#[ there are other ships i'm fond of for them as well but these are the big ones. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oncewhenalongtimeago · 7 months

Note

I'm not sure if you're still accepting requests so if you aren't, you can ignore this one!

Hiccup x reader where they've been arranged since they were teens and they try to navigate through their arrangement

Counting Coins

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Words: 28,025

On one cold morning, a small Chief’s son and merchant child are arranged to be wed. Now, Hiccup Haddock is your fiance and you his. Despite your different walks of life, you find you come together quite nicely.

Tags: Gender Neutral/Intended Female, reunions, arranged marriage, half-fill, fluff, MATURE CONTENT, unedited

You furrowed your brows, curling your hands around the cloak of the master of this dock, his large form towering over your small one, thicker than you’d ever seen before and well muscled, though most muscles were hidden under his clothing, clean and darned for the occasion.

His hair was dark and his helmet large, horns seeming much too wide for his helmet, a stern man with a face hard set, yet he was gentle with you, and fond, despite your only recent meeting.

He seemed incredibly imposing, though it was a small comfort to have him on your side in front of you, acting as a shield. An in-between, a presenter for you though you knew this would be your first and last meeting.

Your white child’s robes teased the soles of your boots, fine and woven in silks you’d never had the privilege of touching before, belonging to a caliber much higher than your class. You knew after this you might not ever see those clothes again, embroidered and sewn delicately in a way you wanted to keep with ferocity.

Yet they were thin, not full enough to keep the chill from rushing up your sleeves in this early, biting morning.

Your nose was certainly sharp with cold bite, and you could feel the buzz of frost on each and every one of your limbs as if you had just been woken up for early travel, when things were dark and silent and dewy with spray.

With one eye, the other buried into rough fabrics, you examined enviously the boy before you, just as small and clad in a green tunic and a vest that was clearly new, dark and fluffy and evenly brushed out.

He must have been the same age, boots much too large for his stature. He was ruffled and slightly messy in other ways.

It looked like he wasn’t boat-steady yet, face ashy and ill.

They clearly had not come dressed to impress, donned in clothes that must have been casual, but they were fine all the same, sewn with a level of care and at quality that you’d grab for if left unattended, perhaps, on someone’s rickety ship table for feeling and keeping.

You had been told and taught carefully that the way people presented themselves communicated their intentions and the amount of respect one had for the other, especially in meetings for barter. You were not very good at telling yet what meant what, though you knew they must not like you very much at all.

Still, they didn’t want this boy. Who was he, to be brushed off onto the merchant class?

A large hand, made for crushings and trader-repelling, encouraged him forward, causing him to stumble before he came to a hard stop in front of you, twisting his hands together and looking at you with no small amount of fear and apprehension.

“Go on, Hiccup,” The king suggested, speaking in tones you were sure made the world rumble.

The man -the Chief, the king, the lord, the leader- of their community was large. Larger than the dock master, larger than anything you’d ever seen. His head would bump into the roof of your vessel, which seemed already so large to you.

He looked around with eyes that weren’t completely closed, brows not fully furrowed, still open to a degree that spoke of a lenient mind, yet his stance was critical and you knew he looked upon the others with no kind eye.

He scared you.

Behind them, their boat, a sturdy, well taken-care-of thing, sort of small yet painted in tasteful, neutral tones, bobbed and floated all the way at the end of the dock, a small bridge thrown down so that they could make a safe entrance onto this neutral moor from their vessel.

You didn’t even know his name.

All his father wanted was a safe future for him, at least, as he had said.

He had, apparently, a few very useful blacksmithing skills, or at least that was the plan, to teach him some useful trade, so as to ship him off overseas to another island or on to your boat where he wouldn’t be as much of a burden.

So his father bartered for your hand.

You sniffed, bridging up a clumsy hand, fingers grasping at your sleeve, to rub at your nose with worry and apprehension.

You were a no-good kid -in his eyes, you must have been- from the merchant class, though you’d been told you were well. He couldn’t even get someone from a place with a chiefdom.

You were sure his father was sorely disappointed. You were a migratory sort, after all. Your lot was a backstabbing kind.

You were under no delusions of grandeur and fine materials and princess-hood, you’d been told very clearly what was about to happen. The Hooligans were a rough bunch. They weren't keen on outsiders, and it had already been made clear that the point of the barter was to get something away rather than to bring someone in.

You didn’t know of any deeper meanings behind things like marriage, but you recognized a barter when you saw one; the exchange of meat for coin, bear fur for deer pelt, skull for tendon and scale and a few things extra, come up with in the time it took to get from place to place.

It was just that this time, you were the barter. No one had ever said anything, but you’d come to know it between actions and hesitant looks, apprehensive as if sharing dark secrets for a trade they weren’t certain you’d be involved, speaking of missing crew members, loot, sabotage and subterfuge, hiding things in whispers too valuable to be spared for the opposition, the way the best furs were kept in locked chest under ship floorboards, hidden from the children and yet seen by you all the same.

The same way the nice spices were held for lords and kings and chiefs all of the same kind, barred for use from the common folk, their origin a secret only a few in your migratory hodge-podge of a group knew and guarded from each other with lies and violence and suspicious eyes, searched for on single-man boats by lantern light far away from the prying gazes of your other kinsmen.

You were the ‘other,’ and it was that that told you that this time, you were the barter. The sacrificial lamb. You were old enough to understand that, at four winters old.

You wished you were on this dock, watching one of the others depart in a small boat instead of nearly alone in the cold and mist, something that acted as more of an obstruction than the preclude to a mystery or a passive tool, a plain cloak to drift through instead of a phenomena that acted as a cage around an arena, keeping everything else invisible to your eye except for the people in front of you.

You shivered.

The small boy stumbled forwards again, very reluctantly, leaning back as if he meant to stumble back, searching for a ways away.

His eyes were incredibly wide, trained on you the whole time as his father turned his attention away, muttering in low, important tones with the dock master.

“Hi,” The small boy tried shily. He looked very much as if he was about to cry, which did you no favors, emotion building at the corner of your lids.

“...Hi,” You whispered back, much quieter, creeping slightly further behind the dockmaster, who didn’t spare you much but a vaguely concerned glance, large, black brows furrowing as you tried to bury yourself in front of his puffy fur cloak and behind one large, trousered leg.

You should introduce yourself. You weren’t sure what he wanted, but you knew the still folk weren’t very fond of what you did. Would do.

“We… travel,” You mumbled clumsily, “A lot.”

The boy furrowed his brows, deterred, looking back to his father with an unsure, wobbly frown, though the large man paid him no mind.

He looked as if he would cry even more now, especially at the idea that he might be ousted, if what he knew of the situation went that far. With petty malice, you hoped they kicked him out from his home, yet he didn’t want him to be sent away for tiny things with your strange folk, so then maybe he would not want to come with you at all.

Good.

You sniffed then, just blinking, determined, giving him a defiant look even as you scooted further behind the dock master, tiny, clenched hands shivering.

The boy was trying his darndest to hold it in, fists clenched, eyes watery.

Your own expression was wobbly, but you were determined, face tilted slightly downwards with your refusal and will to stay silent.

There wasn’t so much a negotiation as a confirmation, a presentation of goods yet deep, silent, rumbled conversation went on for what seemed like ever.

If he cried, things would certainly be over. It had to be him. You willed that he do it first.

Time felt like more time, long and drawn and moments felt like eternities, forcing you to take in each and every bit that had been long drawn out. Something in the wind must have made it so.

You didn’t like it. Land made you unsteady, with so many things and legends and magic and still age, unflowing and stationary in all the ways your home was not.

It was new territory in a way that made you uneasy.

Eventually, your determined attention was brought away and your hands hid back into the confines of coated fur.

You drifted.

Granules of wood, the large cracks beneath your feet, old, dark, deepish gray. The swirling, moving water under your feet, bobbing, pulling, opaque, foamed, murky. The thin brush of fur tickly at your feet, the wind smoothing by your neck. Something tantalizing, all-consuming yet somewhat faint drawing you forwards.

You closed your eyes, body traveling to follow the scent, tilting forwards. It was something sweet and smooth and altogether tempting, sort of milky and dark.

You didn’t think scents could leave trails, but this, too you, was so strong.

You opened your eyes with a flutter to find that the boy across had done something in a much similar manner. You both had sniffed the air.

You looked at him with curious, vying eyes. It seemed as if you two had something in common after all.

You let go of the dockmaster’s cloak, sure not to let your hands shake, though you didn’t yet step free of his shadow, still close enough to feel tufts from his ensemble brush across your cheek.

You’d heard from some of the others of the dragons lurking in the mist and smog, deep in the wilds. If you followed the scent, however, you’d surely be fine. You were sure there was nothing strong enough to blow it away, not here and now when everything was quiet and still, even absent of the usual chirping of bugs and smaller such things.

You weren’t as familiar with land, most of your life spent on Boat. Though should the worst things come to worst, you’d follow the moss and whispers of fairies and any brooke you could find until you were back on your home boat, floating along the docks, tied secure and stationed by many others of your ilk. Like in the stories. Or maybe you’d follow the sound of rumbling voices, deep and sound, until you were once again above the water.

You sobbed, where you’d been thrown back, your arms stinging with raw scrapes and soreness, back stiff with the fallen feel of many rocks and a burn that spoke of peeled skin, screaming in a way that rang, gripping tightly onto fabric, though whether it was yours or his you couldn’t tell.

His nails in your arms, punching through fabric, said many things as you gripped each other tightly, half curled in on each other, tears and snot streaming furiously down his face and yours, told of and shared through the drag of his crying voice and the thickness of his frantic panting.

Thin, many, many teeth- staring into a large maw, thick mucus spraying, face split monstrously by three jaws and a grotesque, dripping tongue, green and deep in a sparsely wooded craig area. Two more visible behind.

You choked out another wet cry as the monstrous creature screamed, it’s aggressive voice causing you to wail louder. It had lured you.

You were good as dead.

You hated chocolate.

The scene -the reason why- as you remembered it, not that you let yourself, was cold and misty and told in flashes, washed with distance and a sense of levity only the most severe memories ever received.

A rushing fist, a quick yank, It was something you recalled mostly on cold nights under heavy blankets.

It hadn’t been too long ago.

Your face screwed up at the open box below, it’s gifter already busy off rifling for other things.

It was your second meeting at another dock, a half-way point, not that you had a still place to have a way from.

There was a forge here. His intent was to show off how he was faring in the forge, most likely -he said how he had something and he must show it to you in a forge.

It was his scene now, perhaps,and he was trying to impress by telling of how he was learning. By some way the Snaptrapper attack had had a weird effect on his brain.

You turned away from the small, open box in multiple small steps, wrapped and pulled open for you clumsily by the same boyish hands that offered them to you. Maybe you could sell it later -you couldn’t possibly give it away, not when it was something so valuable- yet you couldn’t eat it either, a precious thing you yearned to keep yet sent fear prickling down your spine.

Below you, who you looked down on from your high position on your mount was your future fiance -or current, you hadn’t yet gotten enough details to understand- who looked mini from your perch.

It was almost silly how he hung over the side of the open chest, the top half of his body hanging down into the barrel of it as he rifled around, the one thing he was looking for skidding across the bottom as he grabbed for it, scratching hand sounds muffled to your ears along with the sounds knocking against wooden walls.

You wrung your hands nervously, fingers and palms getting caught on newly cleaned sleeves, one of your older clothes pieces.

Certainly you’d never seen that nice robe ever again. It was never meant to be kept, but you’d wanted to know what there was to do with it, now that it was ripped and mud-dirtied and mussed, if it had been made to sell in some form as it had been taken away from you.

You climbed down from the height, sitting down on the chair and stretching your legs towards the stone floor of the foreign forge with a light strained noise made in the back of your throat, hands placed carefully flat, fingers together against the wood of the chair behind you.

You reached out your booted toes, stretching your legs delicately until you felt they were stretched as far as they could go, until the drop was much less high than it was before, a distance you found to be much more manageable for you to drop down.

You patted the bottoms of your boots lightly on the floor as you settled as if to clear the dust from them, one after the other, lifting your knees up a respectable height before moving them slowly back down, though it was with not enough force to do more than make a quiet pat.

You used your hands to brush off the leg-covering length of your tunic, sort of scratchy and worn and holey by one of the sleeves, just the way you’d been taught and shown.

You looked back up carefully, brows furrowed upwards with slight worry to meet a pair of large, intent eyes, the sort you likened to a big pool of water but green and murky as your to-be husband held out a small knife by the handle with clumsy child’s hands.

“It’s for you,” His voice wobbled as he said it, light with hope and nerves.

You stared at it for a long, long moment, unsure of what to do, hand half stretched out, hovering above it. Were you supposed to pick it up?

The blade was sort of triangle shaped, wobbly and wrenched and very, very dented along the side, flat ends of the blade offset in some places where hammer-sized circles lay flat at slightly the wrong angle like lumps on the side of the face of a young shiphand.

He had found you the biggest chest to bring it in, even if it’s contents were small. He’d said so, which was very flattering.

“It’s cool,” He insisted, voice wavering with nerves.

He thought it was cool

He looked at you intently.

He… wanted to make you happy

You supposed it was your job to make him happy too, and to make him happy, his gifts would have to make you happy. So perhaps you would. Would tell him he was doing a good job.

But how were you supposed to receive gifts? No one had ever told you that before.

Though you’d learned much first and second hand, especially for your age on your boat, if words were also a part of trade, you’d not yet been versed. Not truly.

“Okay,” You picked it up unsurely with pinched fingers, holding it by one dented blade end, “Thank you. I like it a lot.”

You were careful to speak nice, in your bartering voice, separate from your normal seafaring drawl.

The boy seemed to preen at that, putting his hand by his chest slightly and giving you a grin so wide he had to be faking some of it. Not his enthusiasm, but in his efforts to communicate it, to make his joy seem super clear to you.

You said it to yourself in guesses in your mind, though you felt there was a certain truth to it as it was; there was a level of performance in success.

You offered him a tiny smile back, holding the small knife close to your chest with both your hands by its equally uneven handle, blade part pointed down.

With your troope you traveled, past and through fjords with waters a beautiful, clear turquoise that seemed to speak deep into your soul, full enough to carry your boat yet shallow enough that you were sure you could stand at the bottom. Fresh enough to make you wonder what sailors needed stories of sirens for, when the water was entrancing and glittering enough to pull you in all on its own.

Mountains lined by blankets and blankets of greenery, so full and lush it’s color seemed nearly turquoise, saturated and unspotted to a fantastical degree.

You’d passed by a beach with sand the color of warm, red rust, a deep maroon you wished to scoop up and bottle and hold dear to you for the rest of your lifetime.

Yet, perhaps its ephemeral nature was what made it all the more valuable, more novel as it was passed from you to another, a fractured experience, the only whole copy laying in your memory, precious and aged as the finest of wines.

Of course you passed the small bottle, as you had to, stopped with a small cork, into the hands of another, who stood anxiously on the dock in front.

When you’d grabbed his hand earlier, he’d seemed to deflate with relief.

He loosened even more, then.

Your feet shuffled hollowly against the damp wood below. This dock might need repairing soon, decking wearing and decaying, crusted in parts with sour fish and clinging barnacles along what parts of the poles you could see through cracks.

“I’ve gotten this for you,” You said, adjusting your cloaked poncho with one hand, tattered and tasseled and wrapped around your shoulders, held together by dirty stitches.

Beneath that you wore slightly nicer clothes, though still darned by the hardships of your travels, much lighter than you would have preferred had you been given the resources to prepare yourself for your next meeting.

“Thank you,” His voice was still light, then. It crackled with the idea that it might yet grow deeper, though you hadn’t high hopes.

The son of the Chief took the vial from your hands. Twelve winters you’d lived, and thirteen had he. You were younger than him yet much wiser.

The exchange of gifts was a common thing between the two of you, since you had been engaged all those years ago, though you’d never been away for so long, so some uncertainty was to be expected.

A whole half of a season of the two that existed in the Norse calendar.

Your to-be husband’s peoples had settled closer in location to the Gaelic and Romans than their original homeland. You were sure they’d long lost knowledge of where they’d come from, and whether there was land or life outside of the archipelago, which was just as well.

When younger, you visited frequently, every month, every few weeks. All meetings arranged, atmosphere heady and thick with tense expectation, and yet you could tell he grew fond of you all the same. It was less often now, the meeting- but most of the knowing you shared still stayed, albeit you were much more distant now.

So, you’d met plenty, yet your tie kept you stuck closer to the archipelago.

With the synchronized movements of two teens who knew, you both grabbed hands, one more nervous than the other.

Without speaking, you walked hand-in-hand across the docks and towards the precarious, which lead to the cliffs cradling your to-be’s bustling wen in its embrace, imposing ramps held up by thick timbre and built outwards rather than carved in.

The docks were reasonably crowded, though the patrons there lie more in uniform than not, in a typical, respectful fashion.

You noticed the way the others of your age and not left out the two of you, you more by nature and expectation as an outsider, an individual of distrust and Hiccup as something else you weren’t privy to, perhaps in part because of your association.

They snickered at him like the chittering of wily nymphs in wide, foggy mists; a thin boy with straw hair, long at the ends, top hidden by a shallow helmet. Another boy, thicker with large elbows and a square, slightly displaced jaw.

You had been here too often not to notice.

Your fiance- he looked at you as if you were holy, light reflecting off of his eyes, off the pupils and the neutral green iris in a way that made them look as if they glittered just as they had before your most recent departure from the Archipelago.

He looked at you with wonder as well, which was perhaps your fault; filling his head with tales of waves larger than Berk was tall and rumbles in the sea of things that left everyone on board still, quiet and unmoving as you waited for ancient things to pass and return to slumber.

You’d spent hours explaining the difference between beautiful danger and danger-like beauty, how so many mystical things could be lost in something as uniform as the ocean. True magic existed only after long periods of wait.

“Well…”

Your fiance was proud to share his own lively exploits, a life of action and battle and escape from ferocious beasts, blood feuds and quickly made inventions. You were unfamiliar with land and he fed off that, speaking and embellishing with the hopes to tell you something that you might find impressive, hoping that might somehow reflect back on him.

It was obvious by his actions- the way he postured and when he would and wouldn’t look you in the eye, caring in a way you were mystified by, the origin of such affection alien to you yet welcomed all the same even in spite of its impropriety.

He was less nauseated by the waters now and he spent more time aboard ships as a watcher, learner and sometimes helper, a privilege not many were afforded, the last part going unsaid as you were sure any son of a shiphand would have been long since used to the seas.

That was of the most minor importance, however. You were never too old to earn your sea legs. His efforts, instructed or not, were still very much appreciated.

You too would perform well by both your own want and volition.

You chose to bump his shoulder with your own as you slowed, closer now to the village than the docks.

Closeness was expected from an engaged couple.

You were set by the waving grass near the upper cliffs, not so close to the edge as to merit worry over crumbling rock yet not so far that the seas just below were obscured to you.

A short row of trees lined your way to the village kingdom, a thin, sparse mimicry of the forest beyond the bridge on the other side of the island, no doubt soon to be cut down and used for woodstock.

A rock protruded from the ground next to another just by it, both in a way that put you by the sea, closer to the cliff’s edge than away towards the treeline as you leaned against it.

Your fiance did the same.

Hiccup was nervous again.

As you settled, you eyed a pouch by his hip, the majority of it concealed by the fur of his coat yet spotted by you all the same as you made your way up the dock ramps.

You’d expected it, or at least something of a similar sort.

You’d come with a purpose, your visit in part an inspection.

The others, they would swarm the markets and try to leech off slain dragon skin and hide and scale. You had another matter, a pointed one, one that you were very well expected to tend to with haste and heavy judgment.

This was far from the aimless sort of company shared by the you from months ago, indulged in by your fiance. Your life was a product you had to sell, you were pointedly aware, yet only one part of the agreed upon exchange.

Of course, if he was to one day join you as a craftsman on the water, it was of the utmost importance that you make sure he could, in fact, make things.

“I’ve-I’ve got something,” Hiccup started hesitantly, shoulders hunched.

He was told to show and present it to you- He must have been, because his demeanor was tamed, schooled yet restless as if he expected a test by which he was afraid he might be found lacking.

It was obvious earlier by the twitchiness of his hands and the sweat beading on his clenched palms as he grabbed onto your own. It was obvious now in the way he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.

“You do?” You asked, feigning surprise and a careless indifference. It was supposed to convey comfort and to lessen the pressure of expectation.

“You can keep it, if you want- I-” Hiccup tried, appealing to you the best he could before cutting himself off, pulling open the pouch and, very carefully, by the blade this time, handing you the shining handle of a sharp knife.

You were reminded sharply yet not unexpectedly of a time when you were kids and he handed you something of a similar nature, small and dull and bent out of shape.

It was nostalgic.

You looked down, grabbing it carefully, rubbing over the only unmarred -uncarved, you should say- bits of the knife with a soft thumb, feeling nothing but round surface.

It appeared he was a good craftsman, the hand smooth and varnished, notches and designs carved into both the wooden handle and the blade. The woodwork was of the most importance. His access to a forge would be naught overseas.

What interested you the most were his mistakes. Your hands were well trained, and through experience and teaching, you’d learned it was the smallest of things that could make or break a sale.

If there were too many resources expended on things of lowest quality, it would mean space lost bringing trade from one place to another. These were things that needed to be accounted for to the very last detail when you were traveling on a ship as packed as yours for so far a distance. If they were not, then you were better off dead than above the waves.

There was still a slight number of scratches and bumps in places like corners and on the handle, smudged by soot in the shape of fingerprints that told of inexperience and a slightly clumsy, novice hand, and yet his progress spoke more- he was average, for his age. Unpracticed in the art yet familiar with the semantics, skills more geared towards practicalities than fancy.

You could not glean the full scope of his abilities from just a knife, that was true, but this was good enough.

It would serve you and everyone else just fine. In fact, it was much nicer than anything you’d been allowed to touch in a while.

You glanced back up at him without lifting your head.

Hiccup’s nerves seemed to grow more as he waited for your response, hands wringing, expression pinched as if he was about to build up a sweat, sooted hair seeming to wilt with him.

The poor boy was sweating.

You stood straight, letting the knife fall to your side, hooking it onto your belt as you reached for his hand.

He seemed to relax.

“It’s nice,” You said simply, yet with an abundance of appreciation.

Yet you didn’t relax, as your part wasn’t yet over. This was something you couldn’t sugarcoat, as it came with a catch. Many catches, for him. Inevitable ones, negotiations having long since been made on his behalf, not many having to do with accommodations.

How to bring forth the topic, though, was the question.

“Are there any things to know? Things I… should know?” Hiccup shuffled his boot against the dirt, “About trust and… And other things?”

Hiccup spoke haltingly, as if he’d realized he’d messed up very quickly and yet had been too far along his thoughts to stop at any appropriate time.

You hummed questioningly, though you were certain; It seems your intrepid fiance had beaten you to the punch. You chose to take no offense.

He had been well prepared for this conversation, it seemed. Not in the ways that would make life easier for him, but in the ways you supposed his father would find relevant.

“I mean… Responsibilities?”

“Trust isn’t important beyond what’s needed to be able to make a trade,” You shrugged, “The only responsibility you’d have are the ones involving your goods. There is no home besides the one you make over the sea.”

Your. Not our. The sharing of assets was something you were not yet decided on or old enough to try, but one day you supposed it would be a must.

“No treaties. No Vikings. No ties. Just travel,” You murmured, placing both of your hands over his, “You’re my only tie.”

“Honesty?” He said, referring to the word in a way that, for the second time, made you think he’d been over this with someone else before, face tilted and eyes wide in a way that conveyed insecurity in the face of danger, “I heard… the others, from your group- they’re going to try and scam some of the villagers out of their coin?”

That certainly must have come from his own words and his own heart.

You still did not take offense.

You pulled your hands slowly back to yourself as you leaned back and pondered, leaving shaking, softer knuckles behind.

The other villagers here were very clearly disgruntled at having to honor the dishonorable. It would be upsetting for him to know that one day he might have to face the same scorn, regardless of whether or not he was truly a liar.

Yours was not at all the fighting sort, however you were silver in other ways, unlike the merchants they typically chose and cherrypicked and allowed passage onto their shores.

You were sure his clansmen already believed him to be so. He was bright and flighty and still and they were not kind. Neither were your folk, in many other ways. Both, you knew, were cautious of each other, your ilk more proactive with words, wielding phrases that bit and knives to stomachs.

You understood him, still as the wind brushed past you from the sea, tangy with the smell of salt, reminding your tongue of the taste of it as it went breezing through and past your poncho.

There was safety in it. A desire to protect oneself from the perceived. From the outside. It was just that your inside was much smaller. It forced you to look outwards more often than not, and perhaps that was what intimidated Hiccup so much.

However, If Stoick the Vast believed being on a boat was safer than being on Berk, he was wrong. Or perhaps right, but only in the most bare sense. If he kept to himself, his son should be fine. Even if you didn’t do the same, holding deep trade secrets or vyied-after product.

People came and went quickly.

It was a quick and daring life, not always long if you were on the front lines, but he’d live a long while, well into old age at least as his father most likely intended.

“It’s nothing I have to do with… but it’s something I will have to do one day,” You said bluntly, yet your voice was still soft, “Maybe.”

There was no shake to his voice, though you could hear caution, “Will I have to?”

You murmured sounds nonsensically into the air, raising a skeptical brow, feeling the sharp, cold, flat surface of a rock press against your backside as you leaned further back.

That seemed to be enough of an answer for him.

“I guess I’ll have to man up, huh?”

You recalled a child’s wandering, more whispers of him not being man enough to drop the fool you were, rashly and rowdily and suddenly. It would be quite easy to be rid of you, though you didn’t care much at all what he did, just so long as you could be honest by the trade.

“You’ll be a craftsman. That’s plenty man enough- very useful, the most over the sea,” You were familiar with his propensity to get sick over the water, the one he’d had when you were young kids that made fishing nigh impossible and travel incredibly difficult. You hoped he’d grown out of that, despite his assuring words.

You nodded to yourself unsurely, “That’s the finest advice I can give you now.”

By the twisting laws of word, structure and sense you could say it wasn’t necessarily advice. It didn’t make much sense for it to be.

There was better advice out in the world. The kind that inspired the innovative, the kind that asked the bright minded to twist convention and birthed new processes and brought blessings into the world. He was probably better off taking that instead.

You told him so.

“All you’ll need to know to do with a knife is stab, anyhow. Some skinning, I suppose. How to gut a fish,” You tilted your head to the side, eyes wandering slightly, irises briefly bobbing towards a cawing sea bird, brave to be out in reptilian-infested skies, though you knew the day was safe. Mostly, “Guard your coin, sleep tight.”

“Coin?” Hiccup asked, sitting up straighter.

You gazed back at him plainly, giving him a simple nod.

Wealth came and went. You learned to hide it, guard it preciously.

Another thing you told him. The first part, anyhow. The second you kept to yourself. You’d done enough frightening off recently.

“This is- my own thing, for you, then,” Hiccup suggested, rifling again in that small pouch of his, grasping in a way that poked against the sides of fabric walls, grasping frustratedly for something it took him much too long to touch, his face tilted down with a mildly disgruntled expression on his face.

He pulled first something that glinted and went back in for something else, pinching fabric and dropping things back into the pouch when he meant not to, fingernails too blunt to get a good grip.

It was a few moments longer and a few light, frustrated grunts from him, until you had been bestowed upon something small and hand-warmed and cool in what you could feel in a way you likened to patches, off-putting slightly yet not unwelcome to you.

You rolled it from your palm to a place pinched between your fingers with a smooth if not uncomfortable and odd-looking action, too familiar with the act of handling coins despite their fleeting nature.

There was a scratch in the corner, though despite that the coin was clean to an average degree and smooth on one side in a way that made you think someone had spent a long time rubbing at its face with their thumb, perhaps, or another finger.

It was dull with the oils from the hand, yet it wasn’t so thick, mostly dull in places hard to reach, like the corners where runes had been largely and blocking inscribed, telling you it had been a while since it had left the hands of the person that had done the rubbing and it had been cleaned at least once.

You’d stopped paying attention to your surroundings, slightly craning your neck down and bringing your hand up to look closer at the coin in a way that felt uncharacteristic as your attentions were brought to other things, your calm demeanor returning you back to an even calmer state.

Already his hands were lifted, hovering by your neck in a way that felt heavy, moving with jerky hesitance.

His clenched fingers brushed past your ear in a way that didn’t touch but made you sense, heat passing lesser heat as he dropped a thick, wide twine cord down the rest of the way to your shoulders, it pulling slightly taut against the back of your neck and it was pulled forwards by the light weight near the front of it.

You looked down in a way that made your chin touch your neck and the back of your nap stretch, eyes straining down.

There, by your chest lay a smaller pouch -one where he was probably supposed to hold the coin, yet didn’t in a fashion that was very typical for a boy from your peer group- one he hung around your neck.

“For the advice,” Hiccup suggested awkwardly.

You had stood there in puzzled silence for a while.

Eventually, you reached a time to part or leave, just briefly, temporarily separating perhaps as you made your way off, back towards civilization.

First, though, you looked towards your to-be husband.

He’d leaned closer just a moment before, and now he seemed hesitant, for obvious reasons.

The one time you had seen a rodent entrapped by a snare, suffocating and infected, neck bloating in a way that said it had been left out, injured, for days? It was a miracle it had survived so long, twitching and antsy and suffering- it was also inedible.

Hiccup looked like that.

Lips pursed slightly, not in a noutwards manner, more resembling a line, thought his intentions were clear, face red as if he’d been holding his breath for a while -he had been- eyes twitching even as they remained lidded, stressed like a string about to snap.

-Of course, you’d done nothing of the sort before. You would do nothing improper. Nothing to jeopardize your deal. Not when it’d done so much- not yet, but.

It would go against a given, unspoken contract, the expectation things proceeded slowly, as they should in a way that was socially appropriate for teens your age. Before, it had. But maybe not… Now.

You’d not have much time left, though you were too… Dazed, perhaps. Not in a rush, carefully considering everything and nothing in the few long yet away-slipping seconds it took for you to make your decision.

His twitching eyes were slowly opening, pupils darting with slight humiliation and hesitance, perhaps, hoping you hadn’t noticed somehow.

You nearly had the desire to pretend you hadn’t- to have mercy on him.

You took pity on him and moved closer. You would do nothing more than this.

A press on the cheek. Then something simple. A peck on the lips.

For the coin, You decided.

Later, you could explain what went on- the ins and outs and the other complicated social politics involving your merchants and the sort of ins and outs he’d need to be living with them. You did. You had to.

Even later in the day, after a brief stint on the water with the fishermen, you’d witness your first dragon raid. Your fiance seemed to be a bit too into the violence. That was fine.

He was a Viking- and as such, you decided it was expected.

Once again you found yourself on Berk’s docks.

After long travels and a few years, you’d reentered the Archipelago to rumors of a mighty dragon tamer and a blossoming romance, which seemed to indicate for you some trouble brewing on the horizon, luring you back towards Berk.

The last you heard, he’d found another, the news broken by an envoy. Though you didn't particularly hold faith in those heavy words, you still listened, and waited for more. At a gainly pace, you’d made your way across the oceans, stopping appropriately when trade dictated. However, a budding curiosity, unstifled, grew in your chest.

You’d seen a desert though you’d had not enough time to make the Great Journey across to the other side, where spices and silks were in more abundance and half your caravan had been replaced with another sort as some grew too old to do anything but settle, others splitting off to join other groups and travel new routes.

They had been replaced all at once after a long period of dwindling by a particularly rough band of folks, wielding knives with blades skillfully curved as a snake moving through sand.

Most were from way down south, ones who had chosen to migrate away from their cities, in part perhaps due to some terrible, inescapable treachery. There were some from the islands around the archipelago, too. You were wary of them, though their kind was not a new one to you, no different from the worst of the few short-lasting you’d grown up with and had known before.

You had returned from your travels with dangling gold bangles and coins attached to skirts locked away in a trunk seep in the ship for the wily patrons on Knaff or the auctioneers in the small Ice fortress up by the Northlands, something to exchange for their colorful furs which would surely be well received by the Romans.

Another trip by the main continent blessed you with more colorful clothes and fabrics and silks and, with the excess of inventory and the accidental destruction and loss of a great number of old, darned clothes over your travels, your bunch was able to donn nicer clothes, a league of distance from the tattered grays and the muddy, green-ish sand color you were used to.

The traumatizing child incident still dictated that you hated chocolate, or whatever sweet could be made up in its likeness, but you’d brought back something similar anyways.

You hoped that a few of the Northmen would stay, settling for their homeland and satisfied by the bragging rights bestowed upon them by their long journey and their trade, now that they’d had it up to their heads and shriveled hearts in travel and experience. Not that that experience tended to stick, as you and your more sane shipmates mumbled back and forth to each other. Some people were too hard-headed to truly take in any lessons or worldly knowledge.

You loathed that they were able to share in your joy and luck, also dressed in fabrics of multiple colors.

You also hoped they would not cause some sort of accidental betrayal on your part as they swindled and stole, so that your standing with your fiance would not be sabotaged nor your promised exchange mishandled somehow in any way worse than it already had been, forcing you to shed allegiances where they mustn’t be shed

You would have to keep an eye on them if not warned the inhabitants of Berk off all of them altogether.

As you’d docked, you’d seen… Dragons. You tried not to show you apprehensiveness, stepping out with surety as the locals around you moved casually, talking freely and without that usual, aggressive weight.

Brightly colored tails curled and lashed as large bodies crept just out of view, colorful spots flapping through the sky like carefree birds. The atmosphere here was so much lighter in a way that must have run as deep as Berk’s culture and altered way of life. You could feel it.

The docks were bustling this time, villagers moving freely along the wide dock floor, clearly newly repaired and well taken care of, receiving you better than they ever had before. The new goods probably helped some, too. You’d never come to Berk with such a boon before.

You hoped your fiance hadn’t put in a good word for you. It would be a shame if it all went to waste, ruining his credibility as you were sure your new group’s half would ruin yours.

You heard the names of a Sven, a Mjolnir, an Agnarr, a Thora all before you’d seen him.

You weren’t sure what you expected. Would he be taller, more built so as to match his reputation, or would it proceed him? It ended up being neither.

Rays beat down on your covered shoulders in a way that made the skin just above flesh feel like a hot rock.

The sun was warm and heady in a pressing manner, though not incredibly so, not the way it was, exhausting and persistently dry as it was further down south, nor as it was over the oceans, on days you feared you’d run out of fresh water before you could cool and boil a new batch of buckets.

It took a moment, but through the crowd, as your shipmates siphoned out in pairs of twos with chests and sly words, you spotted him.

Two large, heavy shoulders reaching a few heads above his own parted to reveal Hiccup.

Immediately, to you, the change in dynamic was obvious, like some switch being pressed, flicked and another mechanism- a snare trap, perhaps, or something simpler- flung.

Your intrepid fiance now seemed to embody the title completely, adapting to his position as the Hope and Heir- at least, as you said it.

You presumed that, with his success, after this moment, you would no longer be expected to sweep him away and save him from this island. It seemed, in the most metaphorical sense, as if he might be the one doing all the sweeping from now on.

He was still quite skinny, though a measure taller than he’d been when you’d last seen him. However, he seemed a great deal more confident in ways you couldn’t describe, not that he wasn’t confident before, but this sort seemed to increase his presence in a way you were sure his father approved of.

You hoped he’d lost none of his sarcasm, his silver tongue, the propensity to exchange sharp words in jest with others in a way you’d come to associate with the flavor of smoke and steel in the air, in a way you’d spent your time here looking in on, when it happened, though none it ever seemed to occur while two of you alone.

He came up to you quickly, not minding the murmuring of the crowd at all, and you’d taken a step forwards to join him in greeting before realizing he was coming forwards perhaps a tad too fast given what was appropriate. By then, you’d half- fed into the urge to step back.

In one moment, you’d been struck with indecision, which was jarring on its own, stuck deciding where you wanted to focus your redistributed weight. In the next, he…

He’d hooked his arms under yours, hands coming to clutch quickly at your back and waist as he pulled you clumsily closer.

In a move that was sudden and surprising to you, brought your faces together, a clumsy jab of teeth wrought with joyful emotion.

He looked appreciative, though you couldn’t pin why. Was it the quirked smile pulling at his cheeks? The careful, worried tilt of his brows or the appearance of two slightly gapped -though not so distant as they had been before when you were younger- teeth that had told you so?

It startled you, not a feeling borne out of fear, distaste or any other particularly tangible and immediately describable emotion, moreso it was a feeling sprouting quickly out of the momentary rudeness of his actions and the lack of time you’d had to think or mull.

Once you parted, you could not help but lean back into his arms slightly, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, firmly but without any intense grip.

You looked at his face.

You had no clue where his enthusiasm had come from.

“I heard rumors you’d moved on,” You said, finally. It had taken you a moment to figure out what to say, as tiny dragon’s claws skittered across the docks behind you, casual as a fowl’s.

You resisted the urge to look, continuing to examine your fiance’s face.

Dragons were fewer and farther between the further you got from the Archipelago. It was something to look at, surely, when you’d less of other things to focus on.

“Who said that?” Worry broke through his expression like the hull of a ship through a stormy wave.

“I’m not sure. I only hear what’s been passed. Ear to ear and the like,” You hummed, sort of mumbling as you pulled back a bit and examined the spring and peg that seemed to have replaced his left foot, “Is it true?”

“No,” Hiccup said firmly, brows furrowed, voice concerned and sort of hurt, “No, of course not.”

You raised your brow.

You supposed it really could have been a rumor, though still you wondered what could have been said that had spiraled so quickly, suddenly and largely.

Dragon taming seemed an impossible feat, one that the people outside were trying to make sense of. In the meantime, not many were brave enough to venture up to Berk’s shores. It was so fantastical a claim it seemed a story, and so it wasn’t a far stretch to assume the travelers had taken it that way and treated it as such, molding the rumors to their own liking, more than news already tended to be stretched and bent as it passed from ear to ear.

You weren’t sure if you were glad that you had come so quickly to check.

If you hadn’t, you were sure your engagement would have been all for naught, unless your fiance decided to pursue you on dragonback.

Your eyes were drawn briefly to some fighting on the docks, a dry look from you aimed towards them.

A wily man with a curled, thin mustache and a long beard who you knew likened himself to a genius -a wise man well traveled- but was actually a foul, hunch-backed man was arguing with a local man thrice his size, built like a fortress with flowing blonde hair and a beard that, though not as long as your groupmates', was five times as wide.

You were sure it would soon get physical.

You sighed. It was better you differentiated yourselves from them now, rather than let it lie and suffer the associated consequences later.

“Yes, well, before we get into the meat of things-” You sighed, “I bring a warning- some of the others in my troop-...”

You heard snickering from a pair of what must have been twins, hair the same shade of pale, sandy blonde, though one had their hair knotted in two brains while the other had slightly broader shoulders under a manure-colored vest and thicker helmet horns.

Their shoulders were bouncing with malicious glee, their enthusiasm feeding into the upset.

You hadn’t noticed them behind at first, too taken by your fiance’s sudden appearance, however it seemed there had been a procession.

There was a small group of Vikings about your age standing behind, where Hiccup had been before. The common emotion among the younger Viking folk seemed to be slight skepticism and mild shock, most intensely from a stocky boy with a missing tooth, closely followed by a thin blonde with a sharp eye, probably displeased by your careless display of affection. Yet, even among those two, most of their attention was focused on the budding fight a few steps aside.

You thought that you could maybe recognize one, though it was fleeting and could very well have been a delusion, an easy mistake. Doppelgangers were common, easy to find wherever you went, each face used and reused over plains and mountains and sprawling countries.

You relaxed, arms still somewhat entangled with Hiccup’s, welcoming the embrace, which seemed to make your fiance joyful yet still as you two continued to break past the distant boundaries of your relationship.

“They’ll… Handle it.” Hiccup stated surely, sort of gesturing back to his ungainly posse with one hand, the space it left behind cool and empty over crumpled and wrinkled fabric.

“Ah…” You said, tongue heavy. You were slightly aware of your own accent, heavy and altered and affected by words exchanged over years spent speaking other languages and the stunting of your Norse vocabulary. It was tinted also by the development of your own special dialect after being stuck in close quarters with others who tended not to call the same language their own, “I suppose I must be too late…”

Hiccup sighed back, eyes darting to the side in a way you took as a hint, suggesting through signals that you abandon his small retinue while you still could.

You two used the distraction to your advantage, though you still had a few things you wished to ask, now that some of your more important concerns had been settled.

Would dragon scales make fine jewelry? How had their economy fared, and what would, say, that big, busty man in the large hat pay for a nice new coat?

You hadn’t yet seen his steed or heard mention of it just yet, a mount of scales black as night and a blast with all the violence of lightning and many times the ferociousness of a storm.

You had not yet asked about the future, sure that you would need to give him time for things to settle, though you were acutely aware of what sort of bearing all of this would have on yours.

You stood with him on the cliffs up by the spire that housed the great, grand hall embedded into the mountain and in your travels.

You would be sticking close to the archipelago now on, you decided, same as you did when you were young and learning more about your new husband-to-be, especially as you reached the agreed upon age to marry.

Technically, as it was now, you could marry at any time. You’d seen people your age getting wed. However, no one had wanted to rush into things so fast, and now was more the time to watch and wait. It wouldn’t do you well to act in haste, not when things were so precarious.

Your tongue felt at an empty socket in your mouth where one of your teeth had been removed by a violent encounter with a rock as you’d stumbled your way upwards.

Perhaps noticing your plight, Hiccup asked, “Are you alright?”

“...Are you appalled?” You rolled your eyes, speaking in turn, lazily tracing the dimming sunlight with half-closed eyes, feeling quite satisfied with a long day well spent.

You displayed your socket past a barely open mouth before closing it, the point of your action not any more to show than to indicate.

You shifted your hands, pressed flat against a rock just behind you, one you'd chosen quite tiredly to lean against and Hiccup had as well, the two of you enjoying the stored heat it radiated into the cooling air.

You could tell Hiccup nearly did the same, eyes almost mirroring yours.

“It’s charming,” he said, throwing your own words back at you, from earlier in the day, when he’d been dragging a snappish terror along by the prosthetic, its empty gums squishing impishly against the wood and rope on its upper half.

You huffed again and adjusted the cloak draped elegantly across your shoulders by the lapel, a slightly dusty deep, deep blue, nearly black, which shifted in the light like secondhand velvet, before letting your hand fall back again.

You had had a day of simple pleasures. Just Hiccup and you.

His reputation did you wonders. Everyone knew you were engaged, after all. But you didn’t care about that, though it was helpful navigating your way through the village during the short time the two of you had been separated, split by the crowds.

“Merchants can be ferocious too,” You said, voice somewhat loopy with content pleasure.

“Are you sure? There’s one,” Hiccup frowned, “He’s got the most unbearable stories…”

“That’s Johann, then,” You hummed, feeling the heat from his arm also, a close distance away, near enough to feel the heavy from his skin yet far enough not to touch, fingers both pressed flat against rock and separated by a hair.

Hiccup looked at you, brows raised with easy surprise, “You know him?”

“Johann does some dragon-killing himself,” You nodded, “Can’t roam the seas here alone without a swift hand.”

Hiccup looked uneasy.

“Some merchants have a reputation for a reason,” You warned, “Keep an eye out for that one.”

“It just… Seems out of character,” Hiccup said carefully, voice halting.

“It’s to keep you from asking about the Romans, I assume,” You tilted your head back, looking up and enjoying the sun; this was old news to you. One of your folks had tried to get him to join your group, once upon a time, even ignorant to the vast majority of his dealings.

He was skilled enough, to them, for it not to matter how shady he was. It was worth the danger, you thought, at the time, “I know he deals closely with them. Or, other dragon hunters. It’s very hard for patrons to ask unwanted questions when they don’t have the time, see.”

“I don’t really know much about that. I don’t like it all that much,” Hiccup’s lips tightened into a thin line before quickly correcting, “Not…the merchanting. But the hunting.”

“You used to be so enthusiastic about it,” You shifted, pressing more of your weight against the stone by your back.

“I… Outgrew it. The whole fighting thing. The whole… Viking thing,” Hiccup seemed exhausted, voice tired as he spoke. The words, too, were odd to you.

While dragons had been adapted into life on Berk in a whole new way, the people here didn’t seem any less… Norse.

You thought of looking at him again, giving him a skeptical eye, yet you decided it wasn’t worth the effort you’d have to expend to pull your face down and out of the sunlight, which tickled the senses embedded into your face like blades of grass against your palms and toes.

You’d offer him a solution instead. Whether he liked it or not… He might find some solace in it, anyhow.

“You could come be a merchant with me, instead. As you’d planned. You’d be good for it,” You hummed, yet your heart wasn’t completely in it.

He could choose, now.

His voice was hesitant, though it seemed he’d like to humor the idea anyways, “You’d want me On your ship? What- Counting coins?”

The suggestion wasn’t incredible to you. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known how to craft or like he hadn’t been prepared for it, this whole time.

“Yes,” You confirmed, “Keeping stock… Making stock. Like you’d been trained.”

He looked down, “What if I refuse?”

You shrugged lazily, despite your earlier concern. Your purpose was not to cause upset, your goal not trouble. Your mind was far from a state where you could act in a completely serious manner, though your tone held the continued taste of formality.

“What about our… Engagement?”

“I suppose you have a choice,” You hummed you stretched without moving, arms muscles flexing, in place, satisfying a deep urge in your muscles to pull, like a washwoman, hands wrought with callouses after finishing a heavy load late into the frigid night, or a thick man, arms dusted with hair and sawdust as he braced his hands against his back and pushed, spine cracking like sharp rocks tapping into each other after being kicked and flat stones being rubbed against one another by the light, clumsy hands of a child.

You’d nearly lost your words, the subject of your conversation fading like gentle thoughts from a fuzzy mind, faint and lost under a sea of buzzing evening pleasure.

“You remember what I gave you last time?” Hiccup asked, after a long moment, in which your head had nearly dropped back as far as it would go, your arms nearly falling limp.

It took you another very long moment to recall.

“The knife or the coin?” You murmured, voice sluggish, eyes closed, “They were nice souvenirs.”

You shifted as you finally looked up, turning towards your fiance with half-lidded eyes and a contented smile.

His expression went from stiff with slight worry to a melted caring.

“Here’s another,” He handed you a cool piece of metal with hesitant hands, yet they were not at all shaking. No apprehension, as they had held the last time you spoke, gone as he’d somehow found a way to grow into himself.

You weren’t sure what the purpose of it was. Was it a promise? Payment for your time?

You hummed and leaned closer, forehead dropping onto his shoulder ever as you pulled your fingers weakly shut around the coin, nuzzling into the fur of his coat; You’d already been in close proximity, so there was no thought expended in the action, especially as the barriers you’d shared had been weakly drifting aside, moving further and faster as you’d spent the day together.

The light outside was yellow but somewhat waning, still bright enough to shine through the skin of your lids.

I’ll think about it,” He said and you murmured amused nonsense, half furrowing your brows as your eyelids weighed ever heavier with drowsiness, fur hairs tickling and grazing at your brows, “I’m sure. I really wouldn’t be good for it.”

You closed your eyes, breathing softly as he spoke.

You decided that there was nothing more to do, to be active or attentive for, and you were very content after such a long day spent together.

“It’s fine… You’d learn it well, eventually,” You spoke, muffled into his sleeve as your head bobbed further down.

You’d been on the boat’s deck, performing your duty early in the morning since just before the night-darkness turned to morning-darkness, so you were tired. You were one of the earliest awake, the job to navigate to this location one that the others deemed to be your responsibility.

“Are you alright?” Hiccup asked, suddenly.

“I’m just tired.” You said, tilting your head ever so slightly and blinking drowsily up at him.

He looked at you as if he’d been startled, leaning away slightly in a way that caused you to fall forward and look up further, your chin resting on his arms. His mouth was curled to the side slightly just as it was a smidge open, the full range of his pupil visible, an expression you took in with heavy amusement.

Your fingers tugged at his sleeves ever so gently as you sort of righted yourself; it wasn’t like he hadn’t ever seen your face before.

He smiled, shifting yet somehow closer, bridging the gap between him and you, pressing shoulder against shoulder and teasing your slightly cold fingers with his warm ones.

Later, you would be found messily laying atop each other, sleeping like sunbathing animals, just before the last hints of light faded from the sky. All was well.

You took your busted tooth, strung on twine, and dropped it around his neck.

“You’re weird,” Hiccup said fondly and awkwardly, looking downwards.

You patted his arm.

You supposed, to him, you would be a bit of an odd one.

“Some other people would find it special,” You hummed, knowing the reaction it would rise out of him, “Aren’t you supposed to find it lucky?”

You knew there were some norsemen who kept their teeth with pride, though the tradition was not necessarily one of yours. It may not have been one of Hiccup’s, either.

“I’m not wearing this,” Hiccup warned, “...All the time.”

“I know you’ll keep it close,” You hummed slyly.

Thankfully, only a few things had gone sour, and none of the backs that had been stabbed had been yours. None from your group within a group of merchants. Your hold was a few crewmates lighter, though that served you just as well, the scales in a pouch by your hip more than making up for the loss in your eyes.

You could never stay longer than a few days, yet you made the most of it, knowing that it could be a while before you’d see him again; perhaps not a year or two, as it had been the last time you’d been off. At least, you’d found yourself hoping not.

You pressed a soft peck to his mouth, which felt a bit odd given it was still slightly open, then pulled back and waited, trying to gauge his reaction.

You were met with pleased surprise, a mouth half-open with a smile.

Then you brushed off your poncho as you stood at the docks, those behind you getting ready to leave.

Men carried chests aboard your smallish home, full of food and wood and other things, traded for luxuries and good stories.

Though the number of Vikings at the docks was few, you were still cautious, leaning closer to him.

There was not so much fanfare as when you arrived, and though you spent very much time together, you felt as if there was still a distance between you and the rest of the people and things involved in his life.

“You could still come with me,” You whispered into his ear mischievously.

Hiccup rolled his eyes as you pulled back, an amused smile on both your lips, his, once again, slightly more surprised than your own.

You didn’t particularly expect him to take you seriously, his quick smile morphing into a puzzled frown.

“Who will take charge after, though? Everyone expects me to- especially now that I’ve…”

You pondered his dilemma vaguely- they must have had a solution, someone who was assumed to take the place in line behind his father. If Hiccup was to be married off to you, the chance that he was in line at all in the first place was the punchline of a joke.

There must have been some solution- and with his ascension, some political strife among his father’s subjects.

“Make them choose a council,” You said offhandedly, bringing one hand further upwards to squeeze his shoulder, “Vote for it. Some of the larger groups-guilds- do it.”

You both knew you weren’t referring to any Vikings. At least none of the ones your fiance knew of.

You knew the Romans did something similar, though bringing it up with him now would more than likely sour the mood. The Vikings and the Romans… A troublesome rivalry. You were not quite sure how that worked, given the Berkians’ confinement to the Archipelago.

They probably seemed to be more a group of banded pirates than a civilized society to the Berkians.

“It would be better to have someone closer to their own issues in charge, anyways,” You sighed contemplatively.

The hairs on the back of your neck were prickling, a second sense ringing, honed over years of travel and a few harrowing moments where you had been nearly abandoned by your crew in foreign land after a sudden need to fly.

You were all too aware as the last few of your crewmates shambled up the ramp and into your boat.

“Huh?” Hiccup said dumbly, in a way that felt slightly foolish and in a way that did not follow what you had come to expect from him or suit him at all.

“The common folk. It’s easier to divvy up chores when there’s a group vote. Your father doesn’t have a council?” You asked, as Hiccup grabbed your hands, entwining your fingers.

Even the most solitary king had an advisor or two.

You drew out the moment farther than you would have perhaps allowed in any other situation, never allowing yourself to be in a state where you’d be left behind, not since you were unbelievably young and ignorant to the measures and numbers that could be calculated with just a hand. The others were not at all sympathetic to the ones who’d not been at the boats in time for departure.

“I’ll deal with it later,” Hiccup said unsurely, eyes glancing off to the side, before focusing back onto you.

His look was shared in a way that promised a few more goodbyes, yet a call from the ramp leading up to your ship had drawn your attention away from him.

“Yes… Until next time,” You placed one last press of lips against his cheekbone, half over his eye, before lowering from your toes and gently allowing your fingers to release from his own.

It was all very sudden.

You’d not heard of anyone else who rode a dragon- no one with a dragon quite so dark and devilish.

It had to be his, black as a bat, that was quickly approaching you from the sky, which you’d previously thought to be a seabird, shocking given that they never traveled this far out to sea.

You didn’t run, balk or hide as he approached, sure and confident in him as you were in the standing of your engagement, despite the time that passed; until he’d given his word, it was still standing, though you supposed that could be what he’d tracked you down to discuss.

He came looking for you.

His dragon swooped downwards, wings outstretched like a hawk going in for the kill, dropping against the deck with a bounce and a run, the force of it causing your boat to tilt to the side.

You’d never seen it up close and in person before, leather and scale hide dark as night, tinted blue as the sky nearly always was.

Astride its back was most definitely a man, just reaching the cusp between teenhood and adulthood, shaped in a way that was slightly different yet altogether recognizable.

Quicker than any stallion could approach, his mount bounded towards you, blowing in your direction just nearly as fast as the sea wind blew through your scalp, growing suddenly larger until he was up in your face, and then swept half past you.

With the momentum left over from his landing and a grunt, he was able to hook his arm around your waist and pull you up, half spinning you and pulling you up onto the seat of his saddle and over his dragon.

Quickly, your lips met, him dipping his head just slightly even as you were pulled onto the saddle with him, laughing joyfully and with slight startle, wondering what you’d done to enjoy such a passionate embrace.

You weren’t sure where he’d found the strength within those wiry limbs, though you guessed there had to be much more under peachy skin than you originally assumed.

“I didn’t mean for it to be so long,” You murmured, examining the face which had to most definitely belong to your fiance.

You hadn’t the opportunity; this ship wasn’t under your command, after all, or any, and so you were still to bend to the whims of the majority, unable to fulfill the requirements of your duty, though when you could, you made sure to stick close to the Archipelago.

In the years since you’d last seen him, he’d definitely grown taller, now donning brown leather, pressed into a scaled pattern. His jaw had sharpened and you could see a nice pair of cheekbones, previously hidden under waning baby fat.

“I’ll stop by whenever you need,” Hiccup said, almost pleading, with easy acceptance as he brought up his other hand, previously clutching at one of the leather saddle handles under you, now holding your face.

His knuckles ran down your neck gently, before he lifted it and settled his palm down for a run down your side, parallel to his other.

It was an aweing display of affection, one you supposed you should come to expect if he’d be pushing the limits of your relationship every time you met, something you once again found you weren’t quite against.

You blinked at him, eyelashes brushing against his in a mock display of affection.

You could not hide how you had been thrown off, and yet you couldn’t help the light feeling inside of your chest or the curling of the corners of your mouth that followed, in great contrast to the bitter shouting and disgruntled grumbling of your crewmates working the ropes,

displeased by the shaking of the ship.

“I’ll expect you more often, then,” You hummed, nearly sung, conceding to his affections as your noses touched, your hand casually tugging at a leather strap, the one traveling half the length of his chest like a cut sash.

He wasn't the only one who had changed some; time had made you easier, more relaxed in a few varied ways.

You returned his embrace easily, like one of two love birds or as you’d seen a few tree-crawling animals do during your travels, tails curling and twining together in a universal expression of joy, limbs wrapping around the other as if to convey the extent of their devotion through proximity.

You could feel the bumps and ridges in the leather he wore through your own tunic’s fabric, stomach pressed flush to his torso.

You were sure he’d fly you back to the ship before they’d gotten far, but that would all be done later.

You had brought and held a scant few of your things, still impressed that he’d flown to you this time.

You stood over a clearing, packed, dry dirt surrounded by saturated green grasses over a cool clifftop, a wide open, empty space

Along the sides, Hiccup’s companions also lounged, draconic and not. You paid them little attention, and as such they seemed largely disinterested in turn, though a few jeers exposed the novelty of your interaction.

His traveling group consisted of who you assumed to be the same few teens you’d seen on Berk, the ones he’d taken to referring to in passing.

You’d never come to have known them. You’d not even held a conversation the one time you’d been by them at the docks at fifteen winters. You’d not heard enough of them to truly make a space for you to remember them in your recollections, though a few disjointed names floated along the tip of your tongue.

You couldn’t imagine Hiccup was anything but practical when you were gone, or that you existed as anything but a topic not thought of or spoken much about, though nothing was sure as you had to confess that you hadn’t known your fiance as well as you had liked.

You supposed you’d have to get acquainted somewhat further if you were going to be visiting more often now that your husband-to-be was more inclined to go after you than wait for you to return to his home.

“We were planning on… Settling somewhere, exploring a bit,” then Hiccup grumbled under his breath, “is this where you’ve been, all this time?”

You laughed under your breath, arms locked over his shoulders and around his neck in an embrace, enjoying the sun on your face and the day breeze against your nose, “There are a great deal more places outside the archipelago.”

“There are more places outside the archipelago?” He seemed surprised.

You brought one foot back to rub at your ankle and wrinkled your nose at him with amusement; if he hadn’t believed that, then why had he left his little island?

He probably had, but you couldn’t call him anything less than naive, even if he was wise in other ways.

Though… you could see very well that his inexperience would bloom into something else given the right amount of time.

“Of course. Where do you think I’d gone all these years? There are no fjords as beautiful as the ones I’ve known here, or waves nearly half as big as the ones I’ve lived past,” You declared calmly, parroting him.

“I thought those were just… Stories,” Hiccup proposed, eyes darting to the side.

“Not at all,” Your lips curled with amusement.

Some had been exaggerated, maybe, by consequence of your thoughtlessness, too busy or perhaps lazy to recount the story in full, but many if not most had been spoken with words as true as you could make them.

“You’ve no sense of adventure?” You asked, listening to the twittering and rustling of the wind and other living things through the grasses.

“I need to bring it into practice more often,” Hiccup said, determinedly, pupils focused on you, “I’ll probably get to, now.”

“There’s not much to keep besides,” You said, looking down at your belongings softly, the small, warped and dented dull knife and the sharper, more refined but not yet perfect dagger, “But I kept them.”

They lay in a shallow wooden box, a simple one that you’d had since childhood, old and not worth anything. So, it had been something you could hide things away in for yourself and no one would mind.

It was incredibly sentimental for you, your thumb running over a slightly chipped child’s knife handle, remembering how you carried it around for seasons as you had been sure it was your duty to, a representation of your loyalty and dedication to your exchange.

You pulled yourself up from your crouch, bringing your hand back to your side, turning back.

“You really did, huh?” Your husband-to-be looked at you with sensitive eyes, prosthetic creaking and boot padding against the wood floor as he moved towards you, movements slow in a way that you could only describe as incredibly soft, perhaps too much so, for an interaction you primarily interpreted as casual.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

As you’d grown familiar again, Hiccup went to seek you out with more frequency, though he didn’t always find you, not right away.

He’d gone through many, many adventures yet still somehow found time for you, when he wasn’t off fighting for his life and his dragons’, though it had been a week or two since the last you’d seen him.

You furrowed your brows, looking to the side with your own softening eyes, running a tired hand down the side of your face, “Would you rather I have not?”

“No,” Your fiance returned, though you had the slight suspicion that he hadn’t heeded your words at all, “This is good. It’s- It’s a good thing.”

You shifted slightly to your left to compensate for the slow tilting of the ground below you, leather spines falling against one another as their center of gravity changed.

The shelves built into the walls of your cabin came with a few novels stored, some more worn than others, all with a few loose pages that you’d worked hard to earn, buy, hide and, on the rare occasion, had pettily stolen, carried from dock to dock as merchandise, though your reason for having them was much more selfish.

During your travels, for many years, you’d wanted for things to do in your free time.

Some were written in multiple languages, some in just one, groups separated by carved tablets, held still by strings nailed across most of your shelving, so that they would not fall over during the rougher storms.

Most of them you would end up selling along with a few other odds and ends that carried, posed on your shelves in a way you felt added to the mystique, some of them booby trapped so that anyone wandering that might have found their way down from the deck wouldn’t be leaving with a full hand.

The more important things you kept hidden. The fancier gifts lay in secret compartments all around your room, some stuck into the hollow covers of hard-bound books, sewn and nailed together by your own hand. Your old, shallow tray always lay hidden in a shallow compartment in your desk.

Speaking of gifts…

“Take these back with you,” You said, nodding to your side, where lay an array of multicolored, expensive perfume, shelved in neatly packaged rows, stoppers held still by a wooden frame, multicolored glass bodies of different, polished shapes exposed below for display.

Cheap gems lay by it along the dark-stained wood, some of your knicknacks, nothing that would earn you coin or food or any of the resources you would need to travel if you’d tried to sell it in its country of origins, some dyed, pigment laying heavy in some visible cracks in multicolored faces.

You handed him a map as well, many times transcribed and copied by your own hand, taken down from your wall earlier after some further thought, held in its roll by a leather strap and a carefully pressed wax seal.

He might enjoy that one more.

You eyed Hiccup admiringly in your most private inner sanctum.

It was good to have someone else in your corner, someone by you- a small comfort, what with the commotion above deck. The thought of it caused the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.

A few days before, you’d interjected at the wrong moment during a heavy argument over an already tense episode.

You’d felt malicious eyes on your back ever since, and your paranoia had been spiking, chills like thorns against your nape. You were worried that your position on board was precarious and you would fall victim to the sabotage you’d always just borne witness to.

The chances of them trying something now, with your fiance around, were much lower.

“Perfume?” Hiccup asked, unimpressed and a little upset as, from a distance he inspected your shelves, one of his hands outstretched in order to grab the rolled-up map as you passed it to him.

Your fingers slid smoothly against Hiccup’s as yellowed paper passed from your hands in a way that you could only describe as sensual.

You knew the scents were ill-suited. The gift had been a suggestion by another, something to keep up the pretense of a healthy engagement. It had been a while since you’d been dutiful, in that sense.

You’d listened, but only because you knew your fiance had been carrying the burden of your relationship for a while. It seemed terribly inconvenient for your valiant to-be to have to come and try to find you each time.

He’d found you this time as you’d been traveling down to Knaff, last you had checked, but that had been days ago. The seas around you now, though, were unusually bumpy for the typically calm fishing region. It was much colder here, wherever you were.

The ship groaned slightly under you, wood crackling, sound reverberating deeply as the vessel moved in near half a rotation.

At one point, you considered splitting off with some of your other crewmates, onto a different ship, where you’d be afforded more freedom. It would provide you with more of the freedom to visit with your fiance.

Though- the idea of traveling away from the one place you’d stuck by since you were a very, very small child- you’d been born on another ship, though you hadn’t seen that one since you’d been three or five- it was a daunting idea, and one that would ultimately bring more harm than good.

You had been slowly working your way up the ranks, taking more charge and responsibility over the deck and under it. To leave- you’d have to fight tooth and nail to ensure you kept some level of authority.

You had to fight for the right to your own room.

You shed your overcoat, dropping it along the top half of your chair, the one poised in front of your desk, papers ordered neatly and in a way that would prevent them from sliding off the top, quill and ink bottle also secured into a carved, shallow hole in the corner of it.

You were born into the life of a traveling merchant and there you would stay. And, if it came down to it, you knew you wouldn’t stay grounded. A life wondering was much less terrible than a life shackled to land.

Jumping ship now seemed to be the wrong move, especially at a time when your fiance had a flying, fire-breathing dragon free for his own fast-traveling use. However, if you had your own way into the sky… Or, if he’d like to lend you his, well, you couldn’t toss that idea completely.

“I did not pick it out,” You grumbled eventually, voice low in case your voice carried past the wall, where you could hear the quiet, packed groaning and shifting of your crewmates, off duty, “You’ll like the other one more. Give the scents to your other secret girlfriend.”

You would have to find a way to compensate for his efforts, to return the formality, in other ways.

Shadows danced and lingered moodily, filling the room with something that was nearly occult, your way lit by glass-covered candles with holes along the front as your ship rocked slowly, evening turning to true night.

Of course it was dark and dim in your cabin at the end of your small hall, your room wide yet inconvenient in the event the ship started to flood, or went down, with no exit holes or doors to provide any extra light.

Hiccup started, stepping towards you in his startlement, speaking quietly as he was reminded by the low tone of your voice to keep his down too, “Secret girlfriend?”

There was another chair in the direction you strode, further obscured by shadow, though a small candle lay in that same area, your dull sandy green-gray poncho already dropped over its wooden top.

It was completely opposite to the side of your room that held Hiccup, shelves to his back and lining the wall all the way up to your small, boarded wooden door on one side, stopping just before the place which had had your cot in the corner.

That one was a soft bed with no frame, a world of difference from the hammock lining the other rooms in this ship, held in place by a shallow border not unlike the kind farmers cultivated that lined shallow beds of herbs and flowers.

You stopped your striding once you reached your small changing area, hooking your fingers under worn, slightly dirtied fabric with a displeased twitch of your lips, lifting and pulling it aside until it rested on the very edge of your chair in one smooth, neat motion.

It revealed white fabric, folded over twice and hanging under where your poncho previously lay.

“The Hofferson girl,” You rolled your eyes unseriously. You’d heard the rumors, yet hadn’t taken them seriously.

The tips of your fingers teased the white fabric, a classic wool, contrasting against scarring on your hands from working the ropes, before you pulled it up and hung it over one arm, embroidered hems shifting at the motion like a fine curtain in front of an open window, slightly billowing as you turned.

You ran quick fingers down a smooth frame to your side, ready to hook your fingers underneath it and pull.

“Astrid?” Hiccup asked, startled, “No- We’re not-”

“You’re not?” You attempted a tease as you turned your attention fully towards the door, though your fiance looked much too puzzled to have caught on to your jest. You also did not joke very often- and therein may have laid the problem.

“I mean, maybe I thought about it once, when I was, like, ten… But, no-! I mean…”

You did not take offense to the suggestion- you had sort of expected the topic to show face eventually.

You pulled lightly on the door’s frame, listening to the roll and scrape of wood against wood as you pulled its screen across the room and between both you and Hiccup, light dancing oddly through the paper and slightly muffling any sound coming from the other side.

You had not been coached on how to respond to the topic of a straying eye any more than you’d been coached in the art of body language and petty subterfuge. However, you were confident in your ability to navigate the conversation.

You learned, of course, that for others, it was quite natural for the mind to wander, as long as the hands stayed put. In a situation such as yours where the pairing was born more from duty and obligation than choice, you could not shame him for the thought.And he’d been only a child, at that.

It was hardly a breach of contract.

You released your hand on the pull out door standing half-open on one side of you.

You were far from the ship’s darling- you had argued with the others for the privilege of having that door. One man was under the fool impression that it would upset the balance of the boat, as if his goods-hoarding on the other side hadn’t done enough damage on its own.

“You never thought about anyone else?” Hiccup asked, as you tugged on the bottommost hem of your tunic, your belts long since discarded.

You considered his words, pausing for a moment. You hadn’t many other options, in terms of folks to ogle at.

The thought -not quite that one, but a similar one- had come to you on a day when you’d been working the sails, hands wrapped around the ship’s ropes, sleeves rolled up past your elbows. You didn’t believe it -of course, this arrangement had been made less willingly on his part than yours, so it came as a surprise, to you, the idea that he might have thought of you at all, when you’d been gone, yet you knew he kept your tooth in his belt.

He’d called you odd for giving it to him, once, but- You’d found him to be much more of an ‘oddball.’

You tongued the empty socket, which had grown much shallower and thinner as your gums had healed.

“No,” You said, face blank, though you were sure he could not see it, especially as you pulled your tunic upwards, largely distorting your shadow, “I am engaged.”

You knew from experience that on the other side, your shirtless form would cast a shadow against the opposite wall through the decorated paper face of your sliding wall, matching the outline of a rip on just one side, just above a carefully embroidered branch of flowers, a faulty import which you’d fixed with some thread and a needle.

You’d spent hours warning others away -children and the busy adult folk- in case the distraction caused you to poke your eye out, the bobbing of the ship making your predicament all the more dangerous.

You listened to the heavy shifting of your own fabrics, not intending to leave Hiccup to stew in silence and yet that was what happened all the same.

Offhandedly and without intention, you’d been listening, and what you heard could perhaps have been a swallow or a noise coming in strongly from the other room or up from the groaning wood. Maybe it was something that had traveled through the walls from the outside, the pouding of footsteps above heavy.

You watched in your periphery as your shadow stretched and bowed against transparent, casting paper as you dropped your tunic to the seat of your chair, half bare form dancing with the tiny flame on your other side in a way you might have likened to some type of poetry had you been focused on it at all.

Then, once again you felt at the frame to one side of you, hooking your fingers around its side.

You revealed yourself, your sliding door sticking slightly as you pushed it back aside, yet you kept your eyes down as, with one thumb, you traced the seam along one of your sides.

You felt your hand through the fabric, probing and dull, sliding down to just below your waist, your eyes looking down all the while in order to make sure it lay correctly over the nearly invisible hem of your trousers underneath.

Then you lifted your head.

Your fiance had paused, his hand grazing against the top of your desk on the opposite side of your room.

As you looked up at him, you registered a mouth parted slightly and your eyes focused on the slight shift of his Adam's apple.

His own eyes seemed interested, curious, focused on your gown and its hem, which reached low. Lower than you were used to, in a way that reminded you of a dream you’d had once about white child’s robes and tiny brown-haired boys.

“How does it look?” You asked, arms splayed out slightly.

“What’s the, uh-” Hiccup laughed nervously, low and under his breath, hand leaning heavy against your desk chair, other palm running through his hair, “The white for?”

“You may not be thinking of it yet, but we are of marriageable age,” You insisted, “ Once you decide what to do -in spite of whatever you choose- I need to have a presentable wardrobe.”

“What- What?”

“The point of our engagement -any engagement- is marriage, dear future husband of mine,” You grumbled, “Unless you intend to break it off?”

Hiccup stumbled forwards slightly as the boat rocked particularly roughly.

Some incredibly muffled shouting from above deck sounded finally through the wood, a sure sign that his dragon above was wreaking havoc.

He would need to attend to it, soon, as you would other things. Wedding preparations were a far off thought, fallen to the wayside until you once again expressed the need to check to see if things were still in order.

“No! No- no, not at all,” Hiccup said, waving his hands around in front of him, “I just don’t know if I’m… ready.”

It was inevitable, the choice he’d have to make- you weren’t sure what kinds of reassurances you could offer him.

You could say that you would keep him safe, that you would mind him well as you’d prepared for most of your life, but it was clear that that wouldn’t be needed any longer. Really, with his dragon, he would be the one doing the minding.

You knew that, in his home, a grand-looking sword hung on the wall which was meant for you, as you'd been made to know by reading between the lines. It was a sword made for marriage, and it had been made by Hiccup, apparently, though you knew he was surely much too young at fifteen summers to make some of the detailing on the handle anywhere near as fine.

And yes- the thought hit you with little fanfare- ‘Summers’ seemed a more appropriate term to measure him by, anyways. He was eighteen summers. It felt righter than eighteen winters, though that was the standard unit of measure, here.

Really, Hiccup was very… Alive.

You rolled your eyes, “I will be prepared for when you are.”

Maybe he was not the most passionate or violent, but he felt- Well, you saw he could be combative and he had wants that you recognized. He was not the warmest but he was very warm, compared to you, and he indulged in contact frequently when the situation deemed it appropriate. You had to say he did, in fact, embody those traits more so than most, as you’d known them.

You examined Hiccup’s roiling expression, leaning to the left side as the ship leaned particularly hard to the right.

You were only slightly surprised when your fiance spoke, ready to turn away and put your casual clothes back on, with or without his approval, “You wouldn’t… Leave? I know whatever we have was just…” A contract. An exchange. You were familiar with the concept.

He had a way with words, too, that made you feel slightly as if you could be warm as well. He was, in a way, like the summer to your fleeting winter. So, he was nineteen summers, perhaps, or maybe twenty. Numbers tended to change when you altered the unit of measure.

You were about the same number of winters, now. Whether that made you all the more fitting for each other or whether or not it was the first indication of the inevitable failure of your engagement had remained to be seen.

“A deal’s a deal. However, ties are easily cut- Should you have been found lacking at any time, and I had measured my worth differently, I would have left,” You grumbled, “I am satisfied with our arrangement.”

After a while of silence, your fiance spoke again.

“I guess I am, too,” Hiccup said, striding quickly over the few feet parting the two of you, hooking an arm behind your waist as if to feel you out in your new garments, pulling you flush to him, his belts and straps pressing into your skin in a way that felt quite natural.

You looked into your fiance’s eyes. The folds below seemed slightly deeper, the coloring underneath darker than they should have been had he been rested, his grip slightly weaker than it had been earlier when he had seemed more wakeful.

You would, too, head to bed soon. It was much too late for him to fly back alone, so late at night, you thought. You wondered if he would sleep besides you this night?

You smiled.

Your frantic, all-consuming panic quickly broke into anger.

The sleep that had been spirited away from you as you had been accosted in the middle of the night then crept dangerously up against your back, weighing your lids, luring you towards a thick, minacious rest.

You’d ground your teeth weakly, fluttering your eyelids as you fought yourself back into wakefulness.

They had tried to kill you- and even worse, they had tried to steal your fiance’s Fury. They had no idea what sort of boundaries they had crossed, political and otherwise.

It was an idiot move- to cross an island full of bloodlusted clansmen with dragons.

They knocked you overboard into the water as you slept, tossing a few things out after you into the bobbing bergs and fractured ice below, which you had to soldier through, hauling up the nearly completely hollow chest, holding what number of your belongings you could muster.

You could never go back after such a betrayal, even if every single member of your ship was meticulously picked off and skinned.

You cursed, nose wrinkling and face morphing into an expression you thought must be ugly as you stared angrily into the opaque white and transparent ice walls, displaying long-since sealed over pockets.

What had they even been planning to tell Stoick the Vast- were they just going to say his heir had died? Been thrown overboard as they had taunted as they sailed away?

They couldn’t be so foolish as to think they could get away with it. They would all die.

Your nails hurt, fingers stiff with cold. The flesh and skin over their bone worked against you, sluggish and unmoving, numb, feeling more akin to an obstruction than a real part of your body.

The lightest layer of flakes, powdered on top of the harder packed snow beneath had been long since displaced by you.

They had Toothless muzzled, his fin ripped to shreds, wrapped tight with rope, leather hanging in scraps from his back, yet he had been too wriggly and too violent to hold and sell as they had planned.

You were stuck inside a hollow cave of ice in a glacier, the entrance looking more like a wide crack in the side than a smooth hole.

Toothless’ knocking around had trapped you and had also provided you shelter against the elements in a world where you couldn’t conceive of anything but ice, above and below.

The black dragon was outside the collapsed ice tunnel, side pressed to the exit as he scratched at his muzzle made of leather, not as sturdy as it could have been, already just beginning to give under his ripping claws.

It was much easier for you to make him out when he’d been scrabbling at the walls along the clearer side of the small enclave. Now, he was a fuzzy, filled outline behind ragged gouges, half obscured by fallen, white ice boulders.

He would be fine.

Dragons had an inner fire about them, a simmer that kept them hot even naked in the frigid winterland your fiance called home.

You were too incensed and bare to do much of anything but shake, your senses fading and your skin discolored by the cold, huddled in the snow as it was packed beneath you.

You’d been through harsh weather before, though you had always been donned in the most appropriate outerwear and all your practice south had meant that you were more accustomed to the heat than cold.

It was incredibly difficult to find Berk in the winter months as the ocean froze your way- You had never experienced something like this before. The archipelago was something different. Even if you’d wanted to wear the proper clothes, there was no doubt that they had scalped your living quarters already.

You were afraid your lips were blueing, yet your silent fury kept you active; awake, alive.

Now, you were nearly completely bare. It was cold, and you were not as strong against the icy weather as Hiccup was, fine even in just his thin tunic and what bits of his leather armor he could salvage.

At least you were hidden.

“I can’t-” Hiccup said, incensed, voice echoing slightly across the enclosed space, positioned directly across from you on the other side.

Hiccup was, of course, stuck with you. He wasn’t rendered anywhere near as inept, adapted to the cold. He spent his time fruitlessly grinding at the frigid ice blocking the entrance to the cave.

Nearly invisible beneath his fist was the tiny knife he’d made you years and years before, one of the very few things you’d been able to salvage, that you’d searched and wanted for.

With a rough sigh, he gave up, standing from his half-crouch as if your gaze beckoned him away, his prosthetic barely giving under hsi weight as it, too, probably felt the harsh freeze of winter.

“Are you alright?” Hiccup asked, voice conveying his exhaustion yet burdened by not much more than his aching arms. He was probably well practiced in the hard art of withstanding winter storms.

You took a real look at him for the first time since you’d been thrown overboard, past your own heavy eyelids, a slight appreciation for him blooming behind the rage you felt, not nearly enough to blow the other emotion over but something you could reach if you felt for it.

For a while, you’d seen more and known more- at least that’s what you thought.

You’d wondered when he’d grown up, if in another life you would have gotten to see him change from boy to man up close

What he lacked in relative size, he was able to manage in presence, a conviction so interwoven into his stance and actions it must have carried into his very blood. It was in a way you thought you might only ever see from his Dad, ever as he lay crouched over the blocked cave exit, scratching away at it with near fruitless efforts.

“I’m-m,” You attempted to voice, though what you wanted to say was a mystery even to you- you wanted to voice your thanks, maybe, for accompanying you up to this point, where you might’ve very well died. For not focusing all of his attentions on his dragon in the snow, who could have most quickly flown him away, even if it would have left you freezing dead in the broken white.

Frustratingly, you found your tongue wouldn’t move as you wanted, feeling like an extra lump of bumpy meat in your mouth as the ice below remained sapping away at your heat, cold like spikes hiking up the flesh of your thighs.

You sighed roughly yet shakily, “I’m well.”

Hiccup paused for a moment, staring at you.

You kept close to your only heat source, held up from the barely melting snow below by a small, fat carved block of stone; a tiny fire started using a few things that hadn’t gotten too damp, mostly wood.

You wanted to shift in the slush, yet you knew if you did, you would feel its bite even more intensely. There was nothing but ice and blue all around you.

You weren’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to you before, but you had half a mind to stand up and get out of the cold.

You jerked but you found you couldn’t get up, hands feeling stuck to your elbows, arms frozen to arms.

You then sighed forcefully, waveringly. Whiningly.

“Wait- It’s fine,” Hiccup said, moving -stumbling- towards you instead as your shallow breathing echoed throughout the small enclave with worrying volume, “I’ll just-”

He leaned down and touched your shoulder slowly, chilled fingers leaving small bits of ice and a slight, barely-felt trail of water behind.

As if you had been finally granted permission, your body let out a hard shutter, the kind that made you flex your jaw as you were wrought with spasms.

You could feel his arm jump, though the feeling wasn’t as tense and raw as you supposed it should have been.

“You’re cold,” Hiccup said, startled. His voice was tinged with worry.

“An-nd,” You wheezed, speaking concedingly, “Tired.”

“Come here,” He said.

You were able to manage a shift, though you had a hard time tracking what came next as he settled behind you, your eyes closing even as you kept your head up, and you were lost in the blackness and the fuzziness of a drowsy half-sleep.

When your eyes had found themselves open again -by some thoughtless miracle, you were sure- Hiccup was behind you, his own arms circled over your own arms, stuck around your knees.

His prosthetic, still tied to his leg, was positioned away from you, cold metal held a few measures further away than it would have been had he let his leg lie naturally. The metal portion by the very end was nearly completely hidden in the snow.

Your head bobbed heavily as your muscles periodically gave in, a few sharp commands from your waning mind the only thing keeping your head from falling all the way down and you from losing your wits and falling to slumbers.

You’d never felt your head so heavy before.

Hiccup leaned forwards and rested his own head against you, albeit probably unintentionally -at least, as you’d assumed- burying his nose behind your ear.

“Are you… Are you awake?” He asked, his voice louder to your ears than it had been before, even as its tone was gentle and as your senses were dull to most everything around you.

Hiccup was hot. His skin on yours felt like burning, a dulled version of the feeling of skin teasing boiling water or glancing off glowing red metal, and yet you found yourself drawn to it deeply.

You let out a little noise that could have been a sigh as he pulled closer, scooting inwards.

A few clumps of slough were pushed up and trapped between you as he did, yet you couldn’t find the words to complain, not when he was so kind.

“...I am-m.”

You weren't sure when and how many times you’d nearly drifted off before that moment, humming and grunting disjointedly, everything out of rhythm like an instrument out of time, though you tried to take in your fiance’s voice.

As your vision blurred and you focused in and out of your surroundings, you felt more than registered a dull noise that must have been a loud… something.

You’d probably not be able to feel anything more specific than an all-encompassing chill, and through your troubles, it took you a while to realize that Hiccup was speaking, again.

“...-When we get out of this, you could leave with me… or stay. Whatever you want,” Hiccup suggested honestly.

You opened your mouth, but had to pause. It- what he had been saying… It sounded important.

Yes- Was he talking about… The Archipelago, or his smaller Edge home? The others talked about moving back to Berk sometimes…. and with everything that had happened recently- you couldn’t remember what… It seemed he would be going back soon, anyways. It felt right enough.

It took you a moment, and a while of thinking, during which you must have been making a face, to come up with a somewhat worthy response.

“Yo-u’re going to run away?” You tried to huff, voice tinged with struggle and slur.

“No,” Hiccup said, “Maybe. I just can’t… With my Dad, and the Chiefdom-”

You pushed back into him as much as you could, shifting your shoulders as if you could press more of his heat into you if you’d leaned further into him.

“And it’s-” Hiccup seemed slightly frustrated, though the feeling wasn’t very potent, moreso subtle and said in a way that implied it was aimed towards a very distant thing, “I’m not running away. I just don’t want to do it.”

You tilted your head slightly to glance at him from the corner of your eye, grieving as he pulled his face further from the back of your head.

“I almost ran away once. For real,” He spoke like the confession rolled heavily off his tongue.

You felt a little cold at his admittance, a chill running down your spine. But…

“I thought I’d come here first… “ He murmured, his forehead touching your nape, “Well, not here- but I would try and convince you to come travel… with me, instead.”

“Hm-m?” You mumbled,

“I don’t… need it, if I have you. I think,” Hiccup looked down between you, nearly laughing under his breath, “You have enough stories to keep anyone’s thirst for adventure satisfied for life. I spent my life expecting to go with you- and now they want me to stay?”

He sighed heavily, “I can’t. I can’t. I- I want this.”

He had many more skills than the ones provided by being just a craftsman, now. It would be a pity to throw them all away, but if he didn’t want the life that they provided, then that couldn’t be helped

If you’d be blessed with the privilege, you would take him in with open arms, as you’d planned.

“The-en we’ll d-o-o it,” You mumbled with determination, though you were unable to keep the drag of the chill out of your voice, a sluggish stutter that halted your words.

“Hm?” Hiccup seemed slightly surprised

“I’m-m a merchant, Hiccup,” You closed your eyes, nearly cooing, “If-f you asked your Father- with his blessin-ng- Why would I ever nuh-not travel? …let’s go.”

It took you a long, long moment to speak that last bit.

“You mean it?” Hiccup asked, his voice tinged with a new, slight panic.

There was no buzzing, not yet, yet you were welcomed by the murderously slow nothing in your skin as if your limbs had fallen asleep and lost all feeling, everything above and below bone nothing but gummy padding.

You might have tried to press your nails past your skin if you could move your arms, to forcefully test if you really could feel nothing, a primitive, pointless experiment.

The loss, to you, was akin to the flavor of illness; feverish, yet the feeling wasn’t centered in your head, and it was more cold than not.

You struggled to keep up the facade of someone who still had their wits about them

“It’ll be-e… easy work,” You breathed, voice growing weaker by the moment, “We-e-e’d- …We will…. m-make it …happen.”

Satisfied with your answer and the incredible effort you expended in order to say it, you went completely silent.

Hiccup nosed methodically, pressing his mouth to the cartilage behind your lobe, providing you some minor reprieve, his hotter breath dancing over your earlobe and causing you to briefly close your eyes.

You exhaled a breath that must have been pleased, soundless without the energy to make any noise as you went limper.

Your fiance must have said something more but you couldn’t hear it well, consumed by the pleasant feeling of cold leaving your limbs, being sapped from you slowly by what felt like a slow crawl, a cold-hot tingle creeping up your meat, fingers and toes first.

You thought you should be hearing something else, your ears processing sound as if it all was like noise underwater; there was an all-encompassing loud, roaring something from somewhere, which seemed to reverberate around you as you lost track of life, head fuzzy and everything too bright and too neutral at the same time.

Dragon…?

You weren't sure when your eyes fell shut.

You became vaguely aware, floating into semi-consciousness as a light scraping sound filled your ears.

You crinkled your brows and pressed already closed lid together tightly until they hurt, turning over from where you lay flat on your back, pulling the crumpled, frayed end of a blanket with you.

You were aware to a degree of an indistinct radiation of heat to your side, closer to you now that you’d turned over a thin, unfamiliar plush floor, clearly placed over a hard bottom, which you could feel at your shoulder, where you now distributed the majority of your weight.

“Can you get it?” A tired, husky voice grumbled, bordering on nasal, slightly muffled by what must have been fabric.

You knew who it must have been after a moment of slugging processing.

“No, I’m not-... The,” You groaned, shifting under your end of the blanket, much too tired to sacrifice your nice, warm spot under the blanket, “Mmh-dragon master.”

“You’re the uh- dragon- dragon mastri- mistress…?”

You churred deep in your throat, a noise that was uncharacteristically animalistic at the ungainly title. It certainly didn't fit you, not by design.

“No, I am not. I am-” You sighed with displeasure, pursing your lips and furrowing your brows at the ridiculous moniker ,rubbing your face deeper into the thin pillow below your head. It was not nearly plush or comfortable enough to hold you comfortably, stiff in a manner which would most likely prove a problem later when your neck began to ache. However, “I am… Hm… Not… sleeping with them.”

You threw out your foot lazily, mind still pleasantly fogged.

Your vision was still dark as you refused to open your eyes, your movements clumsy as your depth perception was hindered, so the first few jerks of your leg bore no fruit.

Nonetheless, the flat of your foot found your silent fiance, applying a steady, weak pressure as it found its place and rested there.

“Aw- Wh-uh?” Hiccup said you made contact with him and the blanket above you began the shift and the brace of your legs against his back began to very slowly push him over, the muscles in his torso still too sleepy to work against yours.

You whined as Hiccup adjusted slowly, letting your legs fall, the sound of him shifting against fabric loud and grating to your ears.

After he settled, there were a few moments of blessed silence and overwhelming sleep, nearly allowing you to drift back off before the cursed scratching started up again.

“Toothless…” Hiccup ground out groggily.

Then, Hiccup’s unruly dragon started beating against wood, with what was most likely his large, leathery paw, the sound much louder now, door.

Even as his dragon kept making a racket and you struggled frustratedly to snuggle back into the thin, cheap plush below, you’d thought Hiccup had gone back to sleep.

You were still not past the point of turn, however, and had half a mind to do the same, despite the noise, until your fiance tried again, “You’re… sleeping with me…?”

“...‘m not a dragon,” You grumbled, voice breathy.

You felt very glad as you heard your fiance let out a strained groan, the shallow cot dipping and wood beneath him creaking as he must have finally gotten up

“Semantics,” Hiccup groaned as the extra blanketing fell half over your face.

You pulled it over your neck with a coo, even more so comfortable despite the scratchy, sack-like texture of its fabric.

It took you a moment to get up yourself, slowly punching yourself up and shifting until your bare feet touched cool wood, one hand pressed to the cot by your waist and the other rubbing off the crust at the corners of your eyes, listening to the shuffling around for your fiance in the dark room and the quiet grumbling and light-leavy steps of his stealthy dragon.

Eventually, once your eyes were clear and your head felt less sloggy, you looked around, eyes meeting the sturdily nailed sides of stacked wood crates to either side of you.

You weren’t sure how your fiance had kept the crates from falling and crushing you both in your sleep, if he had done anything at all. You prayed he had, even in his worried, threatened state.

Your room was a small area walled off by boxes arranged so that you had privacy and remained well hidden in a large storage chamber, piled high with boxes, mostly filled with weaponry.

All of the hold was wood. After a few days of only that, it was painful to your eyes.

You knew that soon, your fiance would be back from wherever he went with his dragon this time of day.

The events that had led you here- You didn’t remember much of them at all. Not how you got on board, though you knew at the time you had been fading in and out of consciousness, for a while a shivering cold castaway on a foreign ship, a bigger freighter than you had ever seen before.

You remembered flashes of Hiccup, the smooth, slivering form of his dragon below, and then you were inside somewhere.

You were still a bit colder than you should be still, but you had worn off whatever had kept you immobilized for so long. It had been a few days since then and you’d been suitably nursed back to health.

Now, you were surviving off of stolen jerky and exotic dried fruits.

If you were back on your ship, in this weather, you might have been scrambling to make sure you made it out of this situation alive. You hoped your former crewmates were plagued by lack of fresh water and scurvy, that they were struck down and suffered the most painful deaths.

You blinked groggily, slowly, your back hunched, before thinking better of it and dropping back onto the cot; there wasn’t much for you to do otherwise besides bear the chill of the day, not that you were at a point where you wanted to do anything else.

The cold wasn’t so bad aboard ship, though you hadn’t before related when the farmers spoke of sitting up to keep warm with their livestock in sleep, not until you’d experienced a winter as cold as this. You almost asked that Hiccup keep his dragon nearer, the smell of foul fish and flaking dragon leather the only thing keeping you from doing so.

There also wasn’t much to do but hide, so you fell into a casual daily rhythm; sit up, stay quiet, wait for Hiccup to return with his dragon in the morning and the evening, eat what he could scavenge, keeping cautious, restless and tense.

Just laying was something that was fine by you during most moments. There was a peace in it, even if it was sandwiched between times laden without. You wished the same relaxation on your fiance.

Your fiance never took off his prosthetic, even when it was clear you two were safe enough and alone. He was especially on edge, especially considering the cargo held on this ship.

You picked at the frayed old sleeve of your stolen coverings- Hiccup had found a large, warm coat for you, somehow, and some other clothes pieces which you’d spent most of your days huddled up in- bottom lids buzzing, and yet you found you were much too awake to sleep.

You heard his dragon before you heard him, aloft on its back, the subtle yet shifting creaking of wood and thick, almost inaudible padding of calloused leather against wood clear to your bored, practiced ears.

It was unlikely that anyone who didn’t know what they were looking for would hear, your fiance’s steed living up to its terrifying moniker.

There was a very light drop, the sound of a grinding spring and its bounce as his prosthetic beat against the wooden deck, muffled as he could make it.

You waited until Hiccup returned, which he did with little fanfare, seemingly emerging from the darkness seemingly emanating from the entrance to your small crate-stacked room.

The lines of his shoulders, drooped, and his limp arms spoke of his exhaustion as if he’d seen something quite unpleasant. To you, though, he did not seem nearly distraught enough for you to think he’d seen anything nearly as graphic as what you’d come to expect might lay in the other rooms.

It was more likely something else had come to haunt him as he was tending to his dragon.

As he reached the threshold of your cot once more, he turned quickly, bending and falling back against the cot, which shifted with a light puffing noise, cushioning his fall.

“Brought him to the bathroom,” He said in response to your curious eyes, voice stiff, “Not that there is one, here.”

As he crouched, his shoulders were too rigid for him to fall back with any sort of real give or bounce, a slight distention of the cot’s surface.

His breathing was measured, coming in evenly, the sound of it not nearly as deep as it would have been had he been filling his chest to its full capacity.

He’d discovered what sort of ship this was a while back; a dragon trapper’s barge, meaning your travels involved much more dread, danger and intrigue than you would have otherwise typically allowed for yourself.

There was a lot of stifled curiosity on the part of your fiance, a lot of action he couldn’t take, the two of you heavily reliant on this ship to reach freedom. Lying in wait seemed to go against most of his instincts, which you found particularly Vikingly.

However, you knew how to keep your head low and how to hide. It was a blessing you were already attuned to keeping quiet on a packed vessel. This one was traveling in an area you’d never been before. If patience was a virtue, you had plenty, and despite the danger, you were thankful to be alive.

You were thankful for your fiance and for his will to keep you so.

Still, you were incredibly aware of the occasional, barely audible crow and scratch from a place hidden a ways beyond the wooden walls all around, the same walls which kept out all light and had you guessing at the time of day, stuck deep in the bowels of this large ship.

There was the occasional conflict above deck, though they would always abate with startling quickness.

“What are we going to do?” You asked, laying by him, for lack of anything else to say, your hands folded over your stomach just over your blanket, pulled up to your mid-torso, “Today, I meant.”

“We’ll figure it out,” He said.

You knew, though, what might happen if you continued to say nothing.

You gently brought up your arm to the side, feeling for his wrist and holding it, the fabric of his sleeves wrinkling under your touch, much like the half of the blanket and the top layer of your cot on his side of your makeshift bed.

You slowly and carefully turned to your side, your movement invoking Hiccup’s own as he dropped his head towards you.

“We should leave, at the next night we’re able,” You murmured, “We can make our way back after. There may be enough here to fix your fin- and it wouldn’t hurt to wander. ...If, that is, you were serious. About the travel. I have to admit that I don't have many prospects…”

“If I wasn’t?” Hiccup paused, glancing at you, “...I didn’t realize you remembered any of that.”

Hiccup was just in his tunic, now. A worn, slightly dirtied red.

You’d spent a few nights, with your cheek pressed close to his, feeling the rougher scruff that was just beginning to sprout along his jaw, pushing out softer, peachier fuzz.

You weren’t sure what had happened to his leather. You knew it was gone before you’d seen his face the first time deep in the belly of this ship, hands clutching at fabric, fisting and pressing against the skin underneath.

You had debated pulling up close to him, if that would provide a balm to his twinging soul.

“Bits and pieces,” You admitted, nodding your assent, pushing your cheek into your pillow.

He was always cautious here, as was, you admitted to yourself, needed. You appreciated it, and as he was, so were you.

The stress of your situation, though, was clearly pulling him apart. You feared it may cloud his judgment and hurry his hand as you planned your escape from this ship.

You stared up at the ceiling, tall and long-off, incredibly dark as your fiance spoke. “I don’t know if I’d… fit. I mean, I’ve never known how, exactly, to… Negotiate, I guess.”

Your job, then, as you’d decided in that instant, would be to soothe him. Not that it was much of a job with nothing to entertain your mind.

You made your decision and sidled up closer to him until you were sure he could feel your heat against his skin.

He looked back at you with care.

“Half of it is the talk leading up to the trade,” You brushed it aside, speaking quietly, “It’s easier, with practice.”

“No, I know- ‘anyone can do it,’” Hiccup said disagreeably, as if he was quoting someone, turning onto his own side. His father, maybe. “I just…”

His adam's apple bobbed, eyes darting to the side, shadow falling tumultuously across his face, expressing wistful tales of islands and troubles you hadn't ever been quite as well versed in, used to relationships that were of more of a fleeting quality and bonds that were never quite as close as they could have been.

“Not anyone can do it.” You returned, voice soothing, “Not everyone has the eye.”

You hummed, not quite sure how to explain it, not in simple terms. Not quite sure that that was what he needed.

There was also a marked difference between negotiation the way he probably knew it, as the son of a Chief having most likely been coached on negotiating war treaties and other things, and the way you did it, speaking slyly and running circles around others using foreign words.

You shook your head lightly, a bit difficult given your position, the meat of your cheek dragging against heavy cloth.

“It’s not just about persuasion, not only when it comes down to the trade- getting people to want you back,” You mumbled, “That’s the real trick. You can face any number of hurdles, you can have the most unsavory character anyone’s ever seen- but If they want it enough, patrons have a way of making it happen. You usually just need the right good.”

“I don’t know if I’d ever had a…”

“I remember- you took a particular interest in the anatomy books,” You ribbed at him, nudging him with your knuckle lightly, speaking in quiet whispers.

You remembered. It was after he’d become a mighty dragon slayer, when you’d treated him to a tour of your boat.

You never sold them to him, or tried. But you noticed his eyes, dancing across open pages and nude forms.

“I- aha, yeah,” Hiccup shook his head, eyes focused on his legs in fond remembrance, “I… Didn’t realize you noticed that.”

“I expected it,” You huffed, “You were only fifteen.”

“Are you sure?” He mumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I remember you being young, too.”

Your fingers danced over the crook of his arm clumsily as you shifted under the covers.

“You don’t remember my age?” You hummed teasingly as Hiccup furrowed his brows, expression sardonic.

He lifted one hand, shifting fabrics loud in the relative groaning silence and held one side of your face with a warm palm.

He guided it towards his temple, his intention clear; to linger and relish in the press of your foreheads as you had done before, “We’re still young.”

You could have followed his lead, and you would have had you been in any normal state. Instead, following an unusual impulse, you pressed a heated kiss to his mouth instead.

He seemed a bit more lively, then.

As he exhaled, his throat vibrated, sharing a sligh, light groan from somewhere deep in his throat.

“Really?” Hiccup asked, lifting his head out of your reach as you let him free.

The scope of what he was asking was slightly lost on you. You hadn’t planned anything nearly as passionate or intimate as he’d probably been thinking, especially not as you’d made this decision, quick and last minute, but you would play it by ear.

You had been feeling a measure more amorous as of late. Especially since…

You hooked your arm over his waist, tugging at the hem of his tunic until he got the message and shifted, pulling himself over you.

For a brief, slightly unpleasant moment, you were exposed to the cold air, your blankets displaced by Hiccup’s moving body, his knee grazing over your middle and resting on your other side.

You hummed, pulling up your fingers and reaching under the back of his tunic, fingers running against the notches of his spine, then dropped your head back once more, a notable breath’s distance from where it had been, pressed close to Hiccup’s chest.

You had heard his heart pounding audibly then, deep and hurried as you nuzzled -prodded at- the very edge of his clothed chest with the softest part of your forehead.

While he was busy speaking, you pressed your lips to his collarbone, running your tongue along its most extruding part, tasting at slightly salty skin with light, brushing touches.

Hiccup’s next breath was shuddery, the shifting of his hips and the flexing of the muscles in his neck as he swallowed easily exposing his interest.

You could feel his lungs expand and contract, your palm pressed flat to his back.

Your own breathing was fast as you focused hard on his face, your periphery nearly invisible to you as you met with your eyes the few moles on his right cheek, the ones by his chin and the few just next to a faint, tiny scar below his lip.

You focused on the fading freckles across the bridge of his nose, a bit harder to make out under the dim light, the neutral green of his eyes and the lines in his irises as they disappeared, consumed by slowly expanding black pupils as in that moment of rest, Hiccup was finally able to press his forehead to yours, his crinkled brows meeting your own.

With one of your hands teasing the space where shoulder blade turned to spine, tracing the heated muscle there, flexed and stressed under nearly damp skin, and the other lifting from the hem of his pants to rub his side slowly and before then moving up, hooking under his arm so you could tease the long-ish, silk-soft hairs at his nape with your fingertips- he looked utterly debauched.

And it had only been a few kisses.

Hiccup adjusted his arms, then, resting them by the elbows at your sides, his soft eyelids drooping even as his brows were raised with surprise and skepticism.

“Now would be just as good a time as any,” You rolled your vowels and spoke in flats, too occupied to keep managing any sort of accent, bending your knee and shifting it, wiggling it until it met the core of his trousers, coaxing him further.

You paused, nearly out of breath for a few reasons you couldn’t quite name, in the moment just before you could speak again, sure your voice this time would be slightly deeper, prepared to speak in honeyed tones as Hiccup dipped his head, luring a catching breath from your own wet mouth.

You were still slightly weak. You weren’t sure you could do a great deal of running, but that was just fine for everything you had planned.

You tilted your head as he did, bobbing and pressing your nape into the stiff plush of your pillow.

The hairs on the back of your neck tingled in a way that told you they’d stood, prickling just barely against the stiff pillow beneath your head.

It must have been the grief that made everything that much sweeter; and the dread, tickling at your lowermost half.

You knew that this was perhaps an unwise course of action, fondling your fiance while you were in such subtle but immediate peril, though it might have been that the inopportune moment made it feel even more right.

There was so much burning, a tingling that lay over just the topmost layer of your skin by the back of your neck, hotly testing the lobes of your ears.

You panted, exhaling with a whistle that bordered on something much more feeling, inhaling deeply as Hiccup caught your bottom lip with his teeth before and as he pulled away.

It was just a light, accidental bite made just before he himself dipped again, the relaxed flat of his tongue tracing a path across its rim, teasing the wet, slick skin of your inner mouth.

You curled into yourself slightly as you felt it drag and as he separated, which had the odd side effect of pressing you further up into Hiccup.

Testing his luck, you felt tips of his teeth grazing against your earlobe, tracing it on either side just ever so slightly with hard enamel as you buried your head in his shoulder, resisting the urge to jerk as you pulled up your hand, the one you had resting on his back.

As it rose higher, it had the unintentional consequence of tugging up his shirt.

Your hand paused only when it was able to clutch at the top of his shoulder nearly without any real grip.

His breath nearly burned against the place where the soft skin of your ear turned ever softer and slightly more pliant. You didn’t turn your head or lean too much closer in case it smelt like fish, something you’d unfortunately found late in the previous day.

He’d need a bath soon, despite his peculiarly clean state.

You smothered a slightly amused breath, managing to turn it into something low and coy instead.

The fingers of one of your hands gently traced down the skin between his last hair and the collar of his tunic, his back shuddering, before raking your nails quickly, lightly down his side.

You could tell he was startled by the loss of solid contact as your nails drifted over his back as he spent those sparse moments leaning ever so slightly towards the empty, cool space left behind.

He might have spoken just before jerking as you pulled him towards you by the seam of his pants, hooking a finger under the fabric, knuckle brushing against soft belly skin once and then twice and again as you tugged his hips down towards your own.

You didn’t relent in your tugging until he pressed down, arms shaking lightly, pelvis shifting against you, the uneven, nearly urgent, horizontal twitching of his bottom half communicating his grieving need to move and press and mill himself into yours.

You were guilty, in this instance, of building moments and petting his skin as a tribute, a solid, real imitation of a vision you’d dreamed one time or a million.

In your fevered state you’d almost seemed to have lived pyretic, soft words spoken, gripping and prodding and heated ardor as you faded in and out of consciousness.

It was poetry in sliding action, promises of always-meaning-to-haves, and yet-without-he’d-yearneds, as he’d said to you while you were stuck in a deluded, mirage-wrought, fevered haze, storybook platitudes invented by a burdened body breathing through dry lips

It made things smolder within you, riling parts that were more appropriately silenced around good company.

Your delivered, fevered apparitions were in part what had soothed you, kept you complacent below deck as you’d been pulled from illness.

You willed that they also did some measure to soothe your fiance’s internal tumult, especially as the roiling above you grew more frenetic.

Your lips parted in between silent thrusts and hurried groans, Hiccup resting some of his weight back over his elbows, breath pressing against you as he placed his forehead against your collar, panting.

“I… Never thought that- we…” He started, in a way that nearly broke the spirit of the while, like a thin spider’s web, tension added and displaced by a wary, straying finger, “I never thought that this would ever- between the two of us…”

It took you a moment to formulate a response, distracted by the stillness of your hips and the still unwaning burn in your loins.

“You would've had me no matter what,” You stated plainly, in a way you felt was fact. You spoke a bit hurriedly, eager to get back to what you’d been doing before, though you still took the time to turn his words over in your head.

You wrinkled your brows, giving him a look that you felt mirrored the fond feeling blooming in your chest, pressing a dry, chase kiss to the place on his scalp where thick hair gave the illusion of a part and where he smelt slightly of dandruff and sweat, a scent that followed you slightly back to your pillow.

“I really would have, wouldn’t I?” Hiccup asked, lifting his head so the soft, slightly oily tuft of hair bleeding over his forehead ran against your face, before pressing a searing, open-mouthed kiss to yours, pushing down into you again.

You’d intended to tease his upper lip, however you were mildly surprised as his tongue slid messily against yours.

His touch, slick with saliva, sending sparks, sharp, unbearable, needy tingles down the middle of your body, from the bright spot in your chest where they’d been born down to the softest spot of your pelvis as you jerked upwards, gasping at nearly a keen.

Your quiet moment together was quickly and startlingly interrupted by a loud, prolonged grinding noise, nearly indistinguishable from a roar, and then there was a loud scream.

Though you knew better, were now familiar with the desperate screams of the few dragons aquatic enough to be blessed with sonar.

It sent an alarm running through your body, momentarily keeping you from thinking of anything substantial, jerking with sudden movement.

Nothing had ever rung so clearly through thick, sealed timber and large crate walls in all the long hours you’d been locked down here.

The very ground below you seemed to vibrate with the force of it. In fact, it did.

You hadn’t been sure this ship could move so strongly or so suddenly, not with its size and not in this weather, certainly not nearly as violent as what you’d known traveling in far more open waters.

You had both stiffened, and quickly Hiccup pulled himself away, half scrambling to his feet, prosthetic creaking loudly, your soft grip giving under the alarm that had imbued your limbs with momentary weakness.

“I’m going to check it out,” Hiccup said firmly, voice soft and nearly as deep, eyes trained on you, gaze simple.

You returned his gaze with a nod -an accepting one- proceeding the singular push he needed to stand and the few clumsy steps that followed, starting his sure run out from your hide, knowing that his dragon would follow even without signal.

You knew that should he find something wanting, your cover would be blown. You would wait until he gave you the signal to bolt, no matter how facile you felt as a result.

Still, though, you edged towards where your large coat had been hidden. It was just by a large crate behind your cot, placed on the side furthest from the entrance, the only thing besides it in the small, glib space you slept in.

The crate was not a part of the wall but set a few feet behind you like a distant headboard, reaching just above your waist in height.

For a while, you waited in silence, your ears straining as you tried to catch some audible glint of how far Hiccup had gone.

You spent another while -a long while- in silence, unsure of which second was which, one moment blurring into two until the light tapping of steps in the distance revealed you to his position.

He sprinted back quickly, steps loud and ringing without subtlety, which you took to mean that your position had been blown.

However, the loud-quiet calling of your name in frantic whispers, audible to you only as you strained your ears, had you hesitant.

Instead of grabbing your coat as you knew you should, you took a few hurried steps towards the entrance to your hideaway, standing, waiting to greet him.

As he reemerged from the maze of heavily nailed crates, you quickly moved back so he had room to rush in.

You noticed first the new lines of sweat which had quickly budded and started to make their way down his face and the rougher muss of his hair, which you hadn’t thought was possible after your previous intense, passionate encounter.

“There’s… Trouble. Again,” He said quickly, under his breath, speaking words that ran cold in your chest. “ …Someone is releasing the dragons.”

You raised two daunted brows, startled by a loud crashing noise.

Hiccup’s breath was caught quickly by a stern, inhaled hiss and you found yourself stepping back as your fiance turned and backed into you, half intentionally leading you back, his legs crouched and an arm out by his side and in front of one of your sides guardingly.

You stumbled over the cot and in quick succession found yourself thrown back by your own weight.

The wood was cold against your legs, your bottom half not as covered as you would have preferred had you been in any regular situation.

The tight stinging sensation of having fallen back against wood beneath you resonated throughout the meat of your thighs, the sharp corners of the crate behind poking into your back in sharp lines, like a paper folded over the edge of a table, one side hanging off.

The flames of his sword flickered dangerously near the wood walls around the both of you, lighting up the small space with a fuzzy, burning orange clarity.

You had not been certain where he’d had it, if he’d held it as he’d run out or if he’d swiped it as you’d fallen and he’d pressed his back close against your middle, though from the way he’d pulled and triggered the launch of the blade, you thought that it might have been hidden under one corner of your cot.

You waited with tension for a long, long moment before, with the creeping of flat blows against wood, you watched an imposing shadow creep into the frame of the entrance to your hiding place, growing ever so larger as whatever it was grew nearer.

In front of you, it covered half of the space covered by the open doorway. And then it paused.

Hiccup’s body fully over yours, feeling hot where everything else was distressingly cold.

For a moment it was just the heavy, lung-stressed breathing of your fiance that rang out in the emptiness of the hold, highlighted by the faint sounds of battle you must have been able to hear through an open door, nothing having been so clearly heard before.

Into your awareness then arose the dull noise of scraping against wood, the sound hollow and stifled by nature, occasionally highlighted by the just-barely-there rattle of some many small things.

They, the one, whoever it was- they must have followed your fiance back.

Along another pile of crates piled just out of the exit to your hide emerged a thinner shadow, pyrrhic in form, growing and shrinking, long and frightening just before the something-large overtook it.

You saw the beast first.

It was ginormous, not completely visible past the space leading towards the outside, though you could make out muddy gray-brown over corded flesh, the color of wet sand and the other kind, the dry kind that ate limbs and pulled you downwards into the deepest bowels of an ever-pressing hole, the kind people drowned in as their lungs and eyes were filled by heavy grain, impossible pressure all around them.

It had huge horns resembling a helmet or the towering metal fronds of a crown, placed upon its square head so that it looked like some monstrous baron or a shah. They teased the deepest shades of red, seeming to ooze as it crept like blood from an untreated wound, a scab raw and festering with infection along the edges.

Its colors were washed dark in the dim light, yet you could make out an amber underneath ivory, the sap consistent shade oddly mesmerizing against your fiance’s flickering firelit sword and as a foil to the complete and utter destruction ringing from a distance.

Four wicket ivory claws, the kinds hunters sold over foreign markets, scraped at the two pillars of crates on either of its sides.

You were unsure of how many limbs it boasted, though all of them framed the form of a tall figure in front, unbelievably thin, covered in tawdry leather-wrapped armor.

A mask, painted light blue over something darker, adorned its face, eyes like sunken voids, carved deep into its skull.

Its structure was overall insectoid with two outwards-facing mandibles, different and yet in mimic of the classical, draconic representations of foe that wreaked through the archipelago like a disease.

It- the figure- was holding a staff with two hooks on either end made of bone, which must have been what scraped along the floor so petrifyingly. Like hanging spice and bunches of rotting fruit hung small, hollow, jejune bundles of what must have been bone, each small part rattling vaguely against another.

Its stance was oddly composed for a creature dressed so wildly.

Their shadow was thrown over your cautious, cowering form, pressed into the uneven side of a crate to your back, incredibly tense in the wordless silence

You voiced your cautions through wordless sounds in the back of your throat, more exhale than corded vibration.

“Stormcutter,” Hiccup said to you, under his breath, voice deep with warning meant for the intruders in front, his eyes never leaving them, arm pressed further against your middle as he held himself in front and against you, who was nearly completely covered by him.

All of your eyes remained trained stoutly on one another, a loud clash and the sound of metal on metal ringing on a scale of violent proportions sound through the empty air from above, muffled by wood.

There was yelling as the boat rocked violently, Hiccup nearly stumbling onto his side, couched as he was, elbows digging into your sides in an effort to stay pressed in front of you and to keep the blade of his sword an appropriate distance away.

That was until, from the darkness, there rose a rumbling, feral growl, seeming to come from all around, sound thrown as Toothless revealed himself behind you.

He was only discernible to you through the cracking sound of jagged dragon nail scraping against and punching through wood.

An intense buzzing precluded the casting of a sickly purple light lengthening the deepest of shadows in the cracks of the wood around you, an intense crackling emanating from where his maw must have been.

The masked warrior seemed to fall back as the Night Fury spat, his hiss deep and intense and frightening as they brought their arm up warily to shield their chest.

Your fiance’s steed at that instant embodied the myths and legends from back on his home island, an ancient wrath born from hundreds of years of fear, retribution and silent cries from the long lost to fog. Men torn to shreds and abandoned without sign as to what could have led to their demise, stirring up old dread like the feeling of ice biting and numbing at the limbs, like Vikings huddled and shivering in their cabins, cut off from anything else left living as the moonless sky ate lone men, traveling from beyond the horizon and into the treeline.

There was no true way to communicate what the Fury was without words, melted so deeply into the shadows, not without the sightless whistling in the night that was its calling card. Its background became a lost history to the estranged, a tall tale for only scared ears to hear whenever it was out of the sky.

Your attacker paused.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Hiccup nodded at the silent figure wryly. “My name's- none of your business, and that’s…”

He shrugged his shoulder back against you,

“-Don’t tell them my name,” You grumbled, nearly whispering, hands curling around the crumpled tunic sleeve covering his bicep, his shoulder digging nearly uncomfortably into your chest.

Hiccup grunted in response.

An elaborate web of deep throated clucking, the vague shifting of their staff and the pounding of its bottommost hook against the wood in tune with a few dry snaps meant that the large Stormcutter quickly turned from hostile to complacent. Still, you kept a heedful eye on it.

Your fiance coughed awkwardly, “If you could leave us alone, that would be great.”

“...We’re castaways,” You added helpfully, voice even as you narrowed your eyes.

As he spoke, the warrior’s dragon’s throat seemed to undulate, the closest thing it could have to an adam’s apple, a large muscled knot, bobbing quickly up and down, extruding and dipping under its fireproof scaling until the head of it -the beast- jerked forwards, mouth opening and grotesquely regurgitating a tall pile of fish.

A peace offering?

It seemed that the term ‘ruthless’ had been a misnomer as Toothless fell to the wood floor with a heavy beat, his drop causing the muscles in your wrists to flex and tense.

He looked at the pile cautiously, sliding past you looking skin to a large, inky shifting of scale-like darkness before sitting firmly on the floor, cooing at Hiccup with release, deciding unanimously for the two of you that the ship's attackers must not be a threat after all.

You remained stiff until your fiance himself relaxed. You'd had more faith in his judgment than a dragon easily able to be swayed by fish, which was a sort of fallacy, given your fiance himself trusted the instincts of a dragon more than any man’s, even his own.

“Alright, fine,” Your fiance groaned defeatedly, “It’s gang up on Hiccup day today, isn’t it?”

You rubbed your eyes, feeling refreshed as the crowing and chirruping of dragons filled the space around you, shaking away a deep, light yawn, the corners of your mouth stinging with feeling even as they’d tempered and your lips closed.

Shaking off the remnants of your kip, you kneeled in the grass, holding the thin, wide leaf of a fern in your hands, petals brushing against your palm. In a world full of intrigue and strife, here you found yourself more interested in the smaller things.

Between your toes, clovers peeked up at the glassy ice-covered sky, a large, geometric dome that seemed to completely encase everything, filtering in light like you’d imagined, as a kid, how fairies might glow, small and skittish and mean.

The leaves of the plants below, feeling dull yet shining with dew, were damp and tickled at your feet, feeling every so delicate and yet strong.

The feeling sent shivers up your spine, somewhat uncomfortably.

You marveled at it, at how the grass, a few measures further from you, dotted in patches around the field of three-leaved sprouts, seemed to beat, breathing and bowing in tune with everything else in the large main chamber of your fiance’s mother’s Sanctuary.

To your left churred a large yellow dragon with purple spots and an armored belly in lighter, beige tones, sharp metal-like bonemail pumping with its lungs, shoulders flexing, thick lower arms and brutally thin neck covered in scales floundering like sand beneath your feet.

Smaller, multicolored young dragons, some with obscenely large heads for their tiny bodies, waddled by on large feet, nearly too fast for you to make out; green one with orange, blunt, triangular spines, a slow, clumsy red one, eyes big and blue and sad and a much larger purple.

Far, far down below a rainbow gaggle of dragons gathered, crouched over large piles of rocks, sharing intimate touches, standing protectively over what must have been young, or perhaps eggs, which to you tended to not think made much of a difference.

A dragon was just as protective of her clutch as she was of her breathing young, though the same couldn’t be said for anything that hadn’t yet been laid.

From hidden observation, you knew a carrying dragon showed no worry or abandon, fighting and hunting just as actively as any other, though there seemed to be no fighting here.

Still, in that instant you yearned for your spyglass.

You smiled slyly.

The black, saddle-less, featureless form of a dragon bobbing and bowing, swiping playfully at another twice his size, a ginormous dragon with gray skin and imposing red horns in the shape of a ram, so wide and thick they nearly covered its eyes.

It seemed quite annoyed, large bulky feet pounding against first soundlessly from where you stood, large maw bobbing open and closed as if to preclude a roar though none ever came.

You peered around again, the feeling of it filled you with joy as you looked over the array of dragons playing together in the lush greenery of the sanctuary by the main pool, large and deep, which you knew funneled into the ocean.

You were an ant compared to the huge, towering pillars of ice surrounding you. The thin leather draped across your body shifted with you, blowing and moving with a breeze drifting swiftly in from your left, where lay the eye-squinting-ly bright entrance into the giant ice fortress, shining like a sun to your simple light-unadjusted gaze.

You were one of many things here. A singular being, a blade of grass, a heartbeat, one of many limbs, each united by simple needs.

Eventually, when you found it important, and the feeling of damp clover between your toes and against the soles of your feet grew to be too much, you bent slowly, lazily grabbing for your staff, nearly hidden under a canopy of greens.

Its bone hook was ribbed on the inside of its curve, shaped like a hook, both glossy and matte in patches, one of your Fiance’s mother’s old pairs. It had naught but a small bone blade on the other end, a spike you’d found useful in picking apart ice, when you’d been allowed.

You’d gotten no glimpse of the great king ice beast with which you’d felt so connected, but that was just fine. Swept away by your emotions, you felt that in this moment all things had happened as they’d been meant to.

You brushed the hook of it across the grass floor of the sanctuary and scanned the bright green bedding of the cold earth below, searching and yet not at the same time, heart open to the wonder and marvel of the scenery around you.

Your hurriedly padded across the landing, running towards smooth, uneven basalt flooring over worse-feeling moss, uncomfortably fuzz and grabbing and clumped in what you thought to be the worst way, slowing down just in time to step calmly onto stone, the wetness clinging to your soles posing a slight danger now that you were on smooth ground.

You expired, rotating your shoulders in an effort to be rid of your jitters and began your walk towards the geometric columns forming the entrance to your temporary cove-resting-spot.

It was not unlike a large, open cavern hole, an uneven maw lined by even more columns. Hanging vines and moss provided a measure of privacy, acting as some semblance of a curtain.

Though some leaves and other plant bits clung to your feet, you kept at an even pace, perhaps to protect what dignity you had left, mussed and undone as you were as you approached your fiance. You knew that as you stepped over dry land they would fall off as sand did when you moved from beach to inner island.

You scrubbed your feet lightly against stone, hoping to get rid of the last of the unsavory bits clinging to your heels and your left big toe before you pushed aside living curtains.

The knuckle side of your free hand pushed against spindly vines. You were careful not to make too much noise as you padded across the darker space.

It was a cave unlike the one your fiance's mother stayed in, surrounded and protected by hard ice.

Yours had been built by stone and garbed in a moss blanket, ferns and vegetation growing out the cracks between rocks like weeds

There was not a lot of light inside, mostly due to the lack of windows.

It was an area that was much larger than you’d needed, equally as green as the largest connected chamber yet covered more so by moss than anything else.

A small, trickling fall lay at one end, on the side in the back to the left of where you had set your things, pouring from a small hole in a column that was much higher than, most likely, you and Hiccup stacked vertically together.

The stream that flowed beneath it, thin and following a path carved by ancient waters, trickled into a smaller opening in the wall, too small for you to even get a glimpse into the inside even best over on your knees.

Along the rugged wall lining the left side of the cave was where you’d lain your chest.

Your fiance was much too worried to bring any of your things from the ice enclave into the hunter’s ship- he could not manage a chest with you nearly dead from cold- but his mother had been generous enough to find it with direction and quickly carry it back to your dwelling.

Of course she had done it hastefully, as travel was much quicker on the backs of dragons, though you couldn’t help but to watch her as she moved around the two of you, circling like an anxious animal, appeasing and peculiar.

You wondered if that was her way of trying to ameliorate, to compensate for the time she had given up with her son and to earn a small amount of favor from you, his fiance and future spouse.

She seemed, also, incredibly cautious of you and oddly protective of Toothless, who she’d had no prior relationship with, as if you might pose a threat to her sanctuary. It had risen a scale of uneasiness in Hiccup that made their interactions seem distant.

It wasn’t something that worried you. How you took in your fiance’s mother all depended on him. You had no particularly strong feelings on the matter, so at one point you decided you would follow his lead, whatever he chose, until she gave you a reason not to.

If you’d wanted to leave and the two of you had been on good terms, a cheap fare should be enough to get you to Berk, if she flew you far enough. You’d be able to get leather to repair Toothless’ tailfin at almost any port.

Before you lay a new pile of beddings, equally thin as the ones you’d laid with in the bay of the dragon trapper’s ship though this pile was much more comfortable.

Hiccup was still laying under his covers. He was an early riser, though not as early a riser as you, who had also slept deep and stayed under the covers much longer than your internal clock would usually allow.

The only thing covered by a blanket was his waist, though his limbs were thrown about in a way that obscured his face, his body facing his right, legs bent, one pulled in front of the other, an arm thrown across his jaw so that you could see nothing but mussed auburn.

It was out of character for your fiance, who you’d come to know as a still sleeper. The exhaustion and all of the excitement must have affected him deeply, down to the very bone.

His position was slightly different to the one you’d left him in, facing the ceiling though no less spread. It was definitely possible you had woken him up for a moment, or nary even but still long enough to shift, as you’d gone out to take some fresh air, leaving a rustled quilt in your wake, blankets folded over in odd places as you’d thrown them aside.

You strode quietly up to his side. It was the one closest to the edge of his side of the bedding, with his prosthetic sitting simply parallel to the place softer blanket melted into stone, which you could navigate to easiest before carefully stepping over him with one foot.

You hummed lightly again, wordlessly and stood over him, watching him twitch and earring the low grumble of a sleepy grown in his voice as he turned onto his back.

His eyes opened just a sliver, stuck with sleep and limited in motion by the hair that threatened to tickle his lids if he moved too suddenly, before gently, slowly closing again.

“My dear future spouse,” You hummed as you lowered yourself over him, bending your knees until they rested against layered blankets.

Then you slid the rest of you across his body, stilling and resting your weight mostly against his lower middle and leaned forward, pressing your hands over the blankets on both sides of his neck.

After a moment of nothing, you bowed further, mirroring the actions Hiccup had taken just the last day and settling on your elbows.

You let your fingers graze along Hiccup’s cheek, touching him just barely by the tip of your nail, watching the muscles in his jaw stiffen and his eyelids clench lightly as you purposely pressed fully to his chest with your own.

You pulled him away from his feigned sleep with ease, catching relaxed lips by a simple kiss, pulling back and going back for seconds, running your tongue along the inside of his lips just barely and feeling as they finally tensed and pressed back.

When you parted, he chased you up, neck craning to follow as you stayed just barely out of his reach.

His thighs didn’t brace behind you the way they needed to keep him up, which you could feel from your place over his crotch, legs pressed to his sides, which meant that Hiccup dropped back onto your cot with a grunt, unprepared to lift himself up.

He clearly didn’t expect you to pull back so far.

You shifted over his lap again, leaning down again.

He followed you up this time, lured like a fish on a hook, his right hand bracing against the ground behind him, another coming up to weave its way to the back of your head.

After another moment, pulled his right hand from your head and laid it lightly on your thigh in a way that allowed his thumb to feel as if it were just barely tickling the inside of it.

You felt at the soft press of open lips, his chapped in places, mouths rolling against each other as his thumb twitched, feeling as if it was nearly sparking against skin.

As you distributed most of your weight onto your knees, you rotated your hips over his groin in a balmy manner, feeling his hand spasm against your thigh.

Hiccup bucked up slightly, grunting.

“...Am I dreaming?” Hiccup blinked groggily as you parted, your hand by his jaw, the tips of your fingers threaded into russet hair gently guiding his face back.

His voice was slightly husky, clumsy with grogginess, still-dazed eyes quite obviously conveying his confusion yet also showing no real hesitance.

“Your dragon’s causing trouble again,” You said, voice tinged with pleasure, “You’d better get him soon.”

Hiccup groaned, letting himself fall back down with a thick puff, “What does he want?”

“That is for you to figure out,” You spoke with a light laugh, light.

Hiccup shifted into a more comfortable sitting position as you stood up and stepped back over onto stone, shaking off the strain in your legs.

You huffed with amusement, chuckling lowly as Hiccup nearly stumbled, forgetting to pull on his prosthetic as he tried to haul himself up.

You nudged it towards him with your foot.

“Let me get ready,” Hiccup grumbled sourly.

“Don’t forget to send for your father,” You sang, “There’s a lot the few of you need to discuss… And much for you to make up for.”

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #gender neutral reader #fem reader

234 notes · View notes