He was twenty-five and she was twenty-five. He felt warm and happy for the first time in months. Senses mead-dampened and fluid, Hiccup was dazzled by the flickers of copper and gold that the firelight leant Astrid's pale tresses. Her blue eyes shone with an inner light that had been missing for far too long and her smile was so startling on her face, so foreign, that Hiccup found himself watching her as he had when he was a boy – from a distance, with a pounding heart. He'd been sure - so sure – that he'd lost her; so certain that this joy was gone from her forever.

Across the hall, she laughed boisterously at someone's joke as Hiccup took a slow, meandering turn about the room. His eyes never left her, not even while he engaged in the occasional conversation about the success of this year's harvest, not even to congratulate the grinning groom nor to bless the beaming bride. Harvest was a time of rebirth and Hiccup saw that in his wife. Saw it in her smile and in the familiar but lately unused mannerisms. It was as though she had just slid back into her skin and was clearing out the cobwebs with each gesture.

Hiccup hadn't hoped for this. Not for a long time; not even in his wildest musings. The night they'd returned from the fort, Astrid had stumbled and fallen to the ground when she dismounted Toothless and Hiccup had fallen beside her, ready to carry her to a healer, heart fluttering and stomach whirling. There, on the still frozen ground of Berk, Astrid Haddock wept, pale, scarred fingers digging into the dirt. Hiccup had held her, muttering promises into her hair, pledging her the world and all that was in it. When she'd finally looked up at him, face wet, glistening in a way he'd never seen before, her smile had been one of agony; her arms had closed around his neck with such force that she'd sent him falling backwards, weeping and murmuring his name over and over again. He'd known then that it would be a long and winding path back to Astrid. Things would be different. She'd been changed, perhaps irreparably.

But now, with the warmth of the fire at her back, she was a different woman than the fragile creature he'd brought back to Berk. The scars of her torment remained, etched not only in her skin, but also in her heart and mind. The bruises were long gone, but their memories endured. It was in the hard callouses on her fingertips from sleepless nights of endless weaving, working at the loom that had sat unused and empty in the corner of their hall. She had turned away the axe that Hiccup had made her to replace the one she'd lost. She'd panicked at the sight of it, as though she hadn't been intimately acquainted with battle axes since her youth. As though axe-throwing hadn't been her form of stress relief for years.

That had concerned Hiccup the most. The way she'd chosen the loom over the axe. But he'd left that alone, carefully anticipating her needs and acquiescing to her wants. At first, she'd held Hic too closely, tethering him to her side at all times until the boy was restless and angry.

"He has too much of both of us to be kept home all the time, As," Hiccup had said lightly over dinner.

Astrid had turned fierce eyes on him, the tiny flames of anger in them lightening his heart. "And what if he's taken? What then, Hiccup?"

Hiccup's hand had frozen mid-air, mouth open to accept the food on the fork. He'd blinked at her incredulously. This was the woman who had insisted that she follow him into battle four months pregnant, damn all the odds. The girl who had been ready to die when he'd first shown her Toothless. This was Astrid, the most fearless shield maiden in the Archipelago, with fear underlying her angry eyes.

"He won't be taken, Astrid."

It had been an argument then – a futile attempt at convincing Hiccup of all the unsafe boundaries of Berk. Hiccup had countered every argument with a positive example from their own youth. It wasn't until Hiccup had laughed in amazement at her stubbornness.

"Astrid, we ride dragons. And we do it without incident."

"If you can call losing your foot without incident."

Her words had come so quickly and so viciously that Hiccup had been struck silent. Astrid's eyes had widened, her mouth falling open. There was an apology there, even if she refused to say it. He could see it in the movement of her throat when she swallowed, in the way she shifted her food around her plate before standing up.

"Hic stays with me," she said quietly.

It was weeks before Hiccup could convince her to let Hic spend time with Valka, or even other children his age. Weeks and many more arguments, ending resolutely with Hiccup's soft words while he rubbed her sore shoulders.

"He was fine without both of us for nearly a month, As. He's not going anywhere."

The truth had reduced her to tears then. Sobbing and gripping at his tunic while his fingers combed through her hair, whispering words of assurance and reaffirming that she was home now.

But that was then and this was now. Hiccup's eyes ran down her form while he leaned against a post, sipping at his mead. Her waist was broader than it had been, the second pregnancy had left her with wider hips and fuller breasts that likely wouldn't diminish once she stopped nursing the baby. Her hair was braided and elaborately arranged on top of her head. She was breathtaking. She was Astrid.

It was hard to believe that only a couple of months ago she'd hidden under billowing overdresses, sitting at the loom day in and day out. Hiccup had never had so many tunics; Astrid had enough dresses to last her three seasons even if she never weaved again. And there was no speaking with her when she was at the loom. At times it felt as though it was the only thing keeping her together and that thought disturbed Hiccup. Yet, there was something in the intensity with which she attended to the task that told Hiccup that had made him leave her to her constant weaving, kissing blistered and calloused fingertips each night and bearing the title of The Best Dressed Chief in the Archipelago, which his friends had so kindly bestowed upon him.

She'd been weaving when the baby had come. He'd been writing at the table, Hic sprawled out and snoring across his lap and Toothless curled up by the fire, when he'd heard the surprised: "Oh."

There was Astrid, sitting at the loom with water pooling at her feet. It had been a mad scramble to collect the midwife and there had been some question as to the health of the baby, given Astrid's mistreatment at the hands of their enemy. But Solveig was born in the light of the dying summer sun, the strength of her cries echoing through the village. Her little face was all Hiccup except her eyes, a deep and brilliant blue that watched everything with her father's curiosity and the stubborn low brow of her mother.

The first few weeks were Hel. The first few weeks with a baby were always Hel, but the first few weeks with a baby, a village still in disrepair, and a wife who was not quite herself was truly Hel. There were times at night when Hiccup would wake to the sound of Astrid's weeping only to find her clutching the baby to her with far too much force. The first time it had happened, he was sure the child had passed in the night; that they'd lost her despite her vigour and zest. But after prying Astrid's hands away, he'd found Solveig very much alive and well.

"Astrid, what—"

"She was safer inside," she answered numbly, "I could keep her safe there."

"As," Hiccup had all but whispered, laying the baby down and kneeling between Astrid's knees, "She's fine. You're both safe. I'll never let anything happen to you ever again."

Vivid blue eyes stared at him as she considered his words. It had been the first time that she seemed to accept those words. It had been the first time that Astrid's eyes had seemed clear and sure, like they had before. She'd released two shuddering breaths before nodding and returning to bed, curled in his arms and letting him protect her for once.

Her eyes were clear now. They were bright and fervent and sharp now. The truth was Hiccup was afraid to approach her, afraid that should he touch her the illusion would be shattered by the subtle way she'd flinch at the physical contact. She told him about what had happened to her during her months of captivity. The brutality, the manipulation. It was a quiet rage that Hiccup bore, burning in his belly and itching at his hand. While Astrid weaved, Hiccup took to throwing swords at a tree behind their hall. If he could raise the bastard from the dead so that he might have the pleasure of killing him again, Hiccup would have done it in a heartbeat.

Astrid's smiling eyes flicked up and caught him watching. He held his breath as the corner of her lips hitched upward in a teasing half-smile. Astrid had always had the ability to burn him to cinders with her eyes; to reach into his core and set him on fire with want. His fingers tightened around his cup; his free hand curled into a fist.

It had been a long time since they'd been intimate. A long and understandable time with both of their injuries – physical or otherwise – and with the arrival of Solveig. But he couldn't deny that he wanted her. He wanted her now and his imagination ran wild with scenarios. It was a rare thing that they were alone, without the children close at hand. Hiccup had to laugh at himself for that thought. They were hardly alone now, in the bustling Great Hall full with Berkians. Still, he couldn't help but imagine slipping outside, exploring her new curves and softness with curious hands, sinking inside of her.

"She is your wife, you know."

Hiccup's head turned at the sound of the wry, amused voice to find Eret standing next to him, arms crossed and gaze centred on Astrid laughing with the twins. Hiccup took a hasty swig of his mead and Eret laughed.

"Been a while?"

Hiccup frowned and spared an irritated glance at the older man. "Not that it's any of your business, but…yes."

Eret threw his head back and laughed. "You're making it everyone's business, mate."

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? You've been staring at her like she's forbidden fruit all night."

"It's just like we're back in the forge and your fifteen and she doesn't even know your name," Gobber said wistfully from Hiccup's other side.

Hiccup glowered at both of them. "It's not that simple," he muttered.

"Oh, I doubt it is," Eret said, his tone was light, but his expression held seriousness. "But she is your wife."

"You could always ask her to dance," Gobber suggested helpfully, hopping from one foot to the other.

Hiccup rolled his eyes before locking them on Astrid again. She was watching him now, a smile playing at her lips, her brow slightly pinched in amusement. The expression made Hiccup's heart lurch. He wasn't sure he'd ever see it again. He wasn't sure he was seeing it now. He tipped the rest of his mead into his mouth and swallowed the cloying liquid too hard.

Eret clapped his hand on Hiccup's shoulder and gave him a brusque shove. "Go get her, Chief."

Hiccup glowered over his shoulder, but kept his forward momentum going until he was there, mere feet away from her. Her eyes held all the openness and invitation they ever had – in a similar situation a year ago, he would have known what she wanted when she looked at him that way. Now, all he could do was smile hopefully.

"Evening, milady."

Astrid's smile broadened encouragingly. Her eyes flitted over his shoulder and she bit her bottom lip. "What were they saying to you?"

Hiccup glanced over his shoulder and shrugged, gesticulating wildly with his hands. "Them? Nothing. What would they have to say?"

"Seems like they found it funny," she said, fighting her own laughter.

"Well," Hiccup said, running his hand through his hair nervously, "You know what they say."

"No. What do they say?"

"Uh, they say," Hiccup paused, assuming the ultra-serious face he donned only for impersonations, "'That Hooligan Chief, he's hilarious.'"

Astrid snorted. "Who says that? I've never heard anyone say that."

Hiccup's face fell into a pout. "What? I'm hilarious!"

Astrid pursed her lips, amused. "Oh, sure. A regular barrel of laughs with your uproarious face scar."

She ran her finger down the side of his face and leaned in toward him in a way that made him blush like he was fifteen again. Hiccup closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, he found Astrid watching him with muted concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Hiccup asked incredulously, "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You've been watching me all night."

"You could tell?"

She grinned and nodded slowly. "I'm going to let you in on a secret," she said gripping his collar and pulling his head down so she could whisper in his ear, "I could always tell."

For some reason, despite everything that had happened and all they had been through; despite the fact that she had borne two of his children; that they had survived war, however damaged they might be, he felt embarrassment for his lack of stealth.

"Well, that's—"

"I liked it," she said, cutting him off.

Hiccup blinked at her and narrowed his eyes. "You did?"

Astrid grinned and bit her bottom lip, her hands locked on his wrists as she took deliberate steps backward, toward the door. Hiccup was grinning back at her, a goofy, happy expression. Because right now, right here – this was Astrid. And she wasn't gone. She wasn't the woman who wept in his arms at night; who could hardly bear to let her children or her husband out of her sight; who sat at a loom for hours and refused to throw an axe.

She paused and Hiccup stumbled into her, clumsy and drunk and blissful. Her hands were as skilled as ever when she caught him by the shoulders and turned him into the wall, pressing herself against him so that all he could see and smell and feel was Astrid.

"I liked it tonight, too," she whispered, her voice husky.

"I want to touch you," Hiccup blurted stupidly.

"I want you to touch me."

Hiccup's hands gripped at the soft curve of her waist greedily as Astrid's curled around his neck and directed his head down to meet hers. They kissed hungrily – like they were sixteen and it was new and illicit and wondrous. It felt that way now, to be allowed to have Astrid again. To touch her and hold her and feel her against his body. Not a fragile shell of the woman she'd once been, but the real thing.

"Astrid," he breathed against her mouth, in between frantic kisses.

"What?" he voice holding a familiar note of impatience.

"How do you feel about axe throwing?"

Astrid pulled back and stared at Hiccup with an expression of utter disbelief so incredibly familiar that made Hiccup want her even more, regardless of her answer. He tugged at the delicious curve of her broadened hips, but her strong fingers on his wrist stayed the motion.

"How do I feel about axe throwing?" she repeated.

"You know what? It's not important. Forget I asked."

"I can't," she said, cocking an eyebrow and pressing herself against him. Her lips pressed against his earlobe, hot and wet. "I could throw an axe right now," she whispered, "It's been too long."

His smile was faint, but genuine because the blue eyes that looked back at him were seeing him. They were here and now.

"I have an axe for you."

"I know," Astrid murmured against his neck, "But, I don't think it's the kind I'm going to throw."

"Well, I have two axes for you. One you throw and one you—"

"Hiccup."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Hiccup's grin was infectious and earnest. Tilting his head, he brushed his nose back and forth against hers, before moving in toward her mouth. Lips almost touching, he breathed, "I missed you."