September 20, 1002 CE – Berk
Autumn came to Berk with color and wind. The trees burned with gold and crimson, and the crisp sea air brought the scent of pine and salt. It was the kind of day where the breeze kissed your cheeks, and the sun made everything glow a little softer.
Astrid waddled—yes, waddled—into the Great Hall, seven months pregnant and already regretting her decision to walk from the house without stopping for a breath.
Inside, the space was alive with chatter and warmth. Streamers of woven cloth hung from the rafters in blues and golds, and a long table was piled high with roasted meats, freshly baked bread, cheeses, berries, and smoked fish. Somewhere in the back, Ruffnut and Tuffnut were arguing about who got the last honey tart.
Hiccup met Astrid halfway with a hand to her back and a lopsided smile. "You sure you're up for this, birthday girl?"
She looked up at him with a playfully narrowed gaze. "You try sitting at home all day with swollen feet and nothing to do but talk to your stomach."
"Fair point."
They made their way to the front of the hall where a modest wooden chair—slightly more padded than the others—awaited her. Gobber had even tied a ribbon to it, which flopped awkwardly over one leg like a limp fish.
People began to gather. Fishlegs presented her with a small bouquet of mountain flowers, each carefully pressed and wrapped in parchment. "Happy birthday, Astrid," he said, cheeks flushed. "And, uh, happy almost-baby-day too!"
Valka arrived moments later with a handwoven blanket, dyed with swirls of sea green and sky blue. "Something to keep both of you warm," she said, placing it gently across Astrid's lap.
Even Stoick—well, a carved wooden bust of him—sat watching from the far end of the hall, candles flickering at its base.
Everything was perfect… except for the food.
Astrid eyed the feast longingly. Every scent made her stomach rumble and twist at the same time. She reached for a grilled skewer of boar—then pulled her hand back and groaned. "I hate this baby."
Hiccup smirked and handed her a small plate with only a slice of soft bread and a bit of salted cheese. "Just until you can stomach more."
"I swear," she muttered, nibbling reluctantly, "when this kid is born, I'm going to eat an entire elk."
"Not without me," Gobber said, chomping into a leg of lamb like he'd been personally offended by it.
As the evening wore on, laughter filled the hall. Stories of Astrid's childhood were shared—most of them exaggerated by the twins—and gifts piled at her feet. A set of tiny leather boots. A carved rattle shaped like Stormfly. A blanket with dragon patterns stitched in careful lines.
Near the end of the evening, as the firelight softened and the wind hummed through the rafters, Hiccup stood and cleared his throat.
"I know this wasn't exactly the birthday Astrid imagined—what with the lack of sweets, and wine, and breathing normally—but I just want to say how proud I am of her. She's the strongest person I've ever known, and that includes every dragon I've ever flown with."
He turned to her with a softer smile. "This year… you gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for."
Astrid rolled her eyes but blinked rapidly. "You're lucky I'm hormonal or I'd punch you for making me cry."
Everyone laughed, and a few wiped their eyes too.
Later that night, back at home, the wind picked up again. Hiccup tucked the new blanket around Astrid's legs as she dozed on the bed. He placed a gentle hand on her round belly, feeling the faintest kick.
"Happy birthday," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Astrid murmured, barely awake, "I still want that elk."
He chuckled, rested beside her, and listened to the wind outside—echoing gently, as if even Berk was wishing her well.