In Love, Trust
—ж—
"The best proof of love is trust."
- Dr. Joyce Brothers
—ж—
When he speaks, his husky voice is barely a whisper, "Please. You have to trust me."
Calloused fingers, hardened and rough from years of mastering techniques at the forge, brushed against her soft cheek. Her own hands, now nimble and quick from weaving, fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. Flashes of blonde and auburn fall before his eyes; his forehead is pressed against hers. They are hidden away behind the walls of their house, the house he had built with only the help of Fishlegs to guide him. Astrid inhales; he smells of fire, and coal, old paper and charcoal and something else. Something entirely Hiccup. She does not like the prospect of this journey, he can see it if the firm line of her mouth and the rigid set of her shoulders. He knows she is having trouble looking at him; the last raid by the northern-most tribe has left a deep, ugly scar across his cheek and jaw. She feels his other hand come to rest on her hip; she can see the glint of his wedding ring from the corner of her eye. Unintentionally, her gaze falls to that hideous, ugly thing that was supposed to be a decent replacement for flesh and blood, and she cannot help but think that in some way, that thing it is a product of her own faults. He has told her multiple times over that none of it was her fault, that it was the dragon. Her faith in his words is small, but strong. Slowly, her eyes trace a pattern up towards his face; she picks out every scar hidden beneath his clothing, some caused by the forge, others by wrestling with Toothless. The worst ones always come from the raids. She can picture the small scars on his chest, the arrow hole in his shoulder, the slice from an axe that resulted in several broken ribs. She does not know, but somehow he always manages to bounce back, to wake up the next day with a laugh on his lips and a smile behind those emerald eyes. She thinks back to a time when she thought that he would never awaken, that the Gods had finally taken him home. A small scar on his face has already broken up one of his unruly eyebrows; two scars break up his lip diagonally, cruelly cutting into his trimmed beard. She shakes her head forcefully, and remembers that they are not longer children. His twenty-fifth birthday was just two days ago.
Shaken hands reach out for him, desperately curling into his shirt with more ferocity, more need. She had been fiercely independent before Hiccup came along, so much so that the village elders thought she was destined to become a shield maiden: a powerful woman ready to die for her village, but alone nonetheless. She thought that was what she wanted, a life free to make her own decisions, her own choices about love. But she had been wrong. In the end, her heart had chosen for her: the lanky, socially awkward, brilliant, auburn haired son of the Chief. Eventually, she forces her gaze ever upward, until, beneath all the scars and calloused skin, his warm, loving gaze smiles back at her. Tears begin to blur her vision as she leans forward, her broken spirit seeking solace in his warm arms. She automatically encircles his waist and he sighs in relief; he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath. His arms find their way around her shoulders and his fingers nestle themselves in her hair. He places a soft kiss on her temple as she buries her face in the crook of his neck and bites her lip to keep from crying. She doesn't need to say anything; the simple action is enough to put his fears at ease… if only for the moment.
Come what may, he knows that she will always trust him.
