A/N: This is a strange experience for me, editing this story for, what...the third time? The second edit completely revised the entire story. This third version is just further polishing of the revision, with all its warts and imperfections. If nothing else, apart from me cringing at my old writing, it serves as a testament to how far I've come. Each chapter appears to get better so bear with me.
Another month came and went. Astrid turned eighteen, and she still had not told her old friends of her arranged marriage to Stefnir. Doing so would not change the truth, but her intended was pressuring her to be forthcoming for the wrong reasons. So, she continued to drag her heels about it.
"It's part of growing up, Astrid. Sometimes, you have to let go of old friends in the interest of making new ones and moving on with your life," Stefnir said; and Astrid found his tone condescending.
"Says the guy who's had the same friends since he was born," she scoffed.
"Why are you so determined to hang on to them? Do you really think you'll be as involved with that dragon academy nonsense once we're married? Once we have children?"
Stefnir seemed to expect, with the announcement of their engagement and the nuptials to follow, that Astrid would retreat further into his ideals of a decent wife. He spoke a lot about home-cooked meals, many children, and the nights they would share; not that any of these things were inherently unappealing. Astrid wanted them, but she felt she was fulfilling a duty, an obligation, rather than achieving these things of her own will. Stefnir would be a good husband. Hel, a great husband─for a younger, more impressionable bride. Instead, he got Astrid: someone that liked him as a person, but was indifferent to him as a lover. She did not want to play the version of the happy wedded couple he had in his mind, so she delayed things as much as she had the power to do so. She told him that she was not ready; she told their parents that she needed a bit more time; but she did not know much time would be enough.
She was not sure one could ever feel ready for that to be thrust upon them: choosing between the comfort and carelessness of yesteryear and the uncertain changes awaiting in the fog of maturity; but the alternative was to continue stringing everyone along through the thorny patch of misery laid out before them. She could not call off the marriage. No one could make her say the vows, but she would not bring disgrace upon her family, either. She had a duty; a responsibility. She would be seen as unreasonable to throw a fit about an engagement that was otherwise perfectly sensible. Arranged marriages were not a novel idea and the norm of the generations before; and she had no other attachments anyone knew about to warrant such resistance; but it was nothing she had ever expected for herself, back when she had only been concerned with dragons and an infatuation with the chief's lanky son.
"You've been so anxious lately. I'm beginning to think you don't want to marry me," Stefnir teased, thought his sharp eyes betrayed underlying concern.
Astrid glanced down at him, nose wrinkled, making him chuckle. She did not want him to doubt her. They were going to be married, and she did not want suspicions hanging over them as they joined their lives together; being wed was already heavy enough.
"Don't be ridiculous," she replied, running her fingers through his thick, long hair. He had many small braids, some of which she had wound there. "Of course I want to marry you. We'll be...very good together."
His helmet lay on the grass beside them as he rested with his head on her knee. His two closest friends were busy learning their families' trade: ship-building and carpentry, respectively. That left Stefnir and Astrid to spend time alone, without distraction. Astrid often felt such moments were a bit uncomfortable and forced, but such times of bonding necessary to convince herself she was deeply fond of the man she was to spend her life with.
As she watched her fingers glide through his sandy brown hair, mapping out each braid, she could not help but think of Hiccup's hair: that deep auburn that could look darker in shade, or brilliantly red when the light hit it just so. She preferred that color, for it reminded her of the festival season when the leaves changed.
"That's always how you talk about us," Stefnir criticized.
He sat up and her fingers were saddened by the loss of idle work. She had been enjoying herself, imagining she was stroking Hiccup's hair.
"It's always in terms of what a good pair we make─a formidable team. I don't think you've ever really spoken about us with any kind of...affection."
"What do you want me to say, Stef?" she asked. "Do you want a pet name? Or do you want me hanging on your arm all of the time? I think we both know that's not me, and you like that."
Stefnir frowned and touched her face. Astrid tensed, never feeling the urge to shove him away, but never feeling comfortable enough with such unexpected tenderness.
"Tell me that you do love me," he demanded. "Tell me you aren't secretly dreading this."
Dread was a strong word, but so was love.
"So, you plan on coercing me into being affectionate?" she asked with a smirk.
Stefnir sighed and gave the back of his neck a weary rub. He picked up his helmet and placed it on his head a bit forcefully. He winced.
"No, Astrid. I'm not trying to bully you, damn it. I hoped you'd say it of your free will, because you meant it."
"I-I do...I care about you. You know that," she remarked, and she was content it was a little honest, at least. She could not look him in the eyes, however.
He placed his fingertips beneath her chin and tilted her face toward him, forcing locked gazes that made her insides squirm. But they were to be married, and so she settled her stomach through sheer determination, like she always did. She told herself to enjoy it, to find something endearing in it. Stefnir studied her all the while, raking his eyes over her features with the intensity of a dragon stalking its next meal. The truth was his prey, hidden somewhere in the depths of her blue eyes. Her fingers curled in his tunic, tracing the lacings of his collar with a deliberate softness, trying to act the part.
Her moan was insincere against his lips when he kissed her. His hand was on the small of her back, pulling her closer. She did not resist him, and perhaps it did feel kind of nice─but she was not sure. He pulled back, satisfied; but she knew it was only until the next time they had the same tired argument.
"I love you," he said, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone as he cupped the side of her face.
She wanted to scream.
"I know that," was her feeble reply.
She glimpsed a Night Fury gliding high overhead, and her heart gave the tiniest flutter of excitement. Then, she noticed the disappointment on Stefnir's face over her weak response; and her conscience reminded her she was a horrible human being. There was no point in it, dragging Stefnir along as she entertained the faintest glimmer of hope that things might get better between her and Hiccup. Something had to give, and her arranged marriage was not going anywhere.
"I'll tell the others tomorrow─no, this time, I mean it," she resolved. "You'll have no more reason to doubt me."
He grinned, but she could not return it.
"I don't suppose I'm allowed to ask you how things are coming along in the dating arena?" Gobber asked.
He placed another finished saddle on the rack behind Hiccup.
"No. You're not," Hiccup answered, tooling leather in a beautiful knotwork pattern on the saddle in front of him.
When the orders piled up, it was often a joint project to fill them. He was the only person on the island who was as skilled and quick at leather-working as his mentor. Gobber was responsible for the base construction, according to the patron's specifications; and Hiccup provided the intricate finishing touches, be it decorations or additions of a more practical nature, such as mounts for weapons─essential to any design.
He was glad for the distraction, finding the smell of leather and soot from the forge comforting─until the older man had to open his mouth.
"Well, then here I am not asking you about dating," Gobber remarked with a sly grin.
"That's great, because here I am not telling you about it."
Gobber limped around until he was standing beside Hiccup, making himself difficult to ignore.
"You know, you might want to take it easy on me. Show me mercy. Your dad won't stop asking me because he knows you won't talk to him about anything," he said, leaning against Hiccup's workbench, weight on his remaining hand, currently bandaged from a fresh tattoo.
"And he thinks I talk to you?"
"Aye, that's what he believes."
Hiccup groaned. He slumped his shoulders and laid down his leather tooling instruments with an emphatic thud.
"Maybe about certain things, but my love life isn't one of them," he replied.
"Ahh, he's just concerned. You know how he gets: worried when you close yourself off. Worried that you're too distracted thinking about Ast-ehhh, other things─that you fail to tackle the problem right in front of you."
Hiccup narrowed his eyes. He heard the offending syllable that Gobber tried to gloss over.
"Oh. You mean problems like the ones he lays out right in front of me?" he asked, frowning.
He was getting tired of his father's constant nagging, blurted out at him before he could retreat from the house in the morning. The past few months had been filled with reminders that he needed more structured training in the ways of being chief. Hiccup kept brushing it off, however, not eager to spend his days shadowing his father. The added responsibility was just one more stress he did not need. Not to mention, he would lose his mind playing captive to all of his father's suggestions about dating.
He did not need the advice; he did not want the advice. What he did desire, he could not have; and he had come to terms with that. A new, pretty face would not change anything.
"You know that's not the way of it. You do need to learn how to be Chief Hiccup, and part of that means finding yourself a wife. I think Stoick would feel much better if you were at least looking for someone to fill that role."
"I don't see the urgency. I don't intend on becoming the chief anytime soon," Hiccup grumbled, returning to his work, hoping his renewed focus would discourage further conversation.
It was wishful thinking around a man like Gobber, with a penchant for talking that befitted his name.
"But you're eighteen, now," the older man stated.
"So are the others─or they're close enough to it─but I don't hear anyone criticizing their lack of wedded bliss."
"The war is over─"
"Right. So, marriage isn't something to rush into anymore for the purpose of consolidating resources and ensuring bloodlines persist."
"It's about appearances, Hiccup. You need to look like you're motivated."
"Well, you certainly have been talking to my dad," Hiccup droned.
"Oh, it's not so bad. You're being dramatic," Gobber replied. "You could probably choose any girl you'd like. Even if she wasn't happy about it, I cannot see the family refusing─"
"Mmn, yeah. Nothing like a little bit of my bitterness to build the foundation of a lasting relationship," Hiccup muttered under his breath, but Gobber continued on.
"You're the future chief, the village hero─"
"Please, stop."
"You have a Night Fury! You've got all the wealth and power that a young lady's family would love to─"
"Stop!" Hiccup interrupted, a little louder and with more force than he had intended. "To me, this isn't some deal to be haggled over."
Gobber sighed and gazed at him sympathetically, pushing back from the workbench. He smoothed his mustache with his one hand, thoughtful.
"What about Ruffnut?" he asked; and there was no teasing grin on his face, no mirthful twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Hiccup's mallet missed the leather stamp. He stared back at Gobber wide-eyed, before his lip curled at the thought. Not that he did not care about the female Thorston. As a friend. Only as a friend; and even then, their relationship was an odd one.
"Alright, alright," Gobber responded, throwing his hands up. "I just thought maybe you could make that work. At least you and Ruffnut are on good terms. That's half the battle isn't it?"
"Not exactly," Hiccup answered. "Besides, the only way that relationship works at all is I have a...and she─well, you get the point." He gestured vaguely below his waist.
Gobber chuckled and ruffled his hair. Hiccup set down his mallet to smooth it back out, though it always retained some degree of untidiness no matter what he did to it.
"Eh, I suppose you should take your time. It's a lot to consider. Funny you should have to start all over now, considering we all thought..."
Gobber trailed off, and when Hiccup glanced up, he noticed his mentor was staring out of the smithy window, mouth in a tight, thin line. Something told Hiccup he should not look. He knew what he would see, but his interest was piqued. He turned and was struck with a powerful surge of jealousy and anger. He tried to wrestle it down, telling himself there was no reason to care when Astrid hung on Stefnir's beefy arm as they strolled by. He told himself he never had strong enough feelings for her, so it did not hurt when she smiled up at her boyfriend with simpering eyes. It was not a crime, Hiccup had to remind himself, that Astrid had not fallen in love with him instead. He was being petty, he knew, when he had a passing fantasy of Stefnir struck down by lightning.
He may have had a lapse of emotional fortitude, but he had not reacted. Gobber was still eyeing him as if he was a dragon's egg, ready to explode open with expletives. Hiccup returned to work with a placid facade, though his hands shook as he held the leather stamp upright.
"I'm not sure why everyone was so convinced that Astrid and I would ever─damn it!"
Hiccup swung the mallet too hard and the stamp chewed a conspicuous divet in the leather. He dropped his tools and braced his irritable hands against the workbench, taking a deep, steadying breath. He closed his eyes and exhaled, willing his tense shoulders to relax.
Gobber patted him on the back and there was something infuriatingly knowing about the look the older man gave him.
"We'll just give the Eklunds a discount," Gobber said with even air, as if such blunders occurred every day.
Hiccup buried his face in his right hand, shaking his head.
"You can also cover for me tomorrow afternoon. I have to make a house call for a Zippleback with a pretty nasty overbite. Then we can call it even."
Hiccup raised his other hand in half hearted acknowledgment.
Such a nice summer day sank Hiccup's mood even lower as he paid his debt to Gobber in the stifling smithy. He spent as much time as he could lounging by the window between completing orders, catching a pleasant breeze every now and then. Gobber should not have taken the duration of the afternoon for his dragon dentistry trade, but Hiccup suspected his mentor's absence was intentional. The older Viking had, no doubt, shirked his duties as blacksmith in the interest of giving Hiccup time and space to clear his head. Effective strategy, sure enough. Hiccup poured his energy into projects, but he envied the Hooligans enjoying the gorgeous weather on their dragons, soaring through the sky. As cathartic as working could be, nothing soothed mental disquiet quite like flying.
Crisp blue gradually gave way to bands of vibrant orange and pink as the sun crept closer to the horizon. Dusk was drawing nearer and Hiccup would have missed his entire afternoon and a good chunk of the early evening. Toothless would be wound up when they made it home, fidgeting persistently until Hiccup's nerves grated too thin to deny the Night Fury any longer. Hiccup was exhausted physically, mentally...emotionally. The effort that went into determinedly not caring about much of anything was taxing to all aspects of his well-being. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, expecting Gobber to return any minute and free him from his punishment, but fate was never that kind to him.
"Hiccup!"
He would have wept with vexation if his spirits had the capacity to sink any lower. He braced himself for the inevitable drain on the last flickers of energy he could afford to spare.
He glanced up to see Astrid running towards him battle-axe in hand.
He eyed the weapon in her hand and prayed to the Allfather she had brought him a task he could sufficiently occupy himself with as she prattled on about Stefnir, as she likely would. That way he could block her out, chiming in with "mhmm," and "yeah," wherever appropriate to give the impression that he was listening.
"I need it sharpened," Astrid said, holding out her axe. She almost sounded apologetic.
"Again?" Hiccup mused, raising his eyebrows. "You must bring it in here at least every other week. Usually on the days that I'm here..."
"I know," Astrid sighed, "but the guys insist on a ridiculous amount of practice to keep their skills fresh. I just want the blade as sharp as possible, so I can keep up. A duller blade increases the effort and energy expenditure. You've always preached to me the merits of routine weapon maintenance."
"There's routine and then there's obsessive. I think you fall into the second category," he remarked.
Astrid smiled ruefully and replied, "My axe is lighter. It's not as durable and it wears down faster."
She had to be joking. He was well acquainted with her battle-axe, being her personal weaponsmith, much to his dismay. There was nothing flimsy about her weapon. He knew that for certain, having modified it before at her request. Hers held up better than most, especially since he worked on it.
"So, get a stronger axe?" he suggested.
She laughed, but it sounded forced, just like the majority of their communication. Her axe used to be her mother's, and Astrid was unusually sentimental about it. She swatted at him with her free hand and teased, "Got any Gronkle iron just lying around? I may take you up on that."
"Yeah. Not happening."
"Well, then what are you going to do about this?" she asked, nodding down at the axe in her hand.
He took it from her and examined the amount of wear and tear on the blade, which was next to none. She was wasting his time again for no other reason than she seemed to enjoy it. He was convinced of it, but did not have the slightest idea why she found their strained interactions entertaining.
His eyes and hands roamed over the axe in its entirety, just to be thorough. A part of him also hoped, if he stalled for a while, Gobber would return and he could pass the job along and flee on his dragon.
An awkward silence settled between him and Astrid, not that it was anything unusual. She rocked up onto her toes as she glanced around the shop she had visited dozens of times, pretending to be fascinated. Toothless always got a genuine smile out of her in a way that Hiccup no longer could, and she reached out to pet the dragon. Hiccup noticed she mostly kept her back to him as she poured affection on Toothless. She seemed more tense around Hiccup than usual, but he was not particularly interested in her troubles anymore.
He decided he could not reasonably hold off any longer and resigned himself to fulfilling her request.
"Don't worry. I will have this back to you in no time," he said breaking the silence, taking the axe over to the grindstone.
Astrid followed him. She always stood too close as he worked; not enough to endanger herself, but close enough to make his hair stand on end. He used to feel nervous, but he had become so familiar with the discomfort of her presence that he hardly noticed the way his body tensed without a thought.
He ignored her and turned the crank handle until the stone gathered the proper the utmost care, he sharpened the first blade against it.
He was keenly aware of the small steps Astrid was taking toward him. He had almost sliced his thumb off the very first time she had sneaked up behind him and buried her fingers in his hair while he worked the grindstone. That had been nearly two years ago, but he learned to anticipate the gentle tug on his scalp, so he did not flinch when she started twisting the first of two identical braids.
"You normally leave them in," Astrid commented just above a whisper. She was being slower than usual and Hiccup was frustrated with the lack of purpose to her movements. "I guess it's my lucky day."
He shrugged and flipped the axe over without a reply, for he was far too annoyed to say anything civil. He turned the crank again before sharpening the other side, and Astrid worked on the second braid at the same time. It was odd that her fingers moved despondently through his hair, but odder still was the way she held the end of the braid between her fingers just a little too long. Her hands had been known to linger more than they should, but she remained frozen while he finished her axe. The prolonged contact that was atypical for even her particular brand of torment. He could not see her face; he did not dare glance back with a lethal weapon pressed against a spinning grindstone; but he could feel the trembling of her fingers along his hair.
There was a small part of him that felt a twinge of concern laced with an unhealthy curiosity that would be best for him to ignore. He did not want to ask, because he could not let Astrid get to him. But she was hurting then; and it roused something in him; something honorable that compelled him to want to be the shoulder she needed, even if it would never be reciprocated. He bit it back, teetering on a knife's edge of indifference.
He was finished with the battle-axe, realizing he had been holding it in his lap while the grindstone continued to spin as it slowed.
"It's finished," Hiccup announced. He straightened up and Astrid released him; but she still had the fretful look in her eyes that made him uneasy.
Something was building; something significant that he could not name, hovering thickly in the air between them. He could feel it coming: the impending blow after months of being worn away by the ebb and flow of Astrid's peculiar affection for him. Only one thing Hiccup could think of-was catastrophic enough to warrant such heaviness.
He knew what she wanted to say before the words left her mouth.
"Stefnir and I are entering a marriage contract next month," she said, not nearly as delighted as he expected her to be. "I...Well, I just thought you should know."
Hiccup's heart ceased to beat for what felt like an eternity. His grip tightened on her battle-axe and he felt a lump rising in his throat as he fought the urge to scream, swear, throw something; all seemed equally appealing. Her announcement was rather abrupt, and she was gazing at him unwavering, searching him for some kind, any kind of reaction.
But what could he say? He had no solid ground on which to protest the matter.
If there was one thing that could shatter all pretense of his indifference, it was marriage. Specifically, Astrid's marriage. To anyone else. While she simply had a boyfriend, Hiccup could deal with it, stoking the small flame of hope he denied existed. Even though Astrid had never shown any evidence that she planned to leave Stefnir, there was something less threatening about the word "boyfriend" when compared to"husband". Marriage seemed more permanent, and more insurmountable for their tepid relationship.
He thrust the axe back into her arms. With the greatest effort he managed an insincere smile and a simple, "Congratulations."
Astrid's expression hardened.
"Yeah? You're actually happy for me?" she asked, measuring each word.
"Of course!" Hiccup replied. "Why wouldn't I be happy for you? That's...that's exciting."
Astrid's brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly thought better of it. She closed it again, examining her axe instead.
"How much do I owe you?" She asked so quietly, Hiccup had to lean in to hear her.
"Nothing. My gift to you for the, uh, whole marriage…thing."
"Thanks, Hiccup," she said in a reserved tone.
Hiccup did not understand it. She appeared disheartened at the thought of marrying her paragon of Norseness.
No.
He was not going to let himself go down that path. He did not pretend to understand Astrid Hofferson's motivations, nor her feelings. He was not going to let himself get sucked back in, to care. Her feelings, good or bad, were not his concern anymore. They no longer confided in each other. Those days of mutual vulnerability were long gone. Astrid was Stefnir Svenson's problem. Hiccup just wanted her gone as soon as he could persuade her to leave.
"Have a good day, Astrid," he said, still wearing a dishonest grin. "And I mean it, really. Congratulations."
Without another word he turned his back to her and pretended to busy himself with another project until she was well out of sight. She left quickly, much to his relief. When, and only when, he was sure she was gone, did he let out a suffering groan. He dropped to his knees, feeling like all the air had been stolen from his lungs; stolen from the whole world.
Odin Allfather, how he had tried, for two long years. He had been winning, too. Maybe, in another month or so, he could have started looking at other girls the way he used to look at Astrid.
On second thought, that was laughable.
The pain from their estrangement had never vanished, but like the dull aches where his flesh met his prosthetic leg, he had learned to live with it. Deal with it. Manage it. Then, out of nowhere, Astrid delivered a mortal blow like a lightning bolt from Thor, himself.
Hiccup's mind was reeling with a myriad of questions.
What right did she have to toy with him over and over again, whenever she needed amusement? Would her marriage make things better between them, finally severing the ties that kept them bound in misery? Or would she always kick him while he was down because she enjoyed his emotional struggles?
Suddenly, it was much too hot, and much too difficult to breathe. Hiccup gathered himself up from the ground and tore off his smithy's apron like it was on fire. He knew he was under orders from Gobber to watch the shop in his absence, but he did not care. Berk would not fall to ruin because the forge closed for one evening. Hiccup, however, he might die if he did not escape. He shut down the shop in record time.
He needed to be away from Berk. Away from everyone. Away from her.
He turned to Toothless. Unlike people, his dragon did not disappoint him. In an instant the Night Fury was by his side without having to be called.
Hiccup climbed into the saddle and locked his prosthetic foot into the tail fin mechanism.
"I need you to get me out of here, Toothless," he told the dragon, patting his thick, scaly neck. "As fast and as far as you can, bud."
Toothless did not know the circumstances, but he was clever enough to sense the urgency. He let out a small growl of acknowledgement as he bounded from the forge and stretched out his wings.
Astrid paced alone in her room, wringing her hands as she worked up the nerve to fulfill her promise to Stefnir. She had to tell Hiccup and the other teens about her engagement, but did not know how to find the right words when things were no longer as easygoing as they had once been. Several times, she almost talked herself out of it but there was only so long she could procrastinate.
She debated telling Fishlegs first, gauging his reaction and moving on from there. The Twins would be next, followed by Snotlout, whose reaction would be imbecilic, no doubt. Last, of course, would be Hiccup. Maybe by the time she spoke to him, she would be numb to any shock and indignation he might display.
She shook her head and gave herself a gut check; she was being juvenile.
Cowardice would not help matters. She knew it would be best to tell Hiccup before anyone else, lest he hear it from another source; get the most painful encounter over with, instead of walking around in nervous anticipation of it.
She cracked her neck and shook her limbs and fingers loose, working out her jitters. She was stronger than the silly girl in fear of an old, inconsequential flame. Hiccup was no more terrifying than any other obstacle she had ever faced. In fact, with his aloof demeanor, she had no reason to be nervous at all. He would likely take the news in stride with calm disinterest.
Yes, he had to be the first person she told and it she had no reason to expect it would be difficult. Then, she silenced the voice still telling her she would rather fight a Skrill than tell Hiccup, because then it was real. Final.
After two years, Astrid could not recall at what point he had turned indifferent towards her. She really needed to adopt the practice. Hiccup did not seem to care anymore, so any caring on her part was wasted effort. But, just when she was on the verge of letting him go, concentrating on Stefnir instead, he would catch her eye around Berk, or across the Great Hall during meals when she was unprepared. He would always look away with a suddenness that tormented her.
Her heart fluttered at the thought he could have feelings for her still, but then reality cut back in. Whatever feelings he did or did not have would not make any difference. Neither one of them could undo the mess they were tangled in. Astrid could refuse to say the vows, or divorce Stefnir shortly after they were wed; and bring undue disgrace on her family by the baseless dissolution of a marriage that was legitimate and had not yet had the chance to thrive.
She could not do it; it simply was not in her. Her family name and pride were everything.
Seizing her axe, she bolted out of her house. She made a beeline for the smithy and hoped he was there, knowing she had to tell Hiccup while she still had the courage to do so.
To her relief and distress, she found him filling in for Gobber and looking miserable about it. He glanced up as he saw her coming, the expression on his face was unreadable. He was such a stranger to her.
She attempted to make small talk, giving him some feeble excuse that her axe was dull and needed sharpening, again. It was a lie, of course, and she knew upon examining the blade that he would know it too. But he did not press the issue. Hiccup never invited more conversation between them than he felt was necessary.
As he inspected her axe, realizing she was being foolish, her eyes scanned the rest of the shop. She fidgeted anxiously, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Toothless always seemed pleased to see her and he flashed her his trademark gummy grin. She strode over to pet the dragon, facing away from his rider. She could not look at Hiccup while she built up the resolve to tell him of her engagement. There was something about him that was so disarming.
"Don't worry. I will have this back to you in no time," he said, breaking the awkward silence between them.
She followed as he approached the grindstone, tearing herself away from his dragon. Hiccup turned the handle with the confidence of a skilled craftsman well-versed in weapon upkeep. His skill around the forge and all its parts never ceased to fascinate her. She watched with interest as he sharpened her axe, tiny sparks scattering from the wearing of metal against stone. He was not facing her, and that was best. She was not sure she would have been able to reach out and touch him otherwise. He did not jump or stiffen as she wove strands of his auburn hair into tiny plaits.
"You normally leave them in," Astrid commented softly. Her fingers were slow as she enjoyed the last opportunity she would have to put her hands on him with any sort of affection. "I guess it's my lucky day."
Hiccup did not respond. He just continued to work despite the absurdity of her.
Astrid's heart was heavy as she played with his hair. In essence, she would be telling Hiccup goodbye, slicing through whatever still existed between them with the sharp knife of matrimony. She already felt an overwhelming sense of loss, for their friendship and for what might have become of them if her arranged marriage was not so binding.
She paused after the second braid, toying with it. Her heart would ache as soon as she released him, for that would be the beginning of the end of them. She began to shake, made anxious again by the enormity of removing Hiccup from her life. Tense, though their relationship was, there was an ardent need to be close to him. That was why she braided his hair and sought him out. Hers was a craving of the soul that nothing, and no one else could satisfy.
"It's finished," Hiccup announced.
He straightened up so suddenly his hair slipped between her fingers, and Astrid felt like a dry sob would not have been inappropriate, though she swallowed it.
He turned and they stared at each other. Astrid felt her heart race from the way those green eyes considered her with an echo of apprehension. She had to blurt out something, or she would stay rooted to the spot in an eternal limbo, unable to completely hold them together, and not nearly strong enough to forever break them apart.
"Stefnir and I are entering a marriage contract next month," she said, and she could not muster the joy in her voice. "I...Well, I just thought you should know."
She did not know what she had expected his reaction to be, and half of her anxiety was related to that uncertainty. Indignation and outrage was just as scathing as complete indifference, coming from Hiccup. She was prepared for either; but she was not prepared, for him to completely embrace the idea.
He shoved her axe back in her arms with excitement. He was grinning, and his eyes were alight with an enthusiasm she had not seen for two years. "Congratulations," he said, and it hurt.
She struggled to breathe, narrowing her eyes.
"Yeah? You're actually happy for me?" she asked, not wanting to believe that after all of his standoffish behavior, he would come alive at the thought of her marrying another man.
"Of course!" Hiccup replied, injecting more enthusiasm into his voice to sound more honest. "Why wouldn't I be happy for you? That's...that's exciting."
Astrid was bewildered, brow knitted as she considered his drastic mood swing. She tried to detect something else hidden there, deep beneath the surface, but all she saw was a genuine happiness for her. She had dreaded throwing up one last barrier between them, but Hiccup seemed pleased. In all honesty, it was worse than anger or indifference; it was the final confirmation he did not care, and probably never did; not to the extent she had once thought.
His question had likely been rhetorical, but she opened her mouth to say a number of things: how he loved her somewhere deep down in that frozen heart of his, that it should be him not Stefnir, and that the whole damn situation was unfair; but she held her tongue and said nothing. In that moment, she realized something: they were not Astrid and Hiccup, the two youths who tamed dragons together, defended Berk by day, and stole kisses in quiet moments alone. He was the chief's son and she was another village girl. That was all they were to each other anymore.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, feeling a sharp ache in her chest that seemed to burrow into her whole being.
"Nothing. My gift to you for the, uh, whole marriage…thing."
"Thanks, Hiccup," she said softly, unable to look at that kind, delighted face.
"Have a good day, Astrid; and I mean it, really. Congratulations."
He turned away to some project in as clear a dismissal of her as he ever gave, unaware that Astrid's mind was a deafening tempest of sadness and fury. Her chest heaved and her fingers tightened around the handle of her battle-axe, hoping the weapon would leech away some of her despair. Hiccup was not at fault. She knew that. Her resentment was irrational. She knew that too. Hiccup had only been supportive, which was something she had wanted from him for months, just not under the current circumstances. She was selfish to want his affection on her terms, but it filled her with a clawing bitterness that she could only receive it over a marriage she did not want.
She turned on her heel and ran, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Hiccup's unintentional cruelty. She rushed to the stables, to Stormfly, ignoring every wave or call that chased her from a friend or acquaintance.
Her Deadly Nadder perked up as she hurried down the stairs, nearly knocking Fishelgs off his feet. He flattened himself against the wall as much as he could with a startled gasp, and she did not utter so much as an apology. She was not feeling particularly compassionate. She stormed into her dragon's stall, and though her Nadder was used to seeing her upset, Astrid had never flown her while so inconsolable.
Astrid paced for a moment, threading her fingers through her blonde hair, unconcerned with whether she pulled it loose from her neat braid or not. Making up her mind, she pulled her saddle from the wall.
The dragon eyed her warily.
"It's okay, girl," Astrid said, her voice cracking from tears she would not shed. "We're going on a little trip. Just for a few hours. I just need to get away from Berk for a while. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
Stormfly considered Astrid for a moment before she determined her human needed an escape, in that uncanny way dragons just seemed to know things.
