A Request

Planning the funeral required a full tribal meeting, with much to be decided. On the morning of the meeting, which was expected to take up most of the afternoon, Stoick and Hiccup walked up the hill towards Mornen's home to check the garden. It was the deepest part of winter in Berk, when it seemed like the cold would never end, and even with Hiccup's ice pick, it was slow going for them both. They didn't say much, most of their breath needed to move them over the snow where the air was thinner.

Mornen had had no fear of heights, Hiccup thought to himself, though why she refused to consider riding a dragon even once was a mystery to him. And it would remain a mystery. Maybe as she approached the life beyond this one, she'd fly with a dragon.

When they arrived, the garden had already been looked after. Fresh straw and rags covered the beds, holding the snow against the earth, which Mornen used to say was the blanket of winter protecting her plants. The cloth wall that blocked the sea wind was whole again, with all tears and rips recently mended. When Stoick had last been there, he'd said the fabric had been ripped and the snowy garden bare of any covering. Thus the reason for their visit today.

"Someone's been busy," Stoick said.

"Yeah, it looks that way," Hiccup replied, looking closely at the stitches. They were uneven, in all different directions, but they were strong, and they would hold.

"Was it Fishlegs?" Stoick asked him, looking around at the garden, and at the house.

"I don't think so, no," Hiccup replied. "I'll ask him."

"Hmmm. Well, good that it's done. Time to go back. Lots to do."

Stoick turned and started down the hill, and Hiccup followed after a moment, looking at the door to Mornen's home, knowing her last breath had been inside.

It was time to escort her to the next life.

…

During the meeting, which everyone knew would be one of several, most of the people of Berk had something to say, an idea to present as to how they'd complete the funeral. It was an important, and careful process, because they had to fulfill Mornen's wishes, which would prove difficult, while also completing the rituals in a way that was suitable for the role and place she held within Berk, and in a way that appeased and respected the gods. Hiccup sat in his usual spot at the council table, taking notes and drawing on a separate piece of paper. Because the entire village was present, and because Mornen had been of Astrid's family, she and her mother and aunts, and any and every other relative, stood behind Stoick. This meant that Astrid appeared to be paying attention, when really she was watching Hiccup sketch.

He was drawing Mornen.

She'd thought at first he was drawing another map of Berk, with the mountain in the center, and wondered where he was planning to go. But when he added rows of charcoal lines in different widths and patterns, she recognized it. She'd been in Mornen's garden so often, as a girl when she'd visited with her mother, and on her own when she was older. It never changed. Mornen changed, Astrid had changed, but the garden, even with new plants, always looked the same. It was comforting.

And so it was to see it captured in Hiccup's notebook. Seeing each plant appear beneath his hand, and watching the drawing take shape even as he paused to write down more ideas on a separate sheet of paper, eased some of the tension and sadness that had taken up too much space inside her. Each step of preparation, all the things she and her family had been doing, hadn't lessened that feeling. It grew worse. And she couldn't go practice or throw her axe at a tree until she felt better. They all had too much to do.

When Hiccup began to draw Mornen, tears stung Astrid's eyes, the thick sadness rising in her throat and threatening to erupt.

She swallowed it down, but it didn't help.

Hiccup started with Mornen's back, her arm holding a curved and decorated staff Astrid had never seen before. Then he sketched the bend of her legs beneath her cloak, the edge of it brushing the strongest plants as she faced the newest ones, the tips of their leaves barely breaking through the dirt. He drew Mornen's arm over the new seedlings, blessing them and inviting them to live, and Astrid smiled. The way he'd drawn her arm made her seem both patient and demanding, exactly how Mornen had been with every living creature.

Then he began to sketch her head, her hair wound into a crown on her head, her face turned away as she looked up toward the mountain behind her. Hiccup had known her, too, had seen her in her garden enough to capture her perfectly. He probably understood how Astrid was feeling. No, she thought. He definitely did.

A quiet sob escaped from Astrid's throat, and she coughed to cover it as tears filled her eyes. She didn't know if it was the pain at losing Mornen, who had been among the women of Astrid's family since her earliest memories, or at the brilliant, quiet way Hiccup had remembered her, but it hurt. It all hurt. She wiped her eyes on her gauntlet and tried to breathe normally.

Then she felt a hand on her back. She looked up. Her mother rested a hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with a sad smile. She reached down and kissed Astrid's hair, brushing her braid away from her face like she always did, and Astrid felt some of the choking sadness recede. Then they turned and listened to what was being said.

…

After the meeting, Astrid's family conferred with the council and with Stoick about the arrangements they would all manage, and Hiccup excused himself, taking his notebook with him.

Astrid slipped away as soon as she was able to, and ran up the hill toward the forge after Hiccup. He turned when he heard her call his name.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Your drawing." The remaining thickness in her throat made it hard for her to breathe and run at the same time, so she paused a moment.

"My drawing?"

"Mornen. You drew Mornen."

"You saw that? Oh. Yeah. You were all behind me. I'm sorry," he said, his ears turning pink.

"No, no, it's ok. Who is it for?"

"The drawing? I was going to give it to your mother, if you thought she'd like to have it. I'd give it to you, though, to give to her."

Astrid looked up at him. "Not going to give it to her yourself?"

"No," Hiccup said instantly. "She's almost as scary as you are."

"Thanks." Astrid felt herself smile, a real smile that was so surprising, her cheeks hurt for a moment.

"I have one for Fishlegs, too. And you."

"For me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Th- thank you." Astrid's breath still refused to settle, and she was getting angry about it. She'd try to draw a breath smoothly, and a sob would interrupt, teasing her with imminent humiliation. Hiccup moved closer and put a hand on her arm.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. I will be." He slid his arm around her and she leaned toward him, unable to resist, though his kindness undid her efforts to avoid crying. She closed her eyes and put her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. Hiccup moved her closer still and his warmth eased the awful, churning sadness. She could breathe, though her eyes kept disobeying her, tears seeping through and running down her face.

Hiccup didn't say anything, just stood with her, allowing her to lean on him until she moved away to stand on her own. Seeing his face as she wiped her cheeks with hurried movements reminded her why she'd come after him.

"Could you draw one more, for me?"

"Sure. You need two?"

"No, no. It's… it's for someone else. But I can't say who."

Hiccup's eyebrows lowered. "You can't say?"

"No. And I can't give it to …this person. I have to hide it, so a small sketch would be better."

"You can't say who it's for, but you can't give it to them, either?"

Astrid nodded, too exhausted to argue with him. But Hiccup didn't get angry, or even suspicious. He didn't understand, but he agreed.

He trusted her so completely.

The warmth she felt from his embrace continued to spread through her.

"I'll have it for you tomorrow."