Late March, 1002 CE – Berk
The sky above Berk was unusually clear—so blue it looked like it had been painted there by the gods themselves. The sea mirrored it, calm and glinting in the late afternoon light. A breeze whispered through the high peaks, tugging gently at the rooftops, the trees, and the soul.
Hiccup stood in the middle of the forge, tools strewn across the worktable in organized chaos. Wood shavings curled at his feet, and a half-carved sculpture of a dragon sat in his hands—elegant and unfinished. His eyes weren't on it, though.
He was staring at a blank slate of metal nearby, lost in thought.
Ever since Astrid's announcement, something had shifted in him. He was still Chief, still solving problems, still making sure the village ran smoothly. But inside… he felt lighter. Excited. And a little scared.
He'd dreamed of Toothless the past three nights—so vividly it left him breathless in the mornings. In one dream, they were soaring through a star-filled sky. In another, Toothless curled around the Haddock home, protecting it like an old guardian.
"Maybe," Hiccup whispered to himself, "he knows."
He picked up a weathered scroll of old sketches—concepts from before the dragons left. Flying contraptions, toys, weather vanes… and then he saw it: a spinning sculpture shaped like a Night Fury in flight. He set the scroll down and got to work.
Outside, spring birds chirped, the world coming alive again. He wanted to build something that kept the sky close—even if Toothless was far away.
Meanwhile, Astrid was in the garden, kneeling beside the early sprouts of spring onions and wild carrots. Her braid had started to loosen from the effort, strands of hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. She smiled as she gently tugged a weed out by its root.
Then, suddenly, the smile vanished.
She dropped the weed, stood up too quickly, and wobbled. A wave of nausea crashed over her.
"Oh—ugh… no, no, not now—"
She barely made it behind the shed before vomiting into the grass. Gasping, she braced a hand on the wall, breathing hard. Her stomach twisted once more before settling.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
"Astrid?" Hiccup's voice was laced with concern.
She groaned and waved a hand. "Morning sickness. Or afternoon sickness. Or whatever this unholy thing is."
Hiccup reached her side with a damp cloth and his usual half-smile. "You okay?"
Astrid dabbed her mouth, grumbling. "I swear if this kid kicks as hard as it makes me heave, we're in trouble."
Hiccup chuckled gently and offered her his arm. "Come on, warrior. Let's get you inside."
She leaned on him slightly, still pale but recovering. "Didn't think I'd be battling my own stomach when we signed up for parenthood."
"Well," he said, helping her inside the house, "you've fought worse."
"Barely," she muttered.
They settled by the hearth, where Hiccup handed her a warm mug of Gothi's calming tea. Astrid gave him a look.
"Is this the bitter one or the bitter-er one?"
He grinned. "The bitter-er one. Sorry."
She drank anyway, grimacing. "When this baby's born, I'm getting back at it for this."
Hiccup brushed a strand of hair from her face, eyes full of quiet love. "You already love them more than you think."