Work Text:
Hiccup discovers he’s quite good at this chiefing business.
He’s good with logistics, he’s diplomatic, and most importantly, the villagers seem to like him somewhat– only two people have glared at him with disdain since his father’s death.
And, yes– yes, Hiccup has thoughts, complicated ones, on that. The house isn’t the same without Stoick, without his footsteps, without his rumbling voice. In fact, it’s very different, because now his mother is there, and that’s a whole other basket of fish, one that Hiccup isn’t willing to open for a good few months.
So, Hiccup stays out of the house as much as he can, busying himself with chores and favours and– and anything he can do, but eventually, when he asks around, everyone says they’re good.
Thankfully, Astrid says she wants him to start tagging along on her evening flights. It’s kind of her. He told her, close to the start, that the nights are the hardest, and she must have listened.
He meets her in the arena, and she gives him a small smile. “You ready?”
“Sure,” Hiccup says, and they mount up. Once they’re in the air, he asks, “Where are we going?”
Astrid gives him a look, and says cautiously, “Northern Markets. My mom wants another of those bowls that only Agnes sells.”
Hiccup frowns slightly. “Do you usually go there?”
“No. It’s– well, recently I’ve been going a lot, but I’ve been careful. Don’t worry.”
Hiccup nods, and they continue along.
Upon their arrival, they hide their dragons, and Astrid tells him that Agnes moves her stall every week, and so they’ll have to spend a little time finding it. Hiccup doesn’t mind as he’d rather like to find a trinket or something for his mother. “I don’t know what she likes,” he says to Astrid, and she shrugs. “Just get something pretty.”
Walking down the aisles, Astrid keeps a firm hold of his hand, eyes darting back and forth periodically. Hiccup keeps his trained on the ground, focusing on their feet moving in sync. Eventually, after about fifteen minutes, Astrid gently pulls him to a halt, and he squeezes her hand as she lets go. “Come and look at the bowls with me.”
They’re pretty, painted and glazed clay with swirl patterns that differ from bowl to bowl. Astrid greets Agnes with a grin, and the two start conversing. Hiccup wanders over to a stall a few metres from Agnes’s, stroking the charms and gemstones laid out on the table.
The seller, a fat young woman with shoulder–length ginger hair, leans towards him. “Just got these ones in. You like them?”
“Yeah,” Hiccup says quietly, picking up a large piece of what looks to be aquamarine. “Yeah, they’re really nice. How much for this one?”
“Oh, that one,” the seller says, her brows furrowing. “Hm, I’d have to say two– no, three– four– four gold pieces for that. Yeah, four.”
Hiccup sighs, opening his bag to withdraw his gold. His search is cut short, though, when he sees what’s sitting on a crate behind the table.
It’s his father’s helmet, plain as day. The same one they sent off with his body in the middle of battle. The same one Hiccup has been seeing in his dreams ever since.
“Where did you get that?” he demands, pointing at the helmet, and the seller turns around. “Oh. Uh, it washed up here a few days ago. Why?”
“I need to buy it,” Hiccup says, trying to keep his voice level. The seller laughs. “Sorry, not for sale.”
“It’s my father’s.”
“I’m sure he can get a new one–”
“He’s dead,” Hiccup hisses. “He died about three weeks ago, and you have his helmet, and I need it back.”
The seller blinks at him. After a few seconds, she grabs it and hands it to him, muttering, “Take it. And the aquamarine. Free of charge. Sorry for your loss.”
Hiccup shakes his head, passing her five gold pieces. “Thanks.”
“Hiccup?” Astrid says, sidling up to him with two bowls and a mug in her arms. “Is everything– is that Stoick’s helmet?”
“Yeah,” Hiccup replies. “Yeah. Let’s go.” Astrid doesn’t protest, and Hiccup clings to her as they make the trek back to their dragons.
When they get back to Berk, Hiccup pushes himself off Toothless and collapses to the ground. Astrid kneels next to him, pushes his hair out of his face, whispers, “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” Hiccup says. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
Hiccup swallows. “It should have been me.”
“… What?” Astrid asks, her voice shaking, and Hiccup feels something wet on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I should have died. He jumped in front of me. I should have died instead, and I hate myself for it.”
“Hiccup…” she says, moving to sit next to him, “Hiccup, it wasn’t your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself. You survived because he wanted you to. That’s a good thing. I know it’s hard, but one day it will be easier.”
“Will it?”
“Of course,” she reassures him, kissing the tip of his nose, and he gives a small sob. “I need you to be right. I need it.”
“I’m always right,” Astrid scoffs, and he sniffs. “You are.”
They sit there well into the early hours.
His mother likes the aquamarine.