It's gone past an aching stomach, now I'm so sick, I don't even want to eat. I have stuff I need to do, projects for Gobber, tools to fix. Not to mention mom's still sick.

God, I'm still so angry about that mugger. I worked those long hours, took on that second job at the fishery, and I had everything we needed to get us out of this piss shed, and now I have nothing. I haven't told mom yet…I don't know if I have the heart to tell her. I'm just so tired.

Honestly, I want to die. This is no way to live. Is it awful for me to think like that? Probably, but who cares? Who cares about us down here? I'm listening to my mom cough up blood three feet away from me, and all I can do is shrug. My own mother, who has given up so much for me, the greatest luxuries and riches in the world, and the crown, just to save my sorry ass, and for what? To die in the dirt. Disgusting. She'd be better off without me. I'm the one holding her back from returning to Stoick.

I hate this. I hate my life. I hate this kingdom. Please God, just let me die.

Maybe that's just the hunger talking. I am really tired, though. I think Gobber will let it go if I skip work tomorrow, just once. He's been worried about me ever since that little slip on the ice. Besides, tomorrow night is the Princess's birthday ball, and I don't want to miss it. Her majesty has the most beautiful smile, when it's sincere. It's the only thing in this life worth living for. Pathetic, isn't it? I just hope one of these days, I can gather the courage to admit I've been the one making her presents for the last few years. Maybe then, she'll give me a genuine smile. I might even get a thank you. Who knows? Wouldn't that be something?

Astrid's hands trembled as she reached the end of the page.

And then what? Everything will magically get better? The Tsar will somehow know who I am, and we'll all live happily ever after? God I wish I never knew! Why did this happen to me? What did I do wrong?

He knew. He knew that he was the Crown Prince, and yet he never tried to claim it. Had Valka warned him of the plot? That could be the only reason.

And now I'm coughing up blood. Fine, I'm staying home tomorrow. You win, cruel world. Up yours.

There was such raw emotion in his words. He spoke of hatred, and love. Anger and hope. He was real, true, and passionate. And these were his dying thoughts. In his final hours, he thought of her, and her smile. She brought him some semblance of happiness. If only she had known, she would have followed him around, beaming, just to ease his pain.

Astrid knew she was crying, since the words had gotten blurred through the tears, but she went back and re-read the entry again and again. This was Hiccup, really and truly, him.

She just hoped she could see this version of him before he stopped working. More importantly, she hoped he wouldn't suffer this time.