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“I’m going to marry him,” Astrid says, and Heather feels everything inside her drop, right to the floor, leaving her hollow.
She repeats it. “I’m going to marry him.”
It’s not happy. Heather doesn’t think she could take it if it were happy, if the girl she wanted to spend forever with wanted to kill their relationship in the most painfully public way possible.
How ironic, that the one public part of this will be its demise.
“I’m sorry,” Astrid says, voice full of tears and shaking and something that sounds like acceptance but can’t be. “I thought you deserved to know first-“
“Why did you say yes?” Heather interrupts, not looking at her. “Why would you?”
Astrid sighs. “Because we both know that it’s either Hiccup or Snotlout, and I’d rather marry my best friend than an emotionally constipated lecher.”
“If it wasn’t?” Heather turns to her now.
“What?”
“If it wasn’t Hiccup or Snotlout. If it was anyone else. If – if I’d proposed to you, what would you have said then?”
“Be serious.” Astrid’s face breaks into a smile. “I’d be the one proposing to you.”
“Don’t joke, Astrid. Not now.” Heather loves it when she jokes. It’s funny, their presents blurring into pasts already.
“I’m sorry,” Astrid says. “I shouldn’t have said that. And – if they would let me marry you, I would. In a heartbeat, H, you have to believe me –“
Astrid is reaching out for her. She swats it away.
“Really? You’d marry the bastard sister of Dagur the Deranged over the future Chief of Berk?” Heather’s face twists into a scowl, and she hates it nearly as much as Astrid. “Tell me this isn’t a political marriage, and I’ll eat Stormfly. And Windshear.”
“I can’t tell you that. You know I can’t. Godsake, Heather, there’s a reason Hiccup and Snotlout are the only two boys I can marry!” Astrid’s yelling. She has no right to be. “And this is bad for you, but it’s bad for me too. I’m going to – I’m going to have to produce heirs, do you think about that? I can’t even stomach the thought of kissing him, and I have to – I have a duty to create the next Chief of Berk!”
Astrid looks so angry, and so sad, and so scared that Heather wants to run to her right there, wants to take her axe and threaten Stoick and Hiccup and Gobber and fucking Mildew into letting Astrid love, wants to throw her onto Windshear’s back and fly them both to some other planet where everyone understands, where nobody will ever tell Astrid that she is broken or wrong.
“And I want you too,” Astrid says. “I want you so much, Heather, so much. I –“ and she looks down. It’s too painful. It’s not the right time to tell someone you love them.
Heather bites back the words that would have overjoyed them both just a week ago, and says instead “I understand. I hate it. I want to burn everything on this island keeping you from me, and fly away to somewhere else – I hear Gronkle Island’s pretty nice this time of year?”
They both laugh – laugh’s too strong a word, it’s a smile and a sniff – and Astrid says “Now who needs to not joke?”
“I want to end Berk if it won’t let me be with you, I am so angry. But… I understand why he asked, and I understand why you said yes.”
“You’re not angry anymore?” Astrid looks childishly hopeful.
“I’m furious. But not at you. Not anymore.” Not ever.
Heather holds out her arms, and Astrid goes into them. They sink to the floor, heavy with the weight of the choices above, and it’s a while they stay there before Heather says “Don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“I won’t let you.”
“Heather, I –“
“I said I won’t let you, Astrid, what the fuck do you think that means?” Heather’s angry again, angry she can’t keep what she wants, and it’s coming out at Astrid.
She’s not angry at Astrid.
Astrid weasels her way out of Heather’s arms and gets to her feet. Heather follows. It’s – she’s – pathetic, like a trained dog. Heather’s a bitch in more ways than one.
“It has to end,” Astrid says. She takes one hand and puts it in Heather’s, and another around the small of her back, just like when they would dance together in the candlelight to the sound of the music from the hall they’d snuck away from. Just like when they were them. “Heather, I – you were…”
Heather holds her breath for something that will wipe away that terrifying past tense.
“… the best fun I ever had.”
It never comes.
“Yeah? Well, you were the love of my life.” She chokes out the words, and she will not cry, not over Astrid, not over something that she knew would end, not over something like this. She spits at Astrid instead, wrenching herself away, dropping her hand. It’s not enough.
“There will be others,” Astrid says quietly.
“None who measure up to you.”
“Not if you compare us.”
Heather nearly laughs out loud at that, because how could she not? How could anyone ever do everything that Astrid does for her? How could she bother to learn someone else while trying to forget someone who saw her the second they met?
Astrid doesn’t know her at all. The thought isn’t comforting.
“Astrid,” she says. “It doesn’t have to end. We could – Hiccup wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it –“ and she’s desperate as Astrid turns away, the one seeking her again, because this can’t be the last. Maybe, if she can convince her to always take a little more, eventually there will be enough.
“I can’t, Heather. I’m engaged,” Astrid says. The words stab through both their hearts. “I thought this was going to be happier, when I was a little girl.”
“When you were stupid.”
“When I was naïve. When I thought it was going to be a dashingly handsome man beside me on my wedding day. When I didn’t know you. But I wasn’t stupid, because I would kill everyone on this island to be engaged to you instead.”
“Do it, then,” Heather says, surprising even herself in the venom with which the words are delivered. “End every single person who would rather see you unhappily with Hiccup than lovingly with me.”
“It won’t be an unhappy marriage –“
“That’s your only point? That you won’t hate each other?”
“I was being hyperbolic, when I said I’d kill them all for you!”
“I wasn’t.”
They stare at each other, eyes locked in a way they haven’t been for – for years, not since that very first day when Astrid looked at her and saw exactly what she was. Not since that sight – not since Astrid understanding her – meant fear and not love.
“Heather…” Astrid breathes. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“You have Stormfly.” Heather snakes her arms around Astrid’s waist, burying her face in her neck. “They’re asleep. You could be gone – we could be gone – within the hour.”
“Heather…”
Heather sobs into her shoulder.
It’s real. It can’t be bargained or begged or stolen away. Astrid will be married, and there is nothing she can do.
Astrid tears herself away gently, turning and holding Heather’s shoulders as she cries. It’s something she’s done before. Injury, Heather screaming in pain, and her forced to just hold her, almost almost crossing the line in front of their friends.
She had nearly broken the rules then.
It’s Heather who breaks them now, pulling her in for a desperate kiss. It’s heady, and her mouth tastes of salt from the tears, and Astrid never wants to let go but she knows Heather won’t, so she does.
Their noses brush.
“Go,” Heather murmurs. “Be with your betrothed. If your love is only an appearance, you’d better keep it up.”
“It is,” Astrid says fiercely. “I love you, Heather.”
Heather shakes her head. “Don’t say that. It only makes it harder.”
They part. Heather moves over to her bed, and Astrid does not join her.
It is the first of every lonely night.