Astrid sat on her bed, staring through the gold and orange light, imagining the placement of the stars she couldn't see. She was all mixed up and aching inside. Her axe was in her hand, and she wanted to throw it at something, but knew she couldn't, nor could she leave the house.
Her knuckles whitened over the well worn handle. Looking at her axe didn't soothe her. It compounded the hurt. Her mother had given her her first axe.
The one she carried now had been her uncle's, rebuilt and cared for with love and respect. Not just by Astrid herself, but Gobber, and Hiccup, too, she thought with a hitched breath. Stoick sometimes invited her to go axe throwing, always asking if he could try Finn's axe for a few throws. The best in the village, he'd said. The best weapon for a warrior. She'd burned with pride when he said that, burned now thinking of it.
Her strength in battle, strategy, her ability to see a pattern through chaos and suppress disorder, all that she learned from her mother.
They used to be so close, training together constantly. Then came dragon training, the first thing she'd ever done on her own, without her mother.
Then, after….
She thought back, leaning her axe against the wall. After she and Hiccup had become more…after the Great Battle, she'd pulled away, or her mother had.
Slowly, and lately with more scrutiny, her mother had started criticizing her choices, holding her back from things, restricting her, watching her movements, limiting her, cutting off knowledge and judging her actions harshly.
Meanwhile, Sigrid had given her a lie that turned into the truth. Sigrid had given her cover to spend more time with Hiccup, to fly when she wanted to, to escape the confined space her mother wanted her to be contented with and explore.
Sigrid gave her space to be with Hiccup, and helped her hide that from her mother.
Sigrid hid food in her room knowing she'd sneak back.
Astrid traced the embroidery of the sleeve of her nightshirt with one finger, one of her earliest attempts at stitching decorations before she began sewing for other people. She pressed the tip of her finger against a stitch, feeling the taut strength of the thread through the fabric, proud of herself each time she noticed the embroidery.
She liked making things for people.
She liked making things for Hiccup. She liked caring for him, not just making sure he was okay. Since she'd gone looking for him one day ages and ages ago, finding his home cold and dark, knowing he didn't come home to the warmth and scents she did, she'd tried to…give him a piece of what she had each day.
She liked sewing and throwing axes.
She liked training dragons and caring for them, too.
She would probably never like cooking, or be any good at it, but if there were desserts to be made, she could probably handle it.
Rolling spices was a lot like rolling ammunition bundles.
Maybe she'd never be good at it, though.
At any of the things Sigrid did so easily. And…that would be important, important knowledge for the chieftain's wife.
She swallowed hard against the sting of humiliation in her throat.
The voices below her faded. Her mother had gone to bed, stomping in her fury, and Astrid heard quieter noises from Sigrid's chamber below hers.
She felt guilty looking at the book of Not Dragons, feeling as mixed up and frustrated as she did. But she couldn't deny the opportunity.
Not when she'd have to get it back to Ruffnut the next day. Somehow.
But she didn't want to, as tempting as it was. She was too angry to be curious. She couldn't add to the confusion in her mind by introducing more things she wasn't sure how to fit into her life, into her world, her plans.
The light from the late summer night's sky was going to keep her awake as much as her frustration would, and she gave up the idea of sleeping, looking around for something to occupy her hands and her mind that wasn't throwing an axe or throwing herself out yet another window.
She closed her eyes and thought about the island, flying over it piece by piece, looking for a place that maybe could be their own for a few hours, if they ever found another few hours together. The wedding celebration would last for a week, and the island would be overrun with vikings. Inebriated vikings.
The thought of inebriated vikings brought back a memory of the day before, when she'd left Stormfly to her meal and walked home from the academy.
She'd crossed the bridge that connected the academy to the rest of Berk and had run into a group of vikings headed the other direction. They'd been carrying banners rolled into colorful bundles of fabric, coils of rope around their necks and tools in their hands.
Astrid had grinned at them. "Time to decorate the academy?"
"Aye, that it is," Gunnar had replied. "Newer banners, too, no blood and guts."
"Ach, 'tis a shame, though. M'mam made some of them."
Astrid had nodded, assembling a sympathetic expression on her face after a moment of surprise. Diplomacy time. "They were impressive."
She didn't continue with what they all knew: images of dragon slaughter couldn't be hung in Berk now, especially not over the arena where they trained dragons who were their friends.
Astrid had tilted her head. "Maybe they could be reworked into new designs?"
The man's face had brightened. "Aye, possibly. Or-"
Gunnar interrupted him. "Say, Astrid, I heard from Sigrid that you were working on Finn's banner, aye?"
Astrid hadn't realized Sigrid had told anyone. She had to finish the work now. People knowing would mean people looking for it. Fortunately for her, she was nearly done with the repair.
"Uh, yeah, yeah, I am. Wanted to fly it over our house again."
"Ah, Finn, now there was a viking." Gunnar 's laughter had sounded like warm mead and fond memories. "My sister fancied him something fierce."
Astrid smiled, having heard many stories about long held crushes on her uncle. It was only a little uncomfortable to listen to them.
Gunnar ran a hand over his chin. "Well, if you take my advice, you could hang up your axe and take up sewing. Need more banners of our ancestors like Finn."
The group nodded, then Gunnar looked over at the academy. "Or maybe the old ones could work for that? Plenty of them, that's for certain. Work them into new banners."
The group had turned to Astrid with expectant expressions on their faces. She hadn't known what to do or say. She knew they didn't mean any harm, and weren't trying to be insulting, but she could still feel her temper building. Who came to her with sewing projects? Why would anyone do that?
"Well, that is an idea. Maybe." She'd shifted in what she'd hoped was a casual gesture. It echoed Hiccup's full body shrugs, like she was pushing the idea away from her. "I'll see if I have time between training and patrols, and all."
Gunnar had smiled wider. "Aye, that'd be true. Your responsibilities will only increase from here on, aye? Alright, lads, off we go. To decorate!"
With laughing battle cries, raised fists, and smiles amid a tangle of vivid fabric, they'd set off toward the academy.
Astrid's fingers ran in agitated patterns over the stitching on her sleeve as she thought about their conversation, about the idea that she'd hang up her axe for banner repair.
Well, a more reasonable part of her brain said, crafting banners to honor the Berk ancestors was no small job, nor one they'd hand to just anyone. It wasn't an insult.
But I don't want that job, she thought, burning in an old but familiar anger.
She hadn't felt this fury since Hiccup kept beating her in dragon training, always one step ahead of her, stopping her from progressing, from winning. Standing in her way.
Hiccup.
That's what they'd meant by increased responsibilities. It's not like they were wrong. Being…married to the chieftain's heir, it would come with a lot of expectations and responsibilities. She knew that.
She pushed the thought away and looked out the window. She could hear everyone still outside, working to get ready, shouts, cheers, and laughter mixing with the sharp ring of tools striking metal.
Another sound that made her think of Hiccup.
The banners were already up all over Berk, minus the one outside her house, the one Sigrid had bragged about. She felt both motivated to finish it, and frustrated at the idea, now that everyone knew. It had been her secret, her private project.
Well, no time like the present, since she wasn't sleeping any time soon.
She slid off her bed, hiding the book of Not Dragons in her bag to return to Ruffnut in the morning. Her sewing bag was where she'd left it, materials and the banner in progress still scented faintly by forge smoke.
Astrid had plenty of light as she located her needle, long and sharp and perfectly balanced. She tested it, watching it tilt slowly in the middle of her outstretched finger, the light glinting off the metal. It didn't slide to one side or fall. It remained in place, waiting for her to get to work.
Sooner than she expected, she lined up the final torn pieces of fabric, folded the edges just enough, and slid her needle through to join them against the patch she'd designed. It blended in against the original fabric, which wasn't easily fixed. A ball of dragon fire had gone clean through it when Astrid was very young. Finn had laughed at the idea of having a banner of himself and hadn't pressed anyone to fix it, and after he died, no one had wanted to. It was too painful.
Now, her family's pride, Fearless Finn, was whole again, in fabric at least, brandishing a sword. Because she had to work on the banner up close, Astrid could see that his sword had once been illustrated with similar engravings as her axe, a fabric version of the iron work Finn and Gobber had created. Whoever had made this banner had included a lot of detail she admired and appreciated.
Astrid sat back and looked up at the sky, at the never-fading light of the summer sun, and listened to the sounds of Berk around her. Shouting, clanking of metal, the call and growl of dragons…. Somewhere Stormfly was exploring on her own, probably eating too much.
She ran her fingertip over the pattern on Finn's sword, faded from years in the sun. It had been inked, maybe, or drawn on with a mix of ash and oil. But it would fade again if she tried those methods.
Maybe she could sew the patterns back on.
She could do that.
Threading her needle with the darkest color she had, Astrid bent her head and got to work, recreating Finn's metalwork with intricate stitching, embroidery techniques she'd learned from Sigrid, from Gothi, and even a little bit from her mother, who liked a bit of flair and decoration on her battle garments, not that anyone would notice needlework beneath her armor.
Astrid plotted out her work, a frown on her face. Now that she wasn't repairing and patching, she felt a little lost. The design and the creation were entirely up to her, and the feeling was freeing and terribly scary. She was embellishing, which she was pretty sure she could do. But she was uneasy, making her way through a pattern she didn't know.
She sat back, looking at the faded fabric and at the needle in her hand. She needed a strategy, a path through the chaos, for sewing as much as for battle plans and dragon patrols.
She could do this.
Taking apart winter banners and reworking cut fabrics into new designs? No. That was way beyond her. She could barely stitch the pieces of her life together. Each was so separate, and she didn't know how to join them. The flying part, the patrol part, the warrior part…she knew what to do there.
But the part where she helped Sigrid, had learned to sew, had made at least half the desserts for the wedding, and sewn the borders on her gown, on Sigrid's, on her mother's? The repair of a banner and the embroidery of Finn's and Gobber's metalwork? She could fix it.
Sigrid might never say a word about anything else Astrid did, that Astrid had done the embroidery and embellishments on their gowns for the wedding. Telling people about the banner had to be an anomaly. Astrid was particularly proud of her work, but Sigrid knew she didn't want anyone to know.
She made a low hum of frustration at herself and pulled out a stitch that hadn't gone where she wanted.
Leaning back to stretch a bit and blink against the changing light, she looked over at her dress for the ceremony. Her gown had tiny dragons sewn into the neckline and the sleeves, spikes in green and gold representing Stormfly, tiny red sails for Toothless. She hadn't sewn anything representing Hiccup. She hadn't dared.
She moved the cloth into the never-ending sunlight and got back to work.
Hiccup knew. He knew she could sew. He would be able to tell with one look that she'd done the designs on their clothing for the wedding.
He also knew she didn't want anyone to know.
Hiccup was another part of her life that remained partially separate from the others. He was part of the dragon riders, obviously, part of patrol and perimeter of Berk, part of everything the group did together. But her private moments with him, those were deeply held secrets.
Well, it wasn't like they were a secret. She'd kissed him in front of the entire village, and pretty much everyone knew they were together.
So why did all the public pushing and the knowing nods and comments bother her so much now?
Was it because she couldn't join that part of her life with the rest in a way that didn't scare her, or make her feel like she was back in dragon training, losing every round when she knew she'd been the most prepared?
Her shoulders crept up and she forced them down as she worked, winding twists of threads into knotted patterns similar to her axe. Another thread became the shield Hiccup carried in ceremonial events, and the chieftain's seals Stoick wore on his shoulders. Finn's work had tied them all together long before she had recognized it. Her mother's weapons probably had touches of Finn's metalworking, on her axe, her sword, her cross bow, her spear, her armor, probably her entire arsenal.
Astrid stretched her neck and back and looked around her room at her own collection of weapons. Then she glared down at her work, resting her needle for a moment, inspecting the embroidery she'd done and looking for flaws and mistakes. But careful, even stitches, each winding back into one another, duplicating the knotted pattern from her axe onto the side of Finn's sword.
She liked what she was doing. She was proud of it.
But she didn't want to be forced to do it.
It would be like being pushed into a narrow role she didn't want. Her responsibilities would increase, Gunnar had said. She huffed in frustration.
All because everyone saw her as Hiccup's….
Standing next to Hiccup, flying with him, all that was wonderful.
Being boxed in by the expectations of being Hiccup's wife…that was…. That was something else. She didn't know what it was, how to describe it, or knock it down so she could destroy it.
Astrid picked up her needle and kept going. One more stitch. Then another.
Being Hiccup's wife would mean…a lot of changes. Taking over different roles in Berk, she assumed. The Chieftain hadn't had a wife in her lifetime. Valka had disappeared when Hiccup was a baby, and Hiccup told her once Stoick considered himself married still because he had no proof she was dead.
Her heart squeezed when she thought about it.
What did the chief's wife do, anyway?
She had no idea.
But those who were older than her, who did remember, remembered Valka, and Stoick's mother and father…they were the ones talking about hanging up her axe, sewing banners and asking questions about her preparations for this wedding. All the things she didn't want to do with all of her time. As if dragon training or flying were something she'd stop doing.
And yet she kept sewing, adding more stitches to a banner decoration that most likely no one would notice but her.
But she'd know. Sigrid would know. Her mother would definitely notice. It was for them, and for herself. It fit, even if they were the only ones who knew.
That same logic didn't apply to the other parts of her life. And unless it was burying an axe in a tree or a target, or flying a dragon with precision, there were some parts of Astrid's life she didn't want publicly joined to the others, not until she knew how to manage what all came with them.
Her life, her time with Hiccup…she didn't know what to do about that, where it fit.
How to join it all together.
She kept sewing.
