He was twenty-five. The setting sun left the cliffs of Berk bathed in a blood red glow, the salmon-tinged horizon far more peaceful than Hiccup felt it had any right to be. The village below was winding down – the constant tapping of hammers was dissipating; the dull cacophony of voices dwindled. Berk was rebuilding, which was what Berk always did in times of strife. When dragons had come, they had rebuilt. For years they had rebuilt. When war came, they rebuilt. For weeks now, they had rebuilt.

Weeks that Hiccup had no recollection of ever happening. Weeks he'd spent laid up in bed, fighting off fever. There were pieces that he could remember. A fire in the hearth, darkness in the room, a blonde braid. He'd called for Astrid then. He remembered that. Her name on his lips, a hoarse whisper before fading into oblivious darkness again.

He remembered the scent of the herbal broth that they woke him to drink – it was pungent, medicinal, and bitterly familiar.

"Oh no, did I lose the other one?" he remembered mumbling.

He also remembered wiggling his toes and sighing in relief, and the hearty female laughter. Not Astrid's laughter.

"You still have all your pieces this time, Haddock."

Camicazi's laughter. Camicazi's blonde braid. Although it hadn't been braided then. It had been wild and loose and so typically Bog.

"Astrid," Hiccup had croaked, his throat.

Camicazi's features had darkened then, her broad grin falling into a line of tight concern, fine brows pinched.

"The healer didn't say there was anything wrong with your eyes."

Even though exhaustion and pain played heavily on his body, Hiccup had managed an eye roll. "I can see fine, Camicazi. Where's Astrid? Why are you here? Where's—"

"Shh, Hiccup. Shh."

Her hand was smoothing his hair soothingly, an unfamiliar feeling. It was wrong, too. In all the years he'd known her, Camicazi had never been comforting. She'd forced more broth down his throat, despite his weak protestations, and he'd fallen into another hazy, drugged sleep.

There were other memories, too, but none so poignant. None that replayed over and over. The comfort he'd drawn from seeing a blonde braid throughout his illness had been taken from him then. His fever dreams had been darker and stranger after that conversation. All he'd wanted was Astrid and she was nowhere to be found and he didn't even know why.

He knew why now. She'd been taken. Astrid had been taken by that man and Hiccup had never felt more helpless. It didn't matter when Valka insisted that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. He could have killed him as he had Drago. He could have tried harder when he fell from Toothless. He could have saved himself the fall. And the broken ribs and the bruising that was still purple and green and yellow all down his side. He could have saved his prosthetic. He could have saved time. He could have saved his wife.

When he woke – finally woke with a clear mind – Hiccup had been overtaken by a tremendous sense of déjà vu. He was alone in the great room of his house, Toothless perched at the end of the bed, staring expectantly and then leaping onto the bed in his excitement. The dragon was careful, though, knowing the extent of Hiccup's injuries. Knowing how close to death he'd been. And despite the frantic licks from his best friend, Hiccup felt the emptiness of the house acutely. Astrid wasn't there to greet him and his foggy memories gave him a sense of ill-ease. Hic's joyful laughter wasn't filling the room and Hiccup wondered what had become of his son. And what of Valka? What of his friends? What of Berk?

Getting out of bed had been an ordeal. Every muscle in his body screamed; every bone blared in agony. His right side was a study in purples – lavender and puce and byzantium; his right shoulder was bound and the joint ached with any movement. There was a tightness to the right side of his face and Hiccup had raised shaking fingers to his cheek, finding the stitches in his tender skin. He remembered the arrow – a few more inches and he would have had a perfect face – in Valhalla.

His breath had come easily and Hiccup knew that it could have been worse. It could still be worse. Astrid.

"Okay, bud. Let's do this."

With his left hand on Toothless' head, the déjà vu intensified. So similar, but so different. They made their way toward the door carefully, but Hiccup didn't have a chance to open it. The door swung open and Hiccup found himself staring into his mother's wide, pale eyes.

"Hiccup?" she gasped.

Hic ran past her legs and barrelled into Hiccup's good leg. "Daddy!"

Valka had quickly ushered him back to the bed. "You shouldn't be up yet. We should get the healers in and—"

"I can't lay here any longer."

Valka turned shrewd eyes on him. "Yes you can. And you will."

"With all due respect, Mom, I'm the chief," he said with a small grin.

It disarmed her a little too well, tears welling in her eyes and her cool hands on his face. Hic had crawled into his lap, his small body nestled painfully against Hiccup's bruised side. Hiccup didn't mind the pain. It meant he was alive to feel it; alive to hold his son. Hic babbled incessantly about everything that had happened while Hiccup had been asleep. He was the first to bring up Astrid's absence to Hiccup.

"And Mommy's gone. Where's Mommy, Daddy?"

Hiccup looked down into his sons wide eyes – green like his, but with the shape of Astrid's. Hic's face was hopeful and pure, the picture of childhood innocence. Slowly, Hiccup raised his eyes to Valka's. She gave him the tiniest shake of her head, her expression grim. Hiccup's heart collapsed, falling somewhere in the pit of his stomach and he suddenly felt very tired. Overwhelmed. Holding Hic to him, still not answering his question, Hiccup pulled his legs back up on the bed and tugged the blankets over both of them, not letting Hic see the tears in his eyes. He kissed Hic's forehead and snuggled close.

"Daddy's very tired, Hic. Will you nap with Daddy?"

"But I'm not tired."

"Then stay here until Daddy falls asleep."

Hiccup felt Hic's small hand patting his head as he closed his eyes. "Okay, Daddy. Go to sleep. Hic's here."

The repeated assurance – a mimic of something Astrid had so often said to Hic – made Hiccup smile. Even if she wasn't here now, she was here in Hic.

It was Fishlegs who finally filled him in on all that had happened. After Hiccup had killed Drago and circled back to take out the strategist – that man - he'd been knocked off Toothless by the concussive blast of a Thunderdrum. Everyone had seen him fall, though in the darkness, no one really knew what had happened. It had been Snotlout who had pulled him from the water and flown him back to Berk. Frigid and so completely still, Snotlout had been sure he was dead. Astrid and Stormfly had pulled Toothless to safety on the ice and the dragon had taken off toward Berk using ice and ships as springboards to the land, dodging arrows and dragon blasts as he went. The battle had raged a while longer and probably would have continued if it weren't for Toothless exercising his Alpha abilities and turning Drago's dragons on their own fleets. The ships had retreated and Berk had, once again, inherited quite a few dragons. Including the Bewilderbeast. This was where Hiccup had interrupted Fishlegs' explanation.

"The Bewilderbeast is here?"

Fishlegs nodded and Toothless burrowed his head under Hiccup's hand. They sat by the fire, Hiccup's arm finally freed from its bindings – dislocated, he'd been told.

"How are we keeping it?" Hiccup asked, absently rolling his right shoulder in an attempt to dispel the stiffness in it.

"We aren't. It stayed."

Hiccup glanced at Toothless and frowned. "Are you keeping him, bud?"

The dragon gave a dismissive snort and shook his head, indicating with a roll of his brilliant emerald eyes that he'd prefer it if the Bewilderbeast left. Hiccup had narrowed his eyes in thought. The Bewilderbeast was a formidable creature and he wondered how affected it had been by its former master. Would it turn on Berk? Would it try to take the Alpha status from Toothless? He'd have to see the dragon to know.

As though reading Hiccup's mind, Fishlegs spoke.

"It doesn't want to hurt us. It just keeps circling Berk. It almost seems…lost."

Hiccup frowned. He'd be lying if he said he didn't think having a Bewilderbeast as an ally would be advantageous. He also didn't want to keep it here if it wanted to leave. Hiccup was relieved to know that it wasn't being tethered in any way.

"Has anyone gotten close to it?"

"I made contact. Once."

"And?"

Fishlegs shrugged and grinned. "I'm not you, Hiccup, but he hasn't left."

Hiccup leaned back in his chair and set down his cup of tea beside him. "Tell me about Astrid."

oOoOoOo

Recovery had been slower than Hiccup had wanted, but every day he persisted. Berk had an ally on the inside of Drago's dwindling troops. Eret son of Eret had infiltrated the ranks of Drago's army in a rather ill-advised rescue mission. He'd been gone since the day after the battle, once they'd realized that Astrid had been taken. The key of this mission was information and if at all possible, the retrieval of Astrid. It had been six weeks and though Eret's notes arrived with regularity via Terror air mail, he had not succeeded in locating Astrid. Through his notes, Eret had implied that he had very good reason to believe that Astrid was alive and, in all probability, well. He had not, however, managed to locate her within the barracks. He had not seen her with his own eyes.

Hiccup hated how helpless it made him feel, that he was here, barely functioning, and she was there. That Eret was there in his stead. That weeks had passed and nothing had come of Eret's infiltration. Nothing but the vague assurance that Astrid was there, somewhere. Hiccup took little comfort in the fact that she was alive. There were worse things than death and that man was capable of all of them.

So, as the sun set each day, Hiccup stole away to this tree, on this cliff. Astrid's tree. It was nicked and damaged from years and years of axe throwing to clear her mind. It wasn't the same as her fits of rage, where she'd stomp off into the forest and annihilate some poor, defenseless pine. It wasn't like the trees she'd massacred in her never ending pursuit of being the best. This was different. She called it her 'thinking tree'. The sight of its battle scars at Astrid's hand served to ground Hiccup, to keep him focused on what was coming. Because it was coming. He would go to her.

In the meantime, he made scars of his own in Astrid's tree. His own thought-attacks were carried out, not with an axe but with heavy sword after heavy sword. His muscles had weakened from his bed rest and if Hiccup expected to be successful in liberating Astrid, he would need to have a defence other than Toothless. He would need to be able to defend himself. And he would not be satisfied until his arm was strong enough to throw a blade with authority again. With accuracy. With precision. That man would be precise, accurate and deadly. Hiccup had to be even more so.

There was comfort in the heavy thunk of metal against wood as the sun fell away to darkness. Fishlegs was expecting a note from Eret tonight and the Terror usually arrived not long after dusk. The enemy camp wasn't far – a few hours flight – and Hiccup had every intention of setting out on that flight as soon as the opportune moment arose. He had every intention of finding Astrid and bringing her home. He had every intention of finishing this.

But for now, he had to wait. He had to bide his time.

The moon was high and he had cycled through his collection of blades six times by the time Fishlegs and Meatlug touched down on the cliff. Hiccup didn't turn as Fishlegs made his way to him – he narrowed his eyes in the darkness and threw a blade with a weary arm. The tip stuck in the trunk of the tree, but it wasn't deep enough. The blade clattered noisily to the ground.

"What does it say?" Hiccup asked his friend, another blade in hand.

"It—You should maybe see this," Fishlegs replied, his voice quiet and wavering.

Behind him, Hiccup heard the sounds of other dragons touching down and knew that a Nightmare and Zippleback had joined them on the cliff. Hiccup swallowed heavily but did not turn.

"What does it say?" he repeated.

Fishlegs drew in a shaking breath. "It doesn't say anything."

Hiccup finally turned to look at Fishlegs, his expression as thunderous as that of Thor. He held out his hand for the folded piece of paper that Fishlegs clutched in his hand.

"Hiccup," he started.

Hiccup shook his head and Fishlegs sighed as he handed over the paper. Hiccup unfolded the paper and stared, his brain barely registering what he held in his hand. Two locks of hair: one black and tacky with drying blood; the other blonde, silvery in the moonlight, and tied neatly in pale blue ribbon. Hiccup crushed the paper in his fist, his right hand drawing and igniting Inferno and rapidly sending the flaming blade into the trunk of the tree, the flames licking at the bark.

"Ready the dragons," Hiccup said, his voice low and deadly, "we fly at dawn."