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The wind tugged at Hiccup’s cloak as he stood alone on the cliff above Berk. Down below, the village buzzed with life—dragons soaring, blacksmith hammers ringing, voices calling to one another as the island woke up. But up here, on the edge of the world, everything felt... still.
Too still.
Toothless let out a low, questioning trill behind him, shifting his weight on the rock. His green eyes flicked toward Hiccup, concerned.
“I’m fine, bud,” Hiccup murmured. “Just... needed air.”
Toothless didn’t look convinced.
Neither did the blonde standing behind him.
“I figured you’d be up here,” Astrid said, stepping into view. Her braid was already windblown, her arms crossed over her chest. “You always disappear when things get too loud.”
Hiccup gave a half-smile but didn’t look away from the horizon. “Guess I’m predictable.”
“No, you’re just easy to read. There’s a difference.” She stepped beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “Rough day?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Astrid waited.
“I had three village elders arguing about a fishing quota,” he said finally. “Someone accidentally started a grease fire at Gobber’s shop. And then—oh yeah—Stormfly and a baby Gronckle got into a fight over a basket of fish. So... average morning.”
“That explains the smoke,” she said with a smirk.
Hiccup chuckled weakly, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “And all of it—every tiny crisis, every decision—falls on me. It’s like I’m holding Berk together with string and dragon spit.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” Astrid said, quiet now.
“Am I?” he asked. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m winging everything, and someday soon, I’m going to screw up so badly that—”
He stopped himself. The words hung there, raw and too real.
Astrid’s expression softened. “You think your dad never felt that way?”
Hiccup turned to her, frowning. “My dad was Stoick the Vast. He faced down armadas and outlaws without blinking.”
“He also once got his beard stuck in a treasure chest,” Astrid said, tilting her head. “He told me.”
That earned a small laugh from Hiccup—genuine this time.
Astrid leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wooden railing lining the cliff. “Look, Stoick didn’t have dragons to deal with. Or a whole generation of kids learning how to ride them. Or village elders who think they still run the place. You’ve had to rewrite every rule since the day he died. And you didn’t crumble.”
“Not yet,” Hiccup muttered.
“But you won’t,” Astrid said firmly. “Because every time you fall, you get back up. And you don’t do it alone.”
He looked at her, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like I’m not totally drowning.”
Astrid shrugged. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to think you have to be perfect all the time. Spoiler alert: you don’t. Not with me.”
There was a pause. The wind howled louder for a second and then died down.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Hiccup said, his voice quieter now. “Not just today. I mean—here. With me.”
Astrid turned toward him fully, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Of course I’m here. You’re stuck with me, remember?”
She reached up, brushing a wind-blown strand of hair from his face. He caught her hand, laced their fingers together.
“Good,” he whispered.
For a few minutes, they stood in silence, hand in hand, watching the sea together.
Finally, Astrid bumped her shoulder into his. “Now come on, Chief. Let’s go fix Gobber’s forge before he tries to invent a fireproof anvil again.”
Hiccup groaned, but his smile stayed. “He already did. He melted it.”
She laughed. “Well then, you definitely need supervision.”
They turned back toward the village, Toothless padding along beside them, and for the first time that day, Hiccup didn’t feel so alone in the chaos.
He felt ready.