The days after the announcement passed in a haze of quiet excitement. Hiccup spent more time than usual at home, sketching potential cradle designs and trying to recall every scrap of parenting wisdom Valka had ever shared. Meanwhile, Astrid busied herself checking supplies and debating names—though she insisted they wait to find out the baby's gender.
It was on the morning of March 9th that they set out to visit Gothi.
The old healer's hut stood at the edge of the cliffs, just beneath a crooked pine tree bent by decades of sea wind. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, and the scent of dried herbs clung to the air. A windchime made from dragon teeth and bones clinked gently as they approached the door.
Valka walked with them, her cloak drawn tight against the early spring breeze. "Gothi may not say much," she said as they climbed the slope, "but when she does gesture, you'd better listen. And don't talk over her—it's like interrupting a storm."
Astrid smiled. "Don't worry. I learned that the hard way when I broke my wrist at fifteen."
Hiccup knocked twice. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing the tiny, hunched figure of Gothi, cane in hand, furs draped over her thin frame. She looked at them, nodded once, and motioned inside.
The hut was dim but warm. Strange dried plants hung from the rafters, and the scent of moss, smoke, and something bitter filled the air. Gothi pointed to a cushion for Astrid to sit on and began gathering items from a shelf—stones, feathers, bundles of herbs tied with sinew.
Without a word, she lit a small fire in the center of the room and tossed in a pinch of something that made the flames flash a pale blue. Then she pressed her palm gently to Astrid's abdomen, eyes narrowing in focus.
After a long moment, she grunted softly—approval—and took a tiny polished stone from her pouch, placing it into Astrid's hand.
"She says your strength is good," Valka translated softly. "And that the baby is healthy so far."
Astrid let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Hiccup moved to her side and squeezed her hand.
Then Gothi turned to Hiccup and poked him sharply with her cane.
"Hey!" he yelped, stepping back.
"She says you'll need sleep now," Valka smirked. "Because you won't be getting much of it in a few months."
Gothi shuffled back to her shelves and retrieved a tiny cloth pouch filled with herbs. She handed it to Astrid and pointed toward her teapot. Astrid nodded.
"Tea, once each morning," Valka translated again. "To calm the belly and the nerves."
As they stepped out into the sunlight again, Hiccup looked back at the little hut, feeling a strange sort of peace settle over him. Berk might be wild, unpredictable, and often loud—but it had its wisdom, passed down in quiet rooms and crooked huts.
Astrid took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Well, we're officially on the path now."
"Yeah," Hiccup said, grinning. "Next stop: parenthood."