Edited.

Ever since realizing the campaign was over, Artichoke hadn't thought about his wife or her secret dragon again and, as the welcome sailors kept sharing the news, exaggerated stories from their most recent adventure. They hadn't found the nest, of course, though nobody really expected to at this point, though they'd never admit it to their mighty Chief, who raised hopes and battle cries for glory each autumn.

The boy who now carried the title of being next in line wondered if he'd also make keep them all Berkians sailing in search of it every year or if he'd eventually lead them where that- that thing he saw today that hideous Queen Bee, the real monster straight out Muspelheim, one able to make any Monstruous Nightmare look like a harmless little puppy. It was no news to him that he longed for sailing, for exploring and discovering, and that they could only go so far with the dragon raids, so mining their nest was ideal, but… No, not worth thinking about it tonight. Anyway, there were many years ahead of him becoming Chief, and now it was a time for welcoming their tribe home and enjoy the last celebration before winter.

And so Artichoke went on, allowing dreams and laughter grow in the welcoming festivity, throwing any monster or problem to the back of his mind, and, as his mother could no longer scold him for accepting a cup or two, the boy also drank on with the other men, becoming tipsier than he hoped to let it show. His mind had only drifted back to Hiccup when he saw the large figure of Stoick, the Vast enter the Great Hall. Alone. Hadn't he gone to get her?

He frowned, but, as far as he could see, his Chief show no sign of unsatisfaction, which answer the question of whether or not Hiccup had opted to run away again. Yet, she wasn't there and that raised a small worry about her whereabouts, given today's events. Artichoke walked up towards the regular, unique spot his father-in-law owned in their Great Hall as the tribe's leader, an adorned seat in the back of the room, though not so much different from other seats. However, as his steps went further, Artichoke felt his stomach protest and the room spin, and so his body made him stop, attempting to avoid him making a fool in the place that usually held the Berkians' attention and pride. Yea, I can't drink this much. Not yet. He thought, even if most grown men of his village seemed to do it without a problem, he'd rather not admit he wasn't this grown up.

Swallowing the upcoming bile, he opted to head home, festivity or not, maybe Gobber would wake up in a bad mood enough tomorrow to decide to not call it a day off and being thrown in a caged dome with other teens to capture a Terrible Terror with a hangover slamming his head did not seem like a good idea and so he got out. Barely just waving his family goodnight, he took a step outside and inhaled the chill, sheer night air filling his lungs in an attempt to steady his balance.

But a familiar voice called up, dressed in an accusatory tone that made his head snap to its source maybe a bit too fast. "You". Snotlout? "You little shit and that half-baked excuse of a girlfriend of yours were both missing all fucking day long". Girlfriend?

"She's my wife", Artichoke hushed out, completely aware how his tone had not come out with half the authority he aimed for. Also knowing it was a pointless statement to bring up at this point.

Still, Snotlout just brushed a "whatever" and stepped out of the shadows, approaching his childhood friend in the low light of a forgotten torch outside the major building of their tribe. "I know you two weren't 'training', so make up a better bullshit", accusations followed his tone again. "Nobody takes that much stuff for training, I saw her take a full backpack earlier before you disappeared in the woods, so what the fuck were you up all day?".

Artichoke barely registered his friend's words. "She's my wife!", he repeated, puffing his chest, unsettled with how pathetic the last time had sounded.

"Yeah, that's not- that's not what I asked". Accusations and light anger were set aside in the shorter, brunette young Viking, as his black brow rose confused. Artichoke was sure his friend wasn't a much better drinker than he was, but he was definitely more sober at that time. "So, where were you today?".

"Woods", his answer was short as more than a large room, but the whole world kept spinning around the blond boy. He leaned against a wall, not caring what it was.

"Yeah, duh, but, like where?", offensive inquisitions became plain curiosity.

His stomach protested one final time as mostly liquid vomit poured out of him into the floor, fouling both pair of boots.

"Ew, get yourself together, man", he pushed back as soon as he felt Snotlout pushing him, not really caring for the unequal strength put in the task. "You look like just as much as an excuse of a Viking as her right now, you know?". Artichoke could smell both bile and alcohol filling them both. "You shouldn't have married her". His eyes went thin after hearing the whisper of his friend, what...?

"You shouldn't be the next chief", the inner confusion and jealousy at the quick thought his childhood friend could have fancied his own cousin for a wife, a wife which as Artichoke's by the way, was replaced by the sudden dizziness and impact of being pushed once more, this time stronger.

"You don't deserve to lead us! You weren't born for this" excuse me? Though his body wasn't sane enough to feel offended by that. The dark-haired boy just kept his voice in a crispy, bitter whispers as both his hands formed fists hooked on the taller boy's collar. "You were just meant to be another sailor on a stupid ship", disgust was filling Snotlout's face, disgust, and something resembling betrayal in his eyes. "I was! I was born for this! I was and you took it from me!". Snotlout's not so sober breath had brushed against Artichoke's skin before he finally felt his feet hit the ground weakly, just after a fist broke into his jaw.

Still confused, though the punch woke him up enough to hit back, send the shorter guy thrown back a bit, and so Artichoke took advantage, using his body weight to counterattack the sudden outburst, whispers were forgotten with this growl and they kept fighting, both adrenaline and the drink's numbness softening the impact that would sure ache tomorrow, a time too distant to think on as punches and limbs were thrown down.

"I'm twice the Viking you are", he heard the same anger tone repeat itself in the fight and even being considerably more affected by the liquid drug, Artichoke could rely enough on muscle memory and strength to end atop of his attacker, earning a whimper in what was clearly the conflict's end. Though, as if today hadn't bring enough surprises, Artichoke could almost swear to have seen tears form in the eyes below his.

Gah, I'm done. He thought, getting up and deciding once and for all that today was due. So he felt himself crawling his way home, head low and grunting. He ignored how his skin was now filthy with sweat, dirt, and drying blood, although the fading adrenaline told him it wasn't his blood at least. Not most of it. His limbs could only beg for a final rest, no more chaos or distress, just a bed. A comfortable bed with furs and a lit fireplace to rock his mind into slumber within seconds.

No more fucking surprises or thoughts for today.

That was his last thought, an eagerly made choice, before he opened the hut's front door to see Hiccup's wet face with her big eyes just red and puffy then. "Freya, what happened to you?".

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Hiccup let her tears fall silent, not really caring about how long time went by. Actually, she could sob and yell and most her neighbors would be drinking and celebrating anyway.

The more she cried, the more pathetic she felt, in an endless snowball of ridiculous self-pity, until her breaths slowly came to a normal pace. Even if her eyes were burning and her face still had to dry a few more tears, she was okay now. Well, okay enough to think straight. Enough to her stomach to growl in an attention calling, yeah, she could eat, although the toll required to fulfill that need was… Not a fair trade.

Walking up to the Great Hall truly was something she really, really didn't want to do, even if crying effects weren't so clear on her appearance right now, she couldn't go out. Screw it, there might be some bread in the kitchen anyway. She thought, getting up, finally undoing the worn-out excuse of a braid her hair was stuck in, concluding she'd just feed herself with whatever was reachable and sink in the furs, use the post-mental-breakdown as a fuel that would get her to sleep much earlier and better than the previous night, probably. Barely, but probably.

Gobber was bad enough to require class the next day, although not at sunrise, she knew how eager he was to get it over with this year's class, to go back at the bickering and grumpy self in the back of a burning forge, that old jerk.

The stuffed, stitched rag-made dragon her mother created for her was found not deep in her satchel, bringing somewhat of comfort. It is dumb and she knows, to take such frivolous belonging in a last-minute only-necessary-packing runaway trip, but she couldn't just let it here. It could be just due familiarity but staring at it made her find the thin lines of motherly comfort she only dreamt of, compared to that helmet at least. Not that she didn't want a helmet, but that one was a gift gave under lied circumstances, this little old thing was something built for her before she could be anything, any failure or screw up… Or liar. This was just a toy made with motherly love to a toddler with an unknown future. Growing up, Hiccup couldn't help but wonder if her mother would have been just as disappointed as her father, if she would be even more strict or maybe soft and forgiving, even believe in her a little, but now? She didn't need to know the answer to know she didn't deserve that helmet.

Her elbows were resting against the kitchen table and her sleepy head was resting on her palm when the door was suddenly burst open to what looked like a troll, rather than the dreamy warrior in training she held hands with earlier. Ok, that's a scratch, though she had been sure anyone would have just laughed off at her confession. Anyway, leave that for later.

Artichoke stood stunned for a moment, as surprised as she was due the sight. Though a few tears certainly couldn't compare to how much mud filled his skin, mud and what she's sure was fresh blood in his nose and hands. The mere sight could be enough to say he looked like shit, but, well, he smelled like it too. Shit or vomit and beer, at least.

Hiccup only scowled as he walked in.