Vetrnaetr, Chapter 7
A/N: Another new chapter of Vetrnaetr! Sure, it's been like...a year. That's fine. It's fine. Everything is fine. I feel like I've lost my touch a little--but it is fine.
Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Rating: 18+
Pairing: Hiccstrid, Affairs AU
Start from the very beginning here.
-----
Of all the wild animals one could domesticate, dragons had to rank among the best in terms of versatility, companionship, and absolute undeniable badassery. The near-exclusiveness Berk enjoyed with the beasts was a thing of envy--and a secret closely guarded lest they welcomed war upon their island. A small, rather reclusive tribe of Norsemen with an army of obedient dragons at their disposal would raise a few eyebrows and undermine regional stability. They would be a threat to squash. Berk's greatest asset could easily be its undoing, should it inspire a covetousness in their enemies and fair-weather allies--and Chief Stoick considered all their alliances to be tenuous and conditional at best.
Astrid was glad that the threads of fate sought fit to place her on Berk. Her life, a mess though it was at the moment, was made rich by Hooligan culture now steeped in a fierce love of dragons. Once, the flapping of great, leathery wings and overhead shadows brought fear and death. Now, she hardly noticed a low-flying Gronckle, and dodged the Terrible Terrors that scurried underfoot with practiced ease. Berk used to be a place painted with ash and flames--but as the sun rose high over the island, her village seemed vibrant with colorful dragons at every turn.
Stormfly's unwavering loyalty was a great comfort amid the chaos of holiday busyness and faltering relationships. Astrid could not imagine life without her dragon, though such a life was all she had known a few short years ago.
But that was a whole different world that was slipping from memory, like the last vestiges of a nightmare broken up by the bright, new day.
Morning flights, evening flights. They still cleansed the soul, a respite for the mentally and emotionally laden.
The chill in the air, high among the clouds, was nearly intolerable. Astrid's teeth chattered and she shivered beneath her thick layers of wool and furs. Her fingers were numb in seconds, but her dragon's cries of delight were worth it as they took to the sky. Stormfly was nearly sing-song as she rolled over the waves and glided on the air currents, spotted wings outstretched like a great, scaly gull. In a couple of months, the dragons would leave Berk during their annual migration to warmer climates to breed. Astrid could not blame them. When winter was in full swing, she wished to join them. Instead, she counted down the days until they returned.
Astrid closed her eyes, breathing deeply, lungs filling up with icy salt air. It stung a little, but it was more freeing than the smoke from the hearth and sewing by firelight under her mother's critical eye. Indeed, flying in the bitter cold and biting wind was preferable to cooking under scrutiny, hoping to earn passable marks and an afternoon's reprieve from mandatory lessons in domesticity. For some reason, her mother seemed to suffer the delusion that she could fix her relationship woes with a hearty stew and needlepoint. Maybe perfecting her homemaking to the same degree as her combat skills would make her irresistible--a wife to be desired.
How laughable, when she did not want to be solely valued for such things.
"Go, Stormfly! Go!" she shouted, nudging her dragon into a sharp dive., the rush of frigid wind drowning out her thoughts.
Thunderdrums could be seen just below the surface, their spots peeking in and out of the tide, drawing ever closer. Such reckless flight and freedom sustained the troubled heart--Hiccup has shown her that. Astrid whooped, tears streaming from wind-battered eyes as they rushed toward the waves below.
Sometimes, she wondered what might happen if her dragon did not pull up at the last moment, skimming the white caps with her claws. If they kept diving, plunging into the depths, might they puncture the veil and end up somewhere else; a place where she could chart her own future without everyone else's input? She supposed such a place was for dreams: the impractical desires of youth that eventually crossed over into fond memories of a still wild and untamed imagination, before things like responsibility and duty beat it into submission.
She closed her eyes, sitting up in the saddle. With outstretched arms, it felt like she was flying, fast and low, and far away.
Peace. Finally, she was at some small semblance of peace...
"HELP!" came a scream over the roar of the ocean, piercing her reverie.
Astrid pulled back on her dragon's reins, and Stormfly came to an abrupt stop, hovering in midair as she glanced around wildly.
"HELLO?" she called back, reaching for her axe. Maybe, just maybe, she could put it to use for the first time in ages.
But she saw no one else among the stacks, other than the plump grey seals sunning themselves on the rocks scattered at the bases. The only answer she received was the squawk of the coastal birds going about their business, riding the air currents.
To her right was an inlet, cliffs sharply rising on either side of the mouth Agmundr's Sound. She and her father would take many camping trips there in her childhood, where she first learned to fish and to sail. Now it was a popular location for Berk's youth to spend an afternoon on the beach, away from their parents and responsibilities. It was also a fine place to strip down to one's undergarments and ride the Scauldrons that nested there in the summer, when the water was warmer, and the days were long.
The desperate scream echoed through the air once more, and this time, Astrid was certain the source was somewhere inside Agmundr's Sound.
She steered her dragon into the deep, broad divide that Odin cleaved out of Ymir when he fashioned Berk and all the world to his liking. Stormfly flew low as they searched the length of the sound, her reflection keeping pace on the gentler waters below. Fir trees lined the cliffside, but nothing stood out. All she could hear in the distance was the call of Berk's resident Timberjacks.
Maybe she had imagined someone calling for help? Perhaps stress was getting to her? She was about to call off her search, resigned to the notion she had misheard--when there, on the shore where the two cliffs diminished into rolling hills and met, she saw a great scar in the earth. At its end, was a familiar black dragon--and Astrid's heart skipped a beat. Toothless stirred up all kind of feelings by association, and she could not leave him in distress.
Stormfly landed gracefully on the beach, taking care to avoid the deep trench that had been gouged there from a rough landing. The black dragon's rider--the mystery screamer--also became apparent. Fishlegs sputtered, brushing the cold, damp sand from his cloak while Toothless growled at him--one did not need to speak dragon to understand the gist of the Night Fury's frustrations, and what he wished to communicate.
"I'm sorry!" Fishlegs pleaded with the dragon. Toothless was not the least bit sympathetic, turning his back to him in an indignant huff.
"Are you alright?" Astrid asked, dismounting.
Fishlegs gave a start. He had been too busy arguing with the disgruntled Night Fury to notice her arrival.
"Astrid!" he exclaimed, face brightening at once.
He trudged over to her, trying to shake the remaining sand from his clothes.
"Maybe you can talk some sense into him," Fishlegs whispered, jerking his thumb in Toothless's direction.
Astrid surveyed the scene: filthy clothes, a great plowing of the earth, and one bent tailfin.
"Did you crash?" she asked, though it was plain.
"It's not my fault!" Fishlegs cried. He hurried over to the Night Fury and pointed emphatically at the complex flying apparatus. "I mean, what?"
Astrid folded her arms beneath her cloak. "Didn't Hiccup leave you instructions on how to work it?"
"He did," Fishlegs replied, pouting. "They made a lot more sense on paper."
Astrid frowned and walked around Toothless, examining the intricate feat of seemingly impossible engineering that Hiccup made appear effortless. Toothless flashed her a gummy smile, tongue lolling out the side of his wide mouth. He began to wiggle with anticipation as she circled him.
"I don't think you've busted it beyond repair," she said, and Fishlegs breathed an audible sigh of relief. "But I'm not the expert in these things," she added.
His face faltered. "You're not going to tell Hiccup, are you? He'll be so mad!"
Astrid crouched down to hold up the tail fin, the most medial piece of ribbing bent at an odd angle. "Somehow, I think he'll notice," she replied flatly.
Fishlegs groaned, gripping his short, choppy hair. "He's never going to trust me with Toothless again!"
Astrid stood up, hands on her hips. "Don't take it personally. He doesn't trust anybody with Toothless. Not really."
"He trusts you."
Astrid remembered the days when Hiccup was still healing from his duel with Stefnir, arm in a sling. He offered her his good hand and brought her over to an impatient Night Fury in his complete rig. She had been confused; Hiccup had agreed not to fly until he was sufficiently mended--but he stepped aside so she could climb into the saddle instead. With patience and calm, he taught her each position of the tailfin until she could shift gears fluidly.
Then, he took large steps back as Toothless unfurled his wings, and said, "I trust you."
It must have been killing him inside to let go and grant her access to the final, most personal part of himself--but he exuded nothing but warmth, looking at her astride his dragon like she held his world together.
"He did trust me," she muttered to Fishlegs.
"He does," he corrected with an encouraging smile.
Outside of Toothless and Astrid, Fishlegs was Hiccup's closest friend. Perhaps he had found time to confide in the other boy between talk of dragons.
Astrid shook her head, heavy with self-pity. "Well, I've gone a made a mess of things, haven't I?"
Fishlegs was nodding along until pinned in her gaze. His eyes widened, and shifting awkwardly he said, "Oh! That wasn't rhetorical?"
She sighed. "Never mind. It's not anything I don't already know."
They stood in a heavy silence with the dragons considering them. puzzled. Fishlegs looked pained, like he had something to say, burning his throat, but something held it in. Or he wanted to vomit. Honestly, the expression was about the same.
Astrid waved her hand, dismissing the thought on the tip of his tongue. If some secret lingered there, entrusted to him by Hiccup, then she did not want him to be tempted into betraying that trust. Fishlegs was a good friend, but it did not take much to pry confessions from him--and Hiccup was already frustrated with her, plenty enough.
"Tell you what: I think Toothless can still manage to get home, though it won't be fast or with flourish. I will fly him for you, if you agree to fly Stormfly back to Berk for me," she said, patting the Night Fury.
"Thank you!" he practically cried with relief.
Even Toothless perked up at the prospect of flying with someone competent.
Stormfly crouched down and Fishlegs clambered up into the saddle. He struggled for only a moment, used to a dragon much closer to the ground. Astrid mounted Toothless and hooked her foot beneath the connecting peg for Hiccup's prosthesis. While it was built for him alone to operate smoothly, she could manage by flexing her foot to pull the peg up into position or rest her foot atop it to press it down. By no means was it a fluid process. She could not shift gears in that seamless way only Hiccup could--but she managed. At any rate, she was adept enough to fly Toothless safely home from Agmundr's Sound.
Stromfly stretched out her wings, ready to push off from the beach, but Fishlegs hesitated.
"For what it's worth," he began, "I've never known Hiccup to be happier than when you two are together. And--"
"Thank you, Fishlegs," Astrid interjected, "But you don't have to--"
"It will work out for you. It has to." He paused for a beat, then added, "I think he loves you too much. He doesn't talk about anyone else the same way."
Astrid did not say anything. Her eyes stung, and she told herself it was simply the cold wind channeled through the sound that also tossed her loose hair about. Fishlegs smiled, looking pleased with himself, as if his words alone would set things right.
"Just put Stormfly back in her stall, please."
"You got it!" Fishlegs replied, and Astrid watched him take off above the frosted trees.
She did not think it possible, but her heart ached all the more.
------
Hiccup was overjoyed to be leaving Helgafell at last. He had grown weary of snow, rock, and bare trees. As miserable as the journey home would be, captive on a boat with nothing to look at but his burly tribesmen and a vast expanse of rolling gray sea, each hour would bring him closer to home, to his own bed, belongings, to Toothless--and to Astrid.
The words of her letter, and that implicit ultimatum of hers, were branded on the forefront of his mind. He was a flurry of emotion to match the winter storm that blew in that morning as they packed up. No one asked, but he had to seem more distracted than usual. As he helped load their ship, he was equal part angry, anxious, and lovesick. He wanted to see Astrid, but dreaded the confrontation it would bring. He wanted to resolve their issues, but feared the implosion of their relationship if he said the wrong thing--and lately, it seemed every word he uttered was the wrong thing. He wanted to make her happy, get back what they had worked so hard for, but he did not know how to be anything other than himself; it was quite the conundrum.
"That's the last of it," Stoick declared, as the small crate of their rations was carried onboard. "Are you ready?"
Hiccup nodded, stepping onto the gently rocking ship.
As the rest of the crew followed behind him, he took one last glance out at Helgafell. The frosted temple towered above the dwindling tents. With camps being dismantled left and right, the island looked even smaller than it had before. The mysterious volva wandered among the stragglers, offering them any herbs and psychedelic fungi that might make the journey home more bearable.
Hiccup would've purchased the bunch if it could erase his memory the trip and the things he had learned. He could still smell the blood of the sacrificial animals and hear the resigned groan of dragon before it died. The distant stare of the volva haunted him when he closed his eyes.
They shoved off, and he felt a weight lifted. From the moment he had set foot on Helgafell, there had been an oppressive and ominous energy, as if he was one faux pas, one misstep from bringing hostilities on Berk. He played his part, the dutiful heir. While the island began to fade in the distance, shrouded again in fog and snow, Hiccup's heart was burdened by the realization that he would continue to play the part until it became the reality of him.
He sighed, leaning on his elbows set upon the starboard gunwale. Their ship ploughed through the waves, and he watched the sea ebb and flow, beating against the hull before exploding into briny mist. The deck creaked beneath familiar footfalls approaching him from behind, trying to be softer than their capacity.
Stoick cleared his throat, but it was unnecessary.
"With the wind on our side, we might see Berk half-a-day earlier than planned," he said, large hands coming to rest on the same faded red gunwale supporting his son in his best attempt to appear casual.
"That would be nice. Lots to do before Vetrnaetr kicks off, I guess?" Hiccup replied.
He pretended it was not so amusing to see his father's impressive red beard dancing about in the wind, catching snowflakes.
"There is, but I suppose Spitelout has seen to most of the preparations."
Hiccup nodded and the two of them gazed out at the ocean, churning and reflecting the dreary sky as if one might bleed into the other. His father was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he so often did.
"I know you did not enjoy the trip," Stoick spoke up after a very pregnant pause.
"Maybe it was all the talk of funding wars through trade or watching that dragon die such a pointless death for the sake of a man's ego that did it."
"I hope you realize how important it was all the same."
Hiccup straightened up, wrapping his cloak more tightly around his body.
He merely answered, "Yeah."
'"The world is a lot bigger and more complicated than you realize," Stoick said, patting him. on the shoulder.
Hiccup scoffed. "Bigger, I knew. Complicated? I think I already knew that too. But I didn't know how ugly 'complicated' could be. I am naiver than I thought. Or maybe I just convinced myself it would always be someone else's problem."
Stoick considered him, brow heavy with pity. "There is more to being the chief and keeping your people safe and provided for than what can be taught on Berk alone."
Hiccup sighed, and gave another, "Yeah."
Stoick gripped his shoulder turning him until they made eye contact. "You are the future, Hiccup. All of Berk's hopes rest on you. I know that you are up for the task."
Hiccup only ever shrank under his father's lofty expectations. That unearned, unrelenting pride shone down upon him was uncomfortable, and he was meant to carry it without complaint, without faltering. He could not meet his father's glowing stare.
Glancing down at the deck, he muttered. "I wish I was as sure as you."
Stoick did not waver. "There will come a day when you will be."
Hiccup had to turn away, and gaze back out at the ocean. he assumed his previous position, leaning thoughtfully against the gunwale.
He responded with a noncommittal, "Mm."
As Stoick walked away, satisfied with his final word on the matter, Hiccup reached into his cloak and took out the pendant he bought on Helgafell. He turned the cold metal over in his hands, studying the dragon there. The more he looked it over, the more he was certain the extra set of wings was not just the error of an unskilled craftsman.
"What kind of dragon are you?" he murmured, tracing over the image with his thumb.
-----
Sneaky returned home in the middle of the night. He was unscathed, as Astrid knew he would be. Hiccup would never have let any harm befall the little blue dragon, no matter how hostile toward dragons Helagfell might be. Perhaps it was a good thing she was only half awake to greet Sneaky, or the full weight of the notion that her lover had read her letter would have crushed her. She fell back asleep, Terrible Terror curled against her side, while vaguely aware of the uncomfortable squirm in her gut.
The next morning brought with it the full realization that an argument was heading her way, sailing home in two days' time. She tried to stay busy to stifle the dread. Maybe there would come the favorable resolution Fishlegs promised--but she did not want to suffer the heartache and pain to earn it. Hiccup was not often angry. Even rarer still was his fleeting foul moods directed at her. She's rather take a dozen blows to the gut than see those green eyes of his glare back at her with bitterness.
The prospect was enough to drive her mad, and she needed a steady stream of distraction.
She spent the next couple of days alternating between flying Stormfly in the mornings and flying Toothless in the evenings; Gobber straightened out the bent metal rod of Toothless's fin in no time at all. She did not mind caring for the two dragons, because it was a valid excuse to keep her out of the house, her mind of more pleasant things. Nobody questioned her with the Night Fury. In fact, the whispers and sidelong glances decreased when she was with her boyfriend's dragon. Astrid caring for Toothless seemed to be more right with the world than leaving him in the care of Fishlegs. To be close to the Night Fury was to be as close to Hiccup as she could get in his absence. Toothless also seemed fond of the arrangement, nothing but smiles and boundless energy for her. She wondered if he would put in a good word for her with Hiccup.
But alas, when she was not with a dragon, her mother kept her occupied with chores. That afternoon, she was hanging the laundry in near the hearth to dry as her mother boiled carrots, potatoes, and onions for the lamb her father was roasting over the fire behind the house. Meat could not be left unattended for long, lest Terrible Terrors make off with it. Sneaky was particularly skilled in this brand of thievery. Her father always had some choice words.
She had just poked her head outside to check on the lamb roast at her mother's behest, when a long, low, horn bellowed over the village.
"Chief Stoick is back!" she heard people call out. "They've all come back from Helgafell!"
Astrid froze. She met her father's eye. He stared back at her, knowingly.
With a small nod of his head, he told her, "Go on."
She spun on her heel and took off toward the docks, heart racing. Her cloak was left hanging on its peg by the door, but she did not notice the cold. People stood, waving at the ship as it pulled in, and Astrid weaved around them. She stopped short of running out ahead, slowing down to remain among the first row of onlookers.
Spitelout was there to catch the thick ropes thrown over the side. He and Silent Sven worked together to secure the mooring. Gobber and a couple of other able-bodied men received the items that were being unloaded and handed off to them: tents and the remaining rations, most likely. Perhaps even some exotic goods procured by trade?
Astrid imagined what might be found at Helgafell frozen shores: furs, metals, weapons, and wines--all things could promise a fun time during a harsh Norse winter.
Then Stoick disembarked, followed by Hiccup, and all daydreaming evaporated. Spitelout and Gobber pushed themselves to the forefront of the crowd and engaged the Chief in talk of festival preparations at once--what had already been accomplished and what was left to do. Hiccup had barely taken a step before he was rushed by a group of children: the newest of dragon-riders from that year's Selection ceremony--all excitedly shouting over each other about tricks they had learned, and new skills acquired. Hiccup smiled as they tugged on his cloak and his hands, all vying for his attention.
"Wow, really?" he said above the noise, to no particular child. "You'll have to show me."
The gaggle of his adoring, miniature fans all continued to talk at him unintelligibly, until someone called out," Night Fury!"
The mob of small dragon riders scattered with shrieks as a big black, scaly mass tackled Hiccup flat, onto the dock. Stoick, Spitelout, and Gobber reflexively stepped aside without as much as a hitch in their conversation. Toothless was all wiggles and aggressive nuzzling as Hiccup tried to sit up and catch the breath knocked out of him.
"Toothless! Toothless! Stop!" he insisted between laughs, trying to push the enthusiastic dragon out of his face, if only for a moment to collect himself. "For Odin's sake!"
As he sat up, the dragon let out a groan and rolled onto his back, exposing his belly. The children giggled at his antics.
"Oh! Is this why you missed me?" Hiccup teased, scratching Toothless's throat before moving over his chest. He adopted a tone reminiscent of how one might speak to a baby. "This is really why you missed me, huh?"
Toothless's tongue flopped out of the corner of his mouth and one of his hind legs kicked in delight.
"He really did miss you," Astrid spoke up, finally. She smiled despite their fighting. Her boyfriend's relationship with his dragon was endearing and infectious.
Hiccup glanced up, startled. His face faltered, and he scrambled to his feet. "Astrid! I, uh...I didn't see you there."
"Well, it is kind of hard to see anything else when Toothless demands attention."
He wouldn't meet her gaze. "Yeah. Right."
The uncomfortable silence that settled between them was disturbed only by a few sparse snow flurries, and the creak of the dock beneath Toothless as the dragon rolled onto his feet.
"I got your letter." Hiccup said, and Astrid felt the anxious twist in her gut. His Night Fury nudged him in the elbow, demanding his attention.
Facing him had not been so agonizing since that night on Dragon Island when they both were at their limit and had nothing to lose--that argument had a desirable ending. Perhaps, with the proper time and free of distractions, they might go two-for-two.
"Look," she began; and now she was the one who could not quite look him in the eye, "We need to talk. Badly. We've been open with each other before, and--"
"Are you guys fighting?" one of the children spoke up, loud and insistent.
Astrid gave a small start; she forgot they were there and desperately wished they weren't. Now, she was all too aware of the many eyes on them both, with rapt attention for a conflict they could not possibly understand. She frowned, and seized the rude child's helmet from his head, flinging it down the dock so he had to chase after it.
"Heeey!" some of the other kids obnoxiously cried.
When Astrid turned back to Hiccup, smug, he had already climbed into his saddle. Toothless unfurled his wings.
"Hiccup, wait!" she pleaded.
But he either had not heard her over the rush of his dragon taking flight, or at that moment, mending the hurt was not his priority. Either possibility left her standing there, watching her boyfriend and his dragon disappear into the low-hanging, dreary clouds as if she had not sought him out at all. The children wandered off, disappointed and suddenly uninterested in whatever transpired between lovers--boring and unknown things the future held for them too, but far beyond their capacity to care.
The wind picked up and the delicate snowflakes tumbled and twirled with renewed fervor. A shiver rattled Astrid down to her bones, and she held tightly to herself, painfully aware of just had cold it had become.
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