"So, when you say grey stripes, are we talking stripes like scaling pattern or-?"
"Stripes like scarring. Not super deep, but a serious discoloration," Freya replied, raising her eyebrows at her father, who had just appeared in her doorway, "What's it like walking on the ceiling?"
"What's it like draping your head off your bed and staring into space?" Hiccup retorted tartly, "Hurting yet?"
"No, but the pressure takes my mind off the itching," She pointed to the head of her bed at her notebook, which lay open on her pillow, "Take a look."
Hiccup entered the room and scooped it up, inspecting her sketches.
"Sorry, it's clumsy, I don't usually-"
"Do dragons," He finished for her, "It looks like the wing is dislocated."
"Really?" Freya's head, "I thought it was broken."
"Nah," Hiccup sat on the edge of her bed, "If you got this sketched right, I think it's just dislocation. It would still be painful to get it set back in place, but the bone wouldn't have to be splinted."
"Ah."
"Why the interest? I thought you wanted to avoid it."
Freya squirmed and refused to make eye contact with her father. She wasn't sure she wanted to share her feelings just yet.
Mainly because they were a tangled mess she couldn't begin to explain.
"What about the scarring? Any idea what could have caused that?"
"I mean, could be a lot of things. Burns, wounds-"
"It was even spread into it's eye."
"So that's what this squiggle is in the iris, got it."
"Well?" Freya rolled over onto her stomach and looked up at her father. Hiccup studied her sketch in silence long enough that she began to drum her fingers on the floor in front of her.
"I have no idea," He finally admitted, throwing up his hands, "I would have to see it to even begin to guess."
Freya sensed an odd bubble of a feelings rise up into her chest, and she began to roll a thought over in her mind. It wasn't one of her normal thoughts, and that worried her. As a matter of fact, it went against every fiber of her being.
"Mind if I borrow this?" Hiccup asked, holding up her sketch, "I'm gonna try to puzzle it out… If I even can."
"Yeah, go for it." She waved a hand in his direction, not entirely paying attention. That bubble in her chest was nagging at her.
"I'll let you know." Her father said, standing to move towards the door.
The bubble popped and Freya's head shot up again. She sat up, kneeling in the center of her bed with a thought that was so insane she began to wonder how hard she'd hit her head.
Hel's throne….
"Dad?"
"Mm?" Hiccup halted in the doorway and spun to face her. His eyebrow raised a few degrees at the way she was looking at him.
"What if we….," She halted; the words didn't feel quite right.
"If we what?" Hiccup's eyebrow rose a little higher. On the inside, every part of him was holding its breath. Freya wasn't about to say what he thought she was, was she?
"I don't know, maybe we should help it," She blurted out, "Help it get its wing healed so it can leave. You know….. if it wants to…. Or whatever….."
The look of shock her father gave her made her squirm uncomfortably, drawing her gaze to her window to avoid meeting his stare.
"I mean," Hiccup cleared his throat nervously, "We could. If we can get it to let us, we could get it fixed up pretty well. At best, we could have it healed in a few weeks, if it lets us help."
It was Freya's turned to clear her throat, not entirely sure what to say.
"Maybe we should do that then," Her eyes flicked back to his, then away, "It'd be kinda hard to convince it to leave me alone if it couldn't get very far."
"Very true," Hiccup agreed evenly, fighting to keep his face straight, "Do you think you'd be up for helping me track it down so we can take care of it?"
"I mean, yeah. It'd be easier to find since it seems to think I'm interesting or something," She replied, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth, "I should still probably wait until I'm healed up though."
"On that, we are in complete agreement."
"Right….. well….. Good talk."
"I'll just-uh…. I'll just go study this. Do you want to update the map tonight, or just have me do it?"
"I'll do it."
"Okay," Hiccup had to fight every step to hide his feelings, "You rest up and I'll see you for dinner."
"M'kay."
"Hey."
"Mm?" Freya looked back at him.
"Is this gonna be okay? Like, is this a plan you're okay with?"
"Wooo, yay team." Freya gave a weak smile and halfheartedly put a fist in the air.
"Good enough, I guess." Hiccup muttered, exiting the room and leaving Freya to flop backwards and stare at the ceiling, trying to process what in Odin's name she'd just signed up for.
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Hiccup carefully exited the house, a lightness in his stride. He trooped through the village, Toothless on his heels, making a beeline for the guard tower closest to the docks. He nodded in distracted acknowledgement to all the Vikings that passed him along his path, never hesitating long enough to do more than that.
He finally slowed when he came to the base of a newly blossoming wall at the edge of the cliffs, waiting patiently behind his wife while he waited for her to finish giving directions to the group in front of her, Adrian at her elbow. Once she was done, she turned and almost walked into him, halting just in time.
"Hiccup! Gods, you startled me," Her sky blue eyes met his, "How's Freya? I haven't been able to check in on her."
Hiccup briefly opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, eyebrows furrowing. Finally, he just stepped forward and scooped his wife into a deep kiss, raising cat calls and whistles from nearby Vikings. By the time he released her, some color had risen in her cheeks.
"Wha-what was that about?" She managed to ask, still feeling heat in her face.
"I promise to tell you when you get home," Hiccup's eyes were shining and his crooked smile was firmly in place, "It's nothing bad, I promise."
"Nothing bad?" One of her thin eyebrows had arched, "With that behavior, it must be something awfully good."
"I'll tell you." He promised, giving her a brisk kiss on the cheek and walking away. Dumbfounded, she slowly raised her hand to her face, touching the spot his lips had been.
"What in Odin's name….."
"I-uh….. Wow."
Astrid turned to look at Adrian, who's tanned skin was red with his blush. When she gave him a puzzled look, he cleared his throat.
"Uh…. If I'd known that was coming, I would have given you some room."
"If I'd known that was coming, I would have demanded answers first," She admitted, "Probably why he did it, in all honesty."
"I don't think I've ever seen him like that."
"I don't think he's acted like that in front of other people in like eleven yea-," Astrid's voice died in her throat and her head tilted as her mind started to travel. Where it took her was down a very puzzling path. The longer she thought about it, the more her eyebrows knitted together.
After a few minutes of this, Adrian felt awkward enough to interject.
"Astrid… Do you need me to give you a minute?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, go ahead." She waved her hand at him, obviously not having fully registered what he'd said, "Whatever you need to do."
Adrian's eyebrows almost shot into his scalp and he retreated, needing to do some thinking of his own. He looked down at the supply list in his hand, backtracked, then handed it to Astrid, who was still absentmindedly staring into a nearby wall. He had no clue what had just transpired in front of him, but it seemed like it was one of those married people things, where they seem to be the only ones who understood what was going on.
He was not about to try to decipher that.
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"Alrigh', yer worrying' your wife and scarin' the rest o' the village," Gobber announced as he entered Hiccup's workshop, "Out with it."
Hiccup had been happily humming, digging into one of his large supply chests for splint materials, detailed anatomical drawings of Toothless spread across his desk.
"Out with what?" He asked, leaning over his drawings, shuffling through them with a finger.
"Las' I heard, yer daughter was brough' back early with a banged up noggin'," Gobber grabbed Hiccup's shoulder to get his attention, "An' now yer glowin' like yeh did the day she was born. Wha' happened?"
Eyes still shining, Hiccup grabbed Gobber's beefy forearm and gave him a winning smile.
"I don't want to jinx it," He gave the smith's arm a squeeze, "I really don't."
"Yeh can't just leave it at tha'," Gobber protested indignantly, "Yer scarin' people. An' with the way things are, people don' need to be more scared."
"We might get a second chance."
"A secon' chance at what?"
Hiccup fixed him with a stare, crooked smile firmly in place.
"At what?"
Hiccup's eyebrows raised and a light came on in Gobber's mind. He released Hiccup's shoulder and started to stroke his chin thoughtfully.
"A secon' chance, yeh say?"
"Maybe," Hiccup stressed, "Like I said, I don't want to jinx it."
"Wha' can I do the help?"
"Get me her most recent measurements."
"Her wha-"
"Trust me."
"Oh aye lad, I trust yeh," Gobber replied, slightly sarcastically, "But then yeh may be getting' a bit ahead of yerself."
"Positive thoughts Gobber!" Hiccup exclaimed, shoving his selected drawings under his arm and marching out the door.
"An' wha' exactly do yeh need those measurements for?" Gobber planted his feet and crossed his arms. Hiccup stopped and looked at him with a touch of patient annoyance. He sighed and walked back into the room, down the length of work tables and storage boxes until he reached a chest stuffed in the farthest corner. It was covered in dust and the bindings were starting to show spotting of rust through neglect, but Hiccup approached it as though it was a precious treasure. He slowly ran his fingers along its edge, hesitating at the clasp. With a steadying breath, he lifted the lid and reached inside.
A few moments of rummaging and he closed it again with a gentle but firm 'thump'. Hiccup got to his feet and returned the sketches and the splint back under his arm. As he passed Gobber again, he reached out and placed something in the hands of the massive smith before walking out the door.
Gobber looked down at what Hiccup had given him and started to laugh. In one hand was a worn hilt, a deep hole in the mouth of the yawning dragon guard. In the other, an obsidian black mask with flickers of red beneath the dark, staring eyes.
"Oh aye, we are feeling' optimistic…" He shook his head and placed both items on the closest work bench, "An' if wishes were coins, I'd be rich."
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The sun was gone and the moon high in the sky when Freya finally began to dissect her thoughts, trying to analyze her own words. What had she signed herself up for? What in all the gods' names had she been thinking? Had she been thinking at all?
"Hey," She said blandly to the night, "Blondie that thinks she's a goddess."
She received no answer, which didn't help. Still frustrated, she continued.
"So….. You say you're staying out of it, but what is this nonsense? This isn't me. I don't do stuff like this, so what are you about, putting those thoughts in my head?"
Still nothing, but at this point, she was invested in her one-sided conversation. She rolled onto her side, eyes narrowed at the inky blotchiness that was a wall.
"You swear some sacred oath stating you're gonna stay out of it, but this feels like blatant interference. I thought you gods took that stuff seriously. Sets a bad example for us mortals-"
She hissed as there was a slicing pain from her right arm and looked down, trying to blink away the tears from her watering eyes. The faded handprint had returned and she could feel the annoyance through the connection. After a few moments, the sensation faded and she rubbed her arm sourly.
"Alright, alright, keep your cuirass on…" She muttered mutinously, "You can't blame me for asking."
After tossing and turning some more, she sat up with a sigh, the slow buzzing of anxiety resting in her stomach.
"I must be crazy. I hit my head way too hard. It's the only explanation." Unable to stand it any longer, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and stood, restlessness spreading to her limbs. With a disgusted sound, she prowled out of her room and down the hall to the room where her map awaited its completion. She nudged the door open and scanned the room. When she saw it was empty, she carefully closed the door behind her and approached the sprawling canvas, eyes skimming all the work she had done.
"Am I really making a difference with this?" She asked herself aloud, "I mean, I know I am. that's a dumb question. But is it going to be enough of a difference?"
Her imploring look at the ceiling also offered her nothing but silence. Shaking her head, she was almost ready to go back to bed when something caught the corner of her eye. A sheet of parchment shoved gracelessly under the main plank on the desk holding the map upright. Her curiosity peaked, she approached the desk once more and tugged it loose.
She recognized her father's drawing style, but the object on the sheet puzzled her for a moment. Then a weak smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and the anxiety in her stomach was replaced with something different; something warmer. She felt her throat tighten and her eyes watered. Wiping at them quickly, her smile tugged a little harder.
It was a design, a kind she hadn't seen before in their house. A Rider's mask.
It was dark, elegant, feminine. The bridge of the nose had a double row of spines running to the brow before splitting off to create arcs that almost looked like a diadem. The eyes were thinner than she'd seen before, but still hindered no visibility. Red lines ran from the cheek bones to the edges of the face before curving two ways, one to run down the cheeks, the other to meet the spines at the temples.
After realizing she was staring, Freya hurriedly shoved the drawing back where it had been hidden. She sniffed wetly and left the room back to the moonlight, her weak smile still on her face.
"Thanks Dad," She whispered to the dark, "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
When she reached her room, she grabbed a jacket and stuffed her feet into her boots before heading for the window. Her eyes lingered on her bedside table, on her wood whistle that had lay untouched for longer than she could remember. Her smile widened a little and she grabbed it before clambering out her window and onto the roof. She scaled it to the ridge and sat for a moment, eyes to the stars.
After a moment, she raised the whistle to her lips and a soft tune began to wander through the air across the village and into the night. It quietly made its way into the trees, echoing from the trunks as much as it muffled them.
In the forest, a set of ears raised and a black head cocked itself to the side, listening in the moonlight.