Tralala. Hi! This is the chapter that will make your chest explode. Please enjoy.
Berkian Eddur - 1
Becoming Lífþrasir
Day 5
"Fireworm!"
Astrid had never heard Cattongue yell so angrily. It almost made her feel guilty that she was so gleeful about it, but he deserved it, so badly.
The monstrous nightmare he'd called sat up very straight, looking at him eagerly and expectantly. Astrid got a shiver running up her spine at how well he could do that. All the dragons, even newly tamed ones, simply fell over themselves to try to make him happy. And he was so rarely angry with them, just like the children - he knew just the right amount of pressure to put.
This one, though; this one had been getting on everyone's nerves all morning.
"Fireworm, be a dear and sit on him."
The nightmare promptly obeyed, sitting on her rider and causing Snotlout to wail and flail uselessly against her belly. She nuzzled him fondly, but stayed where she was, as if she was caring for a rather daft hatchling. Or so Astrid felt sometimes.
"Sorry about that, everyone. Now, let us continue. The first wave, please. We're fighting other dragons, so we can't go up against them with the wooden defenses. Troll Peak has been equipped with more of the bells and nets, but I will need you all to be familiar with your mounts and able to fly properly as quickly as possible. I can't have anyone falling off into the beach. You wouldn't come out alive and I want as few people to get hurt here as possible. So, all those with gronkles, please follow Treeshade, from the Meathead clan. She and her gronkle have been flying together for two years now, and she'll be able to tell you all the best tricks to handle your dragons. Fishlegs!" The smile in his voice was obvious, and as the larger boy lumbered forward Cattongue walked to greet them, rubbing his hand on Meatlug's snout. "How's it been going?"
"Better now that we have our saddle, isn't it my armoured little Meatlug?" Fishlegs replied. Astrid couldn't help walking up as she heard Cattongue laugh, something tingling at the back of her mind as he did, every time.
"And how have you been liking your new home, eh Meatlug? Been treating little Woodnut right?"
Astrid almost snorted. Gods, if even the outsider knew the little tot's name before Ruffnut and before Fishlegs presented her in the hall, Ruff was going to kill him for sure. Meatlug only dilated her pupils and lolled her tongue, butting her large snout against the slimmer male. Toothless, always attentive to his rider, kept Cattongue from clapping on his back by catching him against his scaly chest.
"Good then. Do you mind going with the lot, Fishlegs? You've learned more about Gronkles in these two days than some of us have in years." Fishlegs flushed but puffed his chest out, slapping Cattongue on the shoulder. "Would you give them a hand and go with Treeshade?"
"With pleasure. Come on darling, you and daddy must help all the other new riders today."
"Like a fish to water," Cattongue murmured to her as he watched them go. When he turned to her, she could clearly see his eyes through the helmet, and they were twinkling with a smile.
And green. She'd never remembered that they were green before. A very pretty shade of green. Just like Hiccup's when he was about to do something mad that got him into trouble again. She'd always thought his eyes were his best feature.
What on Midgard was she thinking?
Cattongue seemed to realise that he was talking with her in a rather conspiratorial and familiar manner, as he lurched back as if she'd punched him, looking away quickly and briskly walking toward the rest.
"Ok, Cami! I want you to take all the folk with changewings and zipplebacks on the beach, and I want at least one changewing for every zippleback team. We are going to need to pair you all up; these dragons are a destructive match made in Asgard. Off you go! Phlegma - do me a favour and keep an eye on all of them, if you please?"
The tough woman gave a nod, looking at Tuffnut specifically as she led her own zippleback towards the beach. Tuffnut seemed none too pleased that he'd been saddled with one of his younger sisters to share his dragon; Astrid would have been so much more comfortable if Ruffnut could have joined him. With all their horrid perchance to punch each other in the face, the twins had the odd habit of balancing each other's madness out. Fernnut seemed about as comfortable on a dragon as a mouse on a moustrap. Her poor zippleback head was trying to nuzzle her, and only succeeding in making her squeak.
"Heather!" The Meathead heir's bride looked up and nodded without another word, beginning to round up all the riders who had been paired with a nadder and leading them towards a clearing at the foot of the mountains they'd already agreed upon, where the nadders and riders would have plenty of time for bonding and target practice.
"Well then," Astrid said, uncomfortable with the fact that she was more than a little reluctant to leave.
"Hofferson. Er …" he turned to look at her again, and for the second time that morning, she had a clear view of his eyes through his mask as he looked directly at her. Directly, and rather beseechingly.
"Not a chance; I'm staying right here," she said, and was utterly gratified to see the relief and gratitude come over his eyes as he turned to look at the remaining dragons and riders before turning to her again.
She could read him through the mask, now? It should have been cause for celebration that she was cracking him - and that he was turning to her for help - but it was equally alarming that she was feeling so gleeful and satisfied in the rather … deep connection that was taking root in their everyday interactions.
She'd known him for a few days. But somehow that is not what it felt like.
She shook it off as she turned to look at the others.
"The second wave," he said quietly, squaring his shoulders and folding his arms, more than a little nervous judging by the trepidation in his voice. Hoark was there, and Thuggory, but so were all the other nightmare riders, close and … less close with their mount.
Snotlout had still not managed to get out from Fireworm's warm belly-trap.
"Let's begin," he said, stepping forward.
Later - much, much later - Astrid slumped against a wall, tired beyond belief as she watched the last few dragon riders exit the arena - or what was left of it - hopefully ready to face more difficult training tomorrow. It had been a productive day, bar a few close calls and a few hard heads on both sides, and she was at least confident that the dragon-viking pairs they had created today, between nightmares and some of the other more powerful species, wouldn't kill each other in their sleep.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cattongue slump on a rock just outside on the ledge facing into the arena, Tootless lying belly up beside him as his rider idly dragged a stick in the dirt in front of him. With a smile and a huff, she pushed off the wall and approached him quietly, realising belatedly that he was murmuring to his dragon, and drawing into the clay dirt. Before she could take a curious peek at what he was drawing, Toothless swiped a wing across it.
"Hey! Don't do that to my drawings of the most beautiful woman in Midgard!"
Astrid felt herself stiffen as the dragon rolled onto it's back again and cuffed Cattongue with its tail, nodding its head back towards her. Cattongue looked back and tensed considerably, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away too quickly to be casual.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your quiet time," she said, feeling suddenly awful for intruding on what was obviously a moment of memory for him. Something rolled uncomfortably in her chest as she remembered Ruffnut telling her what she'd heard from the Bog heir, and how loyal he still was towards the woman he had attached himself to. It was such an uncomfortable lurch, one that made her insides feel ill and out of place. And that he called this girl the most beautiful woman in Midgard…
"No no, no; it's fine, I was just fooling around with a stick," he said apologetically. "Some day, huh. I'm about ready to hit the hay at Gobber's. It looks like it will snow again tonight."
"It will," she said, looking up at the sky. "But you need to eat before you rest. Why don't you come to the mead hall and have something before you rest a while?"
"I'll fall asleep on one of the benches," he joked, stick moving in the clay again seemingly of its own accord, and an axe and an armoured skirt taking shape before her eyes. Trepidation suddenly rose to her throat as the flashing thought of how she measured up against the 'most beautiful woman in midgard' in an axe fight clogged her breathing with confusion.
"So where did you meet her?" she asked with forced casualness, nodding her chin towards the two legs that had begun to take shape under the skirt. Cattongue started and seemed to realised what his hand was doing for the first time, throwing the stick away as if it burned him.
"Nowhere, I -er- wasn't drawing anyone in particular. Just a, just a shieldmaiden I once knew."
"It's ok," Astrid replied, smiling tiredly. "No need for that. Cami's spilled the beans, about this girl you're mad about. Told Ruff all sorts of things about the Bog women who tried to land you. It was quite entertaining."
"She did, huh?" What was also entertaining was watching the blush rise up his neck. However, two other warring emotions also rose with it - her wish to see it climb up his face, and her curiosity about this woman of his.
"Yup. So tell me about her." He looked at her incredulously. "Oh go on. I'm not about to go spread it to the winds like Ruff. And she's probably out there, waiting for you. So you'd better remember her."
Same way Hiccup had better remember her; even if they weren't friends anymore before he left; even if he'd never mentioned her to any of his new friends.
The ill feeling returned. Ah; it was envy. Not an emotion she'd own up to any time soon.
"She was … someone I knew. Incredible with an axe … incredible temper, too. You wouldn't want to get on her bad side. I seemed kind of unable to get out of it."
"Ah. She wasn't yours, then?" she asked gently, wondering why the knot in her chest loosened. It didn't make any difference to her. Her Hiccup didn't remember her in this way. The knot came back.
"No…" he replied, voice tight and sad. Astrid felt awful for bringing it up, but it seemed he wasn't done. "But you know, I don't mind. She's strong, stronger than anyone I know. And as long as she's happy…" He turned to look at her, and the steely sunlight reflected onto his eyes, turning them into a green lighter than the clearest stream water, only a shade more coloured than the whites of his eyes beyond the darker outer rim. "Are you happy?"
The question hit her like a ton of bricks, and the place in her belly that had been burning hotter and hotter as he spoke turned under her diaphragm, cutting off her breathing so that her next question came out strangled.
"What?"
"I mean," he went on quickly, looking away abruptly as another blush climbed his neck. "You remind me of her, a great deal. And if you're happy, I can hope that she is too. So … are you happy?"
Astrid had to swallow twice to bring spit to her mouth. With her heart beating more loudly than she cared to take notice, she looked down at the half-smudged, half finished lines in the clay dirt.
"Well, I'm not badly off," she started, trying to organise her thoughts into something that resembled some sort of coherency. There was just too much going on inside her, jumbled into one, but she wrung it back into some sort of ordered thought. "I mean, I could be happier. If everything goes well with …" she gestured towards the sea, her voice going low as if she were afraid to summon it. "And if … if Hiccup came home, I'd definitely be happier. But I'm not badly off, all told."
Cattongue looked at her, eyes unblinking for a few moments. It looked like he planned on sitting there all night. Astrid had begun to feel that she wouldn't mind too much.
Toothless seemed to be impatient, on the other hand, as he swiped a tail across the clay lines again and slapped Cattongue in the face - or where his face was under the helmet, anyway. The ringing sound the metal tail rig made wasn't pleasant on the outside of that helmet, and she was sure it was worse on the inside.
"OW! Why you, stupid reptile! Would you stop that!" He got up and chased Toothless around the rock, finally jumping up and launching himself on the night fury's back - who promptly rolled over onto him and made him groan and flail. Astrid had to contain a laugh as Cattongue began to vocally and dramatically proclaim an open war with the dragons, as a result of his untimely demise, all because Toothless couldn't wait a few minutes for his fish.
"Gah, alright, alright; get off, and don't you dare drool all over me. I have too much to do for a proper bath and that doesn't wash out anyway," he complained, pushing the reptile off and scrabbling against his scales to get up. Toothless obliged with a laugh of his own kind, rolling back onto his paws with Cattongue conveniently clinging to his back.
"So, to the Hall for a hot meal?" Astrid said, standing up. Toothless gave a shake and gruff grumble. Cattongue looked back at her with a shrug.
"Mr. Bossy vetoed that. Sorry, A- Hofferson. I'd say, maybe, next time?"
Astrid shrugged, her heart giving another skip as he almost called her by name. "Hall's open every day," she replied, and waved as he took off, sitting back down on the boulder in disappointment. She looked back towards the sketch he was tracing in the clay, now nothing but a smudged mess of tossed clay dust, the ground tussled and turned from Toothless' and Cattongue's gyrations…
Astrid blinked, steely light beginning to turn reddish and glinting off black stone-like things their tussling had obviously uncovered. Reaching down, she picked up two of them, and froze the moment they were in her hand.
They were round and flat, tapered off on one side. They were dark, almost black. With midnight blue, lovely veins lining them, like pipe smoke at midnight.
Her hands began to tremble as she looked at them, holding them up against the light to see their colours and patterns better. The .. pattern was ... the size also slightly smaller, but ... there was no mistaking it.
She scrambled for her pendent, pulling it off almost too roughly, and with shaky fingers undid the clasp that kept the jewel inside the silver casing she'd worn for five years.
Hands trembling almost violently, she held it up to the light. The size was different, the patterns unique to each one. But there was no mistaking that they were identical.
Many, tiny, seemingly insignificant things began to fall into place. Why his laugh was so familiar; why she enjoyed his company and felt she'd known him for so long; how he knew where everything was on Berk and why she remembered parchment and ink and sea-salt when they talked.
Gobber, whistling again. Thuggory and Heather's wedding axes. How he had gotten off the island so quickly and quietly. His lovely green eyes.
Why he reminded her so much of Hiccup.
He was Hiccup.
"So you finally noticed?"
Astrid turned around, hands still outstretched in front of her face as she held out all the jewels - which were night fury scales - to find Fishlegs looking at her understandingly. How long had she been there? How long had he been gone? Where was…
"Oh gods," she gasped, dropping the scales she'd picked up and fumbling with her own so badly Fishlegs had to take it from her to put it in her pendent and clasp it to her neck. She looked up at him, a burning feeling in her belly making her breath short. "Oh gods, Fishlegs, I - He -"
"I don't think he's ready for us to know yet," came Fishlegs' calm response, although he too was biting his lip. Astrid, however, couldn't hear it; she couldn't hear anything right now above her own breathing and heartbeat.
"Fishlegs, I can't, I just-"
"Astrid-"
"Please, tell them I'm training," she begged, backing off towards the woods. "Tell them I'm training, please, have Ruff spread the rushes and take them to the hall, and, … please, tell them I'm training!"
With one last desperate plea, she launched herself into the treeline, running blindly until she missed a root completely and fell face-first into the underbrush. Spitting out a mouthful of leaves, Astrid stood back up, grabbing her dagger and began launching herself at whatever came into her eyesight, rolling and tumbling, screaming and yelling and kicking and slashing.
When the light disappeared, she took several gulps of air as she collapsed. She was trembling all over, exhausted, dirty. But her belly hadn't stopped burning, and Astrid finally realised that it was a mixture of anxiety, and happiness.
Hiccup was safe. He was back, he was on Berk, and she had actually apologised to him. She'd told him that she wished he were back. That him coming back would make her happy, that she was engaged to him. All the things she had been dreading to say, she'd said them already.
But he'd never told them who he was either; never responded to her in any way where she couldn't see had another, neutral meaning to whatever alternate, more heartfelt emotion she wanted to attach to his tone and response - and why had he never taken off that damned helm-
Obviously because he didn't want them to recognise him.
She began to remember other things. What Thuggory said, what he had said about him being unneeded in his clan on their first meeting. How he was working so tirelessly for all of them, even if he still thought they didn't really want him.
Or maybe now he really didn't want them. He didn't want to be stuck here when he could travel and visit all the tribes and all the world from his dragon's back.
And then there was her; the woman he'd fallen for, this 'most beautiful in midgard' girl who he apparently couldn't get over. He wouldn't want to be engaged to Astrid, no matter how similar they were, if he was in love with someone else and perhaps had a chance with her.
It began to rain, quietly at first as the trees took the worst of it, then loudly as accumulated moisture dripped off the pine cones and fir needles into the ground and her. She rose and walked towards the village, but didn't head towards Stoick's hall. As soon as she was in sight of the village, she sat down and looked up at the moon's hazy light through the clouds.
She needed to think.
=0=
Hiccup, at three years, was tall for his age, but had still retained the baby chub that made him a darling to look at. And he used his large, round green eyes on no one better than his parents.
"Dada?"
Like now. Holding the wooden duck toy he towed by its string, he was looking up at his father beseechingly, fiddling with the string and rolling the wooden egg that spun as he pulled it. Ah - so it had come apart again. Gobber had given the child the toy and he'd instantly adored it, as opposed to the toy mace Stoick himself had given him. But it kept falling apart (woodwork wasn't the smith's best talent, it would seem. He'd best stick to metal) and causing his little man grief. He'd have to have a word with Gobber. And possibly start up woodwork himself.
"What is it, lad?" he asked anyway. Hiccup gave him a toothy smile, a look of pure adoration on his face that filled his chest with pride. Stoick had never known a feeling like this; when his son looked up at him, his eyes full of wonder and admiration, there was nothing in the world like it.
"Dada fix it?" he asked, holding out the wooden toy duck as far as his little arms could stretch. It still wasn't far at all, and Stoick had to stoop down and squat to take the tiny thing.
"Stoick!"
Turning around, he found the men waiting at the door of the hall, looking expectant. His boy had caught him right as he was about to leave with his council to inaugurate one of the new fishing boats they had just finished building for the season, and start the blessing ceremony so the Goethi could send them off to a hopefully abundant catch.
Hiccup, at three, was already a little man, and Stoick was even prouder of him than any dad had the right to be, because he was smart as a shining piece of silver, and immediately realised what was going on.
"Dada busy?" he asked, taking his toy back without further question or complaint. Stoick rubbed his head fondly, half the boy disappearing under his meaty hand and making his son giggle. Val walked up, arms folded and half a smile on her face, a smart comment about to leave her lovely mouth, no doubt. Hiccup scuttled off to hug his mother's knees, which he could at least get his arms around partially. He turned to give Stoick one last, toothy smile.
"Later, Dada?"
"Count on it, son!"
Stoick blinked as he walked out of the Great Hall, suddenly unable to remember why he had left it in the first place as the door bounced shut behind him. A rare full day of sunlight was shining outside, and his bear cloak suddenly felt hot against his back.
"Hoy Stoick, ready for the forest patrol?" Hoark asked him, going over a list written on parchment with attention. Judging by the paper's edges, it was forest fire season. Ah.
"Right away. Do we have the water cistern with us?" he asked, falling into the familiar routine of every year. It was always one thing after the other with the village, always one thing closing and a thousand things still to be done, year after year.
Suddenly, among legs and feet at the top of the large Hall staircase, a tiny russet head appeared, and soon after a pair of shining green eyes were looking up at him again. Stoick blinked, somehow able to feel that this made no sense, but not really knowing why. Hiccup was about seven, at least hip-high now, where all the other boys his age had reached their father's waist. But he still stood head and shoulders above all the others for smarts. In fact, he was carrying a paper in his hand that looked very much like one of those hare-brained ideas that Gobber seemed to encourage, of all things.
"Daddy, I have an idea that might help!" he said excitedly, running up and getting underfoot, causing a number of people to totter on one foot lest they step on him. He felt like chuckling, but the look on some of their faces stopped him. Since his mother had gone, Hiccup had been out of the house more often, simply due to the fact that there was nothing and no one to keep him in it anymore. But it had been two years now, and he should have grown out of this bad habit when scolded.
"Hiccup, I told you to stay inside, today," he told him sternly. The shine in his son's eyes instantly dampened, but he bit his lip and held the paper up anyway.
"I had to go to the forge today, remember? You said Gobber wanted me there." There was a happy smile again on his face, and Stoick was glad his son was content to work in the forge with his friend. They seemed to get along well enough, and for a moment Stoick wondered whether he was destined to be surrounded by smart but half-mad people. He missed Val more than anything, even though she sometimes made things worse by adding her brand of humour to everything. "And Gobber said you would want to see this." His small smile, mismatched teeth too big for his face, faltered. "Sorry. Was he wrong, daddy?"
"No, son. Give it here." He took the paper, trying to pretend interest as he deciphered the childish scrawl. It didn't take him much to realise that the uneven handwriting betrayed the brilliance of the idea, where barrels full of water were launched into the raging forest from their war machines wheeled to the tree edges. It would have some logistical problems, but …
"What is this at the bottom, son?" he asked, the back of his brain already working out the implications and implementations of his son's idea.
"That's a fire brigade!" Hiccup said enthusiastically, green eyes shining brilliantly again. Stoick had to stop himself from ruffling his hair - his boy was growing now, it did not do to show too much affection in public. And it was bloody awkward anyway. "I thought the others and Fishlegs and I could carry a barrel around each one of us, and when there's a fire because of the dragons we throw water at it!"
"Aye?" he said, trying to make out the excited drawing of people with their names underneath. Not a bad idea, that, although if they hauled a full sized barrel around on a cart, they would… speaking of hauling. "You sure you can carry a small barrel full of water, son?"
Somehow, he'd said the wrong thing, as the shine in his son's eyes disappeared, and a blush rushed up his face.
"That's what Gobber said," he grumbled. Stoick resisted the urge to chuckle, but pat his son on the back. The shine of happiness and admiration returned and Stoick couldn't help smiling back.
"I think we could work with these. Now, off you go back to the forge with ye, son!"
"But-?"
"Stoick! All ready to go on patrol!"
He turned to his son after signaling to Spitelout, and his boy already had understanding in his eyes.
"Ok, daddy. Later?"
"Of course, son!"
By the time he reached the bottom of the long staircase it was night somehow. Stoick blinked, rubbing his eyes and feeling suddenly tired out beyond belief. He noticed the ribbon poles, the harvest fires, the carts full of grain, and smiled. Ah, the last harvest night. He always slept the deepest tonight, after a successful venture that brought in all the food and heralded the celebrations of the following day.
There was a rustle, then a tumble and a crash, followed by a yelp. Annoyance rose in Stoick's stomach as he turned to find himself face to face with his son, now twelve years old, who had stumbled sleepily on his own feet and fallen into the wheelbarrow he had been pushing along. As soon as he'd managed to untangle himself from the rope and scraps of leather and stand on his spindly legs again, he spotted his father. The boy gave him a shy smile that only made him scowl at him in response. He'd been underfoot all day, trying to 'help', getting in the way and making messes. Why couldn't he be more like Spitelout's boy, dragging all the others behind him on rambunctious adventures, or like Hacknee's girl, always carrying that well crafted axe after her and throwing it at trees and things (and sometimes people) who took her fancy.
"Dad, hi dad!" he said, out of breath. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and that was never good.
"What have you been up to, boy?" he said, perhaps more gruffly than he meant. He was tired, and wished nothing more than a warm meal, and a bath if he was lucky, before collapsing into bed. His son gave a crooked smile, obviously a little put out by his father's impatience, but he ploughed on quickly getting as many words out in one breath as he could.
"Oh, I helped Gobber out shoeing all the yaks and making sure all the milk urns and churns are in order, and we made new rings for the barrels and then I got an idea, and Gobber liked it, and -"
"I've told you that you and 'ideas' aren't a good combination, son," he said, trying to be mild and sounding like he wanted to throttle the boy instead. Which wasn't a lie; why couldn't his son simply follow orders, do what he was told, be one of the rest, like all the young ones. They all acted out sometimes, but they were children. Hiccup on the other hand, was to be their leader one day. He was to command the village, was to have his every utterance listened to and obeyed without doubt or question; and couldn't even say two things after each other that made any sense at all.
Still, it was sad to see the twinkle go out of his son's eye and his shoulders sag. Stoick rubbed his face, and let out a sigh, and when he looked at his son again, there was a different look on his face. It was a sad one, of disappointed understanding but understanding nonetheless. At least, his boy was still smart, and understood his dad was just too busy and weary, sometimes.
"Tired, Dad?" he asked, almost gently. The twinkle was back in his eyes, but it was muted, and for the first time Stoick thought it looked just as tired. He nodded quietly, and Hiccup's weak close-mouthed smile grew larger. "I'll get you a bath ready while you eat at the mead hall, shall I?"
Looking at his son now, for a moment he glimpsed his beloved Val promising a night of quiet comfort after a hard day, with a small child looking up at his father in adoration. It had been a while since that blind love and admiration had been on his son's face. But all boys needed to grow up, and Hiccup was at least maturing, possibly faster than the rest of the children, at least in mind. He was proud of him, there; if only he could throw off this sequence of hair-brained nonsense.
"That would be a good idea." Hiccup's smile got even bigger.
"See, me and ideas aren't so bad together after all." Stoick's face fell into a warning frown again (no need to have a repeat of the chicken incident), and Hiccup wilted completely. But he smiled again anyway. "Maybe later, Dad?"
There was a glimpse of hope in his eyes that twisted Stoick's chest, making him see a three year old lad again asking the same question. He knew he wouldn't hear it later anyway, but there was no harm in saying a small white lie, wasn't there?
"Yeah, son. Later."
Hiccup's smile somehow became sad again but he nodded, turning to his wheelbarrow again. Hoisting it with more difficulty than Stoick cared to notice, Hiccup went back to wheeling his burden towards the forge, hopefully his last one for the day. That boy needed to eat more, but Stoick didn't often see him in the Hall, scarfing down food like he saw Snotlout and the Ingerman boy. He didn't have time to dwell on it; the boy was already on his way, and Stoick's stomach wasn't waiting for anyone. He always made sure to lave a large amount of food in the hall for Hiccup anyway, and come to think of it, they were running out of that jam he liked so much; he'd have to speak with Inga about another jar.
But his legs somehow took him home instead. He was sure he'd been heading for the Great Hall, but instead, he found himself pushing his own hall's door opened. Suddenly, there was an oppressive feeling on his chest, like a weight had been strapped to it. The house was dark and silent, creaking in the cold, late summer night. There was no fire in the grate, or sound to be heard anywhere, and that was somehow alarming.
Hiccup was supposed to be here, after all.
He went up the stairs, which all groaned under his weight, and the darkness of the surroundings felt oppressive, making him wish he'd stoked the fire.
He pushed the door to his son's room, and the darkness swallowed him up. There was nothing in it apart from the bed and a few loose pieces of furniture. Then there was a letter on the bed, which Stoick saw his hand pick up, and open it, and then his son was there, fourteen years old, hair muted into brown with age, eyes tired and no smile at all.
"Sorry Dad. There won't be any later this time."
Stoick woke up with a start, body going stiff as he stared at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling above him. He forced himself to relax and see his surroundings, and then he remembered that there was a bandage around his head, and that therefore he was in the healer's hut. He sighed and lay back, feeling the oppressive sensation on his chest still pressing him down.
Later. He'd always told his boy he'd see him later, talked to him later, deal with him later after he cleaned up his messes. Until Hiccup got tired of waiting and took away that later Stoick didn't know he always counted on. He rubbed his forehead, encountering the bandage, and grumbled at himself. Well the stupid Goethi could say whatever she wanted; he wasn't going to stay in this stupid bed a minute longer. Too much time to think and remember regrets which did nobody any good. That stupid knot on his stomach just wouldn't go away…
Stoick pushed himself up, and then blinked as he found himself staring at a terror which had curled up on his chest, and was now looking at him grumpily for moving too much. The thing blinked at him and rubbed its head against his coverlet, then whined at him, as if begging him to be its bed for a little longer.
"Gerrof me!" he growled at it, causing it to squeak and bolt. And then he got whacked on the hand with an 'ow!' and a glare from the elderly Goethi, who let the thing climb up her back and curl on her shoulder. Stoick looked at her open mouthed. "What, you too?"
"They keep out the rats."
Stoick stared. He hadn't heard the Goethi speak since he was a little boy, and she'd still had fiery red hair. He felt suddenly like he'd shed his years, and was in here because he'd fallen out of the tree again because Spitelout had bet him on it. Unfortunately, the reflection in the soup she shoved into his hand had too many wrinkles. He swallowed it down quickly.
"They also keep these old shoulders from aching." She scratched the beast under its blue coloured chin, and it purred, something Stoick hadn't any idea the creatures could do. "The boy was right about them being little bundles of warmth. And before you say anything." She pointed her staff right at him, teeth jangling on it noisily. "You're on about something, you and your men. And no one's come a-sneaking. I've figured it out on my own after you threw me out of my own house. I've not started speaking again for something small."
She glared at him, and even though she was old and rickety and he could snap her like a twig, Stoick felt appropriately cowed. Their Goethi had been silent since one of the first and worse raids had left her a widow, her husband dying in her arms. There was no disrespecting the break of her vow of silence.
"Don't do foul by that boy, Stoick." A chill ran down his spine. Oh no, she couldn't mean … "He's planning to do great things for Berk. Great things that you will eventually approve of, too."
"Never," he hissed. Goethi shook her head.
"You will be proud to leave this village in his hands, when the time comes, Stoick. You must listen. If you don't, if you do something rash, not only will Berk suffer." She walked up beside him, sat on a tall stool, and looked him in the eye as she caressed the terrible terror still purring on her shoulder. "You will regret it for the rest of your days. You must listen to me, Stoick. I know you listen to me, and that is why I broke my vow to my dear old Earbone. I know he'll understand; but you must too, or it is all for naught. Do you, Stoick? Understand?"
Stoick for his part felt as if he'd been injured again as the room began reeling. The Goethi couldn't … she couldn't mean …
"So what should I do," he choked out. "Just … just let him take Berk from me, when he tries? Should I just give it to him? The Haddock family has been leading this tribe since we first sailed here. We won the right in combat, like vikings; like men!"
"There's the problem with you, Stoick - you had too little women-folk in your life. That wee little lass that lives with you now isn't going to heal that breach," the Goethi replied consolingly.
"What about my boy?" he went on, feeling the very air in the room choke him. This couldn't be happening; first Gobber, his closest and most trusted friend. And now the Goethi, who he trusted blindly, breaking her own vow of silence to tell him to … to tell him…
"Stoick." Her voice was different. Quieter and more gentle, even over the rasp of disuse that had blanketed the whole conversation. She squeezed his shoulder, forcing him to look up at her. "Your guilt about what happened with your son is keeping you looking behind. You're stuck looking over your shoulder at the past, and you're missing the future that is unrolling before your feet. The path is changing, Stoick, and it is changing for the better. I can feel it in my old bones. And I can see it, too. Beyond that helmet he wears … there aren't really scars. Not the sort he's made us believe anyway."
"What do you mean?" Stoick said, mind sharpening slightly over his pounding head and chest and trying to make sense of her cryptic words.
"Try to look at him, Stoick. Not as a danger, aye? Not to try to see if he's a threat. Try to just look at him, as a lad. See what that tells you. If he doesn't know you're looking, so much the better for it. I'll let you out of here in a few hours anyway. You've hogged my best bed long enough."
It actually wrung a chuckle out of him.
"Now lay back, my lad. I still remember you as a wee bairn, and chief of this tribe or no, I won't let you out-death me. And not a word on this our conversation, hear me laddy?" She gave him a stink eye. "I'll not break my vow to my dear Earbone more than I have to, so this here tonight will be the one time I talk unless the signs force me to it again." She gave a chuckle. "Not to mention, it's so amusing to see Gobber try to decipher my writing."
"You don't always write sense, do you." Her eyes twinkled as she smiled silently. "And the nonsense is all on purpose. Ah, I knew it!"
The Goethi chuckled, shook her head and brought the blanket back up to his chin, placing the terror back to keep him warm as she turned once again to sorting her herbs. "You want too many answers, all together. And I know that is how you usually make your decisions as chief; look at it, get as much information about it as possible quickly, and then kill it. But this one … is not that straight forward. You will need to look at it for longer. If we have the time."
"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to rise again and sinking back sheepishly when she turned to give him a baleful look.
"Again, you've been too focused on seeing what you wanted to see with that boy. He's working frantically and tirelessly for a reason. He thinks we're going to get the guest of honour soon. So you need to be healed up good, my lad." She gave him a kind, wobbly smile. "Rest, now. You'll need it when I kick you out later."
He went down on his back with a sigh, the terrible terror curling up on his belly and rubbing its beak against his blanket again. With a hesitant hand, he dropped first a few fingers, then his whole palm on it, scratching lightly, like one would touch an embar to see if it still burned.
When it started to purr happily under his touch, something inside him tipped upside down. Here was a dragon, the scourge of his island home, purring happily to be petted, napping peacefully, and rubbing its head on his covers to give and receive comfort.
He was glad the Goethi didn't have anymore to say. He had a lot to think about.
=0=
Astrid walked into her mother's arms the moment she opened the door. Brunhilda, not sure what on earth had gotten into her usual self-contained daughter, shooed all those who were still awake out of the master bedroom and closed the door behind her.
"Tell me what it is, dear one," she told her when she had peeled Astrid out of her soaked tunic and into a new one. She handed her obviously distressed daughter a tankard of warmed, watered mead, and as she sipped it, patting at her sodden hair, Brunhilda saw some colour come back to her cheeks.
"Mum, if I tell you something, will you keep the secret for me? You can't tell anyone." Brunhilda sighed, smiling at her daughter knowingly.
"You fell for him, darling? Should I give you some of my herbs?" she asked kindly. What little colour had climbed up her daughter's cheeks vanished, and the Viking woman bit her lip in chagrin. Her daughter was apparently taking her lack of loyalty towards her promised rather badly. The poor girl, she really saw things in black and white, the same way her dear father did. "Look, Astrid, you don't need to worry. You're a warrior, if you don't have your bride's blood no one will bat an eye with all the summersaults you do. And with the dragon riding now, it will be even less of a problem. As long as you drink these herbs I'll give you, you don't have to worry-"
"It's Hiccup." Brunhilda paused, looking at her daugher and waiting for her to continue. Astrid was staring at the small fire sitting between them - the only room in the Hofferson Hall to have a fire besides the main room. Holding the mug against her cheek and staring at the fire, Astrid looked miles away, like her mind had boarded the dragon and flown off into the sky. When she did look up at Brunhilda, she looked completely lost. "You know, the man you're hinting I slept with? Cattongue. It's actually Hiccup."
Brunhilda blinked at her.
"I'm not joking with you, mum. It's Hiccup. My … Berk's Hiccup." Astrid looked down, and there was obviously something else weighing her down. "He came back to help us, even though he still thinks we don't want him. Fishlegs figured it out, too. But …"
"How did … how did you reach this conclusion?" she asked her daughter, rather too shocked to be able to think of any other question. Astrid reached around her neck and undid the silver pendent she always wore. Holding it up to the fire's light, she let the blue jewel inside shine.
"You know how I got this? Do you remember, when I told you and dad?" Brunhilda nodded, looking around the room to make sure there wasn't anyone there she hadn't seen. Astrid had been honest with her parents on the circumstances of Hiccup's departure, even if Hacknee had probably not told Stoick everything in order to protect his daughter. Astrid'd thought, at the time, that she was going to shame the Hofferson clan once her treatment of the chief's son became public, but even then she had refused to surrender the jewel to her father, saying that it was something she needed to keep, to remind herself of what she'd done. And Brunhilda hadn't needed to be told what that jewel had come to mean as Astrid had worked herself faint to buy the silver, and then taken to wearing it every day. Astrid was … she was Brunhilda's little girl no matter how old she got, the only girl-child amongst her seven boys and her husband. Astrid had often spoken of Hiccup before, even if only to complain about him, but Brunhilda had still remembered the first time she'd seen her daughter blush, and that had been after she'd punched the chief's son in the shoulder for calling her hair pretty. She remembered Val, giving her a twinkling look as they laughed.
Brunhilda watched as her same daughter, now old enough to be married five years over, pulled the jewel out of its casing.
"This isn't a precious stone," she said quietly. "It's a night fury scale. I saw some that Toothless shed today and … they're identical. It got caught in my kransen that day probably because they hit me while they took off from the forest. Mum, the one training dragons and riding a night fury around the islands teaching how to deal with them isn't some outsider we've met for the first time. It's our Hiccup."
Brunhilda finally nodded, letting her Astrid's words sink in. Some things began to make sense; Cattongue was always extra polite to the right people, seemed to have what she had thought to be an uncanny instinct for those who were important on their island. But he was stumped sometimes, and she suddenly realised that it was always things that had been added since he left. The new mill he'd stopped to stare at yesterday. The newer children, whose names it took him a while longer to learn.
How he looked at her own Astrid. Ah; that made sense.
"Mum, I need your advice," Astrid started quietly. Her daughter bit her lip, taking another sip of mead before she went on. "Fishlegs said he's not ready to tell everyone… I think so too. I already feel bad about telling you, but … I know you won't tell. Right?" Brunhilda nodded. "Even dad?" She sighed, but nodded again. She'd reserve judgement on that one later. "Mum… I want to speak to him. You know how much I have to say to him, but I want to speak to him. Not his silly helmet or the stupid name he took up …"
Something in Brunhilda's chest broke as she saw her daughter stop to stare at the flames and smile fondly. Ah, her poor little girl. It had finally happened to her too.
With a sigh Astrid rubbed her forehead and looked up again. "Should I, mum? Should I tell him that I know, and speak to him?"
"Dear, you need to do what you must," she told her calmly, reaching across the fire and clasping her shoulder. Astrid nodded. "Tell him his secret is safe with you. Assure him that you mean him no harm. And then give him a good snog." Astrid didn't even snort at that, so Brunhilda gave her shoulder another squeeze. "What is it?"
"What if I run him off the island again?" she said, her voice more quiet than her little girl had ever been. Only Brunhilda really knew what an impact Astrid's guilt had had on her, and how many nights she had trained herself into exhaustion in order to forget what she perceived to be the most cruel act of her life. "What if he can't trust me, and the moment he finds out I know, he …"
"You won't, dear. Not if you're honest and upfront. But for safety, best grab ahold of him good so he doesn't run away, right?" Brunhilda smiled consolingly, moving to sit beside her and drag her into a hug, undoing her hair and brushing her fingers through as she used to when her little girl was nothing more than a wee bairn. Astrid sighed into her embrace, finally sagging as she let go of her worry and tension.
"I'm going to try it then, mum," she whispered, some determination bleeding back into her voice. Brunhilda smiled and kissed her daughter's crown.
"That's the spirit. Go get him, and give that butt of his a good grab while you're at it. It's legitimately yours after all, with the down-payment already made!" This time, Astrid did snort. Brunhilda smiled in satisfaction as she held her daughter close, rubbing her arms and kissing her crown affectionately again.
Well, what do you know. The buns of steel were going to join the family after all.
=0=
I'm so sad for Stoick. What happened to him could really happen to everyone. People who are parents can feel him; parents are expected to be these superhuman perfect beings, because that's how their children see them, but really, they're just as human as everyone else. Your mistakes just look bigger, because to someone very small, you're the whole world.
And I'm sure you are all incredibly chuffed that Astrid finally knows. Of course, no, Fishlegs knowing did not come out of left field. I left clues early on leading to an off-screen realisation by our smart Viking. I won't say were, because a number of you have asked for a sort of run-down of hidden clues, and I'll give them in the the last chapter.
Incidentally, if you would like to have anything cleared, list it in the comments, as well as your guesses about the clues. I'll address them in the footnotes of the last chapter.
This fic updates Tuesday and Friday. It is already written, and will contain 21 chapters.