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Astrid threw her axe and missed her designated target, again. After another failed attempt she discarded her training and the weapon flew from her hand with all the strength she could muster. No finesse, no strategy. No success. The irritation she felt at her self-pitying soured her mood even more than the miss. She went to collect the axe, but instead of grabbing it for another go, she leaned her arms on the tree and breathed for a few minutes.
It was difficult to find a training partner. Snotlout wasn’t that bad, and ugh, to admit that, but she was looking to train her warrior skills, not her patience. (She could do with the other thing, too, but right now she had bigger things on mind). Especially since he got a ludicrous idea that she and him could ever be… an item. Not in this lifetime.
She wanted to shake off all unwelcome emotions swirling in her mind, but in truth, she wasn’t sure of the exact cause of her ire. Was it Harold, Snotlout or her own uselessness? Sure, she was still agitated from last night. The twins got on her nerve so much and would continue to avoid her for a few days in fear of repercussions. Small mercies.
When she found them in the kitchen, disastrously unguarded, they were on their second jug of mead. As it wasn’t the first time they got their hands on the strong stuff, she knew they were past the point of reason (provided that point ever existed).
Drunk Snotlout was boisterous as always, nothing changed. He blabbered about some heroic shit he wanted to do or had already done. Fishlegs – a rare sight – finally looked relaxed, leaning on the table with his eyes half-closed. Next to him, unashamedly sprawled on the same table, was Tuffnut with an expression of wonder and despair, one hand clutching at his heart. He was reciting a serenade of sorts, maybe composing his own. She couldn’t gather the object of his musings, if it was a person or an inanimate thing, whatever suited him. The happiest drunk of them all was Ruffnut, holding her belly with one arm while the other was thrown around Hiccup’s shoulders. Tears were flowing from her eyes accompanied by the heartiest laugh Astrid’s ever heard.
Hiccup was trying to lecture them without success, “guys, please, one is enough, we really should—,” Ruffnut put her cup at his mouth and lightly forced him to take a gulp.
“Sure, Hiccup,” Ruff said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “we’re just finishing. Here, you seem thirsty.”
Hiccup nodded and took the cup from her hands. He sipped the liquid and gave up on his efforts to minimise the damage. The two of them were waving on their feet, Ruffnut swayed to a tune only heard by her and Hiccup was glued to her with her arm and moved along. Was he there against his will? Astrid couldn’t tell and it wasn’t her biggest problem.
She spied on the gang from behind a pillar when Ruffnut spotted her. She shouted to bolt and Astrid took off after the renegade gang. To her shock Hiccup ran with them. Halfway through the chase she slipped on spilled liquid what gave the others enough time to lose her. When she reached the main hall again, they were nowhere in sight. Either on their ways home or off to some mischief. She expected to regret her decision in the morning but she abandoned her pursuit and went home. The day, all the recent days, were giving her a headache.
Back in the woods, she let out her frustrations in a sigh and picked up her axe. She was aware that her newly acquired lack of skills was only due to stress and fatigue, it will probably be gone the next day. But Astrid was never one for cool-headed explanations over a good exercise. She should be smarter, really, she was fourteen. Being upset over a matter that was out of her hands was absurd. If she couldn’t prevent danger coming to Berk, then she needed to be ready to defend her home.
Gods, at the same time, she really wanted a break. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a more laid-back nature, like the twins do. They can be useful at times of crises, they are vikings (in training) after all. But when there is no looming danger, they switch to the most air-headed people she knows – and have fun.
However, that is not who she is. A protector, on her way to become the best warrior of her generation. Polishing her skills was not only a duty, it was her kind of enjoyment. Since she was a young girl, she was taught that fighting is not about muscles or winning a scuffle. It was finesse, it was art. She became addicted to the feeling of her weapon becoming an extension of her hand. With a strategy in mind she didn’t need to be the strongest – but the smartest. Her body moved by itself then, so close to a dance, a performance. It was all about outsmarting your opponent – and with flawless technique.
Exactly. She went at it the wrong way entirely.
She didn’t need to convince people Harold was bad news. Some of them were already sure of that and yet he was still here, earning the graces of the chief and his son. Now, it was imperative to learn his plans and prepare for them. Have damage control ready at the slightest sight of peril.
Outsmart you opponent.
Outsmart the enemy.
Alright.
So where does she start?
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“Keep poundin’ like tha’ and the roof’s not gonna hold!”
Hiccup rolled his eyes and murmured a reply that shouldn’t reach anyone’s ears. Gobber’s antics and his colourful language were rubbing off on him.
He finished nailing on the wooden board and gestured for Gobber to throw him another one from the ground. He was perched on a ladder that was propped on the Great Hall. The roof was in dire needs of repairs, after nearly a month-long of storms and he was the perfect person for the job.
Contrary to Gobber’s quips from the ground, the roof was definitely going to hold. Until the next harsh thunderstorm, that is. Or a dragon raid.
Hiccup wished he could share the knowledge he acquired throughout the years that would make the Berkians’ lives easier and more comfortable. But the dread of irrevocably changing the future kept his ambitions at bay. So, he stuck to weapons improvements, tiny adjustments in the forge and exchanging observations with Gobber and his younger self on various alloys and materials. Who knew how the time travel worked. Perhaps he was supposed to tell them what he knew, warn them of what was coming. And yet, who would believe him? It was Berk. As much as he loved his island, he experienced first-hand how the villagers reacted to novelty and change.
So there he was, fixing the roof of the Great Hall after yet another storm, feeling like he was fifteen again. It was this weird contrast of being under heavy scrutiny and being left alone since no one wanted him as a responsibility. Except for–
“Ye workin’ or ye snoozin’? I’m not catchin’ ye when ye fall asleep on a ladder!”
–except for Gobber whose presence was unforgettable and Hiccup couldn’t be more grateful for that.
He switched his hammer from one hand to the other and went on with his work. In the back of his mind he heard Gobber chatting up some breadmaking viking and complaining about his other, actual assistant who was conveniently and unsurprisingly missing from his job. Soon his mind drifted, as it is prone to when he works, and he thought about one startling conversation he’d been mulling over in his head for two days.
“What are you saying?” He asked for the second time as he studied the drawing in the sand.
Gothi passed him a steaming mug. She sat back in her chair and shuffled the sand, destroying the image. Hiccup sipped the tea and observed as she quickly sketched another one. Sure, Gobber taught him to read her scribbles, but that didn’t mean he could make sense of them any better. And now, the sketches weren’t her usual symbols, but images, that resembled paintings more than signs. The only point of reference he had to understanding was that she helped him, lied for him, actually, in front of the entire village. When the others were a step from feeding him to sea monsters.
Her first drawing was a ship. Simple enough, probably meant him and his temporary amnesia about the goal of his journey. He couldn’t remember exactly what happened before he regained consciousness in the cove, but he figured it was nothing special or odd. He was most likely returning from patrol or a recreational flight with Toothless (he barely had time for those now so he grabbed every opportunity). There was no boat when he woke up and that wasn’t surprising. But there was no one else, either. And that was more than alarming.
Gothi knocked her staff on his knee. He returned his attention to her with an apologetic smile.
Her next drawings were quick icons, a mountain, a tree, a lightning bolt. All vague enough to mean anything. Then, next to the lightning bolt, she sketched a person. Over the person she drew waves, synonymous with the sea, until the waves fully covered the person. Then she shuffled the sand and stood up. He sent her a questioning look and opened his mouth to ask another, probably useless, question.
He was interrupted by a heavy cough. His throat was burning from the smoke, and his lungs produced an odd wheezing sound whenever he exhaled. It was nothing compared to some of his previous injuries or even the mishaps in the forge he caused himself. Still, he felt irritation at his own weakness.
Gothi granted him an unimpressed look as if she could read his mind. She shoved a small cup in his hand and patted his arm until he drank the potion. The syrup was too sweet but soothed his throat and lungs. He thanked her and emptied the cup under her watchful eye.
“Alright,” he stood up as well, “thank you again for, for saving me, earlier. But I don’t know what you’re trying to say. I tried to remember how I got here, no success. The bigger question is why I arrived on Berk the way I did. But I’ve got no clue for that, either.”
He put the empty mugs on her kitchen stool, they left his hands just before she smacked him with her cane. He jumped, surprised. It wasn’t painful, a hit on the arm, though unexpected. He turned back to her, ready to wash the dishes if need be. She tapped on the floor and ruffled the sand. She hurried with the next message, walked around the drawing to add bits from other sides. She stopped and considered the image, bigger than the previous ones. He stepped closer and took the drawing in sight.
He faltered for a second then dropped to his knees. To make sure what he was seeing was real. On the wooden floor there was the shape of a dragon. Hard to tell which species, the shape was vague enough to be a gronckle or a terrible terror. The dragon was mid-flight, their wings stretched wildly, head bowed to overlook the ground. Yet it wasn’t the dragon that shocked Hiccup, not entirely. What caught his eye was the smaller shape in the middle of the sand, connected to the dragon.
A figure of a person. A human riding a dragon.
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To outsmart the enemy, one must think like them first. It is crucial to know and understand your opponent. To know them one must observe and follow the foe. That is what she was taught, what she remembered from the long hours of lessons and lectures her parents insisted on before she could go and swing her axe.
Vikings weren’t known for espionage, what with all their loud and rowdy nature that called for attack first, questions later, if ever. It was a useful stereotype. No one would expect a viking spy when there were hush hush stories around the archipelago about people trained exactly for that. The art of espionage was a secret even among vikings themselves – since the stereotype had a grain of truth in it. Tribe leaders were mostly aware there was always a possibility of an informant in their close circles, but common knowledge stated that vikings didn’t see the sense in training spies.
Well, Astrid wasn’t a spy. She thought about it once, when she found out her great-aunt and her daughter had been spies. Then she learned they both went missing in action decades ago, nobody knew what happened, if they survived or not. And obviously, that shed a shadow on her childhood dreams. Besides, she always preferred to be in the heat of the battle, protecting the others with her body, not words.
She did find her interest useful. After she begged her mother for details, she was granted a couple books found in the attic about the art of intelligence. She devoured them with bright eyes and was satisfied with her dream. Her parents didn’t want that path for her either, so the idea slowly disintegrated as she showed more and more promise with a sword. But she never forgot the more important, or fascinating, lessons, such as observing from afar or walking soundlessly. For all she tried, she wasn’t able to control her facial expressions and didn’t really see the point in lying or manipulation, so she wouldn’t make a good spy anyway.
To understand and take down Harold, she decided to retrack all his steps on Berk, ever since he appeared almost a week ago. He seemed to spend most of his time in the forge, but she’ll start from the very beginning. The cove where she found him.
That was a solid plan provided she knew the way to the place. She’d been there that one time and she had been following her gut on the way. The way to the village was unmistakeable, just follow the sounds to your nearest viking. Perhaps she could go back and reorient herself.
Something moved in the bushes. An animal, what else. She crept closer to the ruffling, while keeping her steps light and steady.
Every child on the island was taught how to behave around wild animals. A boar – climb up immediately. A bear – freeze. A yak – if it reacts to a thick accent then take it back to the village for it must have been lost.
She couldn’t figure out the animal from the noise alone.
The list went on. A fox – will be gone before you see it. Same goes for birds. Except for pigeons – they’re waiting for you.
A goat – will definitely follow you. A sheep – will also follow you but pretend not to. A dragon – kill on sight. Then alert the others about an upcoming raid.
Those rules were crucial to their survival as a village. It concerned every animal, from pets to pests. And the humans, too. What to do when you come across a confused Berkian? Ask for their name, her mother said. Challenge them to a duel, added her uncle. Pretend you’re from another island, was what Ruffnut and Tuffnut said. If Astrid met the two of them in the woods, she would definitely heed their advice.
The shuffling came closer, but it was soft and chaotic, careless unlike an animal on a hunt.
“What in the name of– You?!”
The person in front of her let out a yelp, then sighed. “Oh, sweet Thor, Astrid.” His chest was moving wildly as he tried to control his breath.
“The Hel are you doing here?” She asked, or shouted, still on edge herself from the surprise.
He waved his hands. “I didn’t scare you, did I? Sorry–”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “Though, what the Hel, Hiccup?”
“Yeah, yeah, you surprised me, too.” He covered his eyes for a second. He ruffled his hair and let out a nervous laugh.
“Did you sneak up on me?” She wasn’t angry, at least not yet, but the shock grated on her nerves.
Hiccup snorted and gestured as he spoke, “I don’t know who you take me for, but I’m not stupid. And I’d say it was you who sneaked up on me,” he crossed his arms in defiance. She granted him her best unimpressed look and said nothing.
“Okay. So, I’ll be going, then,” he added, less cheekily, and turned around.
“Wait. Hiccup.” He stopped to hear what she had to say. “Where are you going?”
Now he hesitated, as if deciding on the truth. Or a good lie. “Umm. Why do you ask?”
Good question. She wondered about the same thing. She huffed, playing for time. “Just don’t get lost.”
“Funny. People usually tell me the opposite,” he said, but there was nothing humorous about his expression.
She frowned and replied, “Don’t listen to them.”
She surprised him, again. She could tell by the widening of his eyes.
He muttered, “Alright. Um, thanks.”
There was nothing else to say. The silence clung to them as it often did – for all of their similarities like age and living on Berk, they often found themselves in an awkward silence. The usual exit was leaving on account of duties and chores to do. She couldn’t exactly say that someone was calling her deep in the forest, could she?
Astrid wondered where he was going and why it was such a secret. All the same, he hadn’t asked her about her plans and, well, uh, the sneaking around. She could grant him the benefit of the doubt. Even if his past record implied there might be casualties later.
“So we go our own ways, just like that?” She unintentionally made it more a question than a statement.
Hiccup nodded and started backing out to where he came from. “Well, you’re off to do your thing, I’m off to mine.” He halted and squinted at her. “Unless… You’re doing something illegal.” He whispered the last word like a secret.
Even though she wasn’t doing anything forbidden, snooping around for safety doesn’t count, and she hasn’t even started the snooping, she felt the need to defend herself. Yet before she sputtered something embarrassing, she noticed the mischievous glint in Hiccup’s eyes. He was messing with her. Oh, Hel no.
“You must be confusing me with someone,” she replied with fake confusion.
“Oh, really?” He raised his eyebrows, but his mouth betrayed a supressed grin.
“Out of the two of us I am not the one who’s known for doing illegal stuff.”
“Or you’re just better at maintaining your reputation.”
She was struck speechless at his retort. Who knew he had it in him?
Hiccup was proving to be more of a mystery each day. Her idea of him required constant adjustments. She thought of his new friendship, another worrying trait of his – to befriend someone he barely knew so quickly, and an idea popped into her head.
“Maybe.” She gave him a once-over. “How long do you think Harold is gonna be here?”
“Harold?” He drew back in surprise. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Well, your father said he’d go when the sea is calm. Seems pretty calm to me now.”
“And you’re saying we should kick him out since it might be safe to sail, even if we wouldn’t sent out our boats for a week at least?”
“No. You’re saying that. I just thought he would be glad to return home as soon as possible.”
It was a dangerous plan she had in mind. Hiccup was the chief’s son, but the biggest problem could be that he liked the mysterious traveller. For whatever reason he seemed drawn to him. Or that was just her imagination and there was nothing there except for a little idol admiration. Snotlout was pretty starstruck as well at dinner last night. Ugh, boys.
She could use an accomplice. Not for any misdemeanour, of course, protecting your village was never a crime. And Hiccup, for all his clumsiness and bad-timed jokes, could be useful. A distraction, if not anything else. Although, she was starting to suspect he was more competent than met the eye.
“Alright,” she said with a finality she wasn’t sure of. “do you know how to climb a cliff?”
“No,” he stated, quite sure and not ashamed. “But I can run fast.”
“And you would do anything to keep Berk safe?”
“A lot, yes. You do realise I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” he said. She waited for his chide, or maybe a snide remark. Once again he proved her wrong by saying, “So what’s the plan?”
Inadvertently she smiled with relief.
“We’ll need to be sneaky. Does the word stealthy mean anything to you?”
“What do think we’re doing now? Having a stroll?”
Her mind returned to the beginning of their conversation. She wasn’t surprised that he was hiding something from her, but he still let her in that there was a mystery in the first place. So it was probably his father or Gobber that Hiccup was avoiding.
“Interesting,” she thought and her lips moved without permission.
He squinted. “What is?” She heard the change in his voice and saw it in his eyes. They were balancing on a tightrope of trust – a temporary truce for a shared goal. She was well aware they weren’t friends, she wouldn’t appreciate him barging in on her private matters and the feeling was mutual.
Once wrong step and their truce would crumble. She was still debating whether he’d stick to her side or side with Harold if it came to that choice. Time will show. Her only certainty was that he wanted to keep Berk away from danger as much as she did.
And that is what they will do. Work together.
Okay, yeah, totally doable. No problem at all.
Well, with a little preparation first.
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“Ye know workin’ at high altitudes goes rather against having yer head in the clouds. Though I understand where ye might be confused.”
Hiccup snorted at that. “Oh, come on. You’re awfully concerned about safety as if I hadn’t seen you fall asleep over the anvil two nights in a row.”
“I refuse to answer such outrageous accusations.”
“Mhm. How’s it looking from down there?”
“Same as always, laddie.”
“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”
He made sure the nails were secure and in place, then climbed down the ladder. He gathered his equipment and stocked his pockets with leftover nails, then went around the Hall to meet with Gobber. He was surprised to find him in the company of Snotlout and Fishlegs.
As the boys were chatting with the smith and asking about dragon training, and oh gods, that was a thing that hadn’t happened yet but also it did, Hiccup examined the roof from the bottom. Gobber was right, as usual. It looked unchanged, the new boards didn’t stick out. After all, the roof was fixed so many times that most of the original wood had already been replaced.
Hiccup grabbed the bucket where Gobber carried the tools and said he was going to the forge to put them back.
Gobber nodded at him and prompted, “Just don’t look at those fun inventions of yours. We’re havin’ dinner. I swear those sketches keep ye entertained like a babe with a sword.”
Hiccup laughed and promised to be back in minutes. When we was leaving the square he heard the continuing conversation between the men.
“Gobber, who in the name of Freya gives a sword to a baby?” asked Fishlegs, sounding distraught.
“Don’t ask me! I didn’t sign up for havin’ those little nightmares, did I?”
“I really hope it’s just an expression,” the boy said.
“Hey, it’s not! A sword was my favourite toy when I was a kid! And look at me now,” Snotlout grinned as he showed off his muscled arms.
Gobber raised his eyebrow and replied with a deadpan voice, “We’re lookin’.”
Hiccup couldn’t stop the snort that slipped out of him. He had missed this. He was glad beyond words to see this side of Gobber, the sarcastic, tired but happy, and so caring man he considered a second father. The fine print of this experience was that Hiccup realised more and more everyday how miserable his (present) Gobber was. The discrepancy between the two realities felt like tiny shards of glass drilling into his heart. Aside from the fact that he had a constant headache from mulling over time travel.
And the familiarity made him think of his people, of Astrid and Toothless and their friends. Were they looking for him? What if they were in danger? And the worst of all, will he be able to return?
No. He meant, yes. Yes, of course he would. There was no option of staying, no way that he would ever stop looking for a way back. But the thoughts were also leading him nowhere but the dark spiral in his mind.
He left the tools at the forge, secured everything in his place, pointedly not looking at any of his inventions, and went back to where he left Gobber and the boys. The smith was standing alone, waiting for Hiccup with a smile and gave him a pat on the shoulders for a job well done. They climbed the stairs arm in arm, chatting about the village gossip. Well, Gobber was the one doing the gossiping, but Hiccup would lie if he said he wasn’t interested in the hush-hush talk of the people.
The smell of dinner was like a tiny patch of comfort to his troubled mind. After grabbing their meals, Gobber led them to the central table he usually occupied, as Stoick’s left hand (the right-hand seat was reserved for Spitelout, though that was mostly for appearances and not actual hierarchy). The central table offered a lot less security than the obscured ones around the pillars that Hiccup would normally take. Of course, going unnoticed was a thing of the past for him. In his present he had largely adjusted to sitting in the middle of the hall, next to Astrid and their friends, at the beck and call of the villagers.
Now, though, the chief wasn’t there. Gobber patted the chair next to him and Hiccup knew that insisting they change tables would only garner attention. Besides he had no justifiable reason except for “the people here don’t trust me and I’d rather stay out of sight”. It sounded weak even to him, so he swallowed his nervousness and reminded himself it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before. He had faced ruthless enemies in close encounters so this was relatively a piece of cake. With Gobber by his side, he at least had a friend nearby, ready to jump in his defence.
Hiccup wondered how he managed to inspire such faith, perhaps even protectiveness, over the week. To Gobber he was a stranger, just some idiot who was good in the forge. And yet, the previous days revealed he could count on the man almost like he did back home.
Which, of course, left him feeling guilty knowing he was lying to the people closest to him.
No amount of rational explanation could spare him the sick sensation in his stomach. Because at heart he knew, the secrecy was due to his fear. For changing the future, but also for the emotional turmoil his revelation would cause his loved ones. And the possible repercussion of his father and Gobber deeming him mad and expelling him from the family, from the village. Yeah, no higher purpose to justify the lies. Only ugly, selfish trepidation.
People around the Hall did watch him, guarded as vikings tended to be. But not spiteful, not like before. Part of that was Gobber’s presence that served as mitigator of sorts. The other part could be from the repairs he did to the village, greatly needed after a month of thunderstorms and rain.
Never mind the reason, he still turned heads, but the glances were rather neutral, if not curious. Over the years he became quite adept at reading people’s expressions, especially when it came to his people. In the past, the ability served him to get away from trouble with the minimum of consequences. Nowadays, he used it to resolve a ridiculous amount of conflicts between neighbours and family members. Sometimes the disagreement was between his closest friends. Occasionally he was a part of it. Good thing was, he became well-acquainted with the human mimic and expressions and quite skilled at spotting clues of an impending argument.
He observed no clues pointed at him at the moment. He was off the hook, at least for now. Did that mean dinner in peace, though?
Definitely not, he thought, as they were joined by his younger self, who looked like he was chased through the woods by a horde of wolves. Alarm spiked in him and in the corner of his eye he saw Gobber sitting up in haste. The boy smiled at them and sat down with his plate as if nothing was out of ordinary. Hiccup’s alarm turned to suspicion. He took in his younger self’s appearance and the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Oh no.
Because if Hiccup knew anything about himself, it was that he truly was an adrenaline freak at heart, everyone was absolutely correct about that. So whatever news or idea put that spring in his step, it must’ve been something crazy. And there was nothing and no-one who could prevent Hiccup Haddock from indulging an exciting, reckless and crazy idea.
Oh no, indeed.