Update 11/22/18: As part of my giving Persephone a facelift, I moved the first portion of this chapter to the end of the last chapter, it felt more cohesive and evened out the chapter lengths. I also changed the chapter title from the wonderfully interesting "The Letter" to the more artistic and annoying vague, "God I wonder why we bother", because I've been relistening to my Persephone playlist, and getting stuck on the line form Lorde's "Sober II (Melodrama)" "And the terror, and the horror, god I wonder why we bother".
Update 11/23/18: Realized by attempting to "fix" my timeline I actually messed it up. Astrid would be 15 in httyd1 for the timeline to work out. Book canon puts Hiccup's birthday on leap day (yeah, Vikings didn't use that calendar, but they also didn't wear those helmets, so what can you do). So the Persephone timeline is as follows: I place httyd1 taking place in fall, around September or October (because Stoick says winter is coming but everything is still really green), when Hiccup and Astrid are both 15. Hiccup vanishes, turns 16 the following February, Brenna is born that spring, Astrid turns 16 that July. By the time of the fic, Hiccup and Astrid are both 19, Brenna is spring, it is November and Hiccup has been gone a little over four years.
Chapter 5: God I Wonder Why We Bother
Astrid fell back against the furs, her stomach pleasantly full of ham that was only slightly charred. She was exhausted. The events of that morning felt like a whole different day. She'd only been here twenty four hours.
She couldn't figure Hiccup out. He had promised not to hurt her, and said more than once that he didn't intend to rape her. But the way he had held her down made her wonder if he perhaps felt otherwise. He said he'd been trying to scare her, to make a point, but…
He accused her of being too into their kiss when she'd been trying to trick him, but she couldn't help but wonder if the same was true of him. She didn't disbelieve that he'd been trying to trick her as well, but she also had the distinct feeling that he'd been enjoying it just a little too much.
It scared her more than she wanted to admit. Because it was Hiccup. Bumbling, stumbling, adorably determined yet clumsy Hiccup. The boy she knew four years ago would never dare, least of all because he would have lacked the physical strength back then to overcome her. But, she knew, he was not the same boy she had known four years ago. There was a strange confidence to him; a smugness that did not quite cross the border into arrogance. He was sure of himself in a way he never had been before. He might claim otherwise, but she had no way of knowing for sure that this Hiccup, this man he had grown into, would not act on the obvious sexual attraction he felt for her. The aggravation he displayed in nearly every conversation they had gave her the feeling that he was over the crush he'd had on her in their youth, but he definitely still wanted her in at least a purely physical way.
It confused her though, how hot-and-cold he'd been. For all his callous treatment of her he had also been kind, exceptionally so…as long as she stayed on his good side. He did not have an abundant supply of patience, and she seemed to burn through it quickly. She feared what might happen if he really lost his temper.
Her presence here irritated him, that much was certain, and she knew that he would not be keeping her here if he felt he had any other option. He talked about protecting her life, but Astrid was sure that it had more to do with protecting his own secrets. She didn't understand why he was so adamant about keeping his true identity a secret from the people of Berk. She understood that he had no love for his former village, and certainly more than a few deep-seated issues with his father, but she couldn't understand why it was so important that they think him dead. Why he was alright with playing the part of the Dragon Master as long as no one knew it was him. If he was willing to betray his people, why not fully commit?
She wasn't sure how she could avoid telling the villagers who he was even if she did agree not to. She could perhaps spin a story about the Dragon Master never wanting her to begin with and deciding her more of a hassle than she was worth, but she couldn't hope to invent a new identity for him. Especially if she spent days, weeks, or even longer with him. No one would believe that she had been with him that long and learned nothingabout the dragon master, or who he was or what he wanted.
And even if she did decide not to tell, as of yet Hiccup had no reason to take her word for it.
She laid awake for a long time, late into the night. She didn't really feel comfortable falling asleep without knowing where Hiccup was. She didn't like the thought of him coming into this room while she was sleeping…
Xx
A grumbling roar awoke her. Astrid jolted up, head whipping around wildly, still not fully awake as her wide eyes searched the room until they landed on Hiccup and Toothless. She didn't even remember falling asleep.
"Sorry to wake you," Hiccup said automatically. He looked exhausted; and even Toothless looked worn out, his tail and wings drooping and dragging along the floor.
Astrid sat up and rubbed at her eyes. She blinked and watched as Hiccup removed Toothless's saddle and tail components and hung them on their hooks.
"I take it the raid didn't go well?" she asked, resting her chin on her knees.
Hiccup shook his head. "No. It didn't," he mumbled. "Honestly, I have half a mind to just tell Cami it's me," he said, mostly to himself. "Make her stop throwing all those knives at me." He opened a storage compartment on Toothless's saddle and pulled out a bundle of cloth. He walked over and dropped it at her feet. He pointed a finger at her. "You have no idea what I had to go through to get those. Be grateful." He started walking away, unbuckling his armor as he went.
"Cami?" Astrid asked, holding up a long wool skirt.
"Camicazi. Old friend of mine. Bog Burglar heir," Hiccup pulled the black leather armor off his chest and let it fall to the ground, seemingly too tired to care. "Stole those off her clothes line. She's about your size, should fit. Probably be big in the bust, though."
Astrid's eyes snapped up to his, indignant.
"That's not an insult," Hiccup said, rolling his eyes. "This is the girl whose mother is called Big-Boobied Bertha. And Cazi inherited more than just control of the tribe from her." Astrid picked a dark blue tunic out of the pile and held it up against her chest. The arms and waist were small, though not too small to fit her, but the chest…
"You're not kidding," Astrid muttered, and dropped the shirt by the skirt. "I should be able to take it in, though." She sorted through the pile as Hiccup dug a flask out of a saddle bag and collapsed on Toothless's bed next to him. There were a couple of long thick skirts, some pairs of leggings, and a couple of long sleeved shirts. Not much, but enough. Although notably absent from the pile were any sort of undergarments. Still no word on what she was going to do about that.
She looked up to see Hiccup taking a long drink from the flask. "What time is it?" she asked.
Hiccup shrugged. "Early hours of the morning. Sun's not up yet but dawn'll be breaking soon." She watched him tip his head back and chug the remaining liquid in the flask. When he was done he tossed it at an open chest, missed, and shrugged. He let his head fall back against Toothless's side.
"Hey, Hiccup-"
He held up a hand. "Just, can it wait?" He opened his eyes and dragged his head up to look at her. "I am exhausted," he said slowly. "I have had a very difficult day—thank you, for that- and there have been three raids in as many nights and all I want to do right now is get drunk and go to bed. Ideally in my own bed but that's not an option right now. So whatever it is you want to yell at me about now, can it just wait until I've gotten some sleep?"
He looked terrible; there were bags under his eyes and he was swaying slightly, though that could have been from the alcohol.
"Yeah," she conceded, leaning back against the stone wall behind her.
He managed a nod before he was closing his eyes and settling back against Toothless's belly. After a few minutes his breathing slowed and his head fell to the side. Astrid watched him sleep. He shifted, moaning softly and curling closer to Toothless. He drew his arms up around himself and shivered.
Astrid frowned, and after a few minutes of deliberation she approached and draped a fur blanket over him. His shivering stopped, and the lines on his forehead softened. She padded back to the bed and laid down, pulling the blankets over herself.
He'd brought her clothes after all.
And if he froze to death she was screwed.
Xx
Stoick stared at the parchment spread out in front of him as the doors to the Great Hall opened and Gobber limped inside. The heavy doors swung shut behind him, leaving the light shining in from the windows overhead the only illumination in the room.
"You wanted to see me?" Gobber asked as he took a seat next to Stoick.
Stoick nodded. "I received a letter today from Bertha."
Gobber took a swig from his mug arm attachment. "Bog Burglar Bertha?"
"Aye," Stoick picked up the letter and reread the words that by now he had memorized. "They were raided a few nights ago."
Gobber's mug stopped halfway to his lips. "Which night?"
Stoick frowned. "The night after we were raided." Gobber sat down his mug, shaking his head.
"Thor's hammer," he said quietly. "And…did they see him?"
"Camicazi faced off against him herself."
"Odin's eye." Stoick watched Gobber's brow furrow and he took off his helmet to rub at his bald head. "That poor girl, gone for nothing."
"It doesn't mean anything," Stoick said, glaring into space. "He may have seen our offering as a treaty with Berk, but not with all Vikings. And so far we've not been raided again."
"Yes, but they rarely raid us two nights in a row." Gobber pulled at the corners of his yellow mustache. "It's only been a few days. They've gone longer than this without attacking before. It's still too soon to tell if we've really done anything to help Berk."
Stoick looked back at the letter. His grip tightened. "That's not the most interesting part of the letter. It's what he was doing when Camicazi found him."
Gobber frowned. "And what's that?"
There was a brief pause before Stoick answered. "Stealing clothes off their clothesline." He watched Gobber's eyebrow rise. "Not all of them though. He bypassed Bertha's things and the little girls' clothes. He was looking for Camicazi's things."
Gobber stared at him. "Camicazi's Astrid's age, isn't she? They would be about the same size, in body if not in height, wouldn't they?"
"Aye," Stoick said. "Astrid may still be alive."
Gobber sighed and shook his head. "That may not be a good thing," he said in a low voice, mug-hand swishing idly. "If he hasn't killed her then I dread to think what he has done to her."
"It's for the good of Berk."
"Is it?" Gobber looked up at him. "It's not lost on me that out of all of the girls on this island you picked her."
"She was unmarried and not looking to ever be, and unlike the Thorston girl she didn't have a reputation for running about-"
"She was fifteen, Stoick," Gobber interrupted, a hard glare on his face, "And they were up against a Night Fury. As good as she was she didn't stand a chance against that. Neither of them did."
Stoick wouldn't meet his eye. "This isn't about that."
"Like hel it isn't," Gobber said, slamming his mug down on the table. "What happened to Hiccup was horrible, but it wasn't her fault."
"Don't talk to me about that," Stoick said, a low dangerous growl, but Gobber had never been afraid of him.
"You never treated that girl the same after what happened. She was young and scared and traumatized, and you've always made it clear that you blame her for what happened." Stoick met Gobber's glare. "And you know it. And you know that whatever happens to that poor girl; whatever horrors she suffers, and whatever happens next on Berk, no matter if we never see so much as a single Terror ever again, that her blood is still on your hands." He leaned closer, and his eyes softened. "And you know," he said, his voice gentler than before, "That no matter what happens next, it won't bring Hiccup back."
Stoick's hands clenched and he crumpled the paper in his fists. "I know it won't bring him back," he said gruffly. "But there's been enough death. I can't bring him back, but I can stop anyone else from being killed. One life sacrificed to save a thousand more." He met Gobber's gaze, and Gobber could see unshed tears rimming his eyes. "He was my son, Gobber. And I couldn't protect him. You don't know what that's like."
Gobber rested a hand on his shoulder and leaned closer, his brows wrinkled and eyes growing wet. "Don't I?" he asked. "I helped you raise that boy, Stoick. I watched him grow, I taught him, I looked after him…" He shook his head and looked down. "I've never had any children of my own, but Hiccup was as good as." He swallowed. "I loved him as if he was." Stoick's head bowed, his eyes squeezing shut. Gobber stood. "But you know who else knows how you feel?" Stoick raised his head, peering up at the hard look in Gobber's eyes.
"The Hoffersons." He spared his chief no further words as he limped out of the hall.
Xx
Gobber was surprised to see the figure waiting anxiously outside the closed forge doors.
He mustered a smile. "Ingrid, what can I help you with?" He had to stop himself from asking 'how are you'. Everyone knew the answer to that question. He was surprised to see her out and about. She hadn't left her home since…well, since. She looked more than a little worse for wear. She was pale, and her eyes were gaunt and shadowed, like she hadn't slept in days. It was likely she hadn't.
"Oh, well, I…" her eyes fell to the axe she held tightly in her hands. "She always gets it sharpened on Thorsday. And it's always mattered so much to her to keep it in good condition." She took a shaky breath. "I just thought I'd get it done for her."
Gobber gave her a kind smile. "I'd be happy to take care of that for you," he told her, gently taking the axe from her hands. He sat it down almost reverently on a worktable while he exchanged his mug hand for his hook. Ingrid took a seat on a crate while he started up the grindstone. He kept a close eye on her as he sharpened the axe. She sat with her back straight but her head down, fists clenched on her lap.
It was a strangely familiar sight.
Astrid used to do the same thing. She'd avoided the forge for months after Hiccup had died, but then she started coming in again, at first just for her axe, and then later, just to be there. At some point her loitering turned into helping. She didn't have enough of a proclivity for it to be his new apprentice, but she could help with little things, and while they rarely said anything to each other, it was unspoken between them that being in this place was their way of keeping Hiccup close.
"Eh…" He gave careful consideration to the asking of his next question. "Have you or your husband spoken to Stoick today?" Ingrid didn't move but her eyes flashed to him and the corner of her mouth twitched into half a snarl. It was a look he'd seen a thousand times exactly from Astrid, and his heart ached to see it.
"Why should I have anything to say to Stoick?" she hissed, her voice trembling.
Gobber averted his eyes, back to the axe he was currently rebalancing. "Ehm, no reason. I just eh…thought maybe I heard he wanted to speak with you, but maybe it was someone else. Seems more likely to be someone else."
Ingrid snorted. "Well, if he has spoken to my husband then I wouldn't know. I haven't been speaking to him either."
So Stoick hadn't told them yet, it would seem. Gobber wondered if he intended to. He considered telling Ingrid then that it was likely her daughter was still alive, but in the end doubted it would bring her any real comfort. All in all, death was likely the least horrific fate Astrid could have suffered.
He hefted the axe up, weighing it carefully in his hands, before stepping over to Ingrid and presenting it to her. She stood and took it from him, running her hands in gentle caresses over the handle. "Thank you," she said, her voice a quiet noise against the burning forge fire. "How much?"
Gobber gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about it."
Ingrid frowned. "I don't want your charity, Gobber."
"It's not charity," Gobber told her. "Astrid used to come in here and help out from time to time. I haven't charged her for having her axe sharpened in two years."
Ingrid's round blue eyes rose to meet his. It wasn't quite a smile, but her expression was grateful. "Thank you, Gobber." He nodded in reply and she turned and left the shop.
Gobber sighed.
The forge felt empty and quiet.
Just like it had for four years.
Xx
It had been a few days, and they were starting to settle into a routine.
Hiccup and Toothless spent most of their time either in the sky or in the forge, while Astrid split her time between gardening and sewing. The clothes he brought her fit well enough, but Camicazi was larger in the bust and paradoxically smaller in the hips. The first couple of days she could feel Hiccup's eyes on her; the skirt stretched too tightly across the curve of her rear, and the neckline fell lower than she'd liked without anything to fill it out.
Sewing had taken a precedent over gardening for a while, there.
For the most part they avoided each other. Hiccup left her to her own devices, and she didn't bother him unless she really, really needed something and had exhausted all attempts to work it out herself.
She was learning about him, despite her determination not to have anything to do with him.
For starters, he almost always had a flask with him, and most of their conversations seemed to end with him rolling his eyes and taking a rather long draw from it. She would have liked to hope that it was water most of the time, but wasn't naïve enough to believe that it wasn't something stronger. She'd yet to see him well and truly drunk yet, though she had seen him at least tipsy one evening after they'd had a shouting match over essentially nothing.
There were a lot of shouting matches over essentially nothing. She didn't try to be outright hostile with him, she really didn't. It was just that everything came out that way. He was holding her against her will, and that made civility difficult. She didn't for a moment want to give him the idea that she was content with the current situation.
Which, she knew, didn't help her current situation.
He wasn't going to let her go until he could trust her, and he was never going to trust someone who found it so impossible to trust him, and Astrid wasn't sure that trusting him was an option. Their shouting matches tended to be just that—a lot of shouting and rehashing the same arguments over and over ad infinitum.
He'd faked his death. No one cared anyway. She'd felt guilty. Boohoo, she never even liked him, what did it matter. Keeping her against her will, couldn't trust he wouldn't hurt her, blah blah blah…Neither one of them was big on admitting defeat.
But every so often Hiccup would step forward too quickly, or raise a hand, or his eyes would flash cold, and Astrid would be reminded that she knew so very little of who he was and what he was capable of. It would always make her back off, and she wondered if that was all he wanted to do: scare her into dropping an argument he didn't have patience for. But she couldn't take the chance that his body language wasn't warning of something more violent lurking below the surface.
Beyond that first day and those flashes of anger she hadn't seen him turn violent. He hadn't touched her, hadn't harmed her, but she'd tried harder not to make him truly angry since then. It was Hiccup, and she didn't want to believe that that kind boy from the forge would hurt her.
But then, she also knew she could not afford to trust that and be wrong.
Her behavior around him was becoming as erratic as his was around her. She wasn't sure how to treat him: as the boy she knew, or the man she didn't.
It didn't just scare her. It bothered her. The things he did, the way he talked and acted; the arrogance, the callousness, the drinking and the girls…
Because it didn't seem like Hiccup. It seemed wrong, somehow. And it aggravated her, because she didn't know why she cared. It was just like when they were kids, and suddenly Hiccup was the top student in Dragon Training. Hiccup acting strange bothered her. Hiccup not being Hiccupbothered her. Because, because.
It'd been years. And she'd been over it for years. Surely she could at least admit it to herself now.
It bothered her back then because she'd liked him. She'd liked bumbling, weird, eccentric Hiccup. She'd liked him more than she could admit until after he was gone.
She didn't like him anymore, but it was the same strange feeling. That same sense of wrongness, of Hiccup not doing what he should be doing, of not being where he should be. The same strange sadness.
The same feeling that maybe if he'd stop being so, so…something, then they might be…well, something.
She didn't know what.
Xx
He wasn't even going to really go into the forge; he was just passing by on his way to his house, when the faint light caught his eye. Gobber peered inside. There was light filtering out from behind the curtain in the doorway of what had been Hiccup's workshop.
"Hello?" he called, stepping into the forge and approaching the little room. "Someone in there? We're closed now." He pulled back the curtain. "Astrid?"
"Sorry," she said, glancing up at him, before her eyes fell away. She was sitting on Hiccup's stool, her knees were drawn up to her chest with her chin resting on them. She was silent for a minute, and then finally, "It'll be one year tomorrow."Gobber dropped his gaze and let it wander about the room, over scattered papers and little scale models and scraps of charcoal pencils. "I just…I don't know. I come in here and it still feels like…him, you know?"
Gobber nodded. "That I do, lass."
There was another long pause. "They're brilliant," she said, nodding at the papers scattered across the surface of the table. "Some of them are kind of farfetched, but if anyone could have made them work I think he could." Gobber didn't doubt that. "He was brilliant. And nobody really noticed." She sniffed and blinked at the tears Gobber could see forming in the corners of her eyes. "He could have done some really great things." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He would've been amazing." Her voice cracked on the last word and Gobber had to squeeze his eyes shut to compose himself before he answered her.
"It's late," he said, voice rougher than normal. "You should get some rest." Astrid made no move to leave. Gobber sighed. "It wasn't your fault, Astrid," he told her gently.
"Everyone keeps saying that," she said as she climbed to her feet. She'd aged a lot in a year, and not just physically. She was older and wiser and infinitely sadder. He could see a single tear sliding down her cheek as she passed him. "Maybe one day it'll start to feel true."
Xx
