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It was certainly a sight to see the bluffs of Berk lined with dragons. Wooden stables were slowly appearing on each point of the island, filled with vikings and dragons working in harmony. Berkians watched the progress carefully, a sceptical eye permanently trained on the foreign dragon riders, but they let the construction happen. Some even helped. Hiccup never thought he’d see the day. Even Gobber, Gobber who had made his entire life out of killing dragons, was front and centre lending tools and offering labour as if he’d been doing it all his life. Hiccup supposed he had. Small village, lots and lots of new buildings. Even so, it was strange for Gobber, and he had a feeling the woman beside him knew more about the sudden change of heart than she let on.
Realising that he’d stopped in the centre of town to marvel, Hiccup continued on, adjusting his helmet before casting a cursory glance at Astrid. Big mistake. She was already looking at him. Observing him. Studying him. He looked away quickly, returning to his trek toward the observing tower. They were walking at Spitelout’s insistence, and Hiccup was starting to remember just how big Berk was. Nothing was big enough for him to avoid Astrid, though. She appeared everywhere he went. With Snotlout occupying the chiefs, Astrid had all the time in the world to follow Hiccup around, especially when he didn’t want to be followed. She had a knack for that. She always had. That same curiosity is what caused her to find him in the cove all those years ago. He wouldn’t trade that for anything, but it did make him nervous. Nothing escaped her, and the longer he lied about who he was the angrier she would be when she found out the truth. But he couldn’t tell her.
The summit of the observing tower provided little reprieve to the scrutinising eye of Astrid Hofferson. He met her gaze once more, submitting himself to the triumphant gleam that meant she knew she’d won. What exactly they were competing for he didn’t know, but the confident twinkle assured him that she had taken this round and he was unlikely to ever win again. Somehow this didn’t bother him like the thought it might.
He continued his stare, aware that she was talking, but her voice was somewhere far away, drowned by the wash in his own head. Hiccup started, frozen like he’d wrestled a speedstinger, into Astrid’s eyes. She couldn’t stare into his eyes of course, that would give him away entirely. He’d never had the opportunity to look at her quite like this before. Staring at her when they were young would’ve resulted in a severe bruise, maybe even a broken bone. In the years that Hiccup had been away, Astrid had become an idea, a figment more than figure. Her eyes remained blue and her hair blonde, but they lacked the depth that he was seeing now. He should sketch them. Eyes like hers deserved to be drawn, immortalised. Beautiful pools of blue and white, mingling in a perfect river. That didn’t seem to capture it though. There was something more, hidden deep within her eyes. A melancholy. The picture came into view, within the shadows and waves of her eyes, he could see the source. There was a ship slowly sinking, a permanent loss etched into her visage. It disappeared and reappeared through the soft swatches of blue that danced like the tides.
Somewhere, distantly, Hiccup was aware that Astrid had stopped talking and long since stopped waiting for a response. She was simply staring back at him, aware of his scrutiny, though not his purpose, nor his focus. In turn she focused on his helmet, on the detailing, the movement of the leather, the light printing to resemble dragon scales. She noted it all with a keen intelligence that made Hiccup’s heart itch. Focus eluded him. Or rather, purpose eluded him. It would have been impossible in that moment to remember why they were up there, but Hiccup was incredibly focused. Completely fixated on the scene before him. The story in Astrid’s eyes, the lines on her face that wove the tale, and slowly, the curve of her lips. Chapped from the frigid Berk air and cracked from what he guessed to be years of flying. Her lips, that seemed to settle in a permanent scowl around everyone except him. Her lips that had once been pressed to his in a final goodbye. And stupidly, stupidly, Hiccup forgot himself. At the top of that tower, with the wind in Astrid’s hair, splaying it. A vision of a valkyrie. Hiccup reached out his hand to grab her own. When she didn’t move away, he moved closer, until he was sure she could see his eyes through the mask, until she could have reached out, and taken it off, and he wouldn’t have stopped her.
It was irrefutable that Hiccup would have confessed everything to Astrid there and then, if it weren’t for the twins thundering through the door, begging for help with their ‘new’ dragon.
He jerked away from Astrid, severing the connection in an instant. Hiccup was no stranger to fire, no viking was, but the searing heat that stretched from his fingers to his shoulders numbed his arm. The twins babbled in the doorway about Barf n’ Belch who had taken a particular interest in the fishing boats. Eyes firmly on the twins, Hiccup watched them talk animatedly over each other, pushing and shoving in their recount of the story. If only he heard a single word. No matter how hard he tried, Hiccup couldn’t hear anything over the rushing heartbeat in his ears, and the echo of his rasping breaths in his helmet.
Ruffnut joined them on the viewing platform, gesturing to the smoke and chaos rising from the docks. Hiccup couldn’t bring himself to look at Astrid but he could feel her nodding, moving away from him. Composure had always come naturally to her. She let out a piercing whistle and in a flurry of wings, her dragon appeared at her side, scooping her onto her back and collecting the twins, one in each claw before they disappeared over the cliffside.
Alone on the watchtower, Hiccup struggled to reassume his character. Sufficiently obscured from prying eyes, he removed his helmet gasping for breath. The frostbitten Berkian air swirled through the sky, soothing the aching burn on his face. He hated knowing that he would be flame red. Since his return it seemed that a permanent flush was painted onto his face and he was more than thankful for his mask. Even if it was mostly gone now he knew it would return the next time Astrid regarded his face with her typical suspicion and interest. Four years. Four years later and he still couldn’t banish the thought of Astrid’s hand around his, her lips on his cheek, her red face as she watched him and Toothless leave her behind to rebuild Berk alone. Four years, and every time he saw her his knees lost another piece of strength.
Below, the docks still held the telltale signs of a rampaging Zippleback. Namely smoke and screaming. He whistled for his own dragon, who had obediently been waiting on the outskirts of the village, hidden away from the vikings. They hadn’t been too impressed at his bringing a Dramillion onto Berk. Berkians didn’t take too kindly to species they hadn’t seen before. Spoof was a good friend to him though. He found her when she was young. Dragon trappers had forced her pack into abandoning her. She was too injured to follow. The trappers left a great scar from the wing to her leg, scraping a nerve in her arm. Back at the sanctuary she had to relearn how to walk, how to fly. They never managed to find her pack again, but she’d stayed close to him and Toothless.
“Take us down girl,” he whispered.
The dragon sailed through the air like a spear, cutting through the wind with an easy squawk.
By the time Hiccup had finally touched down on the rotting wooden planks, Astrid had managed to diffuse the situation. The Zippleback was lying on its side, tongues lolling out of their mouths, emitting contented rumbles. If he had to guess, and he did, it seemed like the effects of Dragonnip. Astrid stood upright in the crowd of tense vikings, giving orders and placating the hysteria. He watched as she instructed the dragon be collected in a fishing net, and Stormfly pushed the anxious vikings away with her tail. They made it look easy, rehearsed. As if they had done it just as often as he had. He couldn’t be sure they hadn’t.
Snotlout and Fishlegs descended on their own dragons, claiming they were responding to Astrid’s “backup signal” that Hiccup hadn’t even noticed.
“Take them to the far side of the island,” She instructed.
“The far side of the Island?” Tuffnut asked.
Ruffnut shook her head, braid swinging dangerously around her face. “That’s ridiculous, the only thing there is-”
In unison, Fishlegs and Snotlout swung at the twins, maces meeting their metal helmets in a sickening clang. If it were anyone but the twins, they’d likely be unconscious, but they simply laughed it off. “Ohh, you mean- we thought you meant-” Tuffnut shut his mouth with a grin.
“Yeah sure Astrid,” Ruffnut punched him in the arm. “We’ll totally take care of that for you.” She flashed a mischievous grin with too many teeth.
From her spot on top of the barrel Astrid rolled her eyes. “Get Barf n’ Belch out of here.” She waved her hands. “Fishlegs, you stay with the twins until I get there.” She turned her glare onto the squabbling twins. “And you two, be nice to Stormfly. I’ll be there later and if you’re not there when I am, there’ll be hell to pay.” Her hand lingered over her axe with her final threat.
They nodded furiously, tripping over themselves to be the first to mount. With speed that not even the Hilvir dragon riders had managed to achieve, they took off, carrying the fishing net and the lazing Zippleback over the trees and out of sight.
It was only now that Hiccup realised she had an audience. Her call for backup had attracted almost every dragon rider on Berk. They lined the upper deck, looking over the edge at the source of the commotion, and now the woman who had so cleanly and so swiftly dispelled it. The Cutthroat tribe remained on their perches, muttering their praises through furrowed brows. The Hooligans however took the opportunity to swoop down, crowding Astrid, who, suspecting something might happen, hadn’t stepped off the barrel.
She had a polarising impact on Berk, he could see. The young dragon riders crowded around her, staring up at her with bright adoring eyes. They stared up at her in awe. Astrid and Snotlout had quickly assumed the responsibility of recruiting dragon riders. Between them riding dragons themselves,and the pestering of the young vikings they’d managed to create a neat band of six dragon riders, all of which now worshipped the very ground that Astrid walked on.
Hiccup took the opportunity to disappear from view, but he kept Astrid in his sights. Whatever was hidden on the far side of the island was too intriguing to miss.
____
He lost her. All that time tracking, and he lost her anyway. She navigated Berk with a deftness and familiarity that he’d lost. Instead, Hiccup ended up in the stables giving his dragon a well deserved clean. In the wild a Dramillion had other dragons to help with the cleaning process, but Spoof only had Hiccup, and if he was honest with himself he’d been neglecting her a little since they arrived on Berk. She didn’t seem to mind though, squawking and stomping her feet happily in the stone shelter. The work did him good, Hiccup had to admit, although no matter how distracted he became, his thoughts always found a way to roam back to Astrid. He sat in the warm stable, Spoof’s head rested in his lap, warm tendrils of smoke curling from her nose. In the silence he was left to wonder where exactly Astrid had gone. She was hiding something, even Snotlout would’ve figured that out, but Hiccup had a pretty good idea of what it was. It was far fetched, sure, but the sight of Astrid agreeing not to tell his father about the nest was seared into his memory. A lot of sights of Astrid had been burned into his memory. Astrid, ever proud, ever beautiful, looking out over Berk, helping him reform the Island, the future.
Something must have been in the air that night, because Hiccup wasn’t the only person who couldn’t tear his thoughts from the Valkyrie. A patrol shift stopped out the front of his stall.
“I didn’t think we’d find anyone on Berk who could fly a dragon like us, but that Hofferson seems like she could show me a thing or two.” The good natured remark drifted through the walls to Hiccup’s drowsy form. At the sound of Astrid’s name he straightened, tensing.
The other rider laughed. “You’re telling me. I went for a morning flight and she was already out there throwing axes and melting sea stacks like it was nothing.”
Hiccup strained in the silence of the night, listening intensely.
After a moment, the first rider spoke again. “She’s not bad looking either don’t you reckon.”
Hiccup’s jaw twitched.
A groan echoed through the restless stables. “Not this again, mate.” There was a heavy thud, which Hiccup could only assume to be the sound of a weapon hitting the man in a friendly reprimand.
“Ow hey, I’m just saying.” The man rushed to reassure him. “It’s not like she’s available anyway, I’m sure she and the Chief have some sort of agreement.”
The other man sighed.
“It is a shame though. She’s a vision on that dragon.”
“Don't let the general hear you say that.” the second man warned, the grin evident in his voice. “I think he’s sweet on her.
The man’s rousing laughter caused Spoof to stir and Hiccup shushed her hurriedly.
“The general can dream like the rest of us.” The men began their walk again. “There’s no chance she’ll go for any of us.”
Their laughter and rabble faded into the night as quickly as it had come, and Hiccup was left with his own thoughts, which frightfully enough seemed to echo the ones he had just heard. Just the thought of her had his heart racing. Once again, Hiccup tried to remove all traces of Astrid from his mind. An entirely fruitless exploit. Fruitless, because Astrid ‘Fearless’ Hofferson, Competent right hand to an incompetent acting chief, endorsed by Stoick the Vast himself, was all anyone could talk about.
Each patrol would stop somewhere near his stall, and he heard them talk. About her skill with an axe, her dragon prowess, her authority and respect. He overheard many, many unsavoury plans to get her attention, pick up lines that would get them punched and methods of wooing that would certainly fall short of anything resembling success. He also heard a sizeable number of accusations of his being very much in love with Astrid Hofferson.
Absolutely preposterous accusations, baseless, poorly thought out, completely irrational stories being weaved from patrol to patrol. Nothing more than rumours amongst the men. And completely, frightfully true. Of course, his men didn’t know that he was a Berkian or that he had been hopelessly in love with Astrid Hofferson since he was about twelve. They didn’t know that the very moment he laid eyes on her again every single suppressed and ignored feeling had flooded back to him. How could they know that? This left only one answer for Hiccup and he didn’t like it much. It was obvious. So obvious, even the meatheads on his team could figure it out.
___
The Great Hall had never been so full of life. Firelight and smoke wafted through the air, casting a haze throughout the hall. Strangers sat together, mugs of mead sloshing as they broke into barks of laughter. The air was thick, full of sound and promise.
One figure sat distanced from the others, concealed behind the uneven lighting and the heavy fog that filled the room. He wore his helmet as visor up as was typical, quietly observing the scene before him. Such conditions didn’t phase him of course, years of dragon training had taught him that concealed in the smoke was often the safest place to be.
Unfortunately, tonight, no place was completely safe for Hiccup. The great hall fell silent as Gobber stood himself on a table.
“Ladies and Gentle-vikings. May I present the guest of honour,” he announced with his usual Gobber gusto. “Chief Stoick the Vast of Berk, Chief Harridan the Resolute of Hilvir and acting Chief Snotlout. Without whom our two great tribes would never have unified.” There was a sloppy cheer from the crowd, at this point in the night they would’ve cheered anything.
The staunch outline of Stoick lumbered into the room. Hiccup’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t seen his father since he set foot on the island. He gripped his hand to stop the tremor that had started. All he had to do was keep his distance, he figured. Easy enough.
Despite his reclusivity, vikings still approached Hiccup, or rather ‘Guardian’, emboldened by the liquid courage in their tankards. It was rather easy to stave off the tactless questions. Each group only wanted to know the same thing. “How did you lose your leg?” they’d slur. Or the equally popular, “How did you manage to conquer dragons?” Hiccup didn’t doubt that he could tell them the truth in that moment because by the time they managed to spit the question out their eyes were closed and drool as rancid as a dragon’s would be spewing from their mouths. When this happened, Hiccup would wander to the next corner and the cycle would repeat. It was on one of these cycles that Hiccup noticed another common theme. Vikings weren’t usually people who gossiped but tonight there was a certain topic of interest. Astrid, who had arrived late and alone, the door heavy wooden doors flinging open with the force of the wind and a bang that drew every door to her. She continued, unphased, the moon casting an ethereal glow behind her. The silhouette of her axe, strapped to her back did nothing to smother the whispers of ‘valkyrie’ that attached themselves to Astrid names.
In a twisted sense of irony, Astrid had the same problem as Hiccup. While he couldn’t avoid the Berkians’ curiosity, she could not escape the Hilvir admiration. In his circuit of the hall, hiccup overheard many conversations that twisted his gut further and further into a tangled and complicated knot.
“I’m going to have her tonight,” A man shouted in what he thought was a whisper into his friend's ear.
The crass language made Hiccup cringe.
The friend simply laughed. “You’ll be lucky to touch her arm. A woman like that-” he was cut off by a sudden collision with a table that had appeared from beneath the smoke.
Hiccup’s relief however, was short lived as the pair were replaced with slightly younger but equally eager voices.
“I don’t care what you say Helga, I just want to talk to her.” The boy gave a crooked smile that betrayed his youth. His round features lit up at the sight of Astrid making polite conversation. He clearly didn’t notice the vice-like grip she had on the hilt of her axe at that exact moment.
The girl, Helga, gave an exasperated sigh. “I understand what you’re saying Gustav, I would sell off my brother just for her to shake my hand, but get real. Dragon training is as good an opportunity as any to get her attention.”
“But-”
Helga shoved Gustav, a grin spreading across her face. “Of course, you’ll have to beat me to it. She’s going to be much more impressed by me and Starlight than anything you and Fanghook can do.”
“You are talking to the future leader of the dragon riders young lady.” He mock scowled at her weaving through the crowd. “You’re going to regret that.”
Helga stuck her tongue out with a cackle. “Not after Astrid makes me the leader because she sees I’m so much better.”
Even through the stone haze, Hiccup felt himself lighten at the childish interaction. It wasn’t dissimilar to the conversations the others had had, back when ‘dragon training’ had a very different meaning. It wasn’t enough to dissolve the rapidly increasing sensation of lead that had overtaken his stomach though. His impulsive actions from the morning haunted his thoughts. He was no better than these idle gossipers, the strangers who had put Astrid on a pedestal and now flocked to her like terrible terrors to a stack of fish. He glanced over to the viking herself, whose jaw was tensed in an obvious attempt to prevent herself from clobbering the figure in front of her. No. Hiccup’s resolve strengthened. He wouldn’t be one of those people. A hindrance to her life.
The party continued well into the night with little signs of slowing. Tankards of mead were still being passed around and received with roaring cheers. Hiccup had only just managed to pry himself from another group of curious vikings when he noticed Harridan beckoning him over to the chiefly group. His spirits rose. At least after this small was over he’d be free to go. He was getting skittish, every moment he spent in public brought him a little closer to being discovered. He kept his eyes down as he crossed the floor, ducking smoothly away from the alcohol that splaced over the edge of overzealous mugs.
Gathered around a table, with an oddly shaped mound concealed by a blanket, was the official party. The Chiefs, their right hands, Gobber, Dagmur and Berk’s senior riders all packed themselves around the table, hopping with impatience. Hiccup slotted himself neatly next to Harridan, which by coincidence was next to Astrid, who was next to Snotlout, who was next to his father. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, despite Astrid’s burning gaze on his helmet. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the chief, sitting heavily in a stone chair, the corners of his flaming hair petering out into patches of grey.
Harridan cleared his throat, dispelling the tense silence that had smothered that part of the group. “In a gesture of goodwill and as a gift for our gracious hosts, the Cutthroat tribe wishes to offer the acting Chief and his riders… a gift.” With a flourish, he pulled the cloth, revealing six shiny leather saddles.
The stunned silence was broken by the twins, as usual.
“Cool,” Ruffnut marvelled.
“What is it?” Tuffnut asked, preparing to lick the waxed leather.
Fishlegs pulled him back. “They’re saddles genius.” He examined the stitching, followed by the topcoat, followed by padded saddlebags. He looked back at the group reaching his verdict. “They’re beautifully crafted.”
Harridan beamed. “We had our best craftsmen work on them. They’re made to each of your dragon’s specific measurements, and your own.”
Leaning closer, Astrid turned a critical eye to her own saddle. Hiccup watched as she frowned thoughtfully, running her fingers over the fine stitching and woven panels. He thought he saw a glint of recognition in her eye, but that might just be the flicker of candlelight.
“They’re certainly good,” she admitted suddenly. “Maybe even better than-” She cut herself off. Hiccup leaned forward unconsciously, watching her carefully. “Better than anything I could have come up with.”
A strangled laugh came from Tuffnut. “We know Astrid, you’re useless with a pen and paper, and even worse with a needle.”
The glare she gave him was strong enough to melt the armour of a Boneknapper.
“I mean seriously A,” he wiped his eyes cackling. “Everyone knows you just copied-”
Once again, Tuffnut was interrupted by the swift punch of Fishlegs. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Got it,” he wheezed.
Astrid returned her attention to the saddle, feeling the leather bags attached. Strands of blonde hair caught the light casting a golden glow around her head. Hiccup’s breath caught coming out strangled. He traced her profile, the careful frown of her face, her wrinkled eyebrows, the way her eyes darted over every inch of the saddle before returning for a more thorough investigation. When he was young he thought Astrid was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Four years later and she’d surpassed herself a million times over. Lose strands of hair fell into place like it was placed by the gods and Hiccup had to fight to keep his hands by his side.
Glancing sideways at Hiccup, Harridan suppressed a grin. He leaned across Hiccup over to Astrid. “Although, Guardian insisted on making yours himself.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to him suspiciously before returning to their path. Hiccup turned to his friend, a silent warning hanging in the air.
“He couldn’t be pried away from it.” Harridan flashed a smile at a fuming Hiccup, who was planning ways to fight his chief without it being treason.
Harridan’s quip fell of deaf ears, as Astrid took particular interest in a certain piece. An additional loop separate from the saddle bags.
“It’s for your axe,” Hiccup said quietly.
It was an odd contraption, one metal ring for the handle to sit in, and another belt strap to fasten over the top, and a quick release clip for ease of access. It was one of Hiccup’s better designs, he must admit, but he was beginning to regret the inscription. With any luck, Astrid wouldn’t notice. But when has Hiccup ever been lucky?
Astrid examined the loops, turning the metal over in her hands. Her frown deepened as she read the inscription. Even more when she looked back at him. She searched his armour for anything familiar. Any needlework or design quirks. Any areas where it didn’t completely meet and she could examine the person beneath the mysterious mannequin.
It was his father that saved Hiccup from Astrid’s unrelenting gaze. “Berk, thank you.” He nodded a polite thanks to the other Chief. “Congratulations you lot, good luck in the saddle.” He cast a meaningful glance at Astrid before rising. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”
Safely hidden behind his mask, Hiccup watches the exchange carefully. Astrid’s focus lingered on the chief until he disappeared through the great wooden doors that hung in the distance, an uncharacteristic shadow of concern marring her face. She exchanged a look with Gobber who, not long after, excused himself, blaming his age for his departure. When he was young, Gobber sat him down and explained to him that a Viking never refused a free mug of ale. He’d looked him dead in the eye, no sign of humour… well, only the usual amount for Gobber. He could make a joke out of anything.
Astrid followed soon after with the saddle in her arms. “I’m going to try it on Stormfly,” she said, leaving her team flailing on the dancefloor.
Hiccup couldn’t say what made him do it. What insane impulse he’d followed that had led him to follow her. He was drawn to her like a magnet, blindly following her into the brisk night air. She’d stopped at the summit of the stairs. On the final platform before the unending descent began. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, glittering over the water, skipping across its choppy surface until it reached her. Berk was beautiful from the sky. From the ground, this was the closest he could get to flying. With that thought, Hiccup was struck with a sudden memory that knocked the wind out of him. A sunset, of rich reds, orange and pinks that melted into each other in fluffy wisps of cloud. Astrid behind him, reaching into the misty clouds, wishing she could take the sight home with her, and him wishing he could live in the moment forever. Looking at her now, looking at the moon, he could see them again, laughing together, on a dragon, a pink haze encompassing them. The vision flickered and faded to reality before roaring to life once more, and eventually Hiccup was left, standing there with double vision. One of right now and the other of four years ago.