Agreed
::Are you going to read it?::
"Yes!" Hiccup snapped. Reading the response from his father would prove very difficult if he didn't first unroll it. The scroll remained in his fist a moment longer.
"...Eventually."
::The worst he can say is 'no'...::
Hiccup closed his eyes.
"And then...we look to the Meathead clan for support..."
Thuggory had probably taken over by now—Hiccup recalled chief Mogadon as ill two years back. Thuggory was, if anything, an opportunist for power and respect. Brawny, bold, loud, not inclined to think... the Meathead heir was so much like Snotlout that the two boys simply couldn't get along as children. Some days Hiccup suspected the only reason Thuggory ever stuck up for him was to rile up Snotlout.
That and Camicazi nearly ripped Thug's ear off the first and last time he tried to push Hiccup around.
Thankfully, Snotlout had outgrown some of his more ignoble qualities by the time they made it into dragon training—he certainly stopped seeking out Hiccup to shove the smaller boy in the mud. Hiccup didn't know how Thuggory had turned out over the years, but—if cast from the same mold as Snotlout—Hiccup did know he would need all of Berk backing him, possibly some other tribes as well, before Thuggory would take orders from the likes of him.
Hiccup released a heavy breath in a silent whistle and his fingers finally unfurled the message. He scanned the contents first, his eyes seeking out what he needed to hear before his mind would register any details.
"They'll meet us!" He felt more consolation at the words than he anticipated. Hiccup reread the letter, carefully this time. "They're willing to allow me immunity—good. They want me to come to the docks...tch! That's not going to happen. Fancy an axe in your skull?"
::Not the face:: Toothless stipulated. Hiccup grinned through the hold his teeth had on his lip and nudged his friend.
"Vanity. So how are we going to do this?" He didn't know who he directed the question to—himself or Toothless. He continued his chew on his lip in thought, staring at the slant of his father's runes. "If we...oh! Okay, okay. I know—I got it. I mean, we need to have that ground advantage, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Right. They're going to be armed no matter what we request. If they did recreate the bola launcher we may even be in danger in the air—"
Toothless snorted. Hiccup held up a hand.
"I'm just saying. We need an area where they'll have to travel light...where we'll feel safe..."
Hiccup began to glance around himself.
Toothless reacted with alarm.
::You're not bringing them here are you?::
"What?" Hiccup reeled back. "No! I'm thinking higher—where we're safest...oh!" His head turned north and he squinted at the shaded outlines of distant mountains. "We could...the hof—Yes!"
::Hof?:: Toothless cocked his head. ::What is this 'hof'?::
"Shrine," Hiccup tossed back in his distraction. He continued facing north, focusing on the scope of treetops. "It'll be perfect... They'll have to climb a ways—won't be able to bring heavy weapons, and we can fly to the top... we'll have the advantage then. Yes, yes, that's perfect!"
Toothless swished his tail along the dirt, watching in bemusement as Hiccup threw himself to the ground to start scribbling out a note.
::So...it's the shrine?::
"Uh huh," Hiccup bit the end of his writing utensil in a fleeting moment of deliberation. "And dad—Stoick, Stoick—can bring his second." He scratched out the rest of his terms, no longer bothering with cultivated jargon, and signed his name with a flourish. "There!"
Hiccup sat back on his knees and read the contents of his reply over. Satisfied, he gave a short nod of approval before he tied the letter closed with the same string.
::I still think you're being too complicated with all this::
"No, I'm not," Hiccup insisted. "This is necessary, trust me. We need help and we have to do this right the first time, because we don't have any time. We need strong foundation for this...truce or whatever. Besides, I think we're off to a good start."
The boy did, in fact, look inordinately pleased with himself. Toothless could just picture the mental back-patting his human was giving himself.
Hiccup pushed himself from the ground, grunting, and brushed off the front of his pants.
"Perfect," he said. "Now all we have to do is wait for his agreement, meet him, and get this ball rolling."
Toothless perked up, earplates standing at attention. ::Ball? What ball?::
"It's a figure of speech," Hiccup muttered. Truthfully, he wasn't quite sure himself how this ball would roll. His fingers felt surprisingly jittery as they fumbled with the red tie. The hawk—a creature intelligent enough to recognize Hiccup as the human who bagged it—was not patient. It nipped Hiccup's knuckle the second he finished attaching the note before it took flight.
"Mother—!" Hiccup cut off the rest of his own exclamation by putting the bleeding cut in his mouth. He glared at the diminishing outline of the messenger, his mind grappling to hold onto that indignation for as long as possible. Anything to stave off the subsurface anxiety clawing under his skin, the fear of seeing his father again, squeezing his stomach so hard he thought he might vomit.
Toothless slunk up to Hiccup's side.
::And after the ball rolls...then will we be done with the bird?::
"You're not eating it!"
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"Look at all these demands!"
"Hoark..."
"Who knows how many dragons he'll have with him!"
"Hoark, that's enough."
"This could be a trap," Spitelout offered quietly. Stoick turned his agitated glower on his brother. The brunet shrugged, unapologetic. "We need to consider the likelihood, is all."
"Going through a great deal of trouble for this trap, inne?" Gobber cut in. "Coming back here and all...back into a war. He didn't have to—"
"Do not let your prejudice get in the way of your judgment," Spitelout said.
Gobber rested a hand and hook on his hips. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"You have a history with the lad, is all. You're not hiding your acceptance of his return very well."
The blacksmith snorted at the insinuation, the choppy hairs of his mustache ruffling over his lip. "You didn't have a problem asking to speak with him, either!"
"Because he can help us. That was before he asked to put us at a disadvantage. This isn't—"
"Enough!" Stoick ordered. He pinched bridge of nose and repeated, softer, "Enough."
Did Hiccup realize what he was asking? To meet with an outlaw and a dragon at their highest place of worship? The closest they could get to the gods...
It was an area for the vǫlva to ask the gods for favors and blessings. Not for political alliances and...and spitting on tradition.
Stoick knew why Hiccup chose this. It would give the boy plenty of means to fly off if things didn't appear in his favor. They would have to work to get there—carry minimal, portable weapons to cross the narrow paths spiraling up the cliffs. The conditions were every bit as cautious as he recalled his son being. But smart also, and akin to leadership.
Why couldn't Hiccup have shown this sort of diplomacy and command back when he was his son?
The pressure of several stares prickled his skin, and Stoick lifted his eyes from Hiccup's latest message to find everyone waiting on his judgment.
"We'll bring more men," he decided on the spot, feeling rushed under the strain of his council and his own restlessness, "but agree on the location."
No immediate reaction followed.
Ack cleared his throat first. "Er...a bit sacrilegious, don't you think? Having a dragon there?"
Stoick was already writing his answer on a fresh square of sheepskin, concise and apt.
"We don't have the time, nor I the patience, to haggle over where to meet him. He's not going to show up in a place so exposed as our docks...I want to get this over with. We're just going to have to go into this with a little faith."
He sent the hawk off before he even finished his explanation, taking away the option for any more dispute on the matter. He did want to finish this—finish this game of cat and mouse, finish this war.
He wanted to see his son.
The final reply returned far sooner than they thought possible, all formality lost.
#######
#######
"It just said: 'Acceptable. Sundown'."
"That's it?" Ruffnut deadpanned, unimpressed with Snotlout's covert news. She swirled the rest of her drink in her mug, looking tremendously bored. "Two words? That could mean anything."
"But where?" Fishlegs asked over her. "What was acceptable?"
"I'm...not allowed to say." Snotlout winced, and he looked sincerely apologetic at not being able to share the information. Only those meeting with Hiccup were allowed the details and, as future chief, Snotlout had the honor of accompanying the current chief on this diplomatic mission.
Being partial to such information once called for boasting, but the glory of becoming chief lost its shine every approaching day of his coronation. Snotlout found with more responsibly came the desire of having people he trusted at his back, friends he could share the burden with. He had gotten so used to having some of his peers at his side—almost like his own council—that learning neither Fishlegs nor Astrid would operate with him made the honor slightly hollow. He felt less in control, and more like a child expected to hold his tongue and observe an adult matter.
"So it's set?" Astrid asked just after shredding the last, meaty threads from a turkey bone. "The correspondence is finished? We just have to meet him now?"
Snotlout shrugged again. "Sounds like it."
Astrid nodded as she ran a tongue over her teeth, cleaning off any excess food. Her stomach churned at the thought of going to Hiccup for help, of him back in their village, when those feelings of resentment and frustration towards him still lingered in her breast. It made eating rather difficult, but she wasn't stupid enough to deprive her body of nutrients. Not in these days where she may be expected to fight at a moment's notice.
"They received the bird way too fast..." Fishlegs murmured. He had pushed his food aside as soon as Snotlout returned from a privileged-only meeting, choosing instead to continually rub his beard in contemplation. Astrid narrowed her eyes at his neglect but said nothing. "Two letters and all before náttmál?"
"Phrree," Tuffnut squelched around a mouthful of bread. He swallowed the lump roughly. "He wrote the first letter yesterday, remember?"
Fishlegs waved away the correction.
"Yes, but that could have come from anywhere. His responses to our letters were fast. Especially that last one."
"We hadn't even finished our meeting and it was suddenly there," Snotlout supplied. Fishlegs gave him a pointed nod.
"Exactly. He's close. Very close. He could be watching us right now."
Despite being seated indoors, the group of friends all took a moment to glance around their table, as if expecting Hiccup's face to pop out from behind one of the Mead Hall's stanchions.
"Okay, did anyone else just get the insane urge to do something obscene?" Tuffnut asked to no one in particular.
"How is that different from your normal urges?" his sister heckled.
"You guys," Astrid started warningly. "I'm not in the mood."
She didn't know if she ate some bad meat or if Hiccup's return really bothered her this much. She felt...unsettled; it was the best word she could use to described the worming state of her insides. Her hand pushed against her bare forehead, hoisting her bangs.
Ruffnut rolled her eyes, resting a cheek on her palm. "You're never in the mood."
"I gotta go," Snotlout muttered, glancing beyond the great doors of the Hall. Astrid followed his line of sight, to where the first chrome of vermillion grazed the bellies of clouds.
"Why would he want to meet you at the end of the day?" she murmured. Now that she thought about it, sundown seemed an odd time for a meeting. If negotiations dragged on for too long they'd be speaking in the dark.
"He rides a Night Fury, Astrid..." Fishlegs began, giving her ample time to catch on before he finished. "The night? It's probably a safety precaution for himself."
Slightly embarrassed that hadn't occurred to her, Astrid chose to narrow her eyes at the blond.
"Eat your food."
Fishlegs opened his mouth to respond when Snotlout spoke over him.
"We should be back before then," he announced. As he stood he snagged the bottom end of the bread Tuffnut had been working on, before jogging away from the Thorston's swipe.
"OI!" Tuffnut howled.
"I need this more than you!" Snotlout hollered from the other end of the Hall. "I'll be negotiating."
Tuffnut couldn't be bothered to get up from his seat, so he continued to yell his indignation.
"You'll be watching you daft—ugk!" A fresh, fat roll had been shoved into Tuffnut's mouth so hard he thought he'd have choked on his own tongue. He glared at his cackling sister with watering eyes and wrenched the bread from his mouth.
"What the hel—"
The bench scraped against the stone floor at an attention-grabbing pitch. The twins were jostled as Astrid pushed back from the table, standing and leaving her own half-finished plate.
"Wha—?"
"Hey!"
"I'm going for a walk," Astrid informed the remaining three without turning around for any other sort of self-pardon.
Fishlegs sat up straighter. "Do not follow them, Astrid."
Astrid spun on her heel, still backing towards the exit.
"I'm nooot," she drawled. She turned back around, appearing to follow in Snotlout's wake.
"You're not allowed! The chief will—"
"Eat your food!"
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########
"This feels a little wrong, now that I'm here," Gobber observed nonchalantly. He turned his gaze from one staked cow skull to another. "I think it's just occurred to me that we're holding a meeting on sacred grounds."
The gathering of men stood, outside, amidst a circle of hörgr and bone, keeping to the flattest surface of the high station, plodding around the loose dirt in tense waiting.
Spitelout turned a flat stare on the blacksmith, but said nothing. He rarely needed words for expression.
"So where is he?" Snotlout asked. The sun was still a ways from touching Midgard, but the sky had saturated in enough color to be considered sundown.
Not once since arriving did Stoick cease scanning the skies. He would develop a crick in his neck soon enough, and that would make him irritable during his encounter with his lost son. This meeting wasn't off to a good start.
"He was always late coming in to the shop," Gobber reminisced. He didn't speak of it as a dirty habit, but as an irrefutable fact. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable, 'cause we could be in for a long—"
Wind and darkness shot up from behind a tall slab of rock used for sacrificial animals—a salient shadow, little more than an outline amidst a darkening sky, clogged the rest of Gobber's words. Its silent and unexpected appearance seemed oddly loud in the sheer power of its presence; it caught the attention of all men in attendance. They watched as the form curved in the air like the cresting pounce of a wild cat and landed on the highest stage of their shrine with deadly talons.
Weapons found their way into hands as the men fell into defensive stances, but none could bring themselves to move further. Equal measures of effort went into battling down the instinct to attack and accepting the picture of a human riding a dragon.
The magnificence of a Night Fury radiated in the flexing of those sinister wings and the burn of those acrid eyes. It settled from its loom, coming to all fours and revealing its passenger—a lean, young man that looked just as much a part of the dragon as its own scales. This could have been the matching armor, or it could have been the shared mannerisms seen the in cynical regard to the humans below them.
Hiccup slid from the saddle, but separated himself no further from his dragon. One arm braced against the shoulder of the beast while another had risen to rub the creature's hide in soothing circles. He moved his eyes across faces and blades, silently counting his breaths and heartbeats in an attempt to keep his head. He was doing it; he was back in the presence of Berkians and he would not lose his composure.
Four husky Vikings craned their necks to meet eyes with a dragon and its rider, and for a long while only staring ensued. Silent evaluations, shock...inner turmoil no one dared reveal in expression.
The two Jorgensons, while obviously trying to swallow the image of Hiccup the Useless looking rather competent in stance and dress, kept finding their attention drawn to the once-invisible dragon. Gobber, too, found his attention torn: the Night Fury—center to so many of his wild tales, his apprentice—taller, healthier than he ever imagined, and the craftsmanship of that pulley system, the off-colored tail that clearly was a prosthetic to his trained eyes, those arm-bracers...
The boy had obviously learned the same trade from different masters, and Gobber listed another reason to allow Hiccup into the village.
Faced with a damnable Night Fury and Stoick the Vast couldn't seem to tear his eyes from his son's face. Hiccup—suddenly he was his son again, because he had his brow, the reach of his jaw, and the same curve to his lips. But Valka's eyes. Those were his wife's eyes staring back at him. Her cheekbones, her nose, her hair...
Stoick tried to be discreet when he grabbed at the rock ridge by his side. A sense of vertigo had taken hold of him and it had nothing to do with their elevation. Suddenly, they were both there. For one breath, for one timeless, indescribable moment, Stoick felt like his family came back to him.
Hiccup moved first with a slow nod of greeting, his face unreadable.
"Stoick."
His voice carried over to the men and it did the job of shaking them from their stupor. Stoick cleared his throat.
"Hiccup." Once upon a time he wanted to wring this boy's neck for all he had done. He couldn't so much as find the words to continue, let alone twitch a finger in his direction. Hiccup now carried a weapon, for Odin's sake—one he could have never imagined, let alone seen before. He'd swear on his own axe that it glowed. "You...you're..."
"Still alive?" Hiccup supplied, unhelpful with his verbal quips as everyone present recalled. The young man appeared to struggle with something in the silence that followed. He ended on turning his attention to his cousin. "Hey 'Lout."
"Hey," Snotlout said reluctantly. Hiccup was still considered an outcast for all intents and purposes; he was not a member of Berk and therefore ineligible to take the chiefdom from him.
But he looked like he could be a chief, and that made Snotlout uncomfortable.
"I'm going to be chief," he blurted out… then dearly hoped it sounded far less churlish than it did to his own ears. From the corner of his eye, Snotlout he saw his father give him a warning look.
He focused on Hiccup's reaction, which proved rather disappointing with his one nod.
"Good," Hiccup stated, and while that one word carried no insincerity, Snotlout could not find comfort in it. Hiccup's outlaw status was about to be temporarily suspended. If his information did win this war, would it also win forgiveness? Would it win his birthright back?
"Och!" Gobber bellowed, waving and axe-headed arm in the air. "Can you not see me?"
A smile stretched across Hiccup's face, more genuine than any expression he had revealed yet.
That was when reality bore down on Stoick, cleaving through the surreal image of Hiccup haloed in a painted sky. Something lurched in his belly, something that had been, until now, consciously suppressed by a trained calm. This was an adult—the way Hiccup's cheeks contorted and lined around the grin, the deepening of his voice, his stance and reservation towards them. Hiccup had grown up. Up. He was alive and he had done well for himself and he spoke to them as one would an equal. He met their eyes, he didn't curl inward—he appeared every bit as impressive as the dragon he arrived on.
Stoick cursed his distraction, detesting the hitch in his breath that betrayed his slipping command on the situation. Now was not the time to lament a lost son who grew up better under a devil than he could have ever hoped to raise him.
"You're hard to miss," Hiccup stated wryly to Gobber's exclamation. "Packed on a bit of weight, haven't you?"
He directed his sight to Gobber's midsection, where the gut had begun to extend over his pant-tie a little more each month. An easy warmth returned to his features as he poked fun at his old master.
Gobber patted the area of jest.
"You can only dream of managing a figure like this, someday."
Hiccup shook his head, fondly remembering the ease at which he and Gobber could exchange banter. The translation of the words they just shared read as clear to him as if the last two years never happened.
I can't believe you left. I'm glad you're alive.
"Someday," Hiccup returned. His gaze drifted to his uncle. "Hello, U-uh—Spitelout."
Hiccup seemed to have been growing more comfortable up until that slipup. Spitelout didn't react to it other than a return greeting.
"This is Toothless," the boy went on, attempting to wrap up this greeting segment with a final introduction. He gave the dragon another pat on the neck. "This... well, this is what a Night Fury looks like."
The pupils within the acid-green eyes tapered. Toothless huffed and a wisp of smoke spiraled from each nostril.
"Knock it off," Hiccup hissed. He grinned, this time more nervous, and Stoick finally saw some of the son he remembered. It gave him the familiar stability he needed to proceed.
"You say you have information regarding this demon," Stoick began, jumping straight to the point. "And that you've been to the nest." A claim that both terrified and intrigued the former father. "What can you tell us that will give us the edge we need to finish this war?"
Hiccup wet his lips and nodded. He risked taking a step away from his dragon to stand at the edge of the high rock they perched on.
"I...I can't even begin to describe what I know." He glanced back at the dragon of night. "They're not so different from us. They feel everything we feel, experience the same emotions. They can understand us if they're exposed to the same languages, just like humans—"
"Are you here to pitch us reasons to befriend dragons?" Snotlout spoke up. He received a sharp strike to his shoulder for speaking out of turn.
"Hold your tongue," Spitelout hissed. Snotlout scowled at his father, restraining an immediate backlash with a clenched jaw. Hiccup shook his head.
"No. Not yet, anyway. My point is—they're just as much a victim of this war as we are. This...mind control, it's very real. Believe me when I say that relying on humans for food is insulting to them. They're being manipulated and humiliated every time they're driven into these 'raids'. They don't want to do it."
Toothless snorted his agreement.
"Will you take us to the nest?" Stoick asked, still open with his intentions.
"No," Hiccup responded with equal frankness. The finality in his answer caused four, beard-shrouded mouths to fall open, each ready to release their own protest. Hiccup quickly continued, "You're humans, you'll die. This isn't something you can just sail into."
"You're human," Stoick stressed, and the barest hints of desperation read in the curve of his eye. Surely, surely, his son hadn't gone so far as to...?
"I am human," Hiccup assured the group, granting them more relief than they would ever know. "Only a dragon can locate it. That, and, the nest is encased in this...poisonous mist. I was flying through it so I was exposed for a much shorter time than someone who travels by boat. But I was sick for a while after. I think...I think if someone's exposed to it too long it could kill them. And that doesn't even get into the size of this demon," Hiccup added with a breathy, humorless laugh. "I only saw the head, and I can tell you even the combined efforts of your best warriors won't put a scratch on it."
"So you're saying you can only tell us that there's nothing we can do?" Spitelout appeared frustrated. Despite suffering the same incredulity, Stoick put a calming hand on his shoulder.
"I'm saying that you can't beat this thing without me," Hiccup stressed. "Not with your current tactics. But I'll need help. The dragons need help. There's going to be a lot of involvement needed if we want any hope of surviving this."
"We have," Gobber informed him. "The alliances between villages have never been stronger."
"Which is good, but, like I said, humans alone can't beat this."
"So what, exactly, do you propose we do?" Stoick asked. He had a sneaking suspicious where Hiccup was going with this.
Hiccup took a breath, steeling himself for a solution no sane Viking that he knew of would go for.
"There's really...Gods, this is so complicated. I don't want to be making all the decisions. But I think...I think we're going to need volunteers...people who are willing to bond with dragons, like I have. To ride them and help put us on more even grounds with the demon..."
The men went back to staring at him, much like when he first arrived. But instead of staring for the purpose of sizing-up, they looked at him like he was mad. The sensation of such scrutiny felt so memorable to Hiccup that the beginnings of irritation set in.
"We're out of options," Stoick admitted, half speaking to his men. "We'll have to try something new. But this..."
"It's not for everyone, I know," Hiccup hastily spoke. "But if I could just get some people to help me free dragons...if we could whittle down the demon's army, we would have such a better chance at beating this."
"This is a strategy that should be discussed by more than just us," Spitelout murmured by Stoick's shoulder. His brother nodded.
"Aye, you're right," he agreed beneath his beard. "Not everyone will go for this. Very few, in fact. We can work this into our decision—"
"I can hear you," Hiccup cut in before his father could speak directly to him. "I did say that I didn't want to make all the decisions, didn't I?"
Stoick frowned long enough for Hiccup to feel rather sheepish about the slight attitude he just displayed.
"You'll have diplomatic immunity," Stoick informed him slowly. "You'll be allowed back in the village, protected, provided you help us win this war to the best of your ability. Is that acceptable? Shall we make this official?"
Hiccup released a heavy breath, realizing this was actually coming into fruition.
"Yeah. I'm coming down," he announced. "And Toothless will shoot you if you harm me in any way."
A soft roar rumbled from the dragon's breast and it sneered to reveal a mouthful of pointed teeth. The men kept their hands from their weapons and took a step back, giving the pair a wider berth.
Hiccup did as he said, jumping down and landing dangerously close to a hörgr. Now on level ground, Stoick could see that Hiccup reached his shoulder, nearly equal to his brother's height. Already noticeably taller than Snotlout.
An inappropriate gratification swelled his torso, filling his lungs with enough breath to move his armor.
Stoick stiffly stuck out a hand, focusing on action to override the dangerous territory his emotions wanted to tread. He finished mourning the loss of his son long ago; he would not give himself false hope. He had no son.
He had no son.
Hiccup approached the offered appendage, eyes darting between every man present, seeking for a hint of hostile movement before daring to lift his own. He paused just a finger length away, holding out on sealing the deal for one more requirement.
"Swear on this altar. That no harm will come to me or Toothless...or any dragon I should vouch for."
Stoick wanted to keep Hiccup's gaze for the entire process of marking their agreement, but his eyes were forcibly drawn to the dragon. The beast returned his stare, reflecting back every ounce of contempt he held for it. Could he allow such a creature to walk the stones of his village? It was capable of great destruction, its history of devastation told for centuries
It also had remained docile and aloof at Hiccup's side. A loyalty they would have to exploit.
For the greater good, he staunchly reminded himself. For the greater good.
"I swear," Stoick gruffly agreed. "So long as no dragon you vouch for harms my people."
Hiccup gripped his father's hand, and he made sure to keep it strong so that the shaking of his limbs would go unperceived. So much nervous energy coiled in his gut that he felt like he could fire Framherja ten times in a row.
Stoick showed no surprise on his face, but Hiccup would forever swear that he saw pride in his father's gaze. A traitor, vagabond, and for the first time he could remember his father looked proud of him.
"I swear," he stated, just loud enough for Stoick to hear.
"We'll call a meeting," Stoick announced to both Hiccup and his party. "Let the village know Hiccup isn't to be touched, that he's a temporary ally to Berk for the duration of this war."
Snotlout stared at the clasped, pumping hands with a leaden ball of dread rolling in his stomach.
Hiccup was smart—he'd heard it mentioned time and again by the chief, by Gobber, by his own father. Hiccup was showing promise. Hiccup would be allowed in the village again.
Snotlout wasn't smart—he knew this. He wasn't stupid, but he wasn't smart. Not like Hiccup. Snotlout couldn't run the village on his own; he already admitted to himself he would need Fishlegs sheer intelligence and Astrid's temperance at his disposal to run a tight ship. It would be perfect—his perfect rule. He would be okay with relying on those two; for the longest time only he and Fishlegs knew the exact details of Berk's morbid situation. And he and Astrid fought back to back, bathed in blood, for much of the past year.
The twins had been his best friends since before he could communicate with more than his childhood, wooden hammer. They knew him—knew his faults, knew how to calm him when he was being unreasonable. This was his group of trustees.
He worked too hard to lose it all now. He had a future set for himself, set for Berk, and Hiccup would not ruin it.
Stoick released the hand.
"I'll make the announcement tonight. We'll hold a meeting tomorrow in which you'll speak."
"Fantastic," Hiccup muttered under his breath. He began to pull back from the taller man. As if taking a silent cue, the dragon—who had been still as any of the surrounding rocks until then—dropped down to Hiccup's side. The men had their weapons up in an uncontrollable reflex, spurring Hiccup into stinging them with a reproachful glare.
"You will not hurt him," Hiccup ordered, and he didn't care if it added a sour taste to this otherwise neutral encounter. He cleared the distance between the ground and the saddle in one jump, landing seated. Gobber in particular noted how Hiccup's foot slipped into an odd pedal that hung from the saddle.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Stoick said. Why did he suddenly feel as awkward as he used to when faced with speaking to his son? Like he still had now idea how to communicate with him outside of diplomacy.
"Tomorrow," the boy repeated, this time not quite meeting Stoick's eyes. With nothing left to say, he and the dragon crouched as one unit before launching into the air. A ripple of airborne dust rushed over the ground, coating the shins of their spectators.
Hiccup couldn't bring himself to turn around as he and Toothless took off. He could feel the stares—some of awe, some of deep-seated fear—heavy against his back, like anchors trying to drag him back to the ground. His fingers twisted into the faded leather of the saddle.
::Are you okay?::
They rose higher and higher, towards the deepest length of blue capping the sky. Hiccup closed his eyes, focusing on the touch of the winds. They wrapped around him in welcome, comforting arms, assuring him that he was safe now, that he didn't have to be brave any more.
"Yeah," Hiccup croaked. The sky was still too bright for him to allow the tears to fall.
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The forest floor was coated in death. Dead leaves, dead branches, dead bark.
Trees shed death; they shed anything that could not benefit them. It was how they stayed strong, how they lasted through generations and generations to witness the foolishness of humans.
Astrid took quiet satisfaction in stomping on these useless castings. Leaves crunched and branches snapped, crying out under her weight, perhaps lamenting their permanent position.
Trees didn't take this foot fodder back. That's why trees lived forever—they were made entirely of strength and life.
Astrid had been stomping through the woods for some time now, her arms swinging rather wildly to keep stride. She had a vague idea as to where her feet wanted to take her, but her mind was far too cluttered to care one way or another. She hadn't felt this riled up over something she had no control over since...since...
Since her mother died.
The village learned what she and her friends had learned—that the Chief would meet with Hiccup to negotiate his status. That Hiccup would return, would set foot in their village once again. Hiccup's outlawry would be suspended...
Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup. His name seemed to pop up in every corner of the village. She couldn't escape it. In light of everything, he was being treated as a neutral party. He slighted them, but he had information they needed and a willingness to help them. They were in a time of begging, and beggars couldn't be choosers.
She didn't understand it. Not what she felt; not her anger or reaction as a child, not this numbing agitation now.
Everything around Hiccup had been so...anticlimactic. His secret and his departure had been pretty epic—she could give him that—but then, like a finger's snap, it became old news.
When it first happened she couldn't get him out of her mind, and the only thing she wanted to do was to move on from him. She blamed it on the constant chatter; the greatest betrayal of their clan to date, by the chief's son no less, was no small matter. It was all anyone wanted to talk about and she couldn't wait until it would pass, until normalcy could commence, until she could move on from this absent rival...
As Astrid's mind stewed on those frustrating months, her hand ran along the granite texture of stone walls, bracing herself for the uneven footing leading into the very same alcove where she last saw him.
Astrid had, eventually, gotten her wish; months after Stoick of Berk lost his son, the talking stopped. But in her mind, he stayed—he stayed when everyone else had forgotten. When the raids became overbearing and their numbers started to drop and alliances started popping up left and right...he stayed. He stayed in her mind and memory, tormenting her. He wouldn't leave her alone.
For months and months, the question of 'why?' aggrieved her. Plagued her.
Astrid swallowed, the soft earth of the beautiful sanctuary yielded to the soles of her boots, her eyes drank the waving leaves of trees and the bouncing lights of the pond.
It wasn't until now, standing in the cove—in almost the exact same spot—that held her last memories of him, did the answer come to her.
She shuffled through the grass, getting a feel for that moment years ago. She toed the overgrown blades, picturing an imprint in its pattern. This was where she shoved him down—gods she was angry—and this was where he pushed her down.
Astrid closed her eyes, soaking up the scents and the last rays of sun, remembering...
It was his face. Her last vision of him as she shook her head, backing up, one step after another. To this day, she remembered every detail of Hiccup's face.
Just before she turned to run off with his most desperately protected secret.
Disappointment.
He—Hiccup—was disappointed in her.
She was perfection, and no one, not even her parents, had ever looked at her with disappointment. Until him. Until that moment. It was an expression that haunted her, even through her harshest sessions of training and self-discipline. That face, those eyes—like he expected more from her, like she let him down, like she didn't live up to his standards. And she hated it, she hated him, because he made her want to hate herself and she didn't know why.
She did what was right—everyone would agree. So how could he, with his weak body and timid habits, make her feel like she was the villain?
They had been fifteen. It was the year she was supposed to enjoy the most—her first dragon kill, her first hunt—and he ruined it, he ruined it beyond beating her in dragon training. He had her questioning her morals, her own competence, long after he left. She hated him then; she didn't know if that still held true, but Astrid knew, at one point, that she hated Hiccup Horrendous Haddock. She hated him for causing the villagers to doubt her just once —despite the fact that she restored their faith in her soon after. She hated him for leaving them just as their war fell out of control, for devastating their chief when they needed him most. She hated him for escaping while she still had to accept a husband. He got away. He got off this island. He didn't have to balance his desires with expectations because he just up and left like they meant nothing to him.
And most of all, she hated him for stealing her—
The familiar 'shwing' of metal sliced through air, startling Astrid from her thoughts. Something gleamed by her nearly as quickly as the sound registered; with a dull thud, a bladed weapon had lodged itself into the ground by her feet.
For a moment, she couldn't move. Not even the birds in that cove dared make a sound, like the world had graciously held, waiting for her to catch on.
Under any other circumstance, Astrid Hofferson would have been turned, poised, and ready to take down anyone who dared to sneak up on her. But the sight of this particular weapon had frozen her. Her eyes locked on the familiar, bolted, wooden handle and the double-edged blade, one end snug into the earth, the other upright and glimmered in the sunlight. Greeting her like a long-lost friend.
She'd know that axe anywhere. It was her axe.
Her hand moved forward, Astrid watched it move as though it weren't even apart of her. Her fingers touched it—the torn wraps of the handle, feeling as stiff as they looked—and a spell of nostalgia waved over, so powerful she could hardly breathe. Her palm slid down the wood, twisting a grip around the handle.
A shock of pain struck her heart when she realized it didn't quite fit right against the creases of her fingers. Not like she remembered it. Her hand was bigger now; they hadn't grown together like they were supposed to—she and her axe.
Her mother's axe.
With that pain came reality, and with reality came realization—realization that she couldn't have one without the other. Her chest felt oddly tight and her lungs empty of air.
Astrid turned.
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A/N: Hang onto that cliff!
Well, you got one reunion :)
I have butterflies in my stomach because, really, I think people built up their expectations for this meeting too much. I can only do so much!
Thanks to Sir Nick for betaing! And once again thank you all for your support, your questions, and your comments! I luff you!
So let me know what you think. There were a lot of character interactions, some more Astrid-introspection. Too emotional? Not emotional enough? Astrid make more sense? Astrid make LESS sense?
Don't think I need to hint at what happens next chapter ;) Except maybe to tell you that we'll be seeing those new dragons then.