oncewhenalongtimeago
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httyd x reader fanfiction
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Blue sunrise on the Oregon Coast
To those wondering, it is a sunrise! 7am. The light you see is a crabbing boat
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The Jealous One pt 11
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 1,895
The Great Hall is blissfully empty.
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE
<Previous -
You grasped the sides of your tray, staring at the sad, shallow bowl by your pitiful excuse for a bread lump, stale, and an empty mug of nothing.
The Great Hall around you was much less lively than usual, especially for the time.
As the agreed-upon date approached, all pretenses had been dropped and everyone had been crashing early, having put their heart and soul into preparations, and the mealtime crowds ended up poorer for it, though you found no qualms with that.
The food, too, was poorer than usual. That was one thing you did find qualms with- the stew was thin and meat in smaller pieces, which, of course, made it a slight bit easier to get to the soup before anything else, to drink from the side of the bowl or scoop out food bits with your spoon, but it left your stomach half-empty.
The large hall doors creaked ominously, the flow of Vikings coming in and out slow and carried Great pause yet the greater dining space remained empty.
You stood in front of a long table on top of which there lay food, unattended as it usually would not be, not noticing as someone peculiar wandered into the hall behind the rest, an irrelevant action paired to a relevant person.
You did notice fingers brushing against the inside of the crook of your arm, causing your head to swivel.
You blinked owlishly, stuck between a greeting and warm cheekbones, unsurprised to see who had garnered your attention.
“Hello,” You said in a tone even you couldn’t decipher, toeing the lines between pleasant, cheerful and ambiguous.
Hiccup stood before you with tired eyes, his hand still half-extended before in a moment choosing to step forwards into your space, bridging the gap between appropriate, friendly and cherished all at once.
As of late, it had seemed Hiccup had been given much more responsibility than usual, though despite the fact that he was busy with festival prep, he still always found the time to say hello to you, which you’d found to be a mild comfort despite yourself.
You had found a few moments to hang out with Snotlout and the Twins separately, though those instances were much less frequent with the bustle and their shackles to their own unwilling responsibilities. You had seen the Twins dragged away by the ear on more than one occasion during the most recent times.
“My Dad is finally back,” He said plainly, in lieu of anything else, though you could tell by his tone and the way his eyes darted to the side that he hadn’t much cared to say that at all.
“Bummer,” You smiled slightly, though you were sure your cinched brows conveyed some of your nervousness.
Hiccup smiled something back, soft and wry, lips tight.
You couldn’t help but imagine a thick layer of flour across his jaw and spotting the underside of his mop of hair, dough along one side of his mouth- you remembered exactly what it tasted like with a slightly rough set of fingers on your cheek, guiding you as he tilted his own head, something fiery rocking in your guts at the simple touch.
You eyed one of the smaller tables, way off to the side where the lighting was poorer and the hall was colder- a place you found smidge more comfortable than any other.
“So…” You started after a long moment of silence, “Are you hungry?”
Hiccup blinked, then grimaced, “Not really? I just, ah…”
“Came to mingle?” You raised a brow.
“Yeah.” Hiccup said, grimacing harder, shifting in a way that brought him closer to you.
You shifted your shoulders and adjusted your stance, staring Hiccup straight in the face, ignoring the fluster that was building in your chest and along the skin of your face, “Okay. You’ve been mingled.”
“...I’ve been mingled,” Hiccup said dryly.
“Yes, now go,” You snuffed, “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Hiccup slouched slightly, looking at you blankly, “When would that be?”
You ignored him, nearly grumbling, “Did I apologize for ditching you yet? I didn’t ditch you on purpose. I did try and get to you later.”
“You should have,” Hiccup protested, leaning slightly to the side. You looked into his eyes from this new angle. “On purpose, I mean. Even after, I…”
“What?” You spoke as his fingers teased your wrist, his forehead dangerously close to yours, “I don’t think- I said it’s fine, so you should just… drop it.”
“I don’t want to drop it,” Hiccup said, furrowing his brows, “Especially since- …”
You felt as if you had been put on center stage, though you weren’t quite sure which script you were supposed to be using.
“Really, it doesn’t matter,” You grumbled. You shifted your tray into one hand, and from then on it became a precarious thing, its balance uneven, but it made it easier for you to wave him off before jabbing him in the side. “I really do forgive you. You don’t- I mean, I’d- Really, after…”
You weren’t sure, truly, what Hiccup had meant by- that. Pressed lips, all the exercising and apologizing and testing the grounds of your… Whatever this was. You weren’t sure- not of anything, not of whether it had cleared the weary air between the two of you or if it had made it much more smoggy.
You weren’t sure whether to be more mad at him or less, though you didn’t have the heart to figure it out.
You winced slightly, your fingers stubbing against tight leather and buckle, though you didn’t so much as make a peep about it.
“I- Ouch,” Hiccup said, before offering you his hand and eyeing the small table your eyes had left just a moment prior, his thumb running cautious lines up and down the back of one of your hands, “Well, fine, then. If… If you really mean it this time, then ...Do you want to come back to the table with me?”
Around you, the murmur conversation grew slightly from nothing to a small uptaking mumble as a group of late-arrivals poured in through the hall doors.
“No,” You held up your mug, feeling both disconcerted and shy as you teased his covered collarbone with your eyes, wondering what in the world you two were to each other, “I still need to…”
“That’s fine,” Hiccup relaxed, stepping backwards, “How about we go… Get a refill? Then make our way back later?”
“‘We’?” You asked suspiciously, your shoulder bumping into his.
The rabble was slightly quieter than it was before, boiling at a nice, spoken murmur, dotted occasionally by the sound of shouting.
“Fine,” You shook your head yet when he moved, you moved to walk side-by-side.
You held your mug to your lips, looking sideways from the corner of your eyes at Hiccup as your pinkies nearly touched.
You had your feet braced against the side of a bench, the two of you sitting on top of one of the tables in the Great Hall. Most of the riders -sans Astrid, though you knew she was bound to follow- were gathered around, you and Hiccup being only a part of the ring of teens closing off the space between two narrow bench isles.
Hiccup laughed nervously, maybe a bit too loud at something the others said, Adam's apple bobbing recklessly.
It wasn’t so bad, spending time with Hiccup again.
You had to wrinkle your nose as Snotlout said something sour about Agnarr, who was off in the corner trying to start an ill-fated tussle with Phlegma, who most likely had much better things to be doing than fighting with him.
You and Hiccup used to do the same thing together, once- not the tussling, but the snide remark-ing.
You had to wonder, at one point, if he’d been judging you like you’d poked fun at drunk Vikings in the hall, fighting and rough around the eyes. You didn’t like being the punchline.
You furrowed your brows and looked away as something warm and familiar roiled in your gut, offset by your feelings of mild frustration and flush, mind stuck on dry lips and meaningful, flat presses.
The hall had filled, eventually, with late arrivals and so, now, you’d found it full, and the peaceful, quiet, unsure time you had spent by Hiccup had been gradually interrupted.
The hall cleared slightly as someone shouted from a few tables down, the loud clattering of dishes and the loud smacking sound of fist on flesh signaling the beginning of another fight.
You’d slip away later, when he wasn’t paying you as much attention.
You were perhaps a bit less cautious than you should have been, the stone planks below still wet from an earlier rain as you stepped forwards.
You came to a slow stop on one of the steps to the hall as you heard someone call your name and the slow groan of the Great Hall doors as they were pulled open and then shut again.
“Where are you going?”
He held your hands imploringly, fingers grasping around the backs of your knuckled, holding them so your palms faced upwards..
“Are you alright?” You asked him, still not looking him in the eye.
As far as you knew, Hiccup had also made an effort to avoid the trouble, keeping to the sides of the hall and out of the way of flying fists.
“I’m tired,” He admitted, “A little- a little bit-”
His voice broke off into a yawn. It was clumsy, and awkward, and the tone of his voice just felt a bit out of place.
It was sort of cute.
Your eyes widened slightly, his forehead touched yours as he settled, blinking drowsily, before lifting his head.
You felt his chin brush against your forehead and, briefly, his breath, warm compared to the cool night air, against your face. You became familiar with what wasn’t visible in the light of day, a small dusting of slightly rosy skin, where peachy hairs sprouted.
“But... No, I mean- We, well, for fun, we haven’t- since…” Hiccup suggested slowly.
You were painfully reminded of your hands held in his and you shut your eyes tightly.
Heat burned up your back like a flush on your cheeks, hot and prickling, beseeching you to take notice, to note it down for later turning over. It felt to you like a Nadder flexing its spines, or a Skrill, lightning dancing up its back the way Hiccup recounted to you after the whole defrosting debacle.
“...” You tried to speak, opening your mouth reluctantly, not looking at him. But you softened just a little bit, on the inside.
“Yeah,” You said, shrugging. “...Yeah.”
The double meaning, to you, was obvious.
“It’s okay. I…” Hiccup started, “I-...”
You bumped him in the shoulder with your own, “Yeah.”
“How about we try this again? Meet here… Tomorrow,” Hiccup suggested, gnarly mumbling, “Or-or somewhere else. Make up for lost time? I know there’s a nice place on the other side of the mountain, where the hills-craigs… It’s nice there. I think you know it. Or… Would you like to go to the festival with me?”
Then you looked at him, eyes peering out from under your eyelashes, head tilted down in a way that made it difficult not to do so, “I guess that would be fine.”
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader
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#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#toothless
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The Jealous One pt 10
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 4,344
You really don’t know how to make bread. Hiccup doesn't know how, either.
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited
<Previous - Next>
Oh hel.
You stared down at the crumpled and half-covered plants by your feet sitting just at the base of a sheer rock wall, grimacing deeply at the wilted stems and leaves. Not a single sprout looked at all viable.
You bemoaned the thought that it might have been your fault that they ended up in such a manner- mud fights weren’t exactly conducive to healthy plants, nor were mudslides, which happened on Berk with a higher frequency than you thought they should, and the way it looked, the plants had been picked much too thin to make any kind of recovery- under normal circumstances, they should have been able to avoid any measurable damage- one or two mudballs, especially, but they looked sort of miserable, actually.
You wondered who had been picking them dry.
You sighed, feeling the full force of the sun on your back. You were sure you’d have to take responsibility, though you’d love if not another soul knew about your involvement. You could try and fix it up on your own, but-
You processed the vague sound of crunching mud- and after being so suddenly pulled from your musings, you nearly startled.
There went that idea.
You looked to your side with wide, uncomfortable eyes to greet another pair of slumped shoulders and startled eyes.
There stood Hiccup in his casual clothes, old green tunic pulled from what was most likely a deep crevasse in the piles of his room’s junk hidden under his work desk and his bed.
“I, ah-” Hiccup started, his voice slightly more nasal than usual, “Had nothing to do with that.”
You grimaced harder, turning fully to face him.
“I think I’ve been- I’ve been picking them dry.” Hiccup said, shuffling to match you, his palm grazing his elbow before coming up to brush the hair on his forehead, running it down the back of his head until it nearly reached his neck, “My leg- It gets worse when I’m, ah- …”
You glowered at him as he dropped his arm. You hoped your eyes were conveying your displeasure- culprit.
“It’s not exactly… Comfortable.”
He started shuffling and winced.
You could see the point at which he considered shifting again but decided better of it.
“You need to add more padding.” You said, brows furrowed evenly.
You knew he already had some padding in his pant leg, sewn to fit his stub, but you’d always thought he might need more in the socket of his prosthetic. You’d never said anything aloud, though- he, like you, could be quite stubborn and blind, especially when he was proud, which he was very often when it came to the things he’d built.
His original prosthetic was made by Gobber, though it was inspired heavily by Hiccup, which was something to be proud of, and Hiccup had had a hand in its care, of course, and had plans to add a few tweaks of his own.
“You think?” Hiccup asked sarcastically, looking at you with a grimace of his own. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carve in enough of a bed to keep any real padding- It’s going to shatter on me the next time I take a knife to it.”
“Yes.” You said, hoping he got blisters.
A brown-haired woman stormed past the porch on which you stood, wooden steps before you, rant wildly, though you could tell she was more impassioned by the wild mood than truly mad, "-I’d rather eat out home than be up at the hall, not with the bread- Have you noticed the difference? Audacious-brazen- the nerve-!”
You looked down at the bowl in your hands, covered by a rough, clean cloth, glowering at the poor excuse for a lump of dough you knew was cradled within it as you stood by the side between two buildings in Berk’s village center, waiting for Thora to return, listening albeit unwillingly to the rabble of the folks surrounding you.
You had been making a lot of bowls of dough recently.
It was unusually cheery out and even more bustling than usual- nearly everyone was out with a smile, though you found you weren’t so interested.
“-Aye, I ‘ave got a nice cutting of wood, if you find any interest– it’s good fer ‘em leg-making- and arm fixin,’ of ‘ourse, if yer fixing to make another, and I’m sure ye’d be needin’ some of ‘at soon.” You watched Johannes proposition Gobber out of the corner of your eye, who was clearly not paying him any attention, waving him off as he sipped out of his ‘cup’ arm- a mug with a handle stuck in it carved in the shape of a peg, easy to fit into his prosthetic’s screw hole.
Across the way, Johannes had a shallow cart of what looked to be just-recently-sanded strips of wood, thin and polite looking.
You furrowed your brows, wishing you were anywhere but there as he droned on- It was a rare day whenever anyone was unable to sell on Berk -a miracle, really- for Gobber was an easy buyer.
A tall red-headed woman burst past you, storming down the dock, hauling a large cart of barrels behind her like a field animal, “-Streams of cloth-!”
He thought himself wise and clever, but the old blacksmith was perhaps the most susceptible on the island to the advertisement of any decent material. He had a chest full of useless materials, though he often ended up doing at least something with most trinkets.
You shuffled, boot soles scuffing against the wood below, hoping that your dough was enough to land you a job in the Great Hall- they were so picky up there, really, the old maids- though you had to admit your culinary skills were quite poor.
You resisted the urge to rub the back of your head, recounting, ruminating and stewing your most recent run-in with Hoark’s wife.
She was the resentful type, one of the ones who had been pestering you and Snotlout with chores, not that he hadn’t deserved any of the pestering, but- Oh, you’d surely told her that if they wanted you to do any more you’d have to be paid. She’d respond by tossing a bowl towards your head, scolding you with something about public service and the Chief and dragons.
You shot something sour back about never having been a Rider- and, well, you’d gotten a bowl to the head for your efforts.
Exhaustion- you were up to your ankles in it.
Your arms worked hard into the pristine wooden counter, pushing and rolling dough over ground grains in the open hall of one of Berk’s newest buildings- you weren’t sure anyone had settled in yet, and that was just as well.
As you’d recently learned, with the lack of a proper kitchen in the Great Hall- it was poor, really, they’d set up shop here for the time being. You wondered when it would finally be declared a community building like the library had been, something which you’d taken a lot of joy in.
It was about time, really, and it was awful nice not to have to ask around for books or notes anymore, though some of them had the tendency to go missing, and without any real book-watcher to keep an eye out, many missing slips went unaccounted for.
You rolled the dough below your hands- dark and grainy- extra hard into the wood, a dark brown, smoother than any other table you’d known, sanded and sealed in a way that made it harder for any dough-bits to get stuck in the cracks and rot-.
You prayed to any God that would listen that Thora would be impressed with it this time- cooking was one of the least indulged-in activities on Berk and was not one you were particularly well-practiced in. It was one of your least favorite activities, in fact, but you needed the job if you were going to buy back the plants before anyone had noticed them missing and kicked up a fuss.
As you’d learned through careful reading, some of them you could only get from Johann and you knew for sure that that old liar played favorites.
It was a shame you couldn’t get coin any other way, but most things had been accounted for and you’d been stoutly refused pay for most of your chores.
You listened to the voices dancing and mingling from the open window, the wide open space and propped open doorway making you feel quite naked even separated by wooden walls from the outside.
You nearly scowled as you heard the voice of a woman, a portly blonde -very pretty but also frazzled- and you heard the vague idea of some other voice as hers mingled with something deeper.
You wished you were making stew instead. You could handle an alright stew. Snotlout would like your stew… If you didn’t tell him you were the one who made it.
You cursed the dough for the highest time that day.
Really, You had asked around and now you were starting to suspect that the dough-making test had been a torture that Thora had cooked up just for you.
You wanted to scowl again as you heard the noise of a crowd approaching the doorway once again, though you released it slightly as they bustled past.
You were slightly displeased as a straggler separated from the bunch. You caught him out of the corner of your eye as he stumbled over wood, a pleasant expression over his face as he looked back, the cheering of Gobber now loud and obvious past the door frame, growing quieter as he walked away.
You’d been running into him a lot as of late.
“What’s going on out there?” You asked, before he could speak. “It sounds like everyone’s out throwing a party. It’s not Snoggletog, is it?”
You turned your attention away from the bread
“...Something like that,” Hiccup said dryly. “Pre-festival.”
“Really?” You braced your hands against the edge of the table, the wood below creaking as you leaned over it.
You stuck your tongue out slightly, furrowing your brows at its sealed surface.
Despite its newness, it was a very poor counter; craftsmen had been, clearly, ignorant in the art of table-leg making, its sides slightly unbalanced and nailed into the floor. Compared to anything else you’d be able to find anywhere, it was probably one of the worst tables ever.
The other islands told you so- or, their trades, really. Berk’s carpenters could be considered novice in comparison- the exploration of anything other than fighting was... A privilege the inhabitants of Berk had only been recently afforded.
You wondered how the youngest children on Berk felt, having been able to grow up in a world without dragon fighting.
You’d always wondered as a kid, on war-torn Berk, how the other settlements had even been able to make something so smooth or beautiful.
The quality of the simple chairs and tables Johann had brought over on the very rare occasion had seemed otherworldly and had been sold fast- to be fair, though, it would probably be much easier for anyone to achieve that same level of quality in craft in any place with fewer conflicts.
You cringed as another loud shout echoed in from the outside, where the sun from the window felt nearly burning against your eyes.
“Here, let me-” Hiccup pressed the house’s shutters closed before going back to close the door, kicking away the stopper with his foot.
You felt every muscle in your body release as the noise from outside became more muted, looking down at your dough with new eyes.
It looked dark and slightly green, deflated like a sad, dry booger.
…It might have been overworked. You were no expert, though.
“I’m going to have to make a new batch.” You grumbled.
Hiccup shrugged, coming around the side of the counter, “...It looks fine to me?”
You didn’t even mind as he edged closer, too busy mulling over your failed batch.
“Are the others nearby?” You asked.
They hadn’t been around recently, so of course you’d assumed they’d been off doing Rider-ly things with their leader. The suckers had ditched you pretty quickly after the mud fight and you hadn't had the chance to mingle with or chase after and wrestle down the others recently, either, as they’d probably wanted you to do- though you knew they’d wander back eventually.
“...They’re up at the hall, probably, if you want to meet up with them. They’re managing the decorations, I think.” Hiccup said.
You hadn’t been around, looking around for work, nagging the Vikings that strayed from the late meal. Berk’s hardest workers always skipped it, staying out way past the setting of the sun- they were usually the ones who needed assistance but were too stubborn to ask for it. They also tended to be fond of their alone time, too disconnected from Berk’s larger circle to absorb any of the most recent news- when you were younger, you’d imagined you might end up like one of them.
“Decorations?” You asked dryly. You wouldn’t put the Twins in front of a yak, much less in charge of any decorating.
You were sure that hall would look unholy by the time you were able to see it again.
“Yeah,” HIccup said. His hair was slightly mussed and once again darkened, so he must have spent some more time in the forge, then. “You…?”
“Thora,” You grumbled, “She’s got me kneading bread all day, though I have no idea why.“
You turned his words over in your head again, then you perked up with confusion and slight skepticism, “You said something about a pre-festival?”
“Ah, yeah.” Hiccup said before he asked cautiously, “She’s… trying to hire you, isn’t she?”
“That’s what she told me.” You grumbled, before sighing with defeat, letting your hands drop from the counter and giving way as your shoulders slumped, “She’s been lying to me, though, hasn’t she?”
You stepped back from the corner and looked up finally, just in time to catch as Hiccup’s eyes darted from your feet back to your face.
The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you begrudgingly took him in, back in his leathers, which looked almost polished, his underclothes darned and hair groomed if not clean, which looked almost unusual compared to his now-usual windswept look.
Though you had been making efforts to keep your mind off of it, then you were startlingly aware of his close proximity, taking careful, quick, unwilling measures of it in your mind, pulling details and etching them into permanent stone tablets and storing them away on dark-toned, foreign shelves.
You hadn’t had much time to get used to him again after your last real encounter.
The hug you shared- well, it had been, admittedly, private. It was a simple hug, though you loathed to share the experience with anyone else.
Hiccup pursed his lips, which was all you needed to know you’d been right. “She’s been… more focused on other things, so… Yeah.”
You grimaced, glancing away and nearly running a sticky hand over your head, before thinking better of it.
…Great. You’d been roped into more unpaid labor.
Hiccup looked at you oddly again.
You recalled something you’d heard earlier, and if he was right, then she was giving out your misshapen bread at the hall- maybe that was why. It was a mystery solved on his end.
You were probably not going to settle for a job at the hall, then, or risk the wrath of any others. You had to say that most of the bread that you tasted in the hall was poor. Unfortunately, though, you knew yours was worse.
“I don’t know how to make bread.” You confessed, glaring at the sacks of grains littering the corner of the hut and the sparse few bags slumped against the side of the counter table, melding to where table-leg-wall met wood flooring. “I don’t like making bread.”
You had half a mind to kick the sack, but you knew from experience that your toe would surely be stubbed, so you glared at the sizable boot-shaped indent in its side instead.
“...Does anyone like making bread?”
You turned your glare towards Hiccup, before reminding him, “Festival.”
You were sure at this point you’d age early, with how often you’d been straining your brows.
“There’s going to be one,” You stated more than asked.
“I-Ah, yeah.” Hiccup brought up his hand to rub at his chin, furrowing his brows, “I didn’t really- plan it, but, well, I think my Dad-Well, he sent a letter, and Gobber got ahold of it, and someone looked it over- there was something about expecting a warm welcome back, and harvest is soon, so-”
“Really?” You hummed, thinking.
Unlike your other Viking kin, holidays were few and far between- you had only two, Thorsday Thursday and Snoggletog, though you were sure you’d heard talk of more in the most recent years- wishful thinking, for the most part, but if it was true, and the people had been decided arbitrarily and not that it was time to celebrate, then you were sure there would be tons more to come.
“Right,” Hiccup said, crossing his arms and shrugging. “...Do you need any help?”
You gave him a look that you knew would encompass all of your skepticism at once, something you knew would say, ‘are you serious?’
It was… Maybe a bit too obvious that you did, however, you did have your reservations. Hiccup wasn’t a great cook at all- he could manage a very, very simple meal but you knew he always relied on the Hall’s meals to get by, and he was far from a baker.
At his responding second shrug you sighed and rolled your head back. Fine.
“C’mere,” You said, shuffling slightly to the side.
Awkwardly, Hiccup moved right up next to you- he didn’t take the side you’d expected, which startled you some, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.
A glance back at Hiccup’s face told you he regretted it too, his expression stiff and his shoulders too, awkward as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“What? So I…” Hiccup reached past you, his arm brushing against yours as he touched the dough.
It would have been so easy for him to turn the rest of the way and press himself against your back- You sighed nearly shakily, pulling the dough in two, your arms jerking as the tough dough snapped in half. “I wouldn’t know.”
You handed the smaller half to him, then grimaced at it mournfully. “It’s too hard.”
“Is there… What do I do next?” Hiccup asked.
You grimaced. You’d run out of milk and other grains- most of the bags you had left were just oat and wheat. “More water and dough- that is all I’ve got.”
“Hmm,” Hiccup grimaced back. “Where’s the…”
You nudged the sack leaning closest to you with your foot, grains shifting stiffly as your boot made contact with the rough sack. You were careful not to jostle it too hard- though it was mostly limp, leaning against the floor and flat wooden table-wall, you’d cut it open by the top, and you knew one hard knock would be enough to cause whatever was left inside to spill across the floor.
“The water’s-...” You looked off to the side, craning your neck where, to your left, an array of spoons and bowls lay neatly mounted on one wall, a small, polite bucket of boiled water, nearly empty, sitting below it all, with what you knew was a wooden bowl floating inside, right where you’d left it. “I’ll get the water.”
You let out a short puff of air before walking around Hiccup and going for a bucket.
You paid no mind to him as you’d bent down and peered into it, where your shallow bowl had flipped upside down somehow and the wood had gone from a dry dark to an even darker, water-soaked, nearly jet-black.
Behind you, Hiccup grunted.
You heard a small thump and heard what sounded like fabric shifting- he was kneading the dough, then, you assumed- possibly. He was most probably unclean, yet your dough was trash dough anyways, so perhaps it was for the best.
You grabbed ahold of your bowl with a sigh, flipping it over with your fingers and scooping up a decent measure of water, holding it carefully yet casually in one hand as you stood up and turned back towards Hiccup who had, while you were not paying attention, grabbed ahold of your sack of flour.
Somehow he’d turned it upside down, the flap holding the sack closed slowly unfolding itself, the beginnings of a muffle rushing building, not unlike the sound sand made as it poured out from between your fingers.
“Wait, I-” You startled, stepping forwards and dropping the bowl, which fell to the ground with a clatter and a splash.
Before you could reach out in full, Hiccup’s shaking yet tight grip on the sack meant that with all the force of a Nightmare, a pile of flour exploded over both the floor and your dough piece, resting miserably and floppily over the counter.
Your eyes fluttered open with astonishment, the shifting of the skin over your face feeling thicker as you opened your mouth, a heavy cover of flour laying across it.
You blinked down hurriedly, tugging at your tunic and staring at the heavy layer of nearly edible silt along your front. As it thickened under water- well, it would be the worst trouble to clean.
Besides you, Hiccup coughed, eyes clenched shut, the flour’s sack mostly empty and lying abandoned against new wooden floors- you hope they’d already been sealed. They should have been, but there were a few lazy folk and you knew you’d be feeling standoffish if, well, they hadn’t been.
You let your arms fall limp as you glared at the large pile over the countertop, a building ticking feeling growing in your throat.
Once he settled, you glanced at Hiccup, a sour look on your face, then you glanced away, stubbornly flicking some flour over towards him with two fingers.
“This is your fault,” You said stubbornly, denying your own clumsy lack of foresight and tossing Hiccup into the spotlight.
“What- hey,” Hiccup began before you yourself began to cough.
You puffed, and right after a cloud of white and beige grain bloomed into the air and sank with the slowest abandon onto the already thickly covered countertop.
Maybe it was the poor timing, or the comical, nearly hysterical silence which followed, or maybe it was perhaps a sudden reaction and refusal to accept what had happened and to perhaps smother any awkward tension with laughter, but you’d had to clenched your lips shut then, stifling a sudden onslaught of laugher, something choking and joyful-ugly in your throat- sharp as if you’d just seen one of the Twins tipped by a Yak instead of vice versa or you’d heard a Terror spill a bucket of fish over someone else’s yet, and yet this felt much lighter.
In the silence you’d left behind, it was Hiccup who laughed, an awkward, unsure thing, flour splattered across his face like dry dirt.
You had to snort then, shoulders jerking, a hand coming up to your nose to wipe away the grainy powder there and staying there as the joy wracking your frame grew to be too much, causing you to nearly keel over.
You stumbled forward, almost tripping over onto Hiccup, your bent head knocking into his shoulder, his hands coming to grip your sides as he struggled to stay standing.
“Sor-sorry,” You said, your hands coming to grasp at his upper arms, your fingers curling around them as you lifted your head and smiled at him.
“I-I,” Hiccup started.
You weren’t sure you’d even had a moment with anyone that was so simple and sweet. Not even with Hiccup, when you were younger, snider and sillier.
He didn’t stop like you assumed he would, leaning closer and closer- your eyes were wide, so much so they felt almost watery as he leaned in, noses nearly knocking, blessing you with a stiff press, thin lips meeting yours with simple heat and hard intention.
Oh Hel.
You made a small noise in the back of your throat as he pulled back, your face blank but still reeling from the last press of lips, your hands flat against his arms instead of curled around them.
You were there and not, feeling strongly the heat of Hiccup’s palm nearing your back yet practically soaking in the wooden-ness of your limbs.
“I-I,” You tried, glancing to the side, then back at Hiccup, scrambling for even a thought, something to say- instead you just leaned closer, his breath curling at your lips, shaking.
“Do you…?” Hiccup tried, his head tilting slightly more to the side as he too leaned again, his eyes falling slightly lidded, mouth hanging slightly open and his lungs beat with heavy breath and heart.
He pulled you close again, nearly flush.
You pressed back into it with nearly a confused whine, though you were no less invested, tugging him closer to you, the both of you turning smoothly for the single instant you’d both been pressed together before you pulled apart again.
“What…?” Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sleeves as your head fell to his shoulder, resting in the place where the edge of one leather pauldron dug into your forehead.
You matched his shifting, as his chin rested just barely over your shoulder-ensconced head, the both of you moving in some tight, quiet, easing dance, all stiff limbs and smooth, small movements.
It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to leave you panting, your face hot enough and your eyes nearly burning as you struggled to come back to yourself.
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader#toothless
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The Jealous One pt 9
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 3,196
The third time's a charm.
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited
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“Woah… Didn’t know you were cool.” Tuffnut scoffed and laughed, his shoulders bouncing as he laughed from his throat.
“Shut up,” You grumbled. You hadn’t wanted them to follow you down in the first place.
You were under a dark niche, an overhang on the opposite end of the spire to the one that faced the village, on the side where Mildew lived but this bit was much closer to the base.
The air underneath was moist and heavy.
You’d come down with Hiccup, once. You’d spent the time loitering and listening to him rant, his neutral greens and warm browns looking out of place against the dark rock, while you did your own thing, leaning against the side of a dripping rock wall.
You’d thought this place used to be something that belonged to both of you, but now it was more just a you thing… or maybe not.
You’d been feeling confused since you’d woken up in Hiccup’s hut in a spare set of your own sleepwear -when did he have the time to go get your sleep wear?
You hadn’t even known he’d had it in him to care for anyone like that, in such an intimate fashion. You remembered a point in your teenhood in which he would have insisted you hand yourself off to Gothi- Really, the whole event had woken up a large number of twisty curly things and mixed with the slightly sour feeling in your gut- you were almost sure you’d never recovered from your violent illness.
You could still feel it tickling at your periphery, the sickness- It really would suck if you’d gotten sick again.
It had been a cold night last night and so some of the mud below crunch beneath your feet, thawing frost coating some patches and melting snow wetting others so thoroughly that you’d been up to your ankles in the sludge.
Your boots had a thick wadding of it even now, standing in the sanctity of your own secret cave- you own cave secret no longer.
You had your hands on your elbows and your shoulders hunched, and although it was true that you were mad, you were also incredibly cold.
“Don’t be lame,” Snotlout scoffed.
“Those who live in twig houses should not be swinging axes,” You grumbled, “And so I’d rather you keep all your stones to yourself.”
“What? What does that even mean?” Snotlout puffed up his chest from where he stood in front of you- he was closest to the exit of your little overhang, the one you now wanted very much to leave, though you loathed the idea of stepping out into the mud, much more liquid than it had been earlier, when you had stepped down into your crevasse and it had been still too dark out to cause any real melting.
“I called you dumb, dipstick,” You grumbled, knowing he would never take the time to pull that sentence apart on his own.
He was stubborn and talking to him sometimes was like throwing knives at an impenetrable wall -the harder to work at it, the more likely you were going to hurt yourself- and you cursed him for it.
You also cursed his father for being such a dud- Snotlout would really be better off if he just thought, but wishful thinking could never be anything but wishful thinking and Snotlout was an old hunting dog- no new tricks for him.
“Downer,” Tuffnut scoffed as he hobbled outside for reasons unknown to you though not unwelcome.
“You know what would solve all your problems?” Snotlout asked. He responded right after, without waiting for you to ask, “Get pretty. Pretty ugly.”
You felt immediately more sour, “That doesn’t make any sense.”
You were even more sour as you felt something smack against the side of your leg.
You looked down just to be greeted by a thick wad of wet ground staining already dark grays darker- and at his squealing, you realized that the trajectory and force of Tuffnut’s throw meant that Snotlout had gotten splashed too.
“Yeesh,” You snapped, “You couldn’t have chosen a better time for a mud fight, could you?”
Mud against your skirt, you followed after Snotlout as he fled, shouting something squirrlish and manly about ‘stuff’ on his coat and yak dung.
He stopped right at the entrance of the cave and you ran straight into his back, rushing out after him, which had the unintended effect of shoving him roughly into the mud in front of him.
You nearly burst a lung with your laughter, half doubling over before whipping your head back as a large glob of mud slammed into your face with all the force inertia allowed.
You gawped, using both hands to pull the mud away from your eyes and wipe it off your face, flinging small spatters of it against the rock walls and floor.
“That one was meant for Snotlout, but ‘eh,” Ruffnut, the obvious culprit, shrugged, her hands muddied, “I guess you’re good too.”
“Oh, Hel! Chief’s kid! Run!” Snotlout shouted. In the way they did when you were all kids and they’d been mocking you and Hiccup in different ways.
At the word ‘Chief,’ the Twins startled suddenly like bucking sheep, tripping over their feet to sprint away and make for the forest as fast as they could, jumping down ledges and bolting.
You gaped and watched as they all ran off, staying standing where you were, then you began to laugh nearly hysterically as Tuffnut tripped over a long slip of mud before falling violently on his face.
He only just barely made it back into a scramble a moment longer.
Hiccup stood straight just before the clearly-made-worse field of mud, clearly caught off guard.
“Hi,” You said, with what must have been a dopey grin on your face and mud all over your being.
The others- you were slightly annoyed by how they’d run at the sight of the Chief’s son despite being his almost good friends.
From the chilly walk up the Chief’s hill and into his dwelling, which was dark and slightly cold, which must have meant that the Chief himself was still blessedly absent, off on some overseas trip or other.
“I should… Probably go.” You said, turning. You weren’t sure why you’d come up in the first place, the walk you took spent in silence- you’d need to hurry back to bathe so that your waning cold didn’t spike once more.
“You don’t have to.” Hiccup said then, “I was- I mean, I was- You can, then me? Or I can, then you- No- I had Toothless heat up the bathwater, earlier, and I-”
You tilted your head to the side, looking at him, greasy brown hair and all- Toothless’s fire always ran hot and so, ah, he must have gone for some herbs, then- Gothi planted a few at the base of the mountain, and for those with scarring and the right knowledge of plants, they made for an okay blams, which was the point. The old healer had probably gotten tired of the rabble crawling up to her hut over nothing and making their irritations worse.
“We can... Split the water,” You suggested weakly, shrugging crusting shoulders, tilting your head to a large wooden bucket of water off to your side- nearly large enough to hold a person.
You stayed huddled by the fire, your hands to a mug, your lips teasing the edge of it.
You wore a tunic that wasn’t yours, that hadn’t fit Hiccup by multiple sizes but still smelt like Hiccup anyways flopping over your hands- he’d probably used it to stuff his pillow or the like, because it smelt a lot like residual smoke and him.
You borrowed from him a pair of undershorts, too, and they remained the only thing keeping your bottom half from the grained wood floor- besides the soles of your feet, your knees being pushed up nearly to your chin.
The bath bucket, Hiccup had placed up in his room, probably intending to enjoy the luxury of being able to bathe up in the loft. Unfortunately, he’d conceded the right to bathe up there to you, settling for a bucket and washcloth.
The water, Hiccup was too lazy to bring it down as he’d brought it up.
You figured you would figure it out later as you dried, but by the sounds of it Hiccup had probably just ended up tilting the whole bath out his window, dumping the water that way- There was a stain on the side of his house from when he’d done it before and a gouge where he’d cut out some suspicious looking rot, probably a consequence of the undue moisture and fading waterproofing.
You wanted to puff at it, but you knew you were much too lazy to pail up any water for yourself.
You looked to the side but remained no less stationary as you heard him come down the stairs and settle, standing an appropriate distance away. He was nearly looking at you but his eyes were angled in a way which said ‘not quite.’
You couldn’t fathom why, however, unless he was being shy about your dress, though you couldn’t see why he would be concerned or avoidant- he’d put you in his things, after all.
By the light of the fireplace flickering warmly at the fronts of your legs, his hair was more than auburn in the light, looking lighter and fluffier than normal now that he’d washed out the grime, probably with a slight bit more fervor than usual, though you were slightly aghast by it and confused as to why.
You’d definitely felt softer about him since he’d cared for you, sick as you were, though you were surely unsure of where the two of you stood.
“Hello,” You said, breaking the silence which felt heady and warm.
“...Would now be a good time to apologize?” Hiccup started, his prosthetic and the floorboards squeaking as he shuffled.
You blinked your eyes open, staring at Hiccup for a moment. He looked almost earnest. “...I guess so.”
“I’m sorry.” Hiccup started, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
You shrugged.
“Are you free? I mean, I could start… I could start bringing you on trips with the Riders?”
You startled slightly, the peaceful atmosphere between the two of your disrupted slightly- and suddenly you could feel again where spots of Hiccup’s tunic were damp, mostly in parts you’d done a poor job of drying, you could feel the few bits of grain that dug into your rump through its fabric and you could feel how the room was still a smidge too cold against your back, except it wasn’t anything you thought of fondly, more something that sent uncomfortably shivers running up your spine.
That was the exact opposite of what you wanted- it would be a reminder of all the ways you didn’t belong between them, bearing witness to exactly how you always would mess up their rhythm.
You didn’t like the idea at all. You struggled to come up with a way to explain it to him.
“I don’t… I would just be dragging you guys down. It’s not like I have a dragon, or anything, and you guys have… years,” You said self consciously. You tried to keep your voice from cracking at this part, though you couldn’t really tell if you minded, “-Of experience, together. I think I’ve only been there for a few, you know, before everything.”
Hiccup started and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it.
“That’s my fault.” Hiccup said guiltily, “I should’ve… I trained dragons for the others.”
You knew that especially then as you turned further to the side, the meat of your leg coming to rest against the Haddock’s wooden floor. You could feel all the grooves in it against fresh, just recently damp skin.
“And I… I left you.”
“Yeah,” You said, curling your knees up and refusing to look at him, “You did. But that was in dragon training and I wasn’t there. I didn’t make the cut, I guess.”
Admittedly, you were a little upset, but as it always went, you hadn’t done much to let it show until now.
They didn’t hide it or anything, but still. Even if the others didn’t hang out much outside of Dragon Riding, they still had tons of experience together.
You hated being together with everyone at once even in the Great Hall. being there had been a hard reminder, one you’d shake off soon enough.
“It’s different now.” Hiccup protested, taking a step forward.
You wondered if his stump hurt, still. You felt bad about distracting him- you hoped he hadn’t caused himself pain, foregoing the nice bath and hauling all the water out of his window anyways.
“Is it? I mean,” You demurred, slightly out of it, “I still don’t… I don’t have a dragon, so. I can’t fly with you or anything and I know that’s really important. Isn’t that why…?”
“What? No, no, even if it was, we can work on that.” Hiccup smiled awkwardly, “I can- Toothless and I can do all the heavy lifting- not that you’re heavy, I mean… If- if you’re not sure, then-”
“I don’t know.” You started, looking down, “Maybe. But… Why? Seriously, Why now? I don’t understand…”
And you refused to look, not deeply. You didn’t want to, knowing that it usually hurt. Instead you chose to believe that he was either deathly ill or mad- two likely culprits, the last one foremostly.
You settled your mug to the floor, standing and moving close up to him, one hand grasping his arm as you pressed yourself closer, your other hand coming up to feel at his forehead.
It was wonderful- to feel, to hold, to touch- but you didn’t focus on that, on the uneven feeling of his skin in one parts and the lumps under others and you didn’t focus nearly enough as you probably should have on the light, damp sheen over his forehead, or how nice the burning under his skin was against your palm, nearly oppressive despite the fact that you were the one to make the first move.
You couldn’t tell if it was burning or not to an unreasonable extent -not just by touch- and any redness that must have shown itself, clutched against peach skin, was obscured by the red light of fire and the darkness of shadow.
“You’re not sick now, are you?” You mumbled with some vague concern.
“Ah- N-no.” Hiccup said, his hovering, twitchy hand coming to rest along your waist.
With his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the fire, contrasting against brighter greens and baby colors, you thought that this moment that you’d found yourself in- It was like something out of a dream you’d had when you were younger.
You’d wandered into it unintentionally, and past your musings you’d nearly expected to wake up in your bed at fifteen years of age once again, sleep interrupted by the furious screaming of a bloodthirsty dragon. It would be nice if you did.
This moment, you knew, was not as kind or as dream-like as it seemed, for if it was, there would be more than a broken friendship and hesitant camaraderie between the two of you- a great deal more.
You kept your face blank as you slipped away slightly, ready for the warm, solid grip of Hiccup’s palm on your waist to become something colder and more absent. However, you paused- You hadn’t so much as tugged yourself away from his palm as you’d let it lay there, coming quickly to notice the sureness by which he held it against you, not at all giving as it should naturally be when someone was pulling away, nearly unwilling to let go.
“You’re not trying to win me over anymore,” You asked suddenly, “Not in the typical sense?”
“I-” Hiccup started before his eyes flickered away, his other hand sliding against your waist. “No.”
You did your best not to think of how he might have held Astrid- how you were sure you’d seen him touch Astrid in the same way, which sent twinges up and down your spine and touched your bruising ego, covered in irritating, old, slightly raw burn marks.
None of that mattered, though, because this wasn’t what that was- of course it wasn’t because he’d never treated you that way, and wasn’t that nearly a problem? It wasn’t that you couldn’t look beyond yourself to know, but to treat it in that way- to find it, to know it to be fake or even real or to entertain the fantasy would also hurt- it might sting and rage at your softer parts in a way that made you want to cower, and so you pushed all yearnings and musings and other sad things farther away.
“What are you doing?” You leaned in slightly closer, eyes searching, feeling more serious than not, even as your bare knee brushed lightly against his clothed one.
Hiccup sighed breathily. You could almost call what he did a wheeze.
“...I’m sorry.” Hiccup said, and in an action that surprised you and had your neck straightening and your eyes opening wider by a slight margin, he placed his face securely into your shoulder.
You could nearly feel his lips against your neck, in the place where collar bone met shoulder, and you resisted your own urge to shudder and sigh, all your shaky breaths held deeply inwards.
You mumbled softly, leaning back into him and resting your head against his neck, “I forgive you. I really- really forgive you. And… And I’m sorry too.”
Sorry for dumping water on his head, for being so crass, even if he deserved it- and sorry for everything you’d lost, too, along the way and before the journey.
You tightened your arms slightly, your eyelids shutting tighter as you took in the shape of him, how he felt, ever so warm against you, his hands moving from your waist to your back, his arms pushing and wrapping against your sides, constraining and nice made nicer as the heat of the hearth in the floor beat and flickered steadily on.
Hiccup smelt fresh, like river-washed clothes and a bit like mildew all mixed in with something that was surely Hiccup, something heavy growing finer, much different to the scent you were sure had belongs to him, noted down when you were nothing but young teens tussling and chittering around in forests and along village pathways.
You hummed into his neck, your eyelashes grazing gently against the skin and baby hairs there and sighed, your voice thick and catching, raspy and muffled by the parts of his skin pressing into your cheek and the seam of fabric warm and almost scratchy against one side of your nose.
You knew on some level that this might never happen again. So, you desired to enjoy it before you couldn’t- before, once again, you became bitter, before you felt rupturing-ly petty and frustrated and sad.
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader#toothless
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The Jealous One pt 8
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 1,862
In sickness and in health.
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE
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You resisted the urge to cough violently, a tickling in your chest and that one mysterious, feather light spot in your throat
Your voice was nearly as nasal as Hiccup's and three times as raspy as anything you’d ever heard.
Basket held steady, you walked waveringly across the bridge from the forest to Berk.
It had taken a while to find what you needed, the plants hidden and the energy you’d spent searching had done little to calm your raw nerves.
The walk back had been long and now could taste mucus on your tongue and feel it thicken your throat, your sleeve coming up to rub at it and your nose once every few moments. It was nearly soaked, now, and the thought filled you with disgust.
You refused to believe it was sickness, even as you sensed hints of it along your breath and felt the bite of it marring the roof of your mouth.
You scowled grumpily just before you lost the battle, stumbling to a stop, your chest wrought with a brutal hacking.
Hiccup, a few steps ahead of you, looked back with concern, standing at the place where the bridge ended and wood met stone, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Urgh,” You groaned, realizing with dull irritation that you couldn’t breathe through your nose any longer.
You made it a few more feet, brushing in front of Hiccup, your aching walk-tired ankles and worn soles protesting the movement before you sniffed roughly and leaned -nearly collapsed- against the the one of one of the huts built into the side of the village’s spire.
While you were still standing, Hiccup walked easily up to you and lightly pulled your basket out of your hands, ignoring your sour, wordless grumbling, “How about I just… Take this, and you go lay down?”
You slumped against the floor, too weak to protest and figuring then that it would be as good a time as any to take a break, even if it was just a short one- You were realizing slowly that you would be needing it if you were going to make the walk back to your cabin.
You vaguely registered as Hiccup spoke again, a semi-sarcastic, “...That’s fine too.” easily leaving his mouth.
You heard a steady beating which you hoped meant that he was finally going to just leave you be, a sentiment made stronger by just the pure force of your miserable sickness.
You laid your head against the side of the wall hut, your knees up to your chest, blinking slowly and feeling fully feverish. It shouldn’t be terrible if you took a short nap, should it?
You woke up groaning nearly imperceptible, your breaths heavy and the pounding of your heart strong, with the feel of something heavy and hot on your forehead.
You felt slick with what was sweat, as you’d realized, after a nearly unbearable moment, shifting, unable to tell which direction was up or down by feeling even as your eyes fluttered slightly open to start at high wood roofing.
Everything was stuffy and heavy and you couldn’t make sense of anything, even as you turned your head to the side slightly, something you regretted as it sent an ache down your neck.
You felt something adjust the towel on your forehead, each fiber brushing against your heated skin, mournfully cold where it was absent even as you looked to the side with pained eyes, meeting the worn, tired face of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.
He was sitting on something wherever you were, obscured to you by your own weary, blurring vision, leaning on his knee with one arm and forwards towards you with his other.
As your vision faded further, you made a small noise in the back of your throat.
You were woken the second time by the feel of cold wood to your lips and something cooler peeking over its edge, wetting your lips and dry tongue.
Unnatural chills ran up and down your spine, the feeling of the air around seeming much too muggy for the wracking, sharp jabs running down your spine, feeling more raw than cold.
“Hey-” You heard a low voice, “Can you manage?”
It was stiff under you, what was maybe bedding or something else unliving and yet kind enough to hold you.
You knew not of what was dream and what was reality.
You closed your eyes again, unable to discern the difference between mumbled words and blurred sounds without thought and lacking the energy to try, everything around and under you feeling stuffed.
However, you did feel the distance- the absence of presence and the air circulating in unwelcome empty space.
You grabbed on to the corner of a sleeve, your arm thrown out limply. It nearly caused you to fall off the end of the bed, your opposite shoulder resting precariously against its edge with your arm folded under.
It was warmer up in the Chief’s hut- more so than any other spot on Berk besides maybe Gothi’s on the hottest sumarr's day and though colder than most, your friend always had been of unusually strong health despite being what he was- a Hiccup.
“Please…” You mumbled waveringly, unwilling to be left without that presence, nothing else existing in your mind at that moment, “Please stay.”
You didn’t know if it was real and you wouldn’t be sure later if you remembered though you were sure you wouldn’t.
You fell asleep to the feel of you being pushed further back onto the bed and to the feel of something heavy and covered in fabric scooting in behind you.
“-Ouch.” Hiccup sat guiltily upon his father’s chair, one hand on his knee, legs spread wide as he bent down to pick up a fallen plate from the floor.
“You’ve heard worse,” You snuffled thickly, shoving aside thoughts of not-reals and a lot of wishful thinking, “You’re lucky I’m not Astrid.”
You couldn’t come up with any other conclusion than the one that described a collusion between all three; you carried some of the chill from your night out drinking in the woods with you, then the unwilling ride in Toothless’ claws and the walk up into the hills and cliffs you’d spent had all come together and worsened everything until you’d ended up with the same sickness that described your current state.
Somehow, though, you felt in good humor, or perhaps it was regular humor. It didn’t matter, though. You didn’t feel particularly pleased or disheartened.
“I guess so,” You could feel his wince more than you saw it, looking at him from across the fire pit in his hut.
You were surprised that you’d been able to strike up conversation as easily as you had, about life and other things though not so in depth as to paint any real picture at all. You hadn’t brought up Snotlout or the Twins -not yet- though you felt that it was coming soon and it would cause at least some mild upset when and if it did.
There was a question that had been lingering on your mind for very obvious reasons, ones you still wished not to think in such plain terms, even if you knew them well.
You hadn’t been on good enough terms for a while to ask, annoyed as you had been as of late, nor calm enough in manner when you were younger to ask without feeding into the irritating pressure behind your eyes. However, sick though you were, with your stuffy head, nose and everything and your barely honey-soothed throat, you were sure enough to ask.
“So… What’s up with you and Astrid?” You asked Hiccup bluntly, burying your chin further into your wrap of cocoons, feeling your top lids droop heavily over your eyes with your contentment.
Hiccup cringed. You felt a measure of glee at his poor expression- it was the same look he worn, albeit less mournful, when you’d woken up earlier in that afternoon and asked him what had become of you, memoryless and unaware of how you’d found yourself in his bed on his loft and in his nearly empty home.
“She is not my girlfriend.” He spoke firmly, as if he already knew what you were going to ask next -as if he’d had to fend the jab off more than once- and he had, from you, something which you only used to prod at him when you were feeling exceptionally bitter but hadn’t the means or want to show it.
“Your ex, then?” You deadpanned nearly teasingly, “Or your battle buddy? In the simple platonic Viking sense.”
“Not even that.” Hiccup shrugged, looking at you unimpressively, “I-we just… didn’t click.”
You were thrown off guard slightly, though not thrown enough to deter you from anything. It was the first time he’d answered you and answered you truly- the reaction he’d posed and the one you’d usually been fishing for involved deflection if not mild indignation.
“Yeah?” You asked, shaking your head. It took you a moment to cough out the vowel, your voice cracking in an ungainly way.
You watched the odd contrast of shadow and light flicker across his face, both pronouncing and denouncing the lay of his cheekbones, the round of his cheeks.
You allowed yourself to enjoy the sight before you grew mad with him again, letting out a breath and leaning back slightly against pillows and plush, feeling terribly insightful and artisting as you took him in.
“I guess… She was worried you liked me. In the complicated non-platonic sense.”
You laughed lowly, as if you couldn’t escape the hilarity of it all, “Really?”
Oh, you probably owed her an apology. A terrible one.
You suppressed a shiver, letting out a shaky breath. The part of the blanket covering your neck fell slightly, stale, cold air hitting your back and rushing down your spine.
“… Did you?”
You shrugged, looking down and pursing your lips, watching the firelight flicker gently, swaying with the wind, crackling hypnotically in the space between the two of you.
You risked a glance towards Hiccup in an attempt to glean what he was thinking.
He seemed unsure. That’s all you could tell, all his brows, his jaw, the standard set of his shoulders gave away. The rest, you couldn’t tell.
For all the time he’d left you hanging and wanting and nearly yearning, you were sure that the answer you owed him was surely unkind, and the one you owed yourself was the one that spared you as much embarrassment as possible, having spent as much time stuck in such a terrible one-sided love as you had.
“Why would I?” You asked eventually, and you really meant it.
“You’re well, then.” Hiccup said, standing at his open door.
“I am well,” You looked down onto the floor, nearly rolling up and down on your toes, feeling quite empty with your affects wrapped up into a small bundle. It was one you held in your two hands by a leather strap. “Goodbye, then.”
As you left, you could almost imagine the soft whisper of another ‘goodbye’ following behind you on the wind.
#how to train your dragon#httyd#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader#toothless
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Castoff full
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Villain!Reader
Words: 10,288
The gentle brush of fingertips as they slip apart, the pounding of blood as his heart falls out of your grasp. Those are feelings you are familiar with. Your relationship is one made up of meanings searched for where they are not, a deep care uprooted by a raging current and a single, meaningful mistake.
Tags: Angst, fem!reader, heartbreak, villain reader, unresolved insecurity, anger, canon divergent, first part?, suggestive content, RTTE, Httyd 2, Compiles parts 1, 2, 3, 4
<Previous
You saw the look in his eyes, you watched them treat each other so familiarly, watched the others close in around them, perhaps looking to share in the joyful atmosphere, knowing that should you step into the light, the moment would be ruined.
You stepped away from the half open door, back into the darkness of the cabin, wondering how they could be so happy together even after the raid, a skirmish so tough and violent- you’d had a fight with some new dragon hunters from outside the area, and they’d been unlike any of the ones you’d dealt with before.
He knew before she did. You knew just as long as him. It wasn’t the kind of thing you or anyone else talked about, really, not to anyone but your parents and your true meant-to-be. But it was there. And you knew for the longest time that they were meant for each other.
You hadn’t known for sure that it would ever have ended. Yet somehow, supposedly, it did. You still felt like an outlier, though. Your heart was his for so long that to see them together felt like a betrayal, and to be with him now felt like a betrayal of that.
There was true love, romantic love and meant-to-be love.
For the longest time, you didn’t have a love, true or meant-to-be. Well, you had a love that was certain to be true, but wrong in that it was made for someone who’d already given his heart to another. A heart that he’d, supposedly, taken back.
Now, you wondered what sort of love he held for you with brown armor, red shirt, green eyes. Hands held gently, preciously out for your own.
You made to reach out, but instead you turned away, missing the look of hurt you knew you would be there; the hurt in his eyes, the loose brows, the slightly disappointed tilt of his lips. You couldn’t, not with any of the others around.
You didn’t miss the hushed conversation, carried on just the same as it had earlier but in lower tones, the small looks shared between them, the unsaid thought that maybe you just weren’t right for each other. That you were a bad pair.
You furrowed your brows. You let him down again.
But it didn’t feel right, to love and share love, especially with her so closely there, with the ghost of them ever so present. It filled you with shame.
There was no bitterness held, only guilt born from many nights spent awake condemning yourself for your yearning. It was something you’d long since accepted was meant only for the dark of night, when no one else was awake enough to hear your tears or your heart flutter.
You still felt as if he was hers, that you were encroaching on something you weren’t supposed to have. It was a messy situation. They ended amicably, yet you’d been feeling terribly for a long, long time.
You wondered if the feeling, the bone-deep hate for yourself, would ever go away, like you’d dreamed.
For the nth time that day, you had to stop and wonder when Hiccup the Useless became Hiccup and Useless.
You buried your head into your knees, tired of staring out over the windy clifftop. No number of waves or gusts of wind could brush away your troubles.
You didn’t even miss Berk. You didn’t have a reason to go, nor one to stay. You were just a floater, tethered only just so by the tattered, frayed strings of your own heart.
He was sitting next to you, a silent question on his lips, left unsaid but just as clearly heard.
Something tense was in the air between the two of you. You refused to give it a name, though you knew what it was just as well. It felt like the end. It felt like a new, terrible beginning. It felt like the heaviness in your gut and the slight burning of your eyes caused by thin sea spray.
Your touching fingertips became more as you clutched his hand, squeezing it.
You’d always been the confidant. To have your positions switched was odd, unfamiliar. Hiccup was gawky and unsure in your boots. To have your troubles laid out between the two of you, of which there were many, disturbed you. The idea felt like a violation.
So, without the words to speak them, you worked around. You found words you could speak, parts of some that were difficult and some that weren’t and strung them together like the split stems of flowers into a very nearly presentable crown.
You turned to your right and looked at him pleadingly though you weren’t sure what you were pleading for- Nothing, everything at once? To not leave you behind, not to make you stay.
“Hiccup,” You stared hoarsely, hesitantly. It was silly and it was stupid, just the act of speaking aloud. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He never would.
Truly, you had only one question.
“Do you love me?” You asked. He looked confused, startled.
You leaned closer. You couldn’t tell which way he moved, if he moved at all. You imagined he moved away. He waited.
He looked at you expectantly. Unsurely. Why weren’t you moving even closer?
You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know if you could.
You’d never loved or been loved in any sort of way which mattered. The fact that you hadn’t had felt like a burden, somehow just another reason as to why you weren’t deserving. An onerous boon that you just wanted to be rid of.
Yet, he knew what was supposed to happen next. He’d experienced it; done it and had it done many times over. You hadn’t.
You two hadn’t been that close yet, not at all, not physically. This was not a boundary the two of you had crossed. You shared nothing more than a few mumbled words into the neck, a few nearly soft words in your nook, a tight embrace and hands held loosely in the quiet darkness of the night. Promises, dedications. No actions.
The others knew about it, though. They heard the declaration, quiet and uttered as if it was just a casual thing. For him it was.
You said nothing. How could you?
You hesitated, waiting for an answer. Your lips twitched. Your eyes burned, stronger then. You shook your head and dropped his hand which he let fall to the wayside. Using your hands and the floor, you pushed away.
As always, you couldn’t bear it. He waited for you, just as you didn’t want to be someone to wait for. You wanted to already have it.
You wanted back the years you spent wasting away, you coveted back the years you spent watching him give what you desperately needed so casually to another.
It was a surprise when the two of you came together. No one had expected it. It seemed off, out of place. You weren’t sure Hiccup himself had, drifting in the spaces left between after he and her had split paths.
You stood, then.
You turned. You held your elbows and hunched your shoulders, turning your back to him and pushing against the wind, which though was light, and felt all of the sudden as if it was way too much.
You weren’t sure he meant it- Meant this. You didn't know whether or not this was real or something he’d just fallen into as per convenience.
You did. You meant it. He was your true, he was your romantic.
What kind of love do you hold for me?
You knew the answer, plain and simple.
None. None at all.
You stood in the darkness of your cabin. Your windows were blocked, though you didn’t need the light. You’d been in for a while, you were used to it.
You’d exhausted your usual time-taking avenues, left with nothing but maintenance; folding, organizing, sorting.
It was awkward. Since the clifftop, the two of you were distant. You didn’t avoid each other, but you also didn’t speak. It was a miracle that nothing had happened yet to force the two of you together and not necessarily in the pleasant sense.
You were beginning to believe that was the end of your relationship. You were having a hard time accepting it, though the feeling was creeping into your heart slowly and you were beginning to feel empty.
You didn’t flinch as the door to your cabin opened, creaking, though you winced as you turned back towards the light, started as he came up, pressing you gently against the wall.
Your lips met.
It was not rough, more ‘just so.’ It unbalanced you all the same.
He was unsure, nervous. Clumsy. But he had done it on purpose. But it was meaningful, maybe. You could tell he meant it.
You molded into his shape just as he molded into yours. Hesitantly, unsurely, you responded. He was soft enough to guide you.
Once again, you asked, though not so much in words as actions; Do you love me?
And this time, he responded. Not violently, not roughly, just so, enough for a shining pink petal to crest green sepal. Your heart bloomed.
Yes. Yes, I do love you.
You were light, you were fervent, you were free. You believed him.
The same hunters from before. The lot of you had gotten captured. You were too distressed to remember if it had been your fault. There were rocks sharpened to a point below you, gray skies and windy, stormy seas rushing tumultuously below.
You were far from the Edge. In unfamiliar territory, any and all allies unaware and absent, the dragons trapped in cages long behind you.
Off over the sea, the hunters were sailing away.
It was a victory, however it was also one that came with a terrible price. Something had been set off, violently at that, throwing you off the edge of the cliff face, destabilizing the cage held by a chain pinned to the rock above by a thin steel nail.
“Hiccup,” You pleaded, breathlessly as your body struggled to keep up with your weight, with the rope and chains tied around your ankle, “H-elp.”
I need you.
“Just- hold on, the others-” He crouched, glancing frantically between you and the rest. trapped in a hanging cage still stuck off the larger cliff’s side. Their chains were thin and yours were thicker, though both were just as equally dangerous.
Please, I need you now.
You jerked back as another rope snapped. Unheard by his ears, drowned out by the raucous waves below and by the rattling of empty cages, pushed around in the air. Unseen as his eyes trained on the others.
And of course Hiccup didn’t realize, his focus trained elsewhere. There was no time to waste. After all, if he helped you up, in the time that took, they might fall. They would fall.
“Hiccup!” Astrid shouted. Snotlout shouted.
You remembered how they looked before you’re been knocked off, Fishlegs panicking, mumbling to himself zealously, distress projected clearly for all to see and Ruffnut and Tuffnut yelling mindlessly into the air, a waning battlecry as the island deteriorated around you
Somehow, in between terror, in between the pain of your ankle as it threatened to snap and the taut muscle of your arms, a grim doom began to worm and thrash and coil in your gut.
“I’m not- I’m not going to make it,” You said desperately, voice crackling, face scrunching as tears began to spill over edges, shoulders straining, holding on just barely.
“Please, there’s-Just, cut me loose-” You prayed to whichever god was out there that he still had his knife. That he had something sharp. You were going to die.
You could tell he was stressed, overwhelmed, just as panicked. He shifted restlessly, stiffly, perhaps a million times in the last minute.
Noise built up in his throat as he spoke but you were unable to hear it clearly as your ears filled with buzzing.
You tried to speak, but you couldn’t hear your own voice, too breathless and strained to make a sound.
You watched his eyes flicker, you saw the soot on his face and each strand of his hair as it waved in great detail, your world slowing down to a halt.
He stopped. You caught his eyes briefly and you saw as an idea formed, as his resolve hardened and as he made his choice. You knew it would not be one he made for you.
“Hold on!” Hiccup shouted, as the other’s cries grew more intense, ears deaf to your pleas. He pushed away towards the other side of the cliff, running towards the others as their cage dipped once again.
There was a sharp pain in your chest, as if the nails you dug in with so despairingly were instead gripping your lungs, sharp and unforgiving.
Do you love me?
You were going to die.
You blinked away tears and snot and all the little, tiny shards of your heart that had gotten stuck in your eyes on their way out.
You just had to hold on. You just had to hold on until Hiccup got back.
You shouted something wild, something animal as your fingers gave, numb with cold and sliding loose even as you commanded them to grip tight. You had no way to fight, no thing in which to fight with as your hold weakened on the slippery rock.
Your nails hurt as they worked against mainstay and loose dirt, fragile roots and falling stones. Your fingers pained as they worked furiously against themselves.
Hiccup left you. He wasn’t going to come back. You were going to die before he got back.
It was like a stake had been shoved into your gut.
Hiccup left you.
You were going to die.
Your vision whited out.
You were going to die.
You couldn't hold on any longer.
You fell.
A knife, if not useful, was novel. It was decorated and polished and mounted. Sheep meant wool and warmth, and when there was nothing else left, they were meat. Comfort, love, desire; those were all good currencies for exchange.
You blinked awake, choking out water, suffocating as your throat closed up on you, your windpipes flexing and expelling water violently from your lungs.
It burned. Your throat burned, ripped to shreds by your rough coughing. Your nose burned, dripping mucus and salty seawater.
Time, resources, space; It was all simply a matter of measure.
Your head felt heavy, like a keg had been placed up your nose, to the point where the pressure was unbearable. You could feel the blood reddening your face, pounding through your veins, though nothing pounded quite as hard or as desperately as your heart.
He let you go.
Your shoulders were hunched, the pads of your fingers digging painfully into splintered wood as you turned over, overcome with vertigo as you coughed and coughed over and over until there was no more water left to cough up.
He let you go.
-And yet you still kept going, choking and gagging on air. You didn’t stop, not until your throat was just still and sore and scratchy.
You turned your face up again, shivering and blinking against the sun and the biting wind. It was cold, and you could feel the chill all the way down your spine.
Slowly, you became aware of the bodies around you, heavy boots beating against a hollow ship’s body like marching demons and the slow rocking of the ground, which perhaps hadn’t just been a consequence of your addled mind.
Your ears rang as you took them in, noting branded arms and sliced ears. You prayed you were wrong, though you were afraid your rescuers were not the kind hearted stranger type. You wondered what it meant to be who you were, and what the difference between rescue and captive mean on this barge.
Dread curled in your gut. Though you knew little, you were afraid you’d fallen into a caged pit and the water was rushing in too fast for you to catch a grip.
“What do we have here, boys?” A body blocked out the light, then, dark and blurry against everything else.
His shoulders were set under beige furs, a blurry, sardonic smirk pasted to his face above a blue-striped chin. a hand was shoved forward, towards you, clear against the sea and wood.
You blinked, popping your ears in an attempt to discern some of the rowdy murmuring you could hear in the background.
You wondered if he noticed, when you’d fallen.
Hesitantly, you reached out your hand, shaking and dry from the salt and lack of nourishment, grasping at the palm with your weak fingertips. You were quickly tugged to your feet, and you stood, shaking, sopping wet, sand ran through your hair and stuck in the folds of your clothes.
Everything had a use. But what use would you have to them?
What was the point of looking for something you had no use for?
He grabbed you by the shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. You wondered if he would let you keep walking, let you break away if you wanted, to hide mournfully between the barrels a little while longer.
You’d been there for enough time to figure you’d been dragged out by a Scauldron, perhaps, or some other seafaring beast. There were plenty back in cages on the island, most of which you’d had a hand in freeing with measurable success. There was no other way you could have gotten so far out so quickly.
The captain pushed with enough force to your shoulder to turn you, though not enough to make you stumble. No, that would be saved for later. You were sure of it.
Despite your efforts, in the moment, you couldn’t help meeting your eyes.
The emblems burned into the trappers and on the rails of your vessel already had you on edge, worst of all when you’d realized that you’d recognized the insignia.
Somehow, you had landed yourself on the barge sent to help transport trapped cargo, a vessel just the same as the kind you’d helped hoodwink a while prior.
You hid around corners as the two vessels communed, sharing their experience with the dragon fraternizes. You couldn’t play two sides. Not at once.
There was no hiding who you were any longer. You heard, hidden around a corner with your hands frozen as if bolted to your elbows, back hunched and pressed to the uneven wood at your back.
You were the ‘meek’ one. It was obvious. You ground your teeth bitterly.
You’d realized with rising panic that you’d freed the dragons. If there were any here, they were hard to access, hidden so deeply and with restraints so tight that you hadn’t heard a peep.
Back home, back on berk, back on the Edge, you could wear the facade of someone who was sure, someone who was familiar, but here, out on uneven ground and a million lengths away from everything you had grown to know, you were unstable. Vulnerable. Peeled absolutely raw.
You stared at him head-on, barely able to stop your lip from wobbling. You felt as if your very bones would begin to shake as like met like.
The look in his eyes reminded you of a Terror you’d seen once, strung to a washing line like a man to his own execution, vicious and proud but relieved to be freed suddenly by the magnanimous snap of thin rope. It was a temporary thing.
You had been vaguely familiar with what it was like before, toeing the line between use and dead weight. You were certain you knew the feeling now.
Maybe he was, in part, relieved to have someone else take the center stage. There was something just as dangerous about being in the spotlight as there was in being stuck in the sidelines, like you had been shoved up onto the bow with the raging sea to your front and a spear to your back.
Now, Your hands were tied, the sea was rising and it was getting harder and harder to see through the chilling, misty spray. Even just standing there, under the sturdy wooden overhang with a grim, threatening hand tightening around your shoulder, you could hear the phantom laughs of demons through the fog and storm.
Though it hadn’t happened quite yet, you knew that already you were as good as a dead man. You’d known that as soon as you had been dropped off the side of a cliff like yesterday’s rotten meal. This would be much, much worse.
Your fate had already been sealed.
You held the knife up, hands shaking, shivering as if it were a metal pole that had just been struck.
Your eyes pounded, swollen nearly shut. This wasn’t a place for the soft-hearted.
The rest of the crew crowded around you, laughing and crowing to each other, each vocalization mocking you in ways that bounced off and back toward your blistering skin like buzzing flies. Your eyes burned.
Their taunting voices meshed together with old words, ones from years past which strung together to form phrases that bit, though not nearly as rough as fists and the thin cuts of knives, jeering at you like you were a caged animal, strung on a wire, waiting to see what you might do next.
Even on Berk, when the Vikings there had been the most vicious dragon slayers across all of Midgard, you’d never had the guts or the finesse to do it. But, on Berk, your life hadn’t been so tightly tied to the line. Just you worth, of which you were certain there was none left, if there ever had been any at all.
Large yellow eyes stared up at you, pleading behind a rigid metal muzzle. The dragon, chained and bound, jerked against its restraints, but they were done too tight.
It was the same look you were sure was reflected in your own eyes.
Why are you upset? You hated it.
Maybe it wasn’t a matter of what you didn’t have. Maybe it was, instead, a matter of what you did.
You thought, mockingly, of the version of yourself who might have wished you were as brave as Hiccup, to be able to throw the knife away. To be able to exchange your life for its own.
You weren’t. You were a coward.
You hated it with all the desperation of someone who knew you were both going to die anyway, hated how it got to cry and suffer so fervently when you did not.
How did it get to wail, even trapped as it was, with such feverish abandon while you were stuck, here, as you would be, forever? You were certain.
The sharp weight of eyes ground into the space between your shoulder blades from all angles, ready to snap like the large polished traps mounted on the ship’s walls.
You wanted it. You wanted it deeply, though you knew you couldn't have it. You couldn’t have any of it. The only thing you had was… the dragon.
And so you decided. There were no other actions to take.
This would be your suffering.
Your hand shook still, but with more eagerness this time. The eagerness to bite, to carve and hack at yourself, to slice away the parts that you hated. To stab as if you could cut out all the parts you found both unworthy and unwanting.
You closed your eyes, face contorting perniciously as you felt time trickle past, a grain of sand drifting to the bottom of a polished glass, life ceasing motion even as it remained invisible to you behind blightful eyelids.
And everything was all the worse for it
May you be welcomed to Valhalla.
You’d made a mistake.
You choked down a whining sob as you stared down at bloodied hands, still-wet ichor fresh and liquid. Your vision blurred around the edges as you sat with your back pressed against the wall, knees up to your chin.
They didn’t care to keep track, sure that the sniveling, cowering form of you wouldn’t be hard to subdue given the opportunity. You were an animal trapped in the hunt and they were the hunters, careless and yet exceptionally dangerous.
It was slippery. It was clumsy and you’d come at it from the wrong angle. It was a poor slice, and you could remember clearly how the knife dragged, catching and jerking through solid tendons like you were slicing through tight venison.
Your inexperience showed. You were sure, at first, that you had cut in the wrong spot, but then again, you weren’t sure you knew which spot was right in the first place.
You brought your hands over your ears, as if to cover up the phantom sounds of heavy gurgling and high-pitched, barely-there whines. Screeching and crowing, voice both stuck and gurgling as it bled out through its raspy, buckling throat.
You felt the clotted blood smear off around your ears and you fought the urge to gag.
It was a long and messy death. You had to stab more than once, watch as big yellow eyes bulged and strained painfully, making your own eyes hurt in turn.
You wondered if dragons were edible, what it would be like to bite into it, jaw gnashing like an animal. You saw a dragon do that to a person once, pulling their arm off their body with the flick of a jaw. You’d never tried.
You always imagined it would be tasteless. You knew there were Berserkers who did it, who tore into dragonflesh like it was their last meal, too immersed in zealous battlelust to taste anything but blood and the thrill of the hunt.
Heavy boots beat against wood and through it as a group of men walking by your hiding place around the bend. They hadn’t seen you. They probably didn’t care, too busy laughing and cheering amongst themselves.
Even with their voices muffled and your hands covering your ears to the best of your ability, you could still hear them loud and clear.
They were going to kill you.
You eyed the knife by your feet, dull and bloody, lungs clenching as you struggled to breathe.
Knives needed to be sharpened after every battle with a dragon. Something about their thick skin and wicked hide dulled the blade. You remembered that much for all your life spent under the thumb of warring Vikings.
The Vikings on Berk used to skin the dragons they killed. It was a chore of yours to help tan the pelts and to either sew them into tunics or prepare them to be mounted as a trophy of their victory.
Uneven, clawed fingernails dug into your arms as you struggled for purchase.
Hiccup hadn’t had the misfortune to experience it. Not a lot of the other Riders probably had. It was your job. It always made you nauseous, so it wasn’t something you talked about much.
Stoick the Vast did it. He had his own tunic made. He still wore it, draped securely across his torso. Most people mistook it for chainmail, but you knew. You helped make it.
You felt sick.
The boat rocked back and forth, sturdy hull ripping through waves in time with the rapid beating of your heart.
There was a deadline.
You shut your eyes tight, blocking out the tears that threatened to push through. You weren’t like the others, built and skilled in the art of making daring escapes. You weren’t. You were soft words and small touches and you were just as good as dead. There would be no one to come to your rescue. You weren’t sure there ever was one.
Dragon scales were sturdy. You hoped the same could be said about skin. You knew you were wrong.
You felt not yourself as you stood over the man, boat rocking back and forth hypnotically.
You clenched your still crusted fists, leaning into it.
It reminded you of a time from when you were a child. Wandering around the hall, with a younger version of Hiccup… Old Johannes.
Depending on his mood and how you asked, whichever story he chose to tell would go on forever and ever.
You eyed the ropes to his hammock, frayed and gray, thick enough to burn should you remove the furs from his bed. Unaware, the other trappers slept and snoring around you.
Half the hammocks were empty, the rest of the men above deck caring for the ship in their own shifts.
You would slit his throat.
It was easier this time, because this time you could picture someone else in his place.
You thought of Hiccup. You thought of what they would do to you, once they found out. You thought of the building pit on your stomach, the clawing, desperate scream you wanted to let out and that you didn’t, and the part of you that didn’t quite feel like yourself as you stared down malignantly at the mass below you.
If this was how you were going to die, you did not forgive him.
There was no silence down in the hull, not for long, stale air filled with the angry, mournful, tragic, sulfurous breathing of dragons.
You curled in your cell, a square wooden thing with open, vertical bars caging you in at one end of the room. The rest it was filled with the violent sound of clanging metal and the hissing of beasts, a steady mix between a barely contained violence and mournful quiet.
Your hair was matted and clothes dirtied, your body pressed up against the cold ship walls as cages filled besides you.
Your face was overshadowed by your unlit cell, all the nicer amenities including fire spent on places where the non-prisoner folk roamed.
The wood felt like ice through your boots.
Your stomach complained silently to you, burning a hole through your torso only you could feel.
You heard the rabble of the crew above in the silence between words, rushed feet stomping viciously against the wood floors as their muffled shouting and the clash of metal on metal filled your ears. You’d spent so long out at sea that you’d lost track of time.
You wondered if a dragon above had broken loose. You hoped it did and killed them all. You knew it was a lost cause.
You watched a dark brownish gray set of boots across the way, shifting against charred wood, clenching your fists and digging dry, blood-caked fingernails into cut palms.
You listened to the rattling of chains below, the heavy breathing of dragons coming together to make one loud synchronized voice. At times it made you feel as if the very wood of the ship was expanding and contracting with it.
It couldn’t have been any more than a week, maybe two.
Your arms were braced at either side of you, your back pressed up to the corner of your small, dank cell as the rocking of the ship became more intense.
You glowered at the stockily-built trapper in front of you, as if he might dissolve if you put enough malice into it.
You hated Eret, Son of Eret, who stood with bravado between two stark cages containing a pair of chained and muzzled dragons. A Nightmare, like the many lining the edges of this packed room you were stuck in, and a Scauldron.
He glared back, arms crossed over tans furs, a plaintive grimace marring his stone features as the rabble from above grew more intense.
“You cost us dragons.” He said, finally, his voice heavy with malice.
“You’re hunting them back,” You croaked, voice bordering a hiss just as sharp and jagged as the rest of the monsters around you. Because your life was ruined and you were trapped, lumped in with the mongrels, the violent souls the unknowing Riders failed to save.
“You have to tell me,” He quieted down, speaking with controlled, exaggerated breaths.
The stomping from above grew just loud enough to finally draw his attention, breaking his facade for only just a moment. He shot a glance up the narrow stairwell towards the deck, then glanced back.
He was still incensed from your earlier argument. He wasn’t the rageful type, but you found that you had quite the penchant for making him mad.
“No,” It was so cold. You pushed down a wave of irritation, hugging your arms irritatedly in an effort to quell your shivers, and the chattering of your teeth.
The two of you stared at each other in silence as the ship rocked violently, men storming around above. You were at a verbal impasse.
“Either way, I’m trapped.” You broke it. You felt sometimes as if you were still in shock, because you felt no such thing, though you’d never heard of a shock lasting so long.
“I can’t help you, then.” Eret looked down on you, waving his hands angrily before dropping them onto his thighs.
“You were never goi-” You started, as the trapdoor covering the top of the stairs leading down burst open.
Slowly, steadily a large, scruffed man made his way down, each step dropping heavily against steep wooden staircases, taller than they were wide.
He was one of the thicker men, with a large reddish brown bear that was now stained ever darker by the blood running down his temple. He hunched in on himself, arm on his side, exchanging a meaningful look with Eret who faced him fully.
“The- the masked- The dragons,” The man groaned angrily, blood dripping down from a large cut on the top of his head, just as a scream rang out from above.
“It’s- This early?” Eret’s head flipped towards you and back. He decided quickly that it was time for him to go, though his eyes promised that this wouldn’t be the end of it. You weren’t surprised. There never was an end.
He didn’t wait for an answer, moving forwards, face exposing his astonishment and determination, running up the stairs to the top, forcing the other man to stumble up with him.
You remembered the way flesh felt on the other end of your knife, living, breathing and human. It terrified you just as you cursed the lot of them with it.
You watched him go unblinkingly, listening to the happenings from above with apathy. Once again, you entertained the mild pipe dream that come what may, they would all be dead by the morning.
Your hands shook with grief.
The trapdoor fell to the ground with the loud, hollow slam of wood on wood, just as Eret’s foot disappeared up the hatch.
You listened to the dripping water, the sound of stomping as it traveled through the wood from directly above, the rustling of leathery skin and the storming water outside to your back.
You listened to the sound of buzzing in your ears, closed your eyes as they unfocused and immersed yourself in the sounds of fighting as the clash and the thump of fist against metal and metal against bone became obvious.
You ignored the splinters digging into your palms -a few out of many- and the blisters that grew there like fungi, a result of your constant grip on the hard surface and the friction brought on by the rough seas.
The rumbling of dragons grew louder as something hummed through the wood above, the sluggish, lazy, weighted sounds of leather dropping softly onto the deck and the delicate scratching of claws kindly resting against flooring, tapping against the metal detailing of the even larger, covered trapdoor that allowed the trappers to settle dragons into their prisons.
You listened to loud shouts demanding recompense, then even louder, panicked shouting to move.
It was like listening to the world’s worst shanty, all of that mindless noise come to a violent and discordant crescendo.
Your face burned angrily.
One of the dragons must’ve escaped.
You sighed with bitterness, jealousy heating up your breath, causing you to expel air much like a dragon expelled fire.
You tensed your arms, released your nails from your palms and shook out your shoulder, anticipation and dread building in your gut.
The room grew hotter with such sudden ferocity that you were caught off guard, unaware until you yourself were nearly baking in it, the sudden onslaught of heat causing the dragons below to rear up, to grumble and crackle zealously as sweat boiled against your temples.
You searched for the source, eyes jumping erratically from side to side.
The wood above you blackened, your eyes focusing on it with immediate clarity. It was the sound of your breath, louder to your ears than any other, that had covered the breath of another.
You startled as the metal embedded into your roof began to glow, simmering a bright, passionate orange before distorting, melting onto the wooden floor just outside your cell.
You listened to the crackling hiss of fire, with the dying hope that it was the Riders, come after you, finally, but you knew that wasn’t their modus operandi.
A hot jet of fire ripped through the wood floor with sudden ferocity, wood frames snapping viciously as it burst through to your floor.
You tried to jump back, forgetting that you were already pressed flushed to the corner of your cell.
It brought your skin to unbearable degrees, infusing the air with smoke and ash and filling every one of your nerves with the urge to writhe away.
You blinked away the smoke with shaky, waving hands and stinging, watery eyes.
You shook, squinting up towards the misty deck from where you were crumpled.
You could vaguely make out that a hole had been burnt into the roof of the small jail, melting through varnish and fireproofing, a new dragon half-crawling through it, slitted eyes taking in your surroundings with vigorous abandon.
Your breath caught. And a dragon, with a great, large crown of thick red spines and a flat, viciously-toothed face. It glared down into the hole with slitted eyes and you pressed yourself back, praying it had not yet seen you.
It brought you back to your days on Berk before the peace, where everything you knew was ravaged and you could do nothing but hide and wait, ignorant to the flashing world around you, except instead of your world being awash with a series of bright reds and the screams and shouts of Vikings in fiery battle, it was silent.
This one was a world marked by muffled shouting and pounding of flesh on wood and something much less forgiving. The sounds of battle were not as loud as they should have been, too many a distant shout cut off suddenly and without abandon, always by the root.
You weren’t sure what was more frightening; Hearing the rest of the crew crumple and fail or being left to the silence, knowing deep down that you were next.
The catch and release of a bola reverberated over the emptiness, a deep hollow flinging sound filling your ears before fading off into the distance. A disgruntled scream, one made by the beast, came much too late, leaving its mouth only after it had tumbled off and writhed out of view.
As it fell, it revealed something, someone…. And for a moment, you had hope.
Overshadowed in your cell, you peered outwards.
They work a mask, their face covered by a heavily spined wooden slab, their body wrapped tightly in leather. They stood with their shoulders braced, stance confident and body lithe.
You couldn’t make out much detail- The whole thing rendered them rather mysterious, but it was someone.
You didn’t know there were any Riders besides the ones on Berk. You weren’t sure if they were a Rider.
You kept your head down, pushed up into the corner of your cage, deliberating over whether or not you should move. You knew if you didn’t, it would be your doom. You didn’t know if you could break the trance you found yourself in.
They peered into the hole, before a sharp, ragged dragon call drew them away, lean legs bringing them quickly out of view and rendering them invisible in the mist.
You shivered and you waited.
And waited, counting the seconds in slow motion, listening to your breathing, experiencing every second, watching the way ousted pieces of wood fell to the ground and shifted as the ship moved, watching as small embers shifted and puttered out, as the metal marking the front of your jail slowly, slowly cooled off, leaving a large, neary person-sized hole.
You could run.
Your breathing quickened. You should have spoken up, but…
Now you could run.
You stared at your knife, hilted on a mount just by the staircase.
You stared at the melted metal cage and stumbled to your feet, nearly falling as you made your way over, trying to keep with the rocking of the boat and the dizziness clouding your thoughts and vision.
You stopped in front of it, hands on your knees, before you turned to the side, lifting your leg up ever so carefully and dropping it onto the other side, mindful of the metal that had just cooled itself still.
You felt your foot drop to the other side and you let out a breath of relief before catching it, leaning forwards hard in order to make up for the sudden jolt of the boat, hissing as you grazed the red end of a bar with your arm.
You felt the skin there sting as it threatened to blister. You knew it would, later.
You came out the other end hopping on one foot, falling against one of the cages on the other side, grabbing the handle of the bar, gritting your teeth as hot metal burned your hands and pushing roughly away towards the stairs, nearly landing on your knees.
You looked back at the few dragons who hadn’t managed to escape, trapped and locked down in their cages, pressing close to the far corner.
A Nightmare, chained down but no less ferocious, blew smoke through the small allowance in its muzzle.
It glared at you rebelliously just as you had Eret a while prior. Condemning, knowing.
You wondered if you had a right to free it, if you were just as bad as the ones who strapped it down, cut the points of its claws to nubs, let it burn itself to near death as the others laughed and jeered.
You couldn’t help but to reel back at the look in its eye, briefly imposed by the image of another.
You wondered if setting it free might give you brownie points with your masked hero. If they were here to play hero, that was.
You had a choice to make.
You slipped between the cages.
You were much slimmer than most of the trappers on board. Slim enough to slip to the other side and grab ahold of one of the huge locks keeping another set of dragons trapped.
They were built to be hardy, enough to keep the dragons locked in, but delicate enough for a person to undo on their own.
You wedged your knife into the lock, messing with the latch and cylinder until you heard that telltale loud release-click. You had become very familiar with that particular sound over the past few weeks.
You slipped to the side, fabric of your furs getting trapped on a sharp untrimmed end of the cage as a pillar of fire burst past, blowing a hole into the next cage over.
You pushed open the cage door, though not before the dragons had freed themselves, running from the hole and slithering up towards the top.
You weren’t sure if you could muster anything besides bitterness for them.
You scowled, shaking your head and scanning the empty room, “Beasts.”
You decided to move, running up fast before crashing up through the trapdoor, causing whatever freed dragons there were to jump away, your arms shaking as you ran across the deck, both invisible and vulnerable in equal measure.
Through the misty fog, you spotted the masked person in the middle of a fierce confrontation against two large men, which they ended by knocking one of them into the other and allowing their dragon, who had since recovered from the bola, to throw them offboard.
You hid around one of the crates, eyes darting around erratically, looking for a way off the ship, smelling something like freedom.
You ran and ran, hoping to maybe find a dragon to hitch a ride off, or at least a raft which you could use to continue to float aimlessly across the sea until you either found land or drowned. You failed on all accounts.
Finally, you reached the edge of the ship, skidding to a stop, heart pounding as you then made eye contact with a figure standing tall at the bow, the same person as before, one food on the side of the ship, the other planted firmly on the ship’s deck and they stood tall above you.
You had pushed open the cages, freed the dragons. You had helped.
“Take me with you,” You pleaded, glancing back at the freed dragons back in the mist, fighting off trappers and making off for more open skies.
You couldn’t tell anything about them besides their eyes, green and hard, the rest of their features hidden behind leather and rags. You thought you might look pathetic the way you were then in your worn, holed furs, torn to the thinness of rags.
Eerily, it reminded you of the moment you spent dangling off the edge of a cliff, looking into the eyes of someone with a very much similar build.
You wondered if they knew how a moment so inconsequential, a moment so small, could become so holy to you. It was your poetry. It was your Pantheon.
You stared at them, stuck in a moment of hesitation, which caused hope to well up like blood cut from your still beating heart. You pleaded with your eyes, shoulders, body language, let the knife in your hand loose.
You imagined their face -whatever lay under that mask- and Hiccup’s, moving in the same way, though you prayed the outcome would not end up the same.
There was a time when you would have rather been in Hel alone than in Valhalla without him.
Eventually, after a long moment of silence and clear deliberation, the masked warrior shook their head ‘no.’
They turned, hooked staff shivering, bone parts wrapped to the staff with twine rattling, conveying a command you could not decipher in full.
The dragon got ready to take off. You tried to grab on to their coattails, the fins of their dragon, anything at all as they left, but you were too late.
You choked back a sob as you fell back down hard against the deck, your surroundings misty, separated by a curtain from the rest of the world, listening to the steady approach of footsteps from behind.
You bared your teeth, knife at the ready, and swung.
You felt the blade drag and you were certain that you’d caught someone in the eye, you were sure of it- It must have been at least somewhere under the brow.
After which, you were quickly kicked to the hard ship’s floor, your insides immediately on fire.
Sopping wet and screaming, you struggled against the men who worked to hold you down.
Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to stay awake, back in the hull, crusted blood marking a worn trail down your forehead.
You hoped he went blind.
You had your knife still, which you clutched close to your middle at all times. You were sure they could wrench it from your hands if they really wanted.
Maybe it was pity that kept them from taking it from you or the fact that they remembered how difficult it was to get you here in the first place, lashing out like an animal, kicking and clawing as they threw you back into the cage. Maybe it was because they hadn’t scant time nor regard for anything else but their eager need to nurse their own wounds. It meant very little, trapped back in the hull as you were.
You lived that moment over and over in your mind, how you carried the burden of guilt on your shoulders, you wanted to beg and plead like you were kneeled before the altar of a broken God. How you were ready to repent, and in that moment the smoke smelt like nothing more than forgiveness. How at that time, you weren’t the one holding the knife.
That time, you were the beast at the sharp end of a masked figure’s staff. You were the one who begged and pleaded and writhed.
You thought of how even before the mask figure could move, you knew the answer they would give, just as you knew the way flesh felt under knife.
As a soft soul, you’d vowed albeit unconsciously to never draw a lick of blood.
Even the Vikings on Berk held honor, none willing to take a slave, none willing to turn away an unwillful hand, none dishonorable enough to slay a man, none cowardly enough not to own up to it.
You stared at the slowly shifting body of a small terror, chained and beaten and scarred so bad it could barely move, laid still and sad in its own waste.
It had driven you mad, its constant whining and hacking filling the hours you should have spent sleeping with strife and restless shifting. Your neck ached from the hard floor even now, and you’d not a moment of respite to show for it.
You weren’t the dragon with the large yellow eyes. You weren’t the trapper, fallen to the knife.
You hated it; just as it was bound, so were you. You seemed to reflect each other, two sides of the same coin, neither the wielder, both the bearers of the sharp end of the knife, slaves to a much crueler fate.
It was a mockery.
And as a child, you’d kept a bird, wings torn and chest kicked in, picked up from the road and stowed away in a wooden box filled with hay. You had been too young to recognize that it had been long since past the point of no return and so you took to it with the passion of a child bound to be disappointed.
You watched it all night by the fire as its chest rose and fell gently, alone.
You fell asleep to an empty hearth and woke to a cold, still body.
When your friend, a small Hiccup, had come to you with his own bird and had shown it to you, cradled and swaddled with all the fine cloth the son of a Chief could afford, you listened to his stories.
You watched with a bitten tongue and a held breath as he cared for it, wrought with a sympathy and a grief you’d never voice. You hadn’t anything but sadness, then, and, in a way, a measure of happiness. You were happy for his success yet bitter that he had found it where you had not, bitter at the fact that his hands healed when yours couldn’t.
You had wondered for so many nights what you had done wrong.
You thought that made him greater.
You imagined his bird, dead, small and fluffy and smushed, run over by the wheel of a wagon.
You imagined it had perhaps been begging for scraps yet had only found the hard hearts and shoulders of Vikings in return, the un-sympathies of Vikings who had better things to do than entertain the whims of a child, unfamiliar to the cold world, the only life it had known being wrapped warm as a fire and soft as fur.
You dreamed of the day it would be lost to the cruel grip of nature.
You glared at the man before you.
You wanted to tell him to shovel his eyes out, to cut open his chest, to suffocate on his own spit and blood. You held your tongue.
Was there something cruel in that, too-? Leaving something so weak and frail to live when it begged for nothing but reprieve? To leave it breathing, choking on its own spit and filth, driving you mad with such anguish and irritation and then rage, until you had wanted nothing more than to have seen it tossed overboard?
Was that what everyone else had seen, back on that wretched island, when they looked at you with those eyes and blocked you off with sturdy shoulders, filled with unease and love and companionship, laid just outside your reach?
Eret grit his jaw.
You blinked away the heavy weights of sleep and though you had the urge, you did not rub your lids. Instead, you laid still, turned away from the entrance. The light.
It smelt terribly.
As the hold once again filled with dragons, they kept to the far side of their cages, away from the small terror- the lizard, that was slowly but surely beginning to rot, torn apart by the desperate, fearful midnight scrabblings of a rat, starving just as you were, but freer than anything above or below deck.
By the sound of it, you knew exactly who’d come.
Eret wasn’t your only visitor. No, you got others. This one, he sounded like one of the kinder ones, the one who brought you your meals. Who kept you from starving. The others, they visited with nothing but sharp, metal-toed boots and fists burning with all the rage of a man trapped, ready and willing to rip and tear.
You were under no illusion that he had done it of his own free will, and yet he carried a sort of hope during the exchanges you shared, the passing of food between the bars and into your small jail, waiting as you turned your back, sighing with loaded emotion and moving with heavy steps.
You were a worthy outlet.
You kept your breathing slow and shallow, rocking with the rest of the boat, rain and water pounding against wood as the ship was tossed around. It would soon get too violent for you to stay still, violent enough to make you sick.
He probably had a family back home. A wife and a child. Or a brother, maybe; a family, something to hold him in the delusion that what he was doing was right, that motivated him to try and rise above the others, that allowed him the belief he had the right to turn the other cheek as both dragons and Vikings alike were beaten and bruised and tortured by his hand. That he wasn’t nor would ever be as bad as the rest of them, which, in your eyes, ultimately made him worse.
It made him selfish, more than anyone else on this vessel, who took and beat and robbed as they pleased.
He had a very unique helmet, one most of the others on this ship did not; something that covered most of his face the same way Dagur’s helmet did, with horns curly enough to match any Jorgenson.
“It’s not like you have a due date, do you?” You coughed viciously, teeth violently catching on the tip of your tongue, causing you to wince.
“How we operate is no business of yours,” Eret grit his jaw, arms crossed, legs crossed as he leaned back. A line of sweat ran down the side of his face.
“You won’t be able to keep this expedition going forever,” You mumbled, voice raspier than ever before, “You need my help.”
“Tell me what you know.”
You laughed at him mockingly, though your stomach sank.
Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was desperation. Maybe you were tired of listening to the crew members above deck, maybe you had a death wish.
You gave in.
You started small.
“Rub it under the chin,” You looked up at him, a sharp, tense grimace on your face, “The spot where the jawbone turns to soft meat, scratch it with your fingernails.”
“You didn’t come up with that,” Eret glared.
“No, I didn’t,” You rasped. The rough uncured leather hide of your muzzle dug into your jaw, the flesh there searing and surely wet with puss after you’d made a very passionate effort to bite one of the crewmates in another escape attempt.
You didn’t need to say anything fancy; it didn’t take much convincing. It wouldn’t.
It made it very difficult to speak, keeping your jaw nearly stuck in place, “But I know it, and that makes me better than you. Just try it.”
You dared him with your eyes, both embodying the hypnotic gaze of a snake and speaking the vying notes of a charmer.
Would you succumb just as the Terror had, or would you rise above it?
You taunted, “You’re not still behind, are you?”
“We’ve gotten... Farther, with your help,” Eret conceded.
Behind him, a green Thunderdrum struggled, mouth bolted shut by a muzzle made of leather and metal not unlike your own, a set of chains binding its wings in the upwards position.
There were three men on its back and two more on each size, wrestling it down as it struggled, trying and failing to scream.
They had no trouble with all the room they needed to swarm the beast and pin it down, a large pull-down metal door opened to reveal another, larger chamber.
“Is it enough?”
“It has to be.”
“Are you willing to take that risk?” You learned to live with it; the stuffiness, the rattling, the pain, and as the nights grew colder and as the hold filled once again with the scraping and screaming of beasts, you slept sounder.
Eret was silent.
“There's grass,” You started, picking at your fingernails, short and bloody, with your knife, “It grows plentifully deep in the islands on the southern end of the archipelago. It should be around here, wherever we are, too.”
“The dragons like it?” Eret asked stiffly.
Like picking bits and pieces off a corpse, like a scavenger picking over carrion, you took old phrases and sullied comforts and wove them together to make a convincing argument. You tempted and you beckoned.
Hiccup would say it was all about trust. You said the same, once upon a time. But you knew better now.
“Well enough to bow,” You smiled.
“Unshackle me.”
“What if I chained you up and dropped you in with the beasts?” Eret shot back, “Everything you have, I fought for. You’re still alive by my good graces and mine only.”
You were the smaller animal, but the frustration and the raw injustice of it all drove you mad. Once again, you wanted to gouge his eyes out.
You wanted to fight and struggle and scream, but you held off.
You hesitated, and looked away, a tenuous expression kept neural only through sheer force of will, the broiling in your gut and the foul words resting on your tongue making you want to do nothing but spit fire.
He would regret that.
“A Whispering Death,” You croaked, trying to suppress the vicious wrinkle of your nose, something wicked and gleeful writhing in your stomach, “Pull it’s top spine, press just under the point, really dig your fingers in.”
“Where are we now?” You asked.
“Someone is dead,” Eret ground out, fists shaking, “A man is dead because of you.”
He threw something on the floor, which clattered loudly in front of your dim cage.
A helmet. You recognized it.
“And?” You let out a short laugh.
“And? And?!”
“Let me out.”
“You don’t deserve that,” He spat.
“Don’t I?” The irony of it all was not lost on you. And so you laughed again, but much louder this time, with force enough to make your clutch at your stomach, to pull taut your loosening muzzle.
You felt at your wrists, newly freed, and shook out your legs, donning a new pair of boots. Your clothing was still torn, ragged, stained, though you were certain you would be able to fix that soon.
You wore a helmet, weighty but fitting on your head, long and covering, secure, with large curly horns. It was patched and in parts covered in blood, thick and dried and congealing where there were dents.
You knew now that what you once called kindness had just been a veil, a sweet lie to cover what everyone else already knew.
You were a cruel, evil person.
A liar, to hold things with delicate hands and whisper hopeful words when there was only one result, to follow teachings and old sayings that would never work for you again. And the sweetest lie was the one you had told yourself for so many years, the one that kept you from the truth and told you that you weren’t.
There was no forgiveness here. Not for you.
Only condemnation.
You stretched your mouth open wide, worked your jaw where your muzzle had left a heavy mark, ignoring the desperate scrabbling and screeching of a dragon and the men behind you pulling, dragging it with fist and chain across splintered wood into a new cage.
You breathed in the fresh sea air, taking in the light of day for the first time in a long while.
And you reveled in it.
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader#villain reader
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The Jealous One pt 7
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 2,207
The road to forgiveness gets just a little less rocky
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE
<Previous - Next>
You scowled sourly, upturning a bucket of water over the side of a blown open roof, your arms relaxing by a slight bit as the water’s weight left you.
Your head pounded, your thoughts muddled, your drinking from the previous day lingering.
Agnarr, the bald idiot, had tried to mess with a Scauldron and had the top half of his hut blown off completely and filled with water and of course you’d been dragged along with Snotlout to fix it.
You hoped his home rotted away.
Said Jorgenson had wanted you to un-boil the water, which wasn’t possible.
You wondered how he’d feel if you upchucked over his head or dropped a full bucket of
the steaming water from on top of Hookfangs back, the red-orange dragon just as sour as you.
“You sure you don’t have a dragon?” Snotlout was on top of a platform just below you made of stacked furniture and crates, helping hand you buckets as you scooped the water out pale by pale- of course, the floor of his hut was dug slightly below ground level so there was no way for the water to drain out naturally. “Can't believe I have to do this with you.”
“What if I just took yours?” You snipped as his dragon shifted below your feet, “Hookfang likes me better anyways.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Snotlout scoffed, blustering. “You love me. Right, Hookie?”
Said dragon snorted derisively, steam blowing out his nose as he shifted his front claws minimally under the water. It wasn’t nearly deep enough to be any cause for concern later, at least not when it came to Hookfang, but his feet would be dry later and it would take a lot of oil and living to get the leather under his scales to stop flaking again.
You weren’t going to help Snotlout with it this time.
“Right? Right, Hookfang?” Snotlout kept trying, furrowing his brows and standing confidently even as his small tower shifted under him.
“I think that’s a ‘no,’” You tossed your bucket down at the boy, his stocky shoulders shifting as he caught it and bent down to scoop up another pail or water, the bottom of it scraping unpleasantly against the covered stone floor.
You wrinkled your nose unpleasantly, the smell of muck fouling your nostrils.
You hadn’t spotted any algae but there probably was some- Agnarr had left his hut flooded for much too long, sleeping on his bed frame out in the paths.
You hoped spitefully that his walls would begin to rot.
“Tuffnut owes me so much money.” Your head snapped to the side, at the entrance of the hut where Ruffnut stood, chuckling deep in her throat and leaning against a cracked open door frame, your head twinging as you jerked, causing you to wince. “By the way, Hiccup’s flying over.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” You snapped as you cradled your head.
“He’s been so,” She dragged out the ‘so,’ “-Moody lately. You two almost match” She nodded towards you, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue slightly, mocking.
You scowled at her, cradling your head. You adjusted your footing on Hookfang, that slimy dragon- “Where is that idiot brother of yours, anyways?”
Below, Snotlout hoisted up another bucket on dark, sloshing water, both the smell and sight of which, stinking, mesmerizing and dark, nearly made you sick.
You grabbed into the bucket with a grit jaw, your elbows straining as you turned the bucket over the side, unfortunately neglecting to keep a steady hand along the rim.
You felt it fall over the side, and you nearly cursed, your hands still held in the air.
You shut your eyes so tightly it hurt, head ringing painfully, fighting off entropy and what you were sure was a hangover-induced whistling in your ear.
Ruffnut ignored every single word you had spoken and every single one of the metaphorical storm clouds congealing over your head, “He should be here in just about-”
You turned your head to her and made to say something nasty before you felt something grasp your hands, roughly tugging you into the air.
You cursed violently, the last thing you saw being the ungainly laughing of Ruffnut as you were pulled into the air.
You stumbled to your feet, trying to gather your wits as you’d been dropped from the sky, screaming and shouting.
You stiffened up quickly as you met windswept hair, Hiccup wringing his hands in front of you.
He was stationed in front of a blanket and a basket with two healthy loaves of bread inside, grass forming lumps under cloth.
Behind that was a set of cliffs overlooking the forest on one side of Berk.
You studied Hiccup’s face incredulously, his lips pursed and eyes angled away from you, drying to discern what the point of all this was. Was this another apology?
The lowering sun was nearly burning on your face, burned by the wind, brought on by the haste of the dragon shuffling behind you.
You’d no need for any of that since you and Hiccup had spent your younger years goading other Vikings on top of cliff tops where they couldn’t hear you, sharing snide, niche jokes between each other, something which you’d both seemed to grow out of since the Red Death’s fall.
“What-” You started, stiff shoulders and balled fists loosening as the shifting of the trees around you grew to be too much, blurring the scene around you and causing your stomach to feel as if it was being pressed against from all sides.
You didn’t so much as feel the world tilt as you stepped forwards.
You woke up tucked into your bed, wondering what in the world had happened to you, ready to share some violent words with Hiccup, only to be met with an empty room and a bucket sat against your floor along with a mug of what was hopefully water on your bedside table and a crumpled piece of parchment under with a neat ‘sorry’ scrawled into clumsy writing.
Besides that, the front piece slightly damaged by a ring of water from the bottom of your cup, lay copies of papers that had clearly been compiled by Fishlegs in Hiccup’s handwriting and a small bird’s skull settled on top of it, not unlike one of the many metal copies you’d seen pinned to Astrid’s skirt.
You recognized some of the contents, leaning over your elbow and holding the handle of the mug in one startled hand.
It was nearly kind of him, and the sentiment reminded you of the puppy eyes you’d only seen on the dragon you’d been replaced by.
You scowled as your stomach lurched, gritting your leath and wiping away the confused furrow-browed look that had lain across your face as you stared at the mug and papers.
You were slightly bitter he didn’t have the gall to apologize to your face the same way he had the gall to do most other things, none of which he was usually allowed.
You snuffled miserably.
You were not recovered enough to recoup the absentminded happiness you craved and that you’d thrown on, attending to your new friends, or maybe the doe-eyed honeymoon phase of your friendship with the other was over, though you still liked them plenty.
The flight must have stressed you out some and so now, you felt more exhausted than anything, glaring at Hiccup with a wary eye.
He’d always been stupid, but he’d never done anything stupid to you… not until then.
“I-“ Hiccup said, nervously holding his hands out in front of him.
“Save it.” You grumbled, your voice dragging, your throat scratchy, and you irritated that you’d been shunted along on a quest not with the Ruffnut, Snotlout or even Tuffnut, but with Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.
“...Alright.” Hiccup said concedingly, “We can head up to Gothi if you’re not feeling well-?”
“I said to save it.” You snapped again, wishing the others hadn’t ditched you for taking too long to get up, though you’d done the same to Tuffnut a while back so it was your rightful comeuppance.
The two of you broke out from the treeline promptly, the ground shifting from thick mulch, leaves and spots of underbrush to a more open short, grassy patch just before the edge of a cliff, one which you knew crested slightly over a small field and some forest- what you were looking for -the herbs- should have been around somewhere.
You wondered why Hiccup hadn’t just flown over with Toothless- but then again, plants were delicate and it was hard enough to carry a basket over the back of a dragon.
“...This is a nice spot, isn’t it?” Hiccup asked, after a pause, “It’s… Nostalgic.”
You sighed, moving closer to the edge of it, the hairs on the back of your neck settling as you’d taken your distance.
You knew exactly what he was talking about- all the time spent wandering and speaking and writing words that were mostly good, hunts for bones and tussles in shallow streams and the kicking up of water and silt from simple riverbeds all near the other side of the island.
“What, you miss loitering around with me? Poking fun at the others?” Another time, you might have wanted to shout wild noises and storm off in a way you knew would leave one very harassed-looking heir left standing behind you, but you held off. You hadn’t the energy or the drive.
Hiccup paused, looking to the side as if he wasn’t all there. “I guess… I guess maybe I do.”
You also wanted to roll your eyes, sitting down on the very top of the cliff, your basket forgotten as you stared down at the grasses below, turning your attention exhaustively away from Hiccup and that stupid fond look on his face.
You grazed over the bits below, at the few slim forms of what must have been the others, Snotlout and the Twins, punching around with each other, Fishlegs, for some odd reason, standing along the sidelines.
They seemed to dance from this distance, and it reminded you of what you’d done just a while ago in the sliver of time in which you’d been friendless.
There was a place on one side of the island where you often sat along the ledge, booted toes hanging over the ledge, one arm wrapped around your legs, knees pulled up to your chin as you threw scraps of fish down the small canyon. The space in front of you was always bare both above and below. That part of the island was a hard, plantless quarry made of boulders and crevasses. It was just near the same place you’d met your dragon before.
In the current moment, someone who you assumed was Snotlout threw a large bouquet of what look like weeds towards Ruffnut
You hummed, content and discontent in different ways, imagining you were staring down at that canyon instead, full of young dragons preening, prodding and resting in the sun.
Sometimes you wondered why you held off so long in getting a dragon of your own. Maybe you hoped that Hiccup would find you one, the same way he did all his new friends, who he found to be very cool and important despite all the time he spent reassuring you that he didn’t.
But, as you found, you really didn’t need one. Hiccup, you weren’t so sure. He wasn’t upset, but as you were figuring out, you weren't quite sure how to read him anymore. The idea ceased to be novel- now you just didn’t have any interest.
“Is that… Snotlout?” Hiccup asked, settling down a good distance beside you.
You listened to the subtle chirping of bugs as they danced around under the waning sun, watched the gentle glide of wings as a few began to bravely venture closer to the two of you.
“...I’m not sure,” You noted, feeling quite melancholy as Snotlout tried again and held out a handful of crumpled, wilted flowers to a very cross Ruffnut below, “I’m sort of rooting for him.”
Now more than ever you felt the tiredness weighing down your lids.
You’d considered using kohl for a time to cover up the dark bags under your eyes, which you’d seen in your reflection over a pale of water just that morning.
You weren’t sure they knew you were up there, yet. If things went the way you wanted, they wouldn’t know at all.
“Eh,” Hiccup said, “I hope Fishlegs wins her over.”
You glanced at Hiccup out of the corner of your eye.
He might look nice with some, spread by a lightly padding finger just under his eyes, but you knew he would never let you close with any, not in this lifetime.
You felt that you should invest in a mirror- what was it that the Romans were using, now? Wasn’t it polished bronze? You wanted one of those.
You scoffed, feeling tart, though you felt even consciously through the growing stuff of your head and your nose that the simmering upset that had colored your actions earlier had slightly abated, “Of course you do.”
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader#toothless
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hiii i just wanted to say i really like how each of the protags in your fics have different personalities!!! adds a lot of flavour and depth i think to how hiccup interacts with each version of reader in different contexts :)
The Jealous One pt 6
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 1,964
You’re caught off guard in the woods. Hiccup might have a thing for rejection… Or you. He’s really not sure.
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE
<Previous - Next>
You wanted to kick as you braced your foot against a rock, pulling your cup up to your face again, shoulders pressing painfully into the bark of a tree, curved so that the center of your shoulder blades felt as if they were being dug into by two very thick thumbs.
You wanted to say that you were getting good at keeping it all stuffed inside -your emotions, as it were, not necessarily your lunch- but if you’d been good at that, you wouldn’t be here dealing with this with a large, leaking barrel of stolen mead. Day drinking.
Though you hadn’t participated, soon after you’d left your table, a fight in the hall had broken out and taken a lot out of you, having devolved into a full-on brawl that the majority of the Riders hadn’t been too pressed to join in on.
By the end, you were sure most of the busy folk, the ones who hadn’t been knocked out, had left, most of the Riders had either fallen asleep or had drunken themselves into a stupor and the more studious ones, being Astrid and Fishlegs, had already long made of in the night either to chase off another poor Viking with a sharpened axe and clenched muscles or to hide and cower until the night had been done.
For you, the distraction had made it much easier to make off with a barrel of mead, and you’d dragged it, half bent over, into the woods, arms straining at the heavy weight.
And just in time, too. It was usually after the first fight that the mead-ladies and cup-bearers always began to charge coin for each pint.
Your arms were so sore. But it was worth it.
You weren’t too far off from the bridge separating you from Berks main village, you and your tapped barrel hiding somewhere off in the trees just after the foliage began to grow thicker, so even now, from a distance, you could hear the stormy rocking of the ocean against Berk’s sturdy shores.
You shook off a light buzz as the sound of crunching leaves grew louder, louder than what was appropriate between the mingling of tiny forest creatures, in which case you meant the Terrors scrabbling through the trees as there weren’t so many woodland creatures close to Berk’s main village.
You rested the bottom of your mug on one of your knees, your legs spread apart so that you could lean forwards whenever you wanted to fill your jug, thinking slowly and taking the time to try and listen harder.
You wanted to groan, then. Many different vikings on Berk with prosthetics, peg legs and the like but what you’d figured for sure was an approach came packaged with the slight spring of metal against metal, which you knew could only belong to one Viking.
You debated trying to hide the evidence of your night spent out alone in the cold dangers of the woods but decided against it, instead pushing yourself up, palms against cold bark, the divets between strips pressing imprints into your palm.
You didn’t give yourself much time to loiters, legs placed slightly farther apart than what was comfortable as you stumbled, dropping your mug against wood roots and grass and upturned dirt with a clatter just as a familiar face made its way past the treeline.
You resisted the urge to grumble, nearly stumbling over a shallow tree root as you brushed past him, your shoulder checking his in your distraction.
“Where…” Hiccup asked, stopping slowly behind you, now shivering himself, the head of his hair wild and on end, “Where are you going?”
You were slightly drowsy, the hands on your arms working overtime in an effort to scrub away the cold. The wind did a great deal to help, brushing through your skirts as you made your way down towards flat ground.
“...To bed,” You mumbled, eyes nearly closed, buzzing with your sudden need to sleep and the weightful urge to drop, all the muscles in your lid looser than they’d be if you had any control over your own body.
You blinked sourly into the canopy of pine above you, the light glaring brightly through the spindly leaves against trees.
You didn’t keep time, not particularly concerned as early early morning turned to brighter still early morning.
You sighed, more a breath than a chirr, blinking groggily, turning in half as Hiccup moved to catch up with you, at a steady pace yet not fast enough to be called anything but a strong walk.
You stood on a small, flat rock, poking out of the ground like a tiny boat in the middle of a storming, wide ocean of grass, trees and shrubs, mimicking still, titanic waves all around you.
A Terror called out in the distance and a wind rushed past, nearly causing you to slip.
“Wait-”
You jerked as you felt the feel of hands grabbing onto either side of your upper arms, craning your neck awkwardly to face the one who held you aloft as your tilt neared the diagonal.
You grunted lightly, shaking him off with slow movement, burdened by many things and turned to face him.
The way he stood was easy, compared to you who was subtly off kilter, swaying with the breezes.
“I… I was a poor sport,” Hiccup said finally, voice thick with tension, reaching out for you in tone and hand; you felt a gentle tug on your tunic sleeve, the brush of a callous against the soft skin on the inside of your wrist.
He didn’t need to explain any more.
He was eager to apologize.
“Right,” You said, as your stomach dropped again, the beginnings of guilt prickling its way up the lining of your stomach like the sharp sprout of a plant bursting through thin soil.
He seemed much more awake than you, but the faded bags under his eyes implied he might not have slept as much as he’d… Liked to have implied, most likely.
A while ago, you would have forgiven him instantaneously. Now, you realized you didn’t feel that pull, the need to wait and languish. You still stewed, but it wasn’t with that simmering loneliness fueled desperation lying underneath a wave of discomfort.
It was a bit of a relief.
“I shouldn’t have...”
That wasn’t. It was awful.
You wondered how many times you could reject him before it became unreasonable.
You didn’t know what you wanted to say, but you knew he got it all wrong. You hoped he felt regret, though.
“You said things just fine,” You grumbled, shaking him off and letting your arms loosen, “I don’t care.”
He hadn’t been so insecure about his cousin since you were younger teens. You didn’t like him enough at the moment to try and find out why.
“And I’ve been thinking-” Hiccup continued anyways, grumbling slightly, “and I really- maybe I deserve it.”
“Right,” You said shortly, though not short enough to really imply that you’d been holding a grudge, still intent on leaving, feet shifting. The two of you were on the same step, practically standing toe-to-toe.
Of course you still held a grudge. Or, maybe grudge wasn’t the right word. Grudges were for things that were old, that had been long since made up for and pushed under the rug, then brought out and dusted off and looked over at night when secrets were best kept.
You’d had half a mind to let it pass. Not because you wanted to be the better person- no, because ‘letting it go’ didn’t always mean being the better person, not when you were still so upset, anger lying like a poised snake in your stomach, but because you wanted him to squirm.
To think about it just as much as you’d had to.
In this instance, however, you didn’t particularly think that holding to your anguish made you a worse person. It made you a wronged person, for sure.
You remembered how you woke up early to see him, to be the one to say ‘hi’ first. How he’d greet you, then how he wasn’t there. And again and again and again you checked, your heart soaring each time, only to be left sorely disappointed.
It was silly. And selfish. And something only someone a few years younger could do- keep their hopes up so innocently high and without any real expectation only to be disappointed each and every time by a result that through pattern they must have known to be sure.
You grumbled, shaking him off and turning to leave anyway. “Fine. Save your apologies.”
“-No, you’re right.” Hiccup folded quickly, “I-What?”
Of course, it would be just like him not to see your worth.
“...You haven’t paid this much attention to me since we were kids.” Seriously, why? You said sternly, pushing past the slogging fog clouding your mind.
“What?” Hiccup paused.
“Of course,” You scoffed, stepping your way off the rock and kicking your way past a large pile of leaves.
As you stalked- or, stumbled, more like- out the treeline and up to the wooden planking lining the wide floor of the huge bridge leading back to Berk, dark boots dirty and scuffling loudly against the wood, Hiccup watched you.
Hiccup watched you and he paused with mounting horror as his eyes followed you, whose long gray skirt was falling down to your ankles.
At this point, you’d refused two of his apologies, both times with a gloomy, stormy expression on your face, shoulders hunched and miserable.
You had asked him why.
And, well, there was a reason why.
He was a bad friend.
Deep envy, spiked as thorns in chest twisted as a friend of his became the friend of another, attention that had been allotted for him lost like spare coin. As what he knew to be a feeling or certainty became pangs of hurt when you became someone he couldn’t any longer recognize, fast speech becoming a slow, morbid, familiar prose becoming, dare he say it, ribbing.
Even now, he wanted to keep it up leave still, to escape off into the sky with the other riders in an effort to keep running away in part from a feeling he couldn’t name, a thing that grew and writhed as he realized that he’d mistaken the value of one friend for a group of a few others when he really should have made an effort to have kept all of his sheep in line.
It was a feeling that was familiar but that he hadn’t paid much mind to, even as he’d grown more distant from you, even as his eyes began to linger and as his heart pounded and eyes widened.
It had become unavoidable now, especially after you’d fallen over him, looking wonderful and fine and shining with the sun pressing into your back and glinting around your head like a crown made for you by the very Gods.
It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since… He was a teen, when he had been very much into... -But, it was slightly different; a little bit of want-to-see mixed with a heaping pile of desire-to-impress mixed with something a little bit more like ‘I-know-you,’ which, in hindsight, had always been there, at least for a while though it was a slight weaker now and had not always paired so brightly with the previous two.
And all of it was twinged by something else, wrapped up in a twisting, bitter, covetous cage, locked and keyed by a budding, intense resentment for his cousin.
Even in your drunken state you were so, so pretty. And now you were mad at him.
He had to wonder how he always got himself into these situations.
#Another ask i wanted to leave a part for#thank you#fav#wasn't sure anyone noticed#it was exciting#how to train your dragon#httyd#fanfiction#x reader#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader
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Hello I literally love ur writing style SO much, been binge reading all your httyd stuff and having a blast!!! Ty for being awesome, ur updates always make my day :3
The Jealous One pt 5
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 1848
The Great Hall is always a nice place to frequent when one’s seeking companionship. You are, however, not doing that.
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE
<Previous - Next>
You spoke and acted suddenly with Hiccup and with a wrongness that had made you uneasy for days to follow.
Acting out with Snotlout and the Twins had gone against a lot of your do-good lay-low-and-miserable instincts, which made you momentarily numb to them, in a way.
When you were caught up with them, too busy to think, you ended up doing things in ways you definitely wouldn't have had you been thinking normally. The joy always ended up outweighing any other feelings you might have had on what you did later, but now it was a little different.
You feigned normal, but also you avoided Hiccup a lot, so you weren’t sure how you ended up here.
“-I don’t think that does anything for most dragons,” Fishlegs looked down at Ruffnut, some of his general nervous demeanor melting away in favor of minor exhaustion at her relentless questioning, maybe catching on some, “There are some, but…”
Snotlout was off on the other side of the Hall. Be it far below him to serve. However, he’d lost a very minor bet so he had to go get you guys dinner for the next five weeks.
You weren’t quite sure where Ruffnut was. Busy, probably.
You sighed, slightly rotating the mug you had in hand, slumping down on a nearby bench, giving the off-put Viking a rest. That wasn’t your intention, to put him off, anyways.
Tuffnut chuckled to himself, before dropping down on the opposite bench, cradling Macey over his shoulder.
Fishlegs stood watching you for a moment, before perking up slightly.
You turned your attention away from him, choosing instead to lay your head over your arms on the table. You didn’t care to register anything past that, even as Fishlegs began silent conversation with a new party, someone you barely sensed joined him through the loud hustle and bustle of the hall.
It took a while, but eventually you heard a familiar holler, followed by an exhausted declarative, “Food’s here.”
You lifted your head genially to reveal Snotlout, with a set of four plates balanced on his arm, one balanced between the horns of his helmet. Ruffnut followed closely behind, laughing at him.
“Snotlout!” You cheered.
Ruffnut poked his middle, causing him to nearly fumble your food as he balanced angrily past moving gaggles of Vikings.
“Hey!” He snapped, “Watch it!”
She cackled as a group of running children, followed by Gustav, nearly ran him over.
“Oh, wow,” Came a voice from your left, “Never thought I’d see him do that.”
Your head jerked to reveal Hiccup, standing above you, watching Snotlout with mild amusement, though there was something stiff about him which you thought was very well deserved.
“That’s for sure,” Said Astrid with casualty, revealing herself from behind a set of women carrying two full plates of chicken to one of the larger tables, where clans preferred to sit together.
You grimaced slightly and turned away, leaning back against the meal table behind you, elbows propped against wood.
Then cringed as they eyed each other with mild apprehensiveness from opposite sides of the table, then rolled your eyes and scooted away slightly as you spotted Snotlout, who had finally made his way over, Ruffnut dropping a roll of thick, hastily carved spoons on the surface.
You cringed as they clattered across wood, picking one up and rubbing it with your sleeve.
“You have to get your own food,” Snotlout scoffed at the two plus Fishlegs as he finished unloading plates onto the table.
“Thanks, Snot,” You batted your lashes at him falsely as he gagged, ignoring the odd, caught-off guard look from Hiccup as you glanced back.
You fought the urge to gnash your teeth at him.
“But…” Fishlegs started, staring at the plate that had once previously been on top of his head. But you knew he’d have no luck. As always, Snotlout managed to negotiate himself an extra bit of food on top of his already loaded plate.
You noticed, with glee, that your plate was loaded with a little extra stew than normal. Something Plegma usually only did for the Riders.
“Nice,” You said, somewhat pleased, lifting your brows slightly and grinning from ear-to-ear, slouching back further against the table before taking a small bite.
“Food could be better,” You said snippishly, as you nudged the stew around your bowl with a spoon, resting your mug against the table and tugging it towards you with your other hand.
“Ugh,” Ruffnut rolled her eyes.
“Stick-in-the-mud,” Snotlout agreed, though not with cheer, looking at Tuffnut with a sneer as he scratched himself in the armpit.
You blew a raspberry at them, before frowning.
Maybe you had been grumpy.
You glared at Hiccup from the corner of your eye, a move that might look coy on someone else, though you personally just felt a little bit queasy, as if a horde of bugs had started buzzing up and down your intestines, angry as you.
What had happened- you weren’t sure it was even an argument -maybe it was- but you could have gotten over it, maybe. Going over it with Tuffnut, though, had broken something in you that you hadn’t realized you’d been building back up hanging out with one half of the Riders.
You sighed shakingly, as you finished another swallow, bringing your mug down genially. It settled on to the table by your side with a simple clack, before pushing off against the table, swinging your legs over the side.
You felt the tension in your chest release as you moved across the hall, not expecting anyone to follow.
You weaved through the throng of the Great Hall clumsily, though not without experience. One hand held your elbow, the other the handle on your mug.
Your goal was, of course, to refill your cup, though that also had the slight upside of taking you away from the Riders.
You’d gotten sick of watching them all talk together, and to be honest, you were feeling a little out of place.
People milled by, momentary, uninterested onlookers to your conversation, by the side of a lunch table; a sturdy, tall woman with red hair piled up into a huge knot, a man in a helmet with four horns knocking people aside with his elbows, large trays in hand.
A lady with a shawl passed by, covered in the skulls of small animals swept by, nearly knocking you in the head with a wooden tray, speaking loudly to someone on her other side.
Looking back, you couldn’t help thinking about how you would have loved this if you’d been just a few years younger.
Sure, you were only friends with a few of them, but-even if you weren’t at the forefront of the crowd, you always imagined you’d feel like the girl of the hour. Maybe it would have been better because of it. Sure, you were living on a small rock island in the middle of nowhere, constantly showered on by torrents of hellfire and bloodshed, but you had Hiccup.
The Riders were his dream, so being ditched felt like he was telling you to kick rocks. Like he wanted you to feel miserable. Deep down thought, you’d wanted his dream- You’d wanted to be there too.
You’d had Hiccup in those daydreams, those dreams within dreams, casual and there and real enough like goats milk on skin, like falling asleep with hands carding through your hair after a long day.
You were incensed. You wanted to cry and yell, but you also felt terrible. The feeling built high in your stomach.
You wondered if anyone else took notice.
You had never quite spent time with all of the Riders at once, and were quite adverse to the idea. The more you thought about it, the more you were even less inclined to stay than before.
You paused at the brush of a palm over your shoulder, loose and without any sort of grip, yet feeling enough for you to take notice, stopping suddenly.
The hairs on the back of your neck stood. If you’d had hackles, they would have been raised.
“Hey, wait, where are you going?” It was a bit difficult to hear over the rabble, the crowd around you built up by voices much stronger than his or yours with personality and enthusiasm, yet you were able to make it out, a voice you knew by heart all the same.
Hiccup.
You turned and reached behind you, feeling the edge of a table bump into your rear. You leaned against it, racing your hand down slightly behind you to brace and dust over its surface.
The grain of the table was lumpy under your fingers yet smoothes by years of use and the grazing passes of many other hands.
“Why do you care?” You grumbled, arms falling loosely from their cross. You were nearly surprised when he heard you after.
“Why do I care?” Hiccup shook his head, “...What’s going on?”
You nearly missed the last bit, his voice nearly drowned out by the shout of someone two tables over. It was quite difficult to hold up an argument in the middle of a crowd, it seemed.
“Nothing,” You said, in lieu of an explanation, irritation spiking in your gut.
“It’s not.”
At that moment, the large arm of a blonde man nearly pushed him onto the table aside.
You fought down the urge to smile, looking down and feeling pretty malicious.
On the floor, you were greeted by a half-eaten leg of meat lay bitten into and discarded a few lengths away from you, a puddle of what was either stew or something you didn’t want to think about just further ahead.
You grimaced and scuffed a single loose boot toe into the Great Hall stone, annoyed, not surprised at all when it slid smoothly against the surface.
“What are you getting at?” You asked antagonistically. You felt stupid, dancing around him, mostly because you didn’t want to be talking to him at all.
Was it arrogant for you to want to get away? Was this conversation penance, punishment for your earlier outburst?
You couldn’t help but wax poetically about it in your head.
“What am I-?” That seemed to do it -tick him off, that is.
“I can’t really read that mind of yours, genius.”
“Maybe if you stopped spending so much time with Snotlout-” Hiccup stepped forwards.
You snapped, gritting your teeth and stepping closer, feeling your nails dig into your palms through the fabric of your skirts, clutched in your hands, “What’s your deal been?! I’m friends with Snotlout. What’s the big deal?!”
“I-...” He started, looking frustrated, though his eyes darted to the side slightly, “I just-”
“Gods,” You grit your jaw, bringing your hands to your head, not flinching when a few drops of mead spilled out the other end of your mug.
You didn’t show it, but you felt terrible.
You hated the way his brows tilted, the momentary expression of grief on his face- yet you just wanted him to leave you alone.
#wanted to give some writing for this ask#httyd#it made me happy#thank you#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup haddock#hiccup x reader#httyd imagine#fem reader#female reader#toothless
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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
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Hello! How are you?
To begin with I want to congratulate you for finishing "sbitilyp", it was a very nice fic and I loved the ending <3
Now, I just want to ask if you're going to start new fics or first you're going to complete "castoff" and 'the jealous one"..🍬
Hello, thank you! sbitilyp is one of my favorite pieces- I didn't really expect so many people to like it!
I will be finishing the jealous one soon and i will be filling more asks- I am not sure which will come first as i am working on everything all at once, so it is slow. castoff is on break currently, though I have it all planned out and should be starting back up again soon
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#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#fanfiction#hiccup x reader#hiccup haddock#httyd imagine#toothless
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The Jealous One pt 4
Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader
Words: 1515
Hiccup is passive aggressive. You’re mad. He doesn’t do anything about it (yet).
Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE
<Previous - Next>
“I don’t think Snotlout realizes he can like Ruffnut yet, but Fishlegs definitely likes Ruffnut,” You said confidently, pulling up pond weeds with your hands.
Your trousers were rolled up to your ankles, one side of your skirt tucked into your waistband as your toes dug into the silt close to the shore.
Hiccup was beside you, wading in a similar fashion, although it was a bit difficult to hike up both his pantslegs when one was otherwise occupied with his prosthetic.
The trees were incredibly tall around you, enough to block out all light around the pond. Just a few beams filtered through the topmost leaves, filling the forest floor with a heady yellow glow, mites and other things filtering through them, dancing like fairies to a tune only they knew, lighting up the dark waters.
Behind you was an old, abandoned dock, small and molded and falling apart, and besides that, a bucket which you used to toss aside weeds.
Indeed, you were deep, deep in the forests around Berk, where only mystical and mysterious things ever seemed to happen.
“Really-?” Hiccup asked, voice high as his spirits seemed to be, “There’s a large one to your left.”
He indicated with a nod as you glanced over towards him, once again dipping your arms with your rolled-up sleeves into the water, sifting around until you found what he was motioning towards.
A long, dark-green frond of something which pulled easily from the mix below.
“...Is this what you and Fishlegs were talking about before?” You asked, also noticeably, to yourself, a lot less gloomy. You too had been feeling high of spirits, enough to make you feel as if you had broken your old moping patterns, “The weeds.”
It was a pleasant surprise, when Hiccup had come to you asking for help picking weeds from the water.
You wondered which plant was the subject of his interest or his ire now? What plant had the dragons been interacting with this time, to pull his attention? Was it the Rush, or the Pendula? Maybe another plant, one that ended up being from the forest floor instead?
You felt bad still, for not meeting him by the Great Hall.
You knew he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, the same way he thought most skulls looked the same.
“Not really?” Hiccup tried, rubbing his hand down his shirt before ruffling the hair at the back of his own head as he tossed a long bunch of wet weeds back, the water sloshing around his ankles, artificial and otherwise, “Not specifically.”
“Specifically?” You took a moment to stare at him with your eyebrow raised.
“Barf and Belch.”
You hummed casually, though you had your ears perked.
You didn’t care at all to keep track of the Twins’ dragons so this was news to you.
“Belch hasn’t been able to fly straight with his other head in a while. Not always, but they’ve been sneaking off to who-knows-where. In short, we think he’s hallucinating. He had… Something, in his teeth. He was hanging around the water the last time- he was dripping wet. Not salt water. Tuffnut… tested that.”
You winced at the mention, “-So you think whatever it was that caused him to act stupid’s been floating around in one of these ponds.”
“Right,” Hiccup nodded.
“Sounds easy enough,” You nodded in return.
“Yeah, so…” Hiccup tried, half-joking in a way that made the invisible hairs on your back prickle, alert, “I’ve been… Meaning to ask. What’s been going on with you and Snotlout? And the others? I’m pretty sure the Jorgensons are getting ready for the two of you to get married.”
“I’d hope not,” You rolled your eyes at him wearily, beginning the slow slog back to the docks behind you, legs pushing through murky water. You were half afraid it would end up making you sick, “I wouldn’t marry him.”
Really, though, why did he care?
“So… You’re not interested in him?”
“Never,” You scoffed, “Not in a million years.”
You were glad that he wasn’t angry- he didn’t seem it, anyways, not at you for accidentally ditching him… if he remembered anything about your plans at all. You didn’t want to bring it up in case he did and that reminded him of anything, pulling up memories like a sharp tripwire. Some things were better off just left unspoken.
You still felt bad, though.
He finally sat down to pull up his own prosthetic, tugging aside the soggy pants leg just above, stitched to cover his stump like a sock.
“Well, that’s not what everyone else thinks,” He said as he turned away, moving continuously with a certain lilt to his voice that made it sound sort of final.
Tuffnut and Snotlout and Ruffnut usually said the same in a voice that seemed more sing-song, though you were certain Hiccup couldn’t ever hold that sort of tone without it sounding weird, or out of place.
“What are you getting at?” You sniped, stomach dropping, “Are you feeling fine? You’re not mad, are you? About before?”
Hiccup’s shoulder’s seemed to jump, nose wrinkling as he grimaced.
“Yup, great… You left me behind, remember,” Hiccup said sarcastically, drily, “So, you know, I’m feeling so warm and fuzzy and loved. So, how are you, by the way? I never really got an explanation for that.”
You grimaced, resisting the urge to bristle at that, knowing in half that he was just baiting you.
You finished pulling up your boot, stuffing your pants leg into the fur lining, feeling incredulous.
You finally understood what it meant for the others, when they said they were annoyed by Hiccup. His sarcasm didn’t seem so funny when you were on the other end of it.
Now you just felt bitter and annoyed.
Pot-kettle.
Well, if he wanted something to scoff at then he’d get something to scoff at.
“Oh, thank you,” You nodded sarcastically, hand braced against your knee, in an action that was more Astrid-like than you would have preferred it to be, “I’m great.”
Hiccup scoffed again, and you felt another spike of irritation in your chest that you weren’t inclined to smother.
Instead, you yanked on the handle of the bucket, tugging it upwards and nearly wrenching your arm with the force of it, and the weight of the bucket, made heavier by the plants and water inside, and dumped it over his head.
“I-uh, ah-ha!” His voice started normal but hitting a higher nasal as it peaked, the contents of the bucket dumping over his face and pasting his hair to his cheeks, water-darkened and tangled with pond plants.
Hiccup stopped for a second, choking on his spit, looking at you incredulously, astonished and definitely upset.
How things could have gone so sour so fast was lost on you.
You glared at him, “Having fun picking that up all on your own.”
Then you marched off, kicking back through the undergrowth as you made it your mission to get as far away as possible.
“You messed up, dude,” Tuffnut spoke with faux wisdom, with words supposed to trigger something in you like you cared at all what he thought, or agreed that somehow in some way he might have known better.
Twins had a certain air about them. They took themselves more seriously than anything else, a level of self-involvement that made it seem like their words had merit whenever they said things of the soul-searching. Most people put their advice above all others, some even vyed it, not that the Twins would ever help anyone on purpose.
You thought they were just stupid.
You’d long since ceased to be fond of it.
It was obvious he had no idea what he was talking about, and it just made you mad.
You missed when you were miserable, because it made everything else feel duller.
“Yeah, well, how do you think I felt?” You asked, incensed, “After he spent all that time blowing me off to hang out with you guys?”
You shouted frustratedly, a nonsensical thing, as you grabbed at the air.
“It was well something well deserved and if he can’t pull his head out of his- if he can’t pull your helmet horns out of his ass long enough to see it then I don’t need it-! You-! Him. The whole lot of you!” You snarked, feeling incredibly hostile as you marched off for the second time that day.
Hiccup stood, rubbing his chin with his hand, leaning against the wooden side of a hut feeling slightly stressed.
He’d… Overheard your shouting.
You’d seemed fine, but then again, your fine was kind of… not. He thought you’d have found someone else to hang out with.
It hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal at the time. He’d always talked about wanting to be friends with the others, and you’d never said anything against it. You hadn’t. But he got it now. The shoe was on the other… prosthetic.
It was all karma.
He really did mess up, didn’t he?
#httyd#how to train your dragon#x reader#hiccup haddock#fanfiction#hiccup x reader#fem reader#httyd imagine#female reader
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