DISCLAIMER - I DON'T OWN ANYTHING IN THE 'HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON' FRANCHISE

Astrid regretted ever asking Thuggory about Hiccup.

She regretted asking if he was alright, if he was alive, if he was happy. Now that she knew the truth, each day felt harder to bear. It was a relief, in some small way, to know that Hiccup was alive and well, that he was somewhere out there, making his own way. But that relief was overshadowed by a gnawing guilt that twisted in her stomach. He was out there, likely trying to forget about Berk, about her, and about everything related to this little island.

She couldn't blame him. They'd treated him horribly; they'd pushed him to his breaking point, and he'd finally left it all behind. But knowing this, having it confirmed beyond all doubt, was a weight she wasn't prepared for. And it wasn't just the guilt that weighed on her—it was the secret itself. She couldn't tell anyone, not even Stoick, though she saw him nearly every day. She saw the pain etched into his face, the worry that lingered in his eyes whenever his son's name came up. She could answer so many of his questions, alleviate some of the sorrow he still carried. And yet, she couldn't.

Astrid clenched her fists as she walked the same path Hiccup had taken every day, her steps filled with quiet frustration. Her duties as the future chief only reminded her more deeply of the chasm his absence had left. It was another responsibility she had to shoulder—one she'd never truly considered until she learned that Hiccup was still out there, alive and choosing to remain apart from them. He was not coming back. Not willingly.

That knowledge didn't sit right with her, either. If he never returned, she would inevitably be chief one day. She'd known the implications of that choice when she'd made it, but now, with Hiccup alive somewhere beyond their reach, the reality was sharper, more immediate. Stoick could only put off the inevitable for so long. The council, as if sensing this, had started to move things forward, and she'd recently found herself in a meeting that forced her to confront it all.

"Stoick, as much as we… miss… Hiccup," Spitelout began, though the word miss dripped from his mouth with an unmistakable 's eyes narrowed as he glanced around the table, and the rest of the council, all seated in tense silence notcomfortable under his gaze. "We can't allow the future of the chieftain line to rest on a boy whose very survival is uncertain."

"Nonsense!" Stoick's voice was a thunderous roar, as if he'd already made up his mind long before the words left Spitelout's lips. His anger flared up in an instant, the flicker of it visible in the firelight that danced across his weathered features. "Hiccup will return when the time is right. He will marry Astrid when the time comes, as it was intended."

His tone brooked no argument, and his eyes swept over the gathered council, daring any of them to question him. It was a command, not a statement. Yet, despite the resolute force in Stoick's voice, Astrid could see the uncertainty creeping into their expressions. They were unconvinced, and she didn't need to be a mind reader to understand why. The absence of the one they once believed would lead them felt more real with each passing day.

"Aye, but Stoick," Phlegma added carefully, her voice like a breeze softening the edges of a storm, "We don't even know if Hiccup is alive…"

Her words hung in the air like a stone dropped into a lake, the ripples unsettling. There was a silence that stretched too long before Stoick finally turned on her. His expression, until then controlled, darkened in a flash.

"Of course he's alive!" Stoick bellowed, his booming voice causing the stone walls to tremble slightly, a roar from the mountain itself. "He's my son! He has Haddock blood running through his veins!"

Astrid felt a chill creep up her spine at the raw emotion in his voice, but even as Stoick's words rang out with absolute certainty, she could feel the skepticism building in the council, like an undercurrent gathering strength. Eyes darted around the room, exchanging glances that spoke volumes—of doubt, of concern, of fear.

The tension was palpable, and it didn't take long for Mildew to seize upon it. His voice was sharp and shrill as it cut through the murmurs.

"Well, if you lot aren't going to speak the truth, then I will!" Mildew's voice rasped, as brittle as old parchment, his twisted, gnarled face pulling into a sneer. He leaned forward on his staff, his beady eyes glimmering with disdain.

"Oh, Thor," Gobber muttered under his breath, taking a deep gulp of ale as if bracing himself for the oncoming storm. "Here we go again…"

Mildew's words dropped like a hammer. "The boy was never cut out to be chief!" His voice crackled with contempt, the words dripping like venom from his tongue. "He wasn't a true Viking. He couldn't kill a beast, and he caused more trouble than the dragons did themselves!"

Astrid's fists clenched instinctively, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to remain still, to control the anger threatening to surge. She knew the council had their doubts about Hiccup, but hearing them voiced so brazenly, with so little regard for the truth, cut deeper than she'd anticipated.

Stoick's fist slammed down on the table with such force that the heavy wood groaned beneath the blow. His eyes were wild with fury, his features twisted in rage. "He was about to win dragon training, right before his—"

"Disappearance!" Mildew interrupted sharply, his voice sharp as a blade. He leaned even further forward, his gnarled fingers tapping impatiently against the floor. "And Stoick, think about it! How did he even get that far? The lad couldn't lift his own weapon, let alone his shield, yet he was suddenly besting dragons with ease?"

The words struck Astrid like a physical blow. The room felt like it was closing in on her, and she could hear the sharp intakes of breath from the others as they processed Mildew's insinuations. But Stoick was quick to answer, his gaze narrowing with the force of his own fury.

"He had a talent!" Stoick growled, his voice low and deadly serious. "A gift, something no one else had."

"A talent?" Mildew sneered, his crooked smile practically oozing disdain. He raised his staff and struck the floor with a force that echoed through the hall. "It was nothing but trickery and sorcery! There was no real fighting in him, no Viking strength. He relied on deception, not skill."

"Mildew…" Stoick's voice dropped to a low, menacing rumble, like thunder rolling in the distance. "I would watch your tongue before making such accusations about my son."

"And why should I hold back?" Mildew shot back, unfazed, his beady eyes glinting with spite. "We don't even know where your boy is anymore! He could be dead, or off gallivanting on some distant island, living it up with mead and women. For all we know, he's forgotten us!"

Mildew's words hit harder than any weapon. They were a brutal assault on a wound that had never healed. But before Stoick could lash out, Gobber's voice intervened, thick with irritation.

"Alright, Mildew, that's enough!" Gobber's exasperated sigh was followed by the clink of his tankard hitting the table. His eyes, sharp behind his spectacles, met Mildew's glare. "We can only take so much of your tirade before it gets tiresome."

Mildew shot him a venomous glare but did not relent. "You might tire of hearing it, Gobber, but it's the truth, whether you like it or not. At least Hofferson—" He practically spat the name out, as if it were a curse. "—Hofferson is a real Viking. But the chief's blood must come from a Haddock. That little phony marriage contract won't hold up forever. Hiccup was never fit to lead."

The room fell into an unsettling silence. Astrid could feel the weight of Mildew's words hanging like a suffocating fog, thick with implication. A murmur began to stir again, this time more insistent, more concerned. Eyes flickered toward her, and for the briefest moment, she was caught in a web of guilt and doubt that threatened to pull her under.

Her pulse raced in her ears, and her fingers twitched, as if wanting to reach for something—anything—to steady herself. But Stoick's voice broke through the silence, a low growl of warning that quelled the murmurs.

"Enough," Stoick said, his voice as hard as iron. His eyes were like fire, filled with a ferocity born of fatherly love and untold pain. "I will not have anyone question my son's worth. Hiccup will return. He will return."

Silence fell over the table, tension hanging thick in the air. Stoick's fists were clenched, his jaw tight as he bit back a retort, and Astrid sat quietly, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She hadn't spoken a word and had no intention of breaking her silence. The others could argue and throw accusations as much as they wanted; she could only sit, drowning in the guilt of knowing exactly where Hiccup was and the reality that she could never tell any of them.

"Mildew does have a point," Spitelout said after a tense silence, his voice heavy with the weight of his words.

"Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd hear," Gobber muttered under his breath, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, clearly disgusted. His tone was laced with sarcasm, but there was no mistaking the uneasy look in his eyes. He could sense where this conversation was heading, and it wasn't somewhere good.

Stoick sat back in his chair, his broad arms folded across his chest, his brow furrowing as though the very suggestion pained him. "Go on," he said reluctantly, as though even voicing his interest hurt him. His words were clipped, but he gave Spitelout the floor, whether he liked it or not.

Spitelout gave a slight nod, his beady eyes scanning the table. He leaned forward, as though weighing each word before speaking, and then, with a slow breath, he began. "We don't know where Hiccup is, Stoick. If he's dead, then we must close the book on him, hard as it may be. But if he's alive..." He let the words hang in the air, thick with implication. "Isn't that almost worse?"

The words struck like a hammer, echoing through the hall, but Stoick's face remained a stone mask, though his fists clenched around the arms of his chair. His anger was building, but before he could unleash it, Spitelout pressed on, the weight of his argument carrying a cruel logic.

"Of course, Hiccup being alive and well would be a blessing," Spitelout continued, his voice thick with reluctant acknowledgment. "But what would that mean for Berk? Why hasn't he returned home, to us, to his birthright? Why did he leave in the first place?"

Stoick's expression twisted, the anger flickering in his eyes giving way to the faintest hint of self-doubt. It was subtle, a fleeting moment, but Astrid caught it. The chief's brow furrowed deeper as he glanced away, as though considering a question he had long avoided.

The table, save for Astrid, seemed to grapple with this uncomfortable truth. They all knew Spitelout was right. Hiccup's absence, and the mystery surrounding it, weighed on them all like an anchor, dragging them further from the future they'd once expected.

"The fact is," Spitelout pressed, leaning in just a little closer, "we're expecting him to return after years of absence and somehow lead us into the future. How can we do that with a chief who's ghosted his own people?"

Mildew, ever the opportunist, seized the moment with glee. "Couldn't have said it better meself," he sneered, his voice thick with smug satisfaction as he sat back, eyes gleaming.

Gobber rolled his eyes with an exaggerated groan. "Ye can't manage to do much, Mildew. Should've let Spitelout do all the talkin' for ye," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mildew shot Gobber a glare so venomous it could've boiled the stone beneath his feet, but he didn't respond. His eyes returned to Stoick, gleaming with spiteful triumph.

Spitelout, sensing he had Stoick's attention, turned back to face the chief. Stoick's gaze was unwavering, but there was a visible weariness in his features, a kind of exhausted acceptance.

Stoick's jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he hadn't cracked a tooth, but he managed a low, grim "I'm listening."

Spitelout exhaled sharply, as though preparing to dive into the heart of the matter. His voice was steady, though it carried the weight of something far heavier than simple concern. "Hiccup is the rightful heir, and if he were to return this very moment, he would have the strongest claim to the chiefdom. But he hasn't been here for six years, Stoick. Six years without a trace of him upholding that claim. At some point, it's only fair that the next in line has a chance to assume that role."

The words struck with the force of an accusation. Astrid could feel her heart lurch in her chest, the painful reality of Hiccup's absence settling like a stone in her stomach. She understood Spitelout's logic, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.

"And that person will be Astrid!" Stoick's words rang out with the force of an iron hammer, his voice filled with authority and finality, as though that settled the matter entirely. His glare swept across the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

Spitelout inclined his head, a slight acknowledgment of the truth in Stoick's words. "Aye, it will," he said, though his tone shifted slightly, a shadow of doubt creeping in. "But… what of the future?"

Stoick's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in his gaze as he caught the subtle shift in Spitelout's stance. The direction of this conversation was changing, and Stoick knew it.

"The bloodline has to continue eventually, Stoick," Spitelout said, his tone blunt but steady, like the final stroke of a verdict. "Whether it's now or years down the line, Berk needs a lineage. Astrid will have to marry, and if not to Hiccup, then…" He let the implication hang in the air, sharp and clear. "Someone else from the archipelago."

Astrid's heart hammered at the words. The air in the room seemed to freeze around her, each syllable pressing down like a weight. Her body grew stiff, tense with the unspoken tension that filled the space. She had convinced herself, over the years, that if Hiccup were to return, she could accept her place by his side. He would be the one person who would never try to bind her to the traditional role of a chief's wife. He'd always treated her as an equal—perhaps even as a companion, much like when they were children, when their futures hadn't yet been decided by the cold hand of tradition. But the thought of marrying anyone else, especially a man who might see her only as an extension of his status, made her feel trapped, as if she were nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game.

And, she knew exactly who Spitelout would propose.

"Wouldn't you rather Snotlout assume that role?" Spitelout asked, his voice thick with smug satisfaction, his eyes gleaming as though he already saw his son seated at the chief's table. "Better him than some stranger from a neighboring tribe, aye?"

Stoick's eyes darkened, and a look of disgust flashed across his features. His fists tightened, but before he could voice his objection, Astrid found her own voice rising to cut through the tension.

"Give me a year," she said suddenly, her voice sharp and commanding, as if it were a declaration etched in stone. Every head in the room turned to her in surprise, and even Spitelout's smirk faltered, just for a moment. "If he doesn't return in a year… I'll agree to it."

The room fell into a stunned silence, as if her words had thrown a massive stone into still water, sending ripples of disbelief through every person present. Her statement was a heavy one, laden with meaning, and it hung in the air like a weight no one could lift.

Gobber looked at her with wide, concerned eyes. "Lass, what're ye doin'?" he asked, his voice low, filled with confusion and worry.

Astrid's gaze was steady, unwavering. Her tone was measured, but beneath it, there was a quiet resolve, a certainty that had nothing to do with what she wanted and everything to do with what Berk needed. "What's best for Berk, Gobber," she said, her voice firm, almost cold. "If Hiccup doesn't come back within a year, then the marriage contract can be annulled, and Snotlout can take his place."

Spitelout's face lit up with satisfaction, his smile widening like a predator who had just caught its prey. "The girl's come to her senses," he said, nodding approvingly, already imagining his son in the chief's seat.

Stoick, however, was visibly shaking with barely contained rage. His voice was tight, each word forced through clenched teeth. "Astrid, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"Chief, this is the best decision for Berk," Astrid replied, her voice remarkably even, though an ache gnawed at her heart, a dull pain that threatened to rise up. She could hear the hollow ring of her own words. "Better I marry someone from Berk than a stranger who doesn't understand our ways."

Stoick's hardened expression softened just a fraction as he looked at her. For a moment, he seemed less the chief and more the father, the man who had once held her as a child, the father who had tried so hard to protect his son. "Are ye sure, lass?" he asked, his voice quieter now, the anger ebbing away to something more akin to sorrow.

Astrid nodded once, rising from her seat. She didn't want to give herself time to second-guess what she'd just said. "If we're finished," she said, her voice sharp, "I'd like to leave."

The council members exchanged uncertain glances, but none dared to argue. As Astrid turned to leave, her words cut through the air one last time, sharp as a blade.

"No one is to speak of this agreement until a year has passed. If anyone does, then I refuse the arrangement outright. Not even Snotlout himself is to know."

Spitelout opened his mouth, likely to protest, but a single, cutting glare from Astrid silenced him. He grumbled, but reluctantly nodded, his smirk gone.

Satisfied with her demand, Astrid turned on her heel and left, her footsteps heavy against the stone floor. Each step away from the council felt like a step deeper into an uncertain future. The events that had just unfolded replayed in her mind like a grim prophecy, and it wasn't until she heard her mother's voice, soft and warm, that she realized she had reached her house.

"Astrid?" Sigrid called gently, her voice warm and welcoming as she bustled around the kitchen, the smell of stew filling the air. She was bent over the hearth, stirring the bubbling pot with practiced ease, but her eyes lingered on her daughter as the sound of her footsteps approached. "What's wrong, Astrid?"

Astrid blinked, the weight of the past hour still pressing on her chest, and for a moment, she felt her defenses crumble. The tension that had built up within her suddenly released, and with it came the tears she hadn't wanted to shed. She sniffled, her voice barely a whisper. "I think I made a terrible mistake."

Sigrid's hand froze mid-stir, and she turned immediately, concern knitting her brow as she caught sight of Astrid's tear-streaked face. Without hesitation, she moved to her daughter's side, her gentle hands taking hold of Astrid's shoulders and guiding her to a nearby chair. "Oh, Astrid," she murmured softly, her voice full of empathy, as she carefully began to undo the ties in Astrid's hair, letting the golden strands fall freely. As she worked, she began to braid them with steady, loving hands, offering a moment of quiet comfort. "Tell me what happened, dear. What's got you in such a state?"

Astrid's hands gripped the arms of the chair as though she could anchor herself to the present, but the weight of the decision still felt like an anchor around her heart. "We had a council meeting," she murmured, her words faltering as she fought against the lump in her throat. "About… Hiccup and… who I'll eventually marry." The words came out in a rush, and the weight of them pressed down upon her chest, the reality of the situation sinking in all over again.

Sigrid sighed softly, her voice laced with a quiet understanding. "They're always having those talks, aren't they? It's all just talk, though, isn't it?" she said, though it wasn't quite a question. She had seen the council's endless deliberations before, their talks about future marriages and leadership, and how they seemed to stretch on without resolution. To her, it had always seemed like empty words meant to fill the air.

Astrid hesitated, the shame and frustration welling up in her again. "Not this time, Mother," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I… I made an agreement. One that'll help Berk." Her heart ached with the weight of regret, each word she spoke feeling like another stone on the pile.

Sigrid's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. She paused mid-braid, her fingers stilling as she gave her daughter her full attention. "What kind of arrangement, my girl?" she asked, her voice gentle but insistent, as though trying to understand what could have led Astrid to make such a choice.

Astrid swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill again. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, but it did little to stem the flow of emotions. "If Hiccup doesn't return within a year," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I promised that I'd marry Snotlout… for the future of the Haddock line."

Sigrid's hands went to her mouth in surprise, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Oh, Astrid, what possessed you to make such a promise?" she asked, her voice low and heavy with concern, as if the very thought of it pained her.

Astrid shook her head slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor, as though she could somehow escape the reality of her own words. "They would've done it anyway, Mother. At least this way, I get to set some conditions. I have a year… a year of freedom, I suppose." Her voice was soft, the regret in her words sharper than any blade.

Sigrid took a deep breath, her expression thoughtful as her hands returned to Astrid's hair with renewed tenderness. She continued braiding the long strands, but her gaze never left her daughter. "Then, my brave girl, take this year and live it well," she said, her voice warm, but with an edge of steel. "Whatever the future may bring, you have now. You have today." There was a quiet strength in her words, a reminder that the present was still hers to shape, no matter the weight of the future.

Astrid closed her eyes at the warmth of her mother's touch, the soft strokes of her fingers grounding her even as her mind spun with doubts. She could hear the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth, the familiar rhythm of life in the house, but the decision she had made gnawed at her like an open wound.

"Mother?" Astrid spoke softly after a long silence, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Mm?" Sigrid hummed, her focus still on the soup she was stirring by the fire. It bubbled gently, filling the room with a comforting smell, but she was acutely aware of her daughter's distress.

"If I told you something… would you be able to keep it a secret?" Astrid's voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of what she was about to reveal heavy in her chest.

Sigrid stilled, her movements halting as she turned to face her daughter, her expression shifting to one of cautious curiosity. "Astrid… what is this about?" she asked, her tone soft but laced with concern, as she moved closer to her daughter and gently took her hands into her own.

"Just promise me, Mom," Astrid said, her voice trembling slightly, but firm with urgency. Her grip tightened around Sigrid's hands, as though she were afraid the moment would slip away from her. "Not a word of it to anyone—not the chief, not even Dad."

Sigrid's expression grew serious, her eyes narrowing as she nodded, her lips pressing together in a quiet oath. "I swear it, Astrid. Whatever it is, may the gods strike me down if I betray this trust." Her voice held a quiet, solemn weight, a vow she would not break.

Astrid inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling with the weight of what she was about to say. "What if… what if I told you I know where Hiccup went?" Her voice was barely audible, trembling like a whisper in the wind, yet it cut through the quiet of the room.

Sigrid's mouth fell open in shock, and her hands slipped away from Astrid's, as though she had been struck. She stared at her daughter, speechless for a moment. "Astrid… how could you know that?" Her voice shook slightly, a blend of disbelief and shock coloring her words.

"Please, Mother," Astrid's hands found Sigrid's again, her desperate eyes searching her mother's face. "I had to tell someone, but it stays between us. This can't leave this room."

Sigrid took a step back, her face pale as she ran a hand over her face, as if trying to scrub away the shock and process what her daughter was telling her. "Astrid… the risk of knowing something like this… if Stoick found out—" Her voice faltered as she considered the consequences of keeping such a secret.

"That's why I can't tell anyone else!" Astrid interrupted, her voice sharp with urgency. "It was eating away at me, but I had to confide in someone. And Thuggory—he told me. I pressed him, made him tell me everything." Her words were rushed, as if the admission itself was a release.

"The Meathead chief's son?" Sigrid raised an eyebrow, confusion and concern still etched on her face. "How would Thuggory know where Hiccup is?"

Astrid sighed heavily, her eyes clouded with frustration. She took a moment to explain how she had finally managed to coax the truth out of Thuggory, how she had pressed him until he admitted to knowing Hiccup's whereabouts. When she was finished, Sigrid's face was lined with worry, her expression grave.

"So, Hiccup… he's truly out there," Sigrid murmured, her voice low as she looked toward the window, as if she might catch a glimpse of him on the distant horizon. "That boy… he never deserved the treatment he got. He was different, yes, but in the same way as his mother was."

Astrid looked up with surprise, her thoughts drifting to memories of a time before everything had changed. "You knew Hiccup's mother?" she asked softly, her voice filled with curiosity and wonder.

Sigrid's expression softened, and nostalgia flickered in her eyes. "Valka and I were of the same age," she said, her voice distant, as though remembering a time long past. "I even watched over young Hiccup from time to time when Stoick was away. You and he played together constantly as little ones. He was such a sweet boy back then." She smiled faintly at the memory, her voice laced with affection.

Astrid nodded, a bittersweet feeling rising in her chest. "I wish I had stayed friends with him," she said, regret tugging at her heart. "I wish I hadn't turned my back on him when he needed someone." The words felt like an apology that would never reach him.

They sat in silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Sigrid spoke, her voice soft and gentle. "Do you want him to return?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Astrid with a quiet understanding.

"Yes," Astrid didn't hesitate. "If I could, I'd apologize to him on behalf of everyone on Berk. I'd give anything just to see him come back." Her words were raw, the desire to make things right with Hiccup more than she could put into words.

Sigrid reached out, her hand resting on Astrid's shoulder in a quiet gesture of reassurance. "We can hold out hope, at least for the next year," she said, her voice full of quiet strength.

Astrid shook her head, a faint smile pulling at her lips despite the ache in her chest. "He's better off wherever he is. Probably getting the respect he could never find here."

"Well, then, maybe you should focus on enjoying your own freedom while you can," Sigrid said, rising to her feet. "One thing I've always admired about you, Astrid, is your strength. You always find a way to pull through, no matter what gets thrown your way. You'll figure this out too."

Astrid nodded, offering her mother a small, appreciative smile. The weight of the world hadn't disappeared, but in this moment, with her mother's support, she felt just a little lighter.

And now as Astrid walked down the familiar path, the weight of her conversation with the council, and her heart-to-heart with her mother, still clung to her like a heavy cloak. The cool wind bit at her skin, but it couldn't touch the deeper ache within her. Each step felt like a throb of regret, a constant reminder of decisions made and paths taken that she could not undo. She wished, more than anything, that things had turned out differently—that the council's demands hadn't driven her to make promises she wasn't sure she could keep nor did she want to keep.

When she reached Gobber's forge, the rhythmic clang of metal striking metal rang out in the air, familiar and comforting in a way only the sounds of hard work could be. Gobber was hunched over an anvil, hammer in hand, working a piece of metal into shape. The steady rhythm of his hammering filled the space between them, and it seemed to slow her racing thoughts, if only for a moment.

"Astrid!" Gobber called out, his face lighting up with a broad grin when he noticed her approaching. His usual gruff demeanor softened in the presence of her. "What brings ye by, lass?"

Astrid forced a small smile, grateful for the distraction. "I was hoping you could sharpen my axe," she said, pulling the weapon from her back with a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing the worn leather handle. The weight of it seemed almost symbolic, like a piece of the life she had once known.

Gobber took the axe in his weathered hands, turning it over and examining the edge critically. His fingers traced the blade, assessing its condition. "Been usin' it tokill trees for fun, have ye?" he teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Astrid chuckled softly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Nothing better to do these days." Her tone was light, but there was an underlying bitterness she couldn't quite conceal.

Gobber gave her a knowing look, his brows furrowing slightly. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, clearly aware that the conversation was one he didn't need to push. He took the axe to his sharpening tools, setting to work with the same care he had applied to weapons for years. "I'll have it done in about thirty minutes if ye don't mind waitin'," he said, his voice shifting into the steady rhythm of routine.

"I'd rather stay and watch you work," Astrid replied, leaning casually against the doorway, folding her arms across her chest. She didn't want to leave—not yet. The forge, with its warmth and the sound of Gobber's hammer, was a comfort. A distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts threatening to pull her under.

"Don't ye have rounds to make, future chief?" Gobber teased, his tone light but his gaze thoughtful.

Astrid shrugged, her gaze fixed on the fire as it danced beneath the ironwork. "Everyone deserves a break now and then," she said with a soft smirk, trying to lighten the mood, though her words felt hollow, like a fragile attempt at normalcy.

Gobber grunted, as if satisfied with her answer. "Suit yourself, then. I'd be happy to have the company." He motioned for her to settle in, a silent invitation to stay as long as she needed.

As Gobber worked, the rhythmic clang of his hammer reverberated through the forge, filling the space between them. Astrid's mind wandered, drifting back to memories of Hiccup—of the times he'd spent here in the forge. She could almost see him now, stumbling over the tools in the corner, awkwardly trying to lift something too heavy for him, but always with a sense of determination in his eyes. He'd never quite fit in with the rest of them, always so different, yet so much more than anyone realized. He was clever, quick-witted, and full of an unspoken strength that most people overlooked.

She missed him—more than she ever thought she would.

"You know," Gobber's voice broke the silence, his words cutting through her thoughts, "ye didn't have to go along with what Spitelout was saying back there."

Astrid shrugged again, her fingers curling absently around the worn hilt of her axe. Her gaze remained fixed on the forge, though she was listening intently. "It would've happened sooner or later. At least this way, I get to have some say in the matter. And if it has to be Snotlout, I'd rather it be him than someone I don't know." The words left her lips more bitterly than she intended, the edges raw with the unspoken frustrations she could no longer keep inside.

"Aye, maybe, but I'd wager even a stranger would make a better match than Snotlout," Gobber said, laughing softly, though his smile held a trace of sorrow—of knowing too much. The man who had seen the island's greatest triumphs and most painful losses understood, perhaps better than anyone, how complicated the future had become.

Astrid managed a small, hollow laugh. "You're probably right." The words felt like ashes in her mouth, and her smile was fleeting. There was no escaping the reality she had found herself trapped in, no matter how hard she tried to smile her way through it.

They fell into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds the rhythmic pounding of Gobber's hammer and the crackling of the fire. But Gobber watched her closely, his brow furrowing as he observed the quiet storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. He sighed, setting down his hammer for a moment. "There are times I wish that lad would just come home," he murmured, his voice carrying a weight that matched the look in his eyes.

Astrid's expression softened at the mention of Hiccup's name. A sadness she couldn't quite name settled over her like a fog. "So do I, Gobber… so do I." Her voice faltered slightly, the words laden with all the regret she didn't know how to express.

Gobber gave her a gentle smile, his eyes filled with a quiet empathy. He understood better than most. He knew what it meant to lose someone, and he knew the pain of waiting for someone who might never return. But there was little he could do—no magic to make things right. He sighed deeply, the weight of everything he had seen settling into his bones. "Well," he said a grunt, "enough of this old man's reminiscing. Let's get that axe sharpened up for ye, shall we?"

Astrid gave him a small, grateful smile, watching as he worked with the same care and precision he always did. The clang of the hammer was a familiar, steady sound, one that grounded her in the present. As she stood there, waiting for her axe, she felt the quiet comfort of the forge settle around her—a brief reprieve from the storm in her heart. The weight of the future hadn't lifted, but with Gobber's presence, with his steady, reliable nature, she felt just a little lighter than she had before.

The forge, in all its heat and light, felt like the last place in the world that could hold a piece of peace—but in that moment, it was just enough.