Archive of Our Own

At least twice before winter proper arrived, Astrid and her friends set out for the far side of the Berk: thick with trees and wilder dragons. Maybe it would have been a foolish choice, were they not accompanied by their own scaly companions, and long over their fear of nighttime raids. Each of them brought their own tents and belongings: second homes only a short flight away from their true homes and hearths.

But sometimes, camping posed its own unique challenges. For one thing, it was more common to argue among themselves who would do the hunting, fishing, cooking than not. Snotlout and the twins stayed up later than Astrid or Fishlegs, generally being loud and nearly setting the camp on fire, on more than one occasion. Astrid was a light sleeper too, and the roars of feral dragons or howling wind through the trees woke her up from time to time. Most night, she could fall back to sleep--but then came the thunder.

Dark clouds billowed up from the sea just about supper time one evening. The temperature dropped and the air was filled with the scent of inevitable rain. What started as a drizzle turned into a deluge. The dragons sought shelter in the woods and Astrid's friends retreated to their tents with colorful swears. She went to bed early, thinking that rain was all it would be. Then the canvas of her tent rustled violently, and the thunder was close enough to reverberate through the ground. Her eyes snapped open with a start.

"No!" she groaned, burrowing deeper into her covers; but the storm answered with another loud crack. Her eyes itched and her head was foggy; she did not know how late it was.

Changing position, trying to shut out the noise, only stimulated her body and brain into further wakefulness. She sat up, glaring at her tent flapping. But as the canvas blew around, she could see outside. Immediately across camp was Hiccup's tent, exuding a gentle glow in the bitter darkness from what she could only assume was candlelight.

She sighed, flopping back down, comforted by the fact that someone else was awake; misery did enjoy company after all.

Counting sheep or yaks did not lull her to sleep. Reviewing the Dragon Manual in her mind proved equally fruitless. Every time she tried to let go of her consciousness, her thoughts wandered to the tent across the way: why was he still awake, and what was he doing that required light to see? Probably tinkering with something, if she had to guess--but he had not brought any tools along that she could recall. Maybe it was not her business.

The thunder rolled on, and her eyes stayed open. Her bed back home could overcome nasty turns in the weather, but her current pallet was lacking. Hiccup's bed was probably more comfortable--though she was not sure why that particular idea crossed her mind. Exhaustion was making her foolish, no doubt. But she imagined his tent was also warm and inviting; and that line of thinking would lead nowhere good. They were just friends, she maintained. Only friends.

She drummed her fingers against her stomach, trying to force sleep through force of will.

Then she bolted upright again, ripping her covers off. Sleep was nowhere to be found as it was. She threw open her tent and saw that the Hiccup's candle was still burning--and it really was not her business...

She pulled on her boots, leaving her armor behind. Dressed only in her bedclothes, she set out. The rest of her friends' tents were quiet and still, so she knew beyond a doubt that it was an ungodly hour. Their dragons were nowhere to be seen, but they were most certainly safe and dry. One advantage to having the beasts as pets was their hardiness and ability to look after themselves in most things.

As she trudged across the camp, pelted with icy rain, she quickly wove her hair into a haphazard braid--because she was not beyond all manners. Not entirely. Her boots felt heavy, cold, and waterlogged from the short trip through puddles hidden in the grass. A gust of wind assailed her as she stood outside Hiccup's tent, like it was admonishing her for her boldness. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her damp body, longing for the shelter just a few steps away.

"H-Hiccup?" she called, barely above the storm. When she received no answer, she repeated his name louder and with more confidence. "Hiccup!"

Not more than seconds later, he appeared at the entrance of the tent. When he saw the state of her, he was instantly concerned. She tried not to read anything into the way his eyes glanced her over; because she wanted to imagine it meant something more than it did.

"Astrid? What are you doing here? What's wrong?" He asked; but before she could answer, he was pulling her inside with a warm and gentle hand, to shield her from the elements.

She glanced around, noting the candlelight dancing off the canvas that made everything appear softer, warmer. A chest sat in the corner, on which a number of books were stacked. She also recognized his sketches and a couple sticks of charcoal. His pallet did have more furs, but that was no surprise as he could afford such things where she could not. In the middle of the bed, a book laid open, and the mystery of what he had been doing was solved.

Of course, he'd been reading a such a late hour--the dork, she thought fondly; and a smile crept on to her face.

"Uh, Astrid? Is...everything okay?"

She shook herself, suddenly remembering that Hiccup was standing right there; and she had barged into his comfortable solitude in the middle of the night, sopping wet and underdressed. His arms were folded, and he was considering her with the most peculiar expression: it was not amusement, but neither was he bothered by her rather unorthodox visit. One eyebrow quirked up in that adorable way she liked but could not explain why.

"Yes!" she replied, feeling her face grow hot. "I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep."

He said nothing and just continued to stare at her, eyebrow arching a smidge higher.

"I saw you were awake too, and..." But she didn't have a suitable end to that statement. Truth be told, her impulsivity was to blame; and that made for a piss-poor excuse.

"I was reading," he interrupted; and it was an act of mercy.

The storm raged on with fits of hissing rain, crashes of thunder, and howling gales; but in the excruciating silence between them, Astrid heard little beside her own heart pounding in her ears. Hiccup never used to make her so nervous. In fact, the very sight of him irritated her not long ago. It seemed almost laughable that he now could twist her stomach into knots. Most of the time it still was not so; but that was as long as someone else was around or dragons served as a welcome distraction. In the moments alone, where she held his full attention, and their close proximity was foremost in her mind, she could not look at him in the same way anymore: as just her best friend.

Their conversation's pregnant pause grew too much for either of them, so Hiccup spoke up. He rubbed the back of his neck and would not meet her eye when he asked, "Would you like to...hang out here for a bit, then?"

She grinned, looking down at her wet boots; it certainly was a little warmer in his tent.

"Yeah. Sure. If you don't mind," she said.

He opened his mouth to respond but settled for a kind smile instead. What he kept to himself was often what Astrid really wanted to hear. She could see deeper emotions in his eyes that did not always transform into words; and she could hang her heart on them if she wanted to.

He replied, "Some company would be nice. It feels empty in here without Toothless."

She placed her hands on her hips. "Where do you think the dragons went?"

Her bedclothes were thin and drenched from the rain. He noticed it too, abruptly looking away. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her face burned. Passing it off as a shiver restored some dignity. They were not children anymore; and she was not trying to entice him, but she did not regret his gaze either.

"There's a cave near here, past the trees. They wouldn't go far," he answered, making his way back to his bed. "Maybe one day, we can have tents big enough for them, so they don't have to run off every time it rains."

"Oh. Well, just put that on your long list of dragon-related improvements," she teased.

He chuckled and sat back down, reaching for his book. "Maybe I will."

She bit her lip, feeling awkward and self-conscious. Their tents were cramped as it was, and she did not know whether to sit or stand, or where it would be most appropriate to do either of those things. She wanted to be near him, but she was also terrified to get too close. They had a great friendship, but it was primed to tumble out of control with the slightest push. At least, on her end, slipping would be too easy; and to ruin what they had in a moment's indiscretion was horrible to even imagine.

"Can I sit down?" she asked, hoping she sounded passably indifferent.

Hiccup glanced up, taken aback. "I, uh..."

He mouthed wordlessly. The absurdity of the question was not lost on either of them. She should not have asked, and he should not have been put in the position to refuse. His bed was not anywhere she belonged. Propriety dictated she sit on the ground or not all. But Hiccup followed his own set of rules. Especially when the village was miles away, past the cliffs and mountains that towered over Berk. They might as well have been in some strange and foreign land across the Barbaric Sea.

"Yeah," he said, finding his voice. "Of course, you can sit down."

That was one invitation she could not resist. The way he said it was thoughtful and measured; there was so much more hidden in the answer he gave. She sat down slowly, as if sudden movement might change his mind. He could still be a twitchy around her, and admittedly it was her fault for once jumping down his throat for the mere transgression of existing. Perhaps they would talk about it, someday sooner rather than later. She had a few things left to apologize for, and she suspected he did too.

Still, he did not scoot away, which she counted as a small victory; but he did sit a bit stiffer in the shoulders. They were mere inches apart then, and her mind started to spiral into wild, half-formed ideas like walking her fingertips up his arm, then touching his hair.

"What are you reading?" she asked, leaning in, because the book was far less interesting, thus much safer to look at.

Hiccup brightened up at once, his posture relaxing. Nothing was as effect at breaking through his reservations like picking at his interests. "I bought this off Trader Johann last time he came to port. It's about dragons in other lands far from here. It's kind of like our Dragon Manual--lots of violence and consternation. It's interesting, but it doesn't describe these dragons favorably at all."

The text was written with odd characters all cramped together and feeding off one another so that sometimes it was difficult to tell where one word ended and the next began. Astrid also thought the script contained an abundance of stems and tails reaching for the top and bottom of the page--but to what end? It all seemed like unnecessary flourish to her.

She wrinkled her nose. "That's not Norse."

"No. It's Anglo-Saxon," he replied, and he tilted the book so she could see it better. Their physical closeness was fading into afterthought, like old habit. He was careless, because as he turned toward her, their knees touched beneath the heavy pages; Astrid almost jumped. He continued, "If Johann can be believed, this came from somewhere called Northumbria."

She snorted. "Northumbria? What a strange name, and--hang on! Hiccup, you can read Anglo-Saxon?"

He flashed her a sheepish grin. For some baffling reason, he had not seen fit to mention that he could. Then again, he rarely thought anything about himself was remarkable or noteworthy; and he was painfully unaware of just how wrong he was.

"I can't read it fluently," he admitted. "But I know enough to understand the main ideas."

She reached out, tracing the unfamiliar script. Her fingertips brushed his hand where it rested splayed over a page, so subtly she could pass it off as an accident. "Read it to me."

His fingers twitched in response to her touch. "In Anglo-Saxon?"

She inched closer until her chest brushed his arm. "Why not? I'm curious to hear what it sounds like."

"I..." His eyes darted between her body and the book in his lap. Her clothes were still every bit as thin, and judging by the color rising in his face, he still was every bit as aware of it. "Okay. Okay, sure."

He cleared his throat and began reading in the oddest language Astrid had ever heard--not that she was too familiar with foreign tongues to begin with, in all fairness. The sentences flowed with a cadence that was reminiscent of Norse, as if the two languages might be cousins; but the words were strange, with inflexions that made no sense. Still, if he had not told her that he was not fluent, she would have been fooled--except for the occasional word that tripped him up or made him pause to read it closer.

After every other page, he provided summarized translations about dragons from beyond the sea that Astrid had to admit were interesting. As he spoke, she felt the late hour catching up with her. Exhaustion weighed her down, making her feel heavy. She remembered her eyes itched, and she stifled a yawn. But new dragons were exciting--and so was the notion of being in his bed--that she fought to stay awake to enjoy it.

"They classify their dragons by body type. This kind has no wings, and they call it a Drake." He pointed to a drawing of what resembled a flying, red snake. "This kind of dragons is called Amphiptere. They--"

"They don't have legs! Like the Whispering Death!" she interrupted, gripping his shoulder; his enthusiasm was infectious.

"Yes! Exactly!" He placed his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze; and it felt so right to touch him and to be touched in return.

Astrid sank down until she was reclined on her side, propped up only by her elbow. Without much apparent thought, Hiccup laid down beside her, on his back, holding the book above them as he started another page in Anglo-Saxon. They were side by side, close enough to count his many freckles and marvel at the patterns in his eyes.

She breathed deeply, letting his voice embrace her. The thunder rumbled outside, but it was no longer bothersome. She was warm, dry; and there was nowhere better in that moment. The hasty decision to pay him a visit no longer seemed quite so imprudent. Was it really in poor taste? It seemed like the most reasonable call she could have made as she inched toward him, nearly curling into his side. If it was not too bold beyond all pretense, she would've laid her head on his chest, wrapped up in the beat of his heart and the scent of him. She wanted to stay awake and listen to him read, to ponder the foreign words, and discuss mysteries of dragons unknown with him--and only with him.

But she was falling into a peaceful blackness, tethered to the waking world by the soothing thread of his voice. It was not that he spoke in a deep or husky register: the kind that titillated or served as a resonant lullaby--quite the opposite--but it was him reading aloud to her. If time could freeze, there was seldom a better cause for it. Her eyes could not stay open; the lids were too heavy, and her head found the furs in short order.

The last thing she noted was a soft hand on her shoulder and a quiet, "Astrid?"

Then nothing.

---

The next morning came too quickly after a sleep so wonderful. Harsh sunlight pelted Astrid in the face. It was just a small, glaring sliver, peaking in through the entrance of the tent, but it was bright enough to rouse her like a punch. She was not ready.

She rolled over with a huff, expecting to see a wall of canvas, momentarily forgetting where she was. But she was not in her tent; a realization that hit her when she was met with Hiccup's peaceful, sleeping face. Grogginess evaporated instantly, replaced with a hot thrill that made her hair stand on end. It was hard to swallow, her throat feeling dry. He was still fully clothed, no doubt to keep as many barriers between their skin as possible. Even so, the temptation to reach out and touch him was too great--to brush his hair from his eyes and tenderly trace the angles of his face. But friends did not do such things. So, she quelled the gnawing desire with a hand on the arm draped across his abdomen.

"Hiccup?" she murmured.

He stirred, barely opening his eyes to look at her. With a sweet, tired smile, he stretched and rolled onto his side to face her.

Astrid said, "You're awake. Good. It's morning, and--"

"Mn, no," he interrupted, shutting his eyes again.

"No?"

"Not yet."

She was taken aback; he was being absurd. Their late night together was nothing more than a beautiful, waking dream to ride out the storm; and all that had ended. With a few hours of decent sleep behind her, she did not have an exhausted brain to whisper foolish notions into action. She was about to protest and issue her warning that they better get up and moving before they were discovered in a suggestive, albeit innocent, situation by their nosy friends--but he reached up to take her hand in his. All such concerns fell from her mind as his fingers intertwined with hers.

Her racing heart was a counterbalance to a quiet morning that would be too perfect otherwise. It was a reminder that neither one of them had declared anything more than friendship, but there they were in bed together like they already were far more. She bit her lip, leaning forward until their foreheads just about touched.

"Right," she agreed, eyes fluttering closed. "Not yet."