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Everyone knew Hela was peculiar, ever since she was a kid. Even she knew, for all the talking everyone did.
It was not reduced to her physical appearance —bony legs, prosthetic and souped up foot, abundant freckles—, her own personality did not get on easily with others in the first attempts. Too awkward, sarcastic, with a sense of humour commonly mistaken as mockery and a blatant presence of self-deprecation at times. Way too emotional for a viking, world-known for being rowdy and fierce when the situation called for it.
It was no surprise her own birthday was as peculiar as her, then.
Not on Snoggletog —18th of December—, nor New Years, her birthday was not overshadowed by any jovial festivity, it simply went undercovered until it occurred. A date that only happened every four years, no more no less.
Hela had the misfortune and blessing of being born on the 29th of February.
Elders called it an augury, a sign of the Gods. Others just took it as a coincidence. Her parents swallowed the bitter feeling of it.
In a rare moment of feebleness, Stoick had confessed to his daughter that Valka feared she would grow up to hate her birthday for not possessing a special day like other figs of Berk did and instead have to wait four years to get a taste of the full experience. Gobber only looked at her and laughed whenever she asked him if he really thought it was intrinsic of her to stand out for the worst and Gothi denied being possessed by any evil spirit.
Therefore, Hela had to add to her unfit appearance, misunderstood personality, ‘left-handness’and weird hobbies the cherry on top, her birthday.
At first, when she was a wee kid, the fact that her birthday did not happen did sadden her, like every child would do. While others saw it as something special that made it characteristic, Hela saw it as the absence of a day reserved to her, where her father and Gobber would spend time with her. It did not matter that she could celebrate the 28th, it was not the same as having your own righteous day.
Other kids also noticed her discomfort, poking fun at her. Sometimes even making her look more of a child (that she already was), claiming that since she only turned older every four years she was a baby or ‘one and a quarter, two and three quarters…’. Over time she grew up to not care anymore. If one made the other see it did not bother them, they would cease it.
Regrettably, her environment also deemed it as unfortunate. The sole act of dedicating a portion of time was seen as a disadvantage. Gobber told her to not give it much importance so the kids would drop it, to learn and make it an afterthought that lacked relevance. A matter of survival, if the attacking dragons were not another factor to take into account. ‘Nothing to show, nothing to mourn.’
There was nothing special to celebrate because, at the end of the day, she was not special. Hela was weak, bony, a stick ready to be eaten by fire-breathing creatures if put in the open without surveillance.
After all, for what? A birthday was a mere day, just like every other. Who could really tell that you aged from one day to another? Just because you turned a year older did not mean a magical transformation was waiting for you every time.
Hela told herself that over and over to the point of convincing herself. From then on it was easier.
“Hiccs? Are you in here?”
The Haddock raised her sight from where it lay on her sketches. The voice came from outside of the forge, though it wasn’t far away.
“Yep, come in.”
Asher strided in, axe nowhere to be seen —a rare sight to witness. His hair was a bit disheveled, which could only mean that he had previously gone on a flight with Stormfly before heading to the forge, and he blinked repeatedly in a show of anxiousness.
“Are you busy right now?”
The brunette closed her sketchbook and stood up, walking to her boyfriend with a smile on her face. “No, not really. I’m done for today.”
“Great,” the Hofferson said, circling her waist with his hands and kissing her chastely, “then follow me.”
While it was not odd that Asher had a happy idea, Hela was the one more spontaneous of the two. Rare were the occasions in which the blonde man would take her on an impromptu adventure led by boredom and the thrive of some pumping adrenaline.
With their fingers intertwined, Asher led her out of the forge and to the outskirts of Berk, where Stormfly awaited for them. The dragon chirped and went straight to the couple, Hela patting and scratching her head in fondness.
“A ride, huh?” The brunette beamed, arching a brow at her boyfriend. “Let me search for Toothless.”
Before she could land a step, the Hofferson stopped her with a tug to her waist. “Nope, for this you’ll have to trust me, Hiccs.”
As a cue signal, his free hand showed a blindfold.
Sceptically, her eyes diverted from the piece of cloth in the blonde’s hands to his own face again and again. Don’t get her wrong, Hela would trust him with his life and more, but the thought of depending solely on him while on a flying creature —meanwhile being deprived of her vision, mind you— did not sit right with her, regardless of the countless stunts she had pulled with Toothless previously, one riskier than the other.
“Um…” she stuttered. The Haddock was about to say no and politely search for her scaly friend when she saw the hope in Asher’s glint’s eyes. “Alright.”
“You won’t regret it.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Hela mumbled, allowing to be blindfolded and carefully guided to Stormfly’s saddle. It took a bit of maneuvering and Asher’s monitoring and help, though she managed to settle. She felt the blonde’s presence in front of her, settling as well.
“Hold on tight.” She heard the blonde say, for which the Haddock obeyed. Her arms circled his figure in an inhumanly tight grip, earning an amused scoff from the other.
“Shut up.”
The flight, as compared to some they have done to unexplored and faraway lands and archipelagos, is short. If the brunette sharpened her available senses she may have a feeling of where more less she was led to, but that was overestimating her skills. There were no unexpected turbulences nor stunts pulled capable of scaring the shit of her blindfolded person, Stormfly liked her enough to not do that thankfully.
Come to think about it, it had been a while since they had had an impromptu getaway, just her and Asher. As they grew older more and more responsibilities lied with them, and free time got reduced to late afternoons or early mornings had they not escaped sometimes from their respective hustles. It felt great to be dragged away from time to time with the pretense of a fun time ahead waiting for her.
“We’ve arrived.” The Hofferson’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Given that she was still blindfolded and in his mercy, Asher was extra careful to help her get off Stormfly. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Hela said, for the sake of saying something.
“Nothing extravagant, don’t get your hopes up.” He answered, though the Haddock could make out a slight seep of nervousness in his voice.
The Chief’s daughter smiled, hoping he would see it. “I’m sure I’ll like it.”
Asher didn’t reply, his hands unfastening the knot that kept the blindfold up and working. The piece of cloth fell, leaving Hela to accommodate her neglected sight to the dusk’s sunlight. She blinked one, two, three, four times until the sun was not a nuisance but a help and it allowed her what was waiting in front of her.
“What’s this?”
A modest, clear moor with the most beautiful dusk scenery beyond held in it small snacks and food to pick on, rudimentary enough to not be considered formal or classy but too detailed to be passed as rushed and hasted. All in all, it looked like an idyllic place to slumber and be forgotten for eternity if it meant having Asher’s arms protectively around her waist to guard her sleep.
“A small surprise. Today is special.”
“Why?” She asked, although there was no venom in her voice, purely mere curiosity. Hela took a seat next to the fruits and picked cranberries to eat one by one, the Hofferson followed closely.
“Today’s your birthday, Hela.” Asher said as if it explained everything. “29th of February.”
“Oh,” the Haddock said, which summed everything up. Her birthday was an afterthought, something she had learnt to just sweep away and silence in favour of not making it clear what a mess she was as a whole. It did not require a special gathering or set up because people around her had not deemed it necessary, her included. It was meant to be kept discreet and reserved, not openly embodied in a picnic for everyone to remember that the Chief’s daughter was stranger than everybody thought. Her birthday was whispered behind curtains, not flaunted in a perfect picnic with the love of her life.
A small, constant and drowning knot lumped her throat. “Thank you,” Hela managed to say despite the growing tears hidden by her growing fringe.
“I was lucky no dragon ate them before we got here.” The blonde man smiled, picking dry meat and unaware of his girlfriend’s inner turmoil. “Honestly it was a bit of a hassle having to take all of this here but it’s worth it, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Gods, my back is killing me. I shouldn’t have let Snotlout and the twins drag me to another dragon racing match.” Asher complained, laying on the ground. “I feel like an old man.”
“Hm.”
“Also I’ve been told Gobber’s taking in more apprentices for the forge. I wonder who’s nuts enough to put themselves under it willingly.”
“Hey!” The brunette smacked him in the nape, for which the other laughed and rubbed the part hit. “Watch your mouth.”
“You’ve been quiet.” The Hofferson noted. Not as a reproach, more of an observation. “A penny for your thoughts.”
Hela attempted to dismiss it, putting on a small smile that did not reach her eyes. “Nothing really.”
“You suck at lying.”
“I’m not.”
Asher did not answer directly. He sat up and looked at her, scrutinising her whole figure to see the prominent cracks. The Haddock tried not crumbling under his gaze, going so far as to straighten her posture.
“Try as you might, your hands are fidgeting with your suit.” The blonde ended up saying, a satisfied smirk on his face. “And you’re blinking way too fast.”
“It’s the wind,” Hela said, though it sounded as lame of an excuse to her as it did to Asher.
The Hofferson arched a brow at her. The brunette blinked once, twice, thrice until the tears materialised and a few fleeted her eyes regardless of her lame attempts to stop them.
“It’s stupid.” She croaked. Perhaps to not alert her boyfriend into thinking he was to blame for her weeping, or maybe to save some dignity. “Really, it’s nothing.”
“Then tell me.” The blonde man retorted. There was no malice or rage in his voice, just a raw need for understanding. Blatant calmness and patience needed to deal with Hela —her stubbornness was one to fear— that had been carved and trained ever since they became close. “I can help you if you do.”
It was Hela’s turn to sigh, filling her lungs with fresh air that allowed her to gather her thoughts and put them in place. After gulping, she spoke. “All my life I’ve been told my birthday is as weird and misadventure as I am—was, so I never gave it importance because everyone told me there wasn’t any, nothing to celebrate if I wanted to be mocked further. And now… well, you do this.”
Her tone is wobbly, audibly upset and troubled. “Not that it’s bad or anything, I love it. But it feels so strange.”
The Haddock expected her boyfriend to nod, hum or bribe her into having a deeper talk to sort her feelings out. What she instead faced was the calm, almost pitying stare Asher sent her. He remained in his place for a couple of seconds before scooting closer and bringing the Chief’s daughter to his lap.
“Say something,” Hela urged him. Because what she despised the most was pregnant silence, one in which much was left hanging and little was made across. Because there was a limit to how much pity she could take from others without feeling like the worst damage of the bunch.
A heavy silent sigh left her lips. She pursed them to avoid the overwhelming necessity of biting them to bleed, all while returning the glare Asher was sending her. Asher, who held her waist steady and kept silent.
Asher, who did not say anything and who obliterated her feeble orders and instead kissed her slow-paced, pulling her close before parting and leaving her yearning for more.
“You’re weird.” The brunette said, breathless.
The Hofferson scoffed, an almost cocky grin plastered on his face. “Oh, am I?”
The Chief’s daughter shrugged, slumping on his shoulder without a word. It felt nice, the warmth that his body irradiated alongside the lukewarm start-of-autumn breeze rocking her plaited hair. It almost made her forget about the bizarre, buzzing feeling that was making it hard for her to properly enjoy the moment.
“There’s nothing wrong in wanting to celebrate the things you deserve.” Asher said to her ear. Despite it being obvious he was searching for the right words, his honesty was palpable. “A date does not make you weird, it’s not like you’ve chosen to be born this day.”
“I never got to properly celebrate it,” Hela interrupted him. She hated how small her voice came out, as though something childish like not celebrating a birthday was something that hurt her deeply. “Didn’t want others to be crueler.”
The blonde’s breath hitched.
“That can change.” He murmured, his hand going to caress a spare lock that escaped her braid. “We can do this every year, just me and you if you want to. Or maybe have the rest of us join us.”
A few seconds went by, charged with uncertainty and fragility. From where she was laying her head on the Hofferson’s shoulder, the brunette denied. “I’d rather be like this.”
“Alright.” Asher smiled. “Hela?”
“Hm?” Hela raised her head to look at her boyfriend.
The blonde kissed her, chaste and soft enough to make her melt. “Happy birthday.”