Chapter Text
Astrid surveyed her latest to-do list with bleary eyes. She hadn’t gotten home until well after midnight and now felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. It was becoming more and more common as her nights by the arena became a fixture in her life, and the fatigue was beginning to settle deep into her bones as a constant companion.
A few weeks prior, she would have raced through the given task list with precision and excitement. Now, it took all her willpower just to scrape through the duties.
Why am I doing this? She wondered, scanning the page with irritation.
Competing for the position of heir felt foolish now. The true heir was not only alive, but also in Berk.
It didn’t feel right to be usurping his birthright.
She could practically hear Hiccup’s bitter laughter in her mind at the thought. Though he swore he wanted nothing to do with the role, she’d seen the longing look in his eyes. He’d likely never admit it, but the idea of having a set place in their society clearly meant something to him. And that meant something to her.
The more she got to know the dragon-eyed boy, the more angry she became on his behalf.
Why should someone so kind and thoughtful be forced to live on the fringe of society? Hiccup had proven himself to be more considerate and respectful than anyone she’d ever met. Admittedly, he could be a bit sarcastic and overly dramatic at times, but when she spoke he listened with a shocking intensity. He made her feel valued, as if her thoughts and opinions carried weight.
He was also brilliant, with a creative mind that seemed to be bursting at the seams. The retractable, flaming sword had turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. Since then, he’d shown her sketchbooks full of detailed schematics, each idea more impressive than the next. And the designs always had a purpose, an intention to improve day-to-day life.
Kind. Respectful. Intelligent. Creative. Purpose-driven.
In short – he had all the qualities of a great chief.
Astrid sighed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She knew dwelling on that injustice would get her nowhere, but it still grated on her mind.
She skimmed the list once more, debating which task would be the quickest to knock out.
- Check Gothi’s Herb Supply
- Collect Trading Logs
- Check Progress on Cataloging Winter Rations
- Check in with Gobber on Raid Repairs
She immediately ruled Gothi out as an option. The elder’s silence made supply checks a tedious process, as Astrid had to inspect each herb store personally. She’d need a clearer mind before starting that job. Instead, she settled on heading to the docks, hoping the salty sea air would help revitalize her.
Ivan, the elderly harbormaster, was finishing up his morning notes when she approached. He gave her a toothy smile, holding one finger up to indicate that he was almost done.
She nodded her acknowledgment, turning her attention to survey the empty port. Trade hadn’t been great this year, especially after a few traders had lost stock during a raid and chosen not to return. Berk had managed to get by thanks to a few more stubborn sailors, but Astrid could remember years where there was always a boat at port.
“‘ere,” said Ivan, clasping the weathered log book shut and dropping it into her outstretched arms. “And tell Stoick we’ll be needin’ a new log book soon. This ‘ne’s fallin’ apart.”
Astrid just hummed in response before heading back up towards town. While the walk to the docks was pleasant, the uphill trek back was far less enjoyable. Today it felt twice as steep and twice as long as she trudged onwards.
Stoick’s house was nestled on the highest point of Berk, overlooking the entire village. It was grand and imposing, holding the record of longest standing structure on the Isle –mostly due to distance from the raid frontlines. Astrid had always found the space to be somewhat cold and unwelcoming, as Stoick’s busy schedule left the home empty most days. It lacked the lived-in feel of her own home.
When she approached the structure, she knocked loudly on the door, not pausing for an answer before leaning her weight into it. The heavy door swung open with a loud groan of protest as she slipped inside.
As she had expected, the house was empty. Everything was neat and tidy, if not a little bare. The only exception was the chief’s desk, which sat wedged into one corner. Piles of paperwork were strewn about, and various ledgers cluttered the space. An inkwell had spilled, and black dye was dried in a drip formation down the side.
Astrid approached the desk, dropping the log book on top with a loud bang. She grabbed a loose sheet of paper and placed it on top of the tome before picking up a stick of charcoal and hastily scrawling out Ivan’s request.
Turning to leave, her eyes caught on a familiar portrait hanging across the room. She’d seen it dozens of times in her life, but today it gave her pause. It depicted the chief and his family, not long before they were taken. Stoick stood tall and proud in the back of the frame, grinning down at his wife. Valka shared a smile with him, cradling her infant son in her arms.
Astrid’s attention had always been drawn to Valka in the past, but today she found herself zeroing in on the child. A tiny boy with a shock of auburn hair.
Hiccup.
Abandoning her place by the desk, she decided to get a closer look.
It was hard to believe that the infant shown was her new friend, but the painter had done an excellent job capturing the family’s likeness. She couldn’t deny that the hair, the freckles, the slightly-too-big nose…they were all spot-on. However, what struck her most was that the painting showed him as she had never seen him before –with Valka’s eyes.
They were large and expressive, with dark lashes framing forest green irises. They were perfectly ordinary, yet seemed totally out of place to Astrid. The boy in the portrait somehow seemed so much…less than the Hiccup she now knew. It was unsettling.
In that moment, she realized how used to his unusual gaze she’d grown. It had taken time, but she no longer felt the prickle of unease when she met his eyes. Now, she found her fear replaced with a strange blend of curiosity and fascination.
When exactly had that happened? She couldn’t pin down the moment things had shifted, only that they had.
Astrid found it intriguing, the way the vivid green flooded his eyes, leaving no white to be seen. She often wondered how his sight differed from her own. He had told her his night vision was better than the average person, but just how good was it? What did the world really look like through his eyes?
She most appreciated how expressive his eyes were, as the reptilian pupils would respond to his emotions. It was always easy to discern his feelings, and Astrid really valued that openness. There were so few people on Berk that she could read easily, fewer so that she could trust. Hiccup’s emotions were always laid out plainly for her to see, and it was refreshing.
It was hard to reconcile the boy she knew and the boy in the painting.
Gods, he looks so much like his mother, she thought, tracing a finger over the portrait.
If Hiccup would just agree to meet with Stoick, Astrid had no doubt the chief would recognize his wife’s features in the young man. They were undeniable.
She huffed out a sigh of frustration. Despite her efforts to convince him, Hiccup refused to consider revealing himself to his father. While she understood the validity of his fears, she had also been there to witness Stoick’s grief over the years. She knew how much the chief longed for his family and how much it weighed on him.
Surely a desperate man would be more willing to put aside his prejudices if it meant he could have what he wanted most in the world?
By the time Astrid made it to Gobber’s forge, the midday sun was beating down on her. Entering his shop was no reprieve, as the heat of the fires kept the space uncomfortably warm.
She pulled at the collar of her shirt, waiting for the blacksmith to notice her. With the hot metal in his hand, she didn’t want to run the risk of startling him.
When Gobber did look up, he grinned, “Lass!”
She smiled back, wiping the sweat off her brow. “Hey, Gobber. Stoick sent me to check on the repair progress.”
The blacksmith set aside his work, ambling over to where his other projects sat near the shop window. “Aye, I figured as much,” he gestured to a small pile tucked in the corner, “No’ everythin’ was salvageable, I’m afraid. This lot is jus’ scrap metal at this point.”
Astrid nodded, appraising the warped and mismatched pile. They’d repurpose it – Berk couldn’t afford to throw away resources, but it was a shame to see their weapons and defenses reduced to this fate.
“I’ll talk to Stoick,” she said. “I’m sure there’s a project we can put those towards.”
Gobber nodded, satisfied with the answer. He then pointed to a larger pile, just under the window. “Those should be good for the next raid. Got ‘bout two weapons per Viking, ready to go.”
That was good news. The loss of a weapon in combat with the dragons was common, having spares could save lives. It would also allow Gobber and his apprentice more time to help out during the fight, rather than focusing on making quick repairs during the struggle.
“Wait, where’s Ivan?” she asked, scanning the forge but not seeing the young man anywhere.
Gobber snorted, shaking his head in disappointment. “Dismissed ‘im yesterday. Boy barely knew which end of the ‘ammer to use!”
“B-but that’s the third apprentice this year!”
“Oi! Ya think I don’ know that?” Gobber argued, irritation creeping into his voice. “I’ve ‘ad to train the lot of them, and not a single one’s been half decent.”
Astrid groaned. She knew Stoick would not be happy to hear that his friend had dismissed yet another apprentice. It was so hard to find anyone in the village interested in blacksmith work, and they had been scraping the bottom of the barrel trying to dig up replacements.
“Gobber,” she said, exasperatedly. “Ivan was the last volunteer on our list. We might not be able to find another any time soon.”
The man scowled, “I didn’ do it lightly. I know ya’ might no’ find me another for a while, but at least I won’t ‘ave to spend half my time fixin’ that boy’s mistakes.”
“Gobber, it’s important for Berk to have an apprentice…what if…what if something happens to you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Th’ dragons ‘ave tried to take me –twice! Yet, ‘ere I stand. Gonna take a lot more than raids to take me out!”
A typical, stubborn viking response. She hadn’t expected anything less, but that didn’t make the whole ordeal less irritating.
Gods, she needed to find a replacement fast, but who could possibly put up with Gobber’s attitude while also meeting his high expectations for smithing? It was an impossibly tall order, yet one name came to mind immediately.
This job was made for Hiccup.
She’d found yet another hole in their society that the boy could fill. Another problem that his presence would solve.
Sure, he was self taught and sure to be lacking in the technical aspects as a result, but there was no denying the effectiveness of his work. The flaming sword he’d shown her was a true feat of genius –how hard could it be for him to craft simpler, less flashy blades?
“I want to show you something.”
Hiccup blinked back at her, cutting off the story he’d been telling about a place called Melody Island.
“Sorry,” her cheeks warmed as she realized she’d interrupted him. “It’s just been on my mind all day. It’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued. “What is it?”
Astrid reached out and gripped his hand, twining her fingers through his. “Do you trust me?”
“I mean, yes, but–”
That was all the answer she needed to rise to her feet, pulling him up with her. She tugged him towards the treeline, grip tight on his hand.
“It’s in town,” she admitted. “And we’re going to have to be quiet, if we don’t want to be seen.”
“You don't say.”
She turned to glare at him, unimpressed by his innocent expression.
“Can you please take this seriously? It’s important.”
He didn’t respond aloud, but squeezed her hand in acknowledgement.
When they reached the edge of town, she led him up towards the tallest peak. She could feel his resistance as they approached the looming house of the chief.
“Astrid–I’m not ready for this.”
She shook her head, pulling him forward. “We’re not here to see your father,” Under her breath she added, “Even though we really should be.”
He gave her a look that made it clear he’d heard, but stopped fighting her as they approached the home.
“There’s a wedding tonight,” said Astrid, “and the reception is happening now down in the village center. Stoick’s supposed to give a speech, so he should be down there for a while longer. We don’t have a lot of time, but the house should be empty for now.”
She pushed the door open, quickly confirming that she’d been right.
“C’mon!”
Hiccup hesitated in the doorway, color draining from his face. “I don’t know, Astrid. It just doesn’t feel right for me–”
“Oh, get in here!” She tugged hard and he stumbled through the entry.
He glared at her, pulling his hand free. It only took a moment before his attention fell on the reason for their visit: the portrait. From the entryway, it was impossible to miss, taking up a large chunk of the opposite wall.
“Is this…?” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
She watched as he scrutinized the painting, attention first drawn to his parents. Curiosity at Stoick’s portrayal turned to clear grief when he looked at Valka. For a moment, his hand shakily stretched out towards her image before dropping to his side.
When he got to his own depiction, he was harder to read. He just continued to stare at it with a strange intensity, pupils narrowing to slits.
“It doesn’t do you justice.” She said, after the silence stretched on too long for her liking.
Hiccup glanced back at her with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, the painter got your general features right,” she said, “but where’s the smirk? The insufferable sass?”
Hiccup gave a startled laugh, and the tension in the room cracked. He shot her a grateful smile before looking once more at the portrait, this time more relaxed. “I never knew I had her eyes. Well, you know, before–”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know there even was a portrait of me anywhere,” he admitted, “it’s kind of surreal to see.”
She nodded. “There actually aren’t a lot of portraits in Berk – this is one of the only ones that I’ve seen.”
“Really?”
“We don’t have a resident artist, so we have to rely on visitors – or in the chief’s case, commission one to come to the island,” explained Astrid. “The only others I’ve seen are in the Hall – there’s a wall commemorating all the new chiefs. It was clearly very important to your father to have this made.”
Hiccup opened his mouth to speak, cutting off when a shadow fell over them from behind.
