"So, you told him?" Stefnir asked, studying Astrid over folded hands.
She frowned at him, a bite of porridge hovering at her lips. As she straightened up, she returned the spoonful to her bowl with a clatter.
"Yes, I told him." She kept her eyes on her future husband, finding it only slightly less painful that shifting her gaze to the tall, slim figure a couple of tables away. "Why does he matter to you, specifically?"
Stefnir rubbed his chin, casting a conspicuous glance over her shoulder, in Hiccup's direction. Astrid's skin prickled to think Hiccup could be staring back at them; deep, green eyes could be roaming over her with the same torturous gentleness of warm blacksmith's hands: a caress that had been haunting her from the moment she had left the Dragon Island. She had not slept very well, tossing and turning and wrestling with the urge to leave the comfort of her bed for another's.
She wrestled with titillating memories, only hours old: touch, and leather, and tongue. As Stefnir glanced back at her, she stuffed her spoon in her mouth to wipe away the daydream that might hang on her face.
"I don't like the way he looks at you," Stefnir said.
Astrid gaped at him, spoon wobbling between her lips. Her appetite evaporated. She returned her spoon to her bowl and pushed both away. Her eyes narrowed. "How does he look at me?"
"Like you owe him something."
She scoffed. "I don't owe him anything."
"That's right, you don't." Stefnir reached across the table for her, his fingertips brushing over her knuckles. She curled her hand into a tight fist and withdrew it. He recoiled. "Astrid, what's—?"
"I have to meet my mother," she blurted out, springing to her feet. "Wedding stuff," she added in the same breath.
Stefnir leaned back, considering her with a small nod. His expression was searching in a way that made her tense, so she flashed him a loving smile that was as empty as her stomach.
She laid her hands against the table top, bending far over to place a kiss on his lips, trying to inject some warmth into it in spite of her trembling fingers and the nauseous roll of her stomach. His mouth was the only one she had known for two years, memorizing its taste, its texture, and its width; but there was an internal protestation: a shriek of wrongness to the kiss that she could not ignore.
"Mmn," Stefnir hummed, smirking as she pulled back.
Astrid tried to reciprocate; she was confident she only looked pained. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears and said, "I'll meet up with you later."
He appeared satisfied; and she made a quick escape, striding toward the doors as fast as she could without appearing to flee. She was not a routine liar, so she decided to head for home for some small sliver of honesty. Still, listening to her mother fuss over wedding details was not a particularly interesting use of her time, but it was less of a hassle than later feeding Stefnir another excuse why she never did spend the afternoon doing as she said she would.
She pried open one of the ornate doors, glancing back over her shoulder, not the least bit surprised to see Stefnir watching her leave. His gaze always followed her, and it felt like a short tether some days. She had come to suspect his scrutiny; but a warm, vibrant green flashed in her direction from two tables over. The moment was over in an instant. Hiccup was engaged in deep conversation with Fishlegs, laughing like she had not seen him do for quite some time. But she was sure those eyes had rested on her, for even a fraction of a second.
Her heart stumbled for a beat and she whipped around to drive the wedge between the sagacious and reckless halves of herself, both easily tempted. Those two warring bits of conscience were melding dangerously in the Great Hall, filling her head with terrible thoughts of sliding into Hiccup's lap while her Stefnir watched with burning jealousy. Her hands roaming over Hiccup's clothes, stroking the lissome muscle underneath, would undoubtedly incite Stefnir to violence. No absolution could be found while flaunting infidelity, nor would it free her from her arranged marriage. If anything, Stefnir would only tighten his grip, lash out at Hiccup, and it would be disastrous for everyone.
She hurried down the stone steps, trying to bury everything for a time. She had to focus on acting thrilled at the prospect of marriage; of being the giddy bride people would expect her to be. She would tell her mother they should officially announce the engagement to the village, then start planning the whole thing like the anticipation had her fit to burst.
That would not be completely false; she was fit to burst—with misery.
The dreary morning clouds reflected her mood with their stark grey shades, heavy like her mind. She sighed up at them in confession of everything, wishing she could pour out her soul like the impending deluge. Thunder rolled like was admonishing for all of her misdeeds. At the first cool raindrops, her pace quickened. She jogged home, taking a steadying breath as she stepped inside.
Her mother smiled, glancing up from her sewing. Rich blue material draped across her lap in sumptuous waves. Undoubtedly expensive, even for their family, Astrid had an inkling it was meant for her.
"This is nice," she said, rubbing the delicate fabric between her fingers, appreciating the fine threads and their vibrancy. The quality was reminiscent of Haddock family clothing—they had the best of everything. "Where'd it come from?"
"It was a gift from the Svensons, for you. For the wedding. They told me you and Stefnir were ready to move things along, and I wanted to get an early start on your gown. Best not to rush it," her mother answered, smoothing out the luxurious fibers almost covetously. "So generous of them..."
"Yeah, no kidding. I'm surprised Fura didn't keep it for herself. She usually takes a bit of her husband's best wares before the rest of us can glimpse them," Astrid muttered, sauntering into the kitchen space. She rummaged around in baskets for something to soothe her rumbling stomach, settling on an apple.
"She probably just thought you would look better in it, dear. I happen to agree."
"Mm. Better to display me in, you mean." Astrid leaned back against the dinner table, watching her mother stitch tiny beads along the silk trim. "Can't have anything 'Svenson' that's less than perfectly polished, right?"
"That's a very cynical attitude to have about your in-laws. They are to be family, Astrid."
"All the more right I have to complain."
Her mother's arms fell to her lap. He brow was a heavy, humorless line. "I thought things were going well between you and Stefnir. Don't tell me you'vee done something to chase him off like you used to threaten to do?"
Astrid snorted, taking a bite of her apple. She swallowed and answered, "I couldn't shake him if I tried. When he wants something, he's beastly about it. No, I've got a firm hold on him, mom. You needn't worry about that. I've done my part, as promised."
"Oh, don't act like it's the end of your life. Without arranged marriages, you never would've come into this world. Good things can come of such...unions."
"Like wealth. Pretty things?" Astrid shook a corner of the blue fabric for emphasis. She took another bite of her apple.
"And love...if you'd stop being so damn obstinate!" Her mother chided. Astrid rolled her eyes and paced the room. He mother continued, "Stefnir cares fer you, but you're so determined to sulk behind these closed doors. In marriage, you can be happy, or you can be unhappy. It's your choice; but either way, this wedding will happen. The agreement has long been set. You know that. It's a smart match. Both our clans will only prosper. Isn't that worth something to you?"
"Of course, it's worth something! I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Astrid snapped. She threw her arm out in the general direction of the Great Hall. "I've got them all convinced! I think I've done a damn good job."
Her mother nodded, pulling her needle through the precious material. "You have. You'll be set fer life. There's nothing a parent wants more than to ensure their children are taken care of."
Astrid stared at the floor, clenching her teeth. The rain pelted the house in a steady rhythm, muffling the thoughts she worried her mother might hear otherwise. She was urious and resentful, wanting to screech her displeasure at the top of her lungs until someone truly heard her. Every attempt to protest her marriage had hit the same wall. She suddenly hated that beautiful fabric her mother sewed as if it were a banner of her entrapment; as if it were the thing keeping her parents staunchly against her freedom.
"What if there was another clan out there more suitable than the Svensons?" she asked, turning her apple slowly in her hand. She brought it to her mouth, studying her mother carefully as her teeth sank through the skin.
Her mother scoffed, shaking her head. She did not look up as she secured beads with fastidious little jerks of her needle. "Oh? Which clan did you have in mind? The Jorgensons? As I recall, Snotlout repulses you now. You should be thanking us for sparing you, in that case. Spitelout came 'round asking about you and Snotlout years ago."
Astrid suppressed the ill shiver as the thought of having Snotlout as her intended. She inhaled sharply, not daring to meet her mother's gaze as she mumbled, "If it's security you want for me, I mean…there's the Haddocks…"
She glanced up, holding her breath, only to lock eyes with her mother's piercing scrutiny.
"I thought we nipped that in the bud, dear." The endearment was meant to cut the acidity of her tone, but accusation still dripped from every syllable.
Astrid felt her face burn, there was no way to play it off casually, but that would not stop her. from trying "I'm—yes. I didn't mean anything by it, I was just saying the chief might—"
Her mother flipped her hair back with a toss of her head in a manner Astrid knew all too well: it was, apparently, one of those inheritable traits. "The chief will not dissolve a standing, binding contract between families," she explained. "Stoick will not get involved just because you are uncomfortable with the idea of marriage, unless the Svensons feel wronged somehow, or they cross us—neither which I foresee happening."
"Fine. What about divorce?"
"Astrid!" Her mother's eyes widened and her nostrils flared. The muscles in her neck tightened at the very hint of scandal.
"It's the best situation!" Astrid held up her hands, placating. "I can marry Stefnir and, that way, no one's word is broken. Then, if I go on to marry Hiccup—"
"You wouldn't." There was such a finality in her mother's tone that Astrid was taken back, lips parting in silent bewilderment. "His first marriage must be to a maiden to ensure the legitimacy of an heir. He can't have someone that's been touched by another man—especially not right after you divorced Stefnir, for the sake of the gods, child! You will marry Stefnir, and Hiccup will marry someone outside of Berk. It will be a political marriage, most like, just as his father before him, and so on."
Astrid's chest heaved at the very thought of Hiccup pledging his devotion to another woman. He would be kind to her, of course, compelled to make her feel welcome among his people. His warmth would undoubtedly earn her affections in a short time; and the mental image of him wrapped around a different set of curves was enough to make Astrid's stomach churn with revulsion. She had a seething hatred for this person—nameless, faceless, and just an idea that would someday be realized.
"But suppose he didn't love—?"
"Love isn't a necessity, but stability is fundamental. If you happen to fall in love along the way, then you're one of the lucky ones." Her mother went back to her sewing, sharp eyes flickering up for just a moment. "I am surprised you wish to fixate on such things."
"I don't. I…it was just speculating." Astrid took a seat at the table, swiveling on the bench to face her mother. "I guess we can make the engagement official tonight at dinner—announce it, I mean."
"Think you're ready for that?" her mother wondered, but it was not as much a genuine question as a demand—a call to get her mind right on the issue.
Astrid brought her elbows to her thighs, bending in the defeat, burying her face in one hand. Her nails dug into the apple's skin in the other.
"Do I really have a choice?" she mumbled.
"Of course you do, but you might as well make the right one. It will make this whole experience less painful."
Astrid laughed, hollow and beaten down. "Somehow, mom, I don't think that's possible."
"Then at least distract yourself. You'll need a headdress fer the wedding. Start thinking about the flowers you want in it."
"Because that's what really matters…" Astrid closed her eyes and raked fingers through her bangs, exhaling every last particle of hope she had left.
Her mother stated, "Well, until you say those vows, it had better be."
Hiccup ducked as a hammer was swung haphazardly at his head. Years of dodging irritated blows from his mentor had made him plenty agile. Gobber sneered, hobbling back to his anvil to shape malleable iron glowing a fiery orange.
"I should take you head off for abandoning the forge!" he snapped, pounding away at the heated metal. His false tooth was jutted out of his bottom lip in annoyance. He gripped his pair tongs, sparks flying as if they were manifestations of his ire. It used to be intimidating, back when Hiccup was only ten and first sent to study blacksmithing with the colossal man. " He flourished his hammer-prosthesis. "Do we need to review the basics again?"
"Well, if you insist on the refresher. I'm good, though," Hiccup teased, removing his apron from the wall.
Gobber's face fell, glaring at him from under bushy eyebrows. "You can be such a shit, do you know that?"
Hiccup gave a small shrug, tying his apron behind his back with nimble fingers. "A matter of opinion."
"A matter of fact!"Gobber retorted. "Now get on that crucible. I need two dozen studs."
"I completed all of the orders you had set for me to finish yesterday. Really, I make your job substantially easier." Hiccup slipped another set of tongs from the wall.
"Oh, aye—but you make my headaches substantially worse."
Hiccup divided up the appropriate amount of ore to be placed in the crucible. "Eh, you take the good with the bad, right?"
The older Viking grunted, returning to his work. The sound of his hammer tempering the hot ore rang through in the shop, overpowering the howling wind and incessant rainfall. Close bolts of lightning flashed out on the sea, and cracks of thunder reverberated through the ground—but inclement weather was not a sufficient excuse for shirking work for the day. Hiccup secured the crucible with his long and heavy tongs, moving it into the forge and compressing the bellows to rouse the flames into a frenzy.
"Where did you run off to, anyway?" Gobber asked between strikes of his hammer and rolls of thunder.
"Why does it matter?" Hiccup replied, bristling at the rather honest question. Images assaulted him of black sand and soft hair, luminous in silver moonbeams.
"I think I deserve to know what's more pressing than my smithy!"
Hiccup wished the roaring fire was solely to blame for fine sheen of perspiration breaking out along his upper lip and hairline. If he closed his eyes and reflected on things, he could still recall the weight of Astrid in his lap, feel the tantalizing pressure of her hips grinding against his. "I went to Dragon Island."
Gobber was paused. "Why would you—?"
"Never mind why!" Hiccup's ears were burning and he hoped the light of the forge masked it.
He could not admit he had fled the village to brood over unrequited love. Gobber would undoubtedly think him pathetic for it. A Viking would not admit to such things. His mentor would only care to hear the more ribald details: the dance of tongues and passionate rubbing, especially if any awkward and uncomfortable feelings arose in the process. Acceptable details included eager groping and inconvenient erections, bawdy things worth laughing about.
That was, of course, disregarding the fact that what happened on Dragon Island should never have occurred in the first place. In all actuality, Gobber would have a wealth of criticism and advice Hiccup had no need for. Astrid's lips had been a remedy, a cure for the anguish coursing through him like a poison, killing him with an inescapable despondency. She brought him back from that pit and obliterated all of his self-control. His initial reluctance to kiss her had been the dying breath of his common sense. Then everything had been desire without thought, touching on instinct. That long-suppressed need for her had driven the conservative exploration of her body, and every movement of his lips against hers.
He did not know what was to become of them. Practicality had returned and their affections had come to a jarring stop. They had parted suddenly and without resolution. Astrid had not spoken to him since, but he a fundamental change. The current of their strained relationship had shifted, though Hiccup could not imagine where they would wash up. There was only one thing of which he was truly certain: no one else could know. The fallout would be catastrophic for the both of them; a firestorm of consequence and shame, reputations irreparably tarnished. Hiccup cared less about such things for himself. He was no stranger to rebuke and scorn, even if it had been a while since he deserved any; but Astrid was a different kind of soul entirely, with an insatiable drive to please those that counted, along with her severe perfectionism. He did not wish to throw her into scandal, least of all before they were anything scandalous to be flustered about.
"You can't be running off whenever you feel like it!" Gobber scolded, plunging the blazing iron into a bucket of water. It hissed in a way that matched the older man's scowl, as if everything in the forge was a reflection of his mood. "The Selection is around the corner, and we'll be drowning in orders for the kiddie saddles."
"I know that," Hiccup replied.
How could he not? He had been present at every Selection since its inception—granted, there had only been two of them, but it mattered. He would attend even if his father did not insist on it. He almost had to, in case any of the ten-year-olds needed guidance. Any members of the academy could do the job, but he did not think it egotistical to say, when it came to forging lasting bonds with dragons, he was the expert.
He compressed the bellows again, the ore melting to the proper consistency.
"You'll be attending the ceremony with your father, no doubt." Gobber removed his work piece from the water and limped over to the forge. "Which'll leave me on my own here for a couple of days, so don't think I won't run you ragged before then." He returned the metal to the flames.
Hiccup's lips twitched into a sardonic half-smirk.
"Please do. I'd rather be in here than out among everyone else. If it's not talk about the Selection, it's talk of upcoming marriage season." He grasped the end of his tongs, walking the crucible to the workbench where the molds were set, taking deliberate steps.
"Ach, don't I know it? I've heard whispers this morning that one's to be set for the end of the month, already. A little early, if you ask me. Who would be that eager to—?"
There was a moment's hesitation, where Hiccup could not seem to form the words. Then he interjected, "Stefnir and Astrid."
Such a palpable uneasiness settled in the air that he did not need to look at Gobber to feel it. Hiccup could hear the older Viking clear his throat; and there was a rattling of metal in the forge as the man shifted his tongs around idly.
Hiccup could imagine the pitying glance as Gobber replied, "Oh. I, eh…I see."
But Hiccup could not care less than the older man saw him as a wounded animal. There would be time to lament the wedding. All of it was still a distant glimmer, drawing ever closer; though it was still too far off to truly appreciate its scope. Black clouds of a new storm billowed on the horizon while Hiccup was determined to enjoy the temporary rays of sunlight. He and Astrid were going to have to face it—what they were, what they could never be, and what they had so foolishly done. But, he would not take for granted that she wanted him. Briefly, she could have him. She was his until Stefnir was her husband; and until Hiccup could process the futility of a relationship with Astrid, he would enjoy curling up with her in the hole they dug for themselves. For so long, he had ached for her. False apathy was an insidious form of self-destruction, and propriety was not enough to dissuade him from trying to put some pieces of himself back into place. He was so thankful that, for a moment, he was no longer hurting. Not like he used to, and not anything like he eventually would experience.
So, as he poured liquid iron into molds, it was not quite as insincere as it once was when he said, "Good for them."
Astrid felt uncomfortable in her own skin, hanging on Stefnir's arm and smiling amid all of the claps and back-slapping. She looked so thrilled at the announcement of their engagement, but it was not her. She had been rehearsing. Always rehearsing. The moment was something akin to an out-of-body experience. She played a character: the girl she had tried to believe she was for the past two years. She had been so convincing to everyone else that she had almost bought into the lie.
Dragon Island had awoken her from her trance. The little moments stolen with Hiccup leading up to it, though he had never reciprocated, had kept her somewhat in touch with her real self. She had not given into the illusion completely because Hiccup was her anchor to reality, as harsh as the truth of "them" had been, and was.
She wondered how long she would last in marriage. How long would she maintain her spirit before she was crushed under the farce; before she gave up and stopped fighting altogether; before all the passion in her fizzled out?
She gladly accepted a congratulatory tankard of ale when it was offered. As the drink sloshed over her tongue, it was the only thing about the entire scene that felt normal. Stefnir kept pulling her close, kissing her head, and she had to will herself not to tense up.
Stefnir quickly led her elsewhere. She was no longer an integral part of the academy's social circle and so he wanted her to pour more energy into his friends and the loose bonds she had with them. Lying was easier when she was not emotionally invested. It was a great deal harder to act pleased when Stefnir finally paraded her in front of the chief. She felt transparent under the examination of Stoick the Vast. She wondered if Hiccup often felt the same; and she flashed her chief a genial smile before drowning it in her mug of ale.
"Congratulations, to the both of you," Stoick said, and it was such a genuine air that Astrid's guilt intensified about tenfold.
She wanted to blurt out apology, seek forgiveness for the undue pain she had caused his son. She wanted to beg for him to dissolve the arrangement between her clan and the Svensons; but Stoick was lawful and fair. He would not do such a thing unless it was warranted by more than personal bias alone. Her mother had made that clear enough.
"I hope it's not asking too much to do it so soon after the Selection," Stefnir said.
"To go from the Selection to a wedding between two prominent clans means prolonged festivities and high spirits for our people. I wouldn't say I'm too displeased," Stoick replied. "We do need to discuss the building of your new home, however. I suggest you speak with Thorston when you have the chance."
"I'll get right on that."
The two men began discussing matters in which Astrid had little interest: talk of construction and the Svenson family merchant trade. As Stefnir droned on, she scanned the Great Hall for the only person she wanted to see.
Hiccup had been absent from the chattering throngs of well-wishers surrounding her, but she spotted him among the other academy members in the back of the hall, reemerging from wherever he hid when she and Stefnir had come around their table. She expected him to keep his back turned, speaking to the twins about whatever they found pressing. When he glanced over his shoulder, their eyes met with disarming suddenness.
Heat surged through her and her stomach fluttered. She felt an urgency to flee her future husband for the evening; to escape the crowded Great Hall for somewhere quieter, somewhere intimate. Sneaking off would be worth it just to be alone with her thoughts, but she fully intended to have company.
With the tiniest jerk of her head toward the doors, she hoped Hiccup got the message.
"I think I'm going to take Stormfly out," Astrid said, gazing up at Stefnir with as much innocence as she could muster.
Stefnir stopped mid-sentence, quirking an eyebrow as he turned from the chief to consider her. "This late? In the middle of all this?" he gestured around at the rest of the room, still buzzing with anticipation of their impending nuptials.
"It's been storming all day. She's been cooped up in the stables. I think she needs to stretch her wings."
Stefnir did not look convinced. "We should both stay here," he insisted, "for everyone."
"Getting married doesn't mean my dragon comes second." She shrugged off his arm.
"Ah, let her go," Stoick interjected, and Astrid could have hugged him. "This isn't the end of the celebration."
Stefnir glanced between the chief and Astrid, and she could see him struggling for a suitable rebuttal. He leaned in to kiss her when he fell short, and she quickly raised her mug, tipping back the last drops of her ale. He settled for her cheek, frowning.
"I pray, my love, do not weep for me," she told him, gently grasping his chin between her thumb and index finger. Stoick chuckled softly but Stefnir only furrowed his brow, missing the poetic reference. She had forgotten her intended was not the most well-read man on Berk.
She smiled then turned on her heel, weaving through the sea of Vikings toward the doors. She cast a sidelong glance toward the other academy members, face falling when she saw Hiccup standing there, still talking with the Twins, flanked by his dragon. Perhaps he had not picked up on her little cue? She felt a welling disappointment, but Stormfly was plenty worth the escape.
She set her empty mug on a table as she fled the Great Hall, finding comfort in the silence of the village. There was no clanging metal from the forge, and only the cry of Terrible Terrors disrupted the still and quiet of Berk at night. The lingering smell of rain permeated everything, and puddles reflected the stars above, almost to suggest the ground had opened up to reveal another expanse of sky beneath her. No one would bother her as she jogged toward the stables, mud squelching underfoot, for nearly everyone was drinking themselves into an evening stupor.
The stifling heat of hundreds of dragons nestled in their stalls was strangely welcoming. Though the air was thick and humid with their collective body heat, Astrid could breathe much easier than she had in the past couple of hours. A few dragons growled she passed, and it might have been intimidating to any non-Hooligans. Astrid simply ran her hand over their various snouts, earning appreciative rumblings as she ambled over to Stormfly's stall.
Her Nadder perked up at the sight of her, leaning into Astrid's touch.
"Hey girl! Want to fly?" Astrid stroked along her dragon's jaw, grinning at the way Stormfly luxuriated in it. "I'll take that as a yes."
She sidled into the stall, taking her saddle down from it peg. It was a beautiful work of leather from a much happier time, older than any of the strife she felt. Stormfly held still as Astrid fitted it to her, and thoughts of Stefnir intruded in on the moment:his possessiveness, suspicion, and the way he had been puzzled by a line of well-known poetry to those bothering to learn such things. Stefnir did not seem to have much interest in the arts, but there was a prominenta side of Astrid that found beauty and meaning in life beyond wealth, influence, and muscle.
She sighed, patting her dragon. "How am I going to make this marriage work, Stormfly?" The Nadder squawked and Astrid smirked, shaking her head. "I wish I understood you. Maybe Hiccup could translate?" Her heart felt heavy as she led Stormfly out of her stall, wishing she had been clearer with her intentions, then Hiccup might be there with her.
A dismal thought swirled in her mind that, maybe, he had come to his senses and had the foresight to end whatever emotional affair they had started before it got out of hand. That was the right thing to to, the responsible thing.
Stanzas came together in her mind, giving voice to her dull mood. She would have to enjoy more intellectual pursuits in private, it seemed, for she was to be bound to a man would could not relate.
"Battle worn and weary, I welcome unrelenting night," she said, reciting her favorite poem as she readjusted and tightened the saddle. "I pray, my love, do not weep for me, for no longer must I fight. No sails seen in the distance to herald my return. I join the fallen in Valhalla, as my body now must burn. I lay upon this pyre, and the stars glint overhead—"
"I pray, waste not the time to search for me, for verily I am dead."
Astrid nearly yelped, and she whipped around to meet the curious gaze of a Night Fury. Stormfly was thrilled, bounding over to greet Toothless with all of her enthusiasm. But Astrid was unconcerned with the dragons. Hiccup was there, as imprudent, shortsighted, bullheaded as she was. The smallest tether of dignity kept her from launching herself into his arms with relief.
She was not alone in her impetuousness.
"I was feeling smothered back there," she told him, blood rushing louder in her ears with every step he took, shrinking the space between them. "I thought taking our dragons out might be nice. After that storm, I bet they're just dying to…"
Hiccup just smiled and she realized he did not care about the reason. He did not need an explanation. There was no doubting her word or following it up with a series of probing questions. She had wanted to see him and he had complied, and there was no need to defend herself to him.
"Truth is, I was beginning to think you decided to sensible," she said, grinning as she found his smile infectious.
Hiccup smirked, glancing down at the floor as he replied, "Common sense and I are not often on good terms." His eyes flickered back to her face as Toothless appeared at his shoulder, nudging his rider with impatience. "Okay, okay bud." Hiccup climbed into his saddle.
Astrid pulled herself up onto Stormfly's back and waited for Hiccup and Toothless to take the lead, but he just gestured out into the night and said, "Milady."
She beamed at him, delighted to hear that endearment again after so long.
They flirted with a rather solid line, whether it was flying side by side on their dragons or just holding friendly conversation; they had definitely stepped a toe over it on Dragon Island. Astrid wanted to cross that last boundary. She knew it was unwise, that their relationship was doomed to spiral downward as soon as it got off the ground. But there was an ease to being with Hiccup, as if the past two years had never happened and they were only continuing where they had left off. She laughed as Toothless cut her off, bit her lip as Stormfly dove toward the shoreline to entice the Night Fury into more daring competition.
The sea rippled as Toothless skimmed along it, cutting the surface with the tip of his wing. The salty air tugged at Astrid's braid, loosening it. Her hair became tangled and briny, but it was invigorating. Though she should have been in the Great Hall with her Stefnir, basking in the glow of her engagement, it could not feel more right than flying with Hiccup. She was getting a taste of what her life needed to be, chasing after that Night Fury without care. All guilt was left behind in the stables.
"Hiccup!" she called over the rushing wind. He twisted in his saddle, gazing back at her. "Race you to the cove!"
Toothless veered sharply and Astrid grinned, urging Stormfly after him. Her dragon's wings beat behind her legs. She could feel her Stormfly's power in her own body. Waves turned into rocky cliffs, which then became fir trees; but all was blurred mass in the darkness. The forests of Berk were long black fingers, reaching up to snag them. Toothless glided low over the trees in defiance, making branches rustle violently. Stormfly would not catch him unless the Night Fury wanted to be caught. Hiccup used to let her win on occasion, but it had been years since there had been an honest race between them. He wanted to win and for once, Astrid was alright with losing. She soared into the cove after him, cheeks hurting from the wind's assault and her prolonged smile. They were both breathless, dismounting their dragons with soft laughter.
"That was amazing," Astrid said, flattening the fly-away strands of her hair. "I needed that."
"I almost forgot what a real race felt like," Hiccup remarked. He did not bother to fight with his own hair.
Then, they were standing too close, and that line was somewhere between them. Astrid could sense it even stronger than the night before. She was thinking straighter, more aware of her close proximity to Hiccup. Dragon Island had been a flurry of pent up frustration finally set loose. Sensation had taken over everything, but the cove was different. Less desperate. She could look at Hiccup—really look at him—and she grasped him by the elbow; an innocuous place to touch, to feel him truly there with her, as solid and real as she was. He reached up and traced her braid with his fingers, cradling the end of it loosely in his palm. He stared at her, and that accursed line was dissolving with her inhibitions.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. "I think I should be the one asking you that. I'm not about to marry someone I don't like." He tugged at her braid, similar to Stefnir's habit, but decidedly different: sweeter, with more concern than condescension.
"Like?" Astrid scoffed. "I 'like' him just fine. That doesn't get me very far in our relationship, though."
There was a sadness in Hiccup—an aching on his face, on her behalf. "And still, you'll marry him?" he asked, and his concern made her want to kiss him.
"What choice do I have, Hiccup? If I don't marry him, I'm disgracing my family. If I do marry him, I can't divorce him and…"
"Be with me?" he suggested, so calmly that it hardly seemed scandalous at all. "Is that…what you want?" There was something intense about him, deep in his gaze, which made her feel like the center of the universe.
She tossed her head back with a hollow laugh. "I'm beginning to think it hardly matters what I want."
"It matters to me. Until you're his wife, it matters to me and…and afterwards, probably."
"Hiccup, I don't know what I'm doing, here," she confessed, more helpless than she had ever felt. "This. Us. I know it's far better than where we were yesterday afternoon before Dragon Island, but...You know as well as I do this is wrong."
"Yes, it is—only because a few people decided we can't be together. It's isn't right or fair—"
"No, but neither is this. To our families. To Stefnir. We don't even know where we're headed. It can't be any place good, but…I don't want to stop it, either."
And so she was still determinedly selfish. Wonderful.
"Then, we won't. For however long we've got, we keep going." He gripped her by the arms and she leaned into him.
"Isn't that just reckless?" she asked, bringing her arms around his neck.
Where had the line run off to? She needed it to know how far she could push things; when it was no longer okay.
"Of course it is, but when has that stopped us?"
Her lips brushed his, hesitating. She felt she at least owed him an apology, like she owed his father, her parents, and the whole Svenson clan. Before lucidity died in the shadow of lust, she wanted him to know she understood the weight of what they were doing, that it was her fault, and that she had dragged him needlessly into it. She did not know which was worse: causing him two years of heartache by pretending she was giddy in love with Stefnir, or putting Hiccup in the position of loving her illicitly. He was the heir to Berk, and he was caught in a disgraceful affair.
She murmured, "I'm…I'm sorry, I—"
His hands dropped to her waist, pulling her flush against him. He was warm and it made her entire body ache for him.
"Don't be," he said. "I'm not."
His complacency would not last. So, Astrid took advantage of it while she could and kissed him, not nearly as fervent as she had been the night before. This kiss was slower, deeper; and strangely, more arousing. They were committed, deep in the muck together.
