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Description
The only thing Astrid found more unsettling than finding Hiccup on a secluded beach, soaking wet and staring off against another dragon rider, was his conduct.

An hour earlier she had caught sight of him flying off after storming from his father’s home—a common enough occurrence. Hiccup was often more willing to open up after a good fly, so Astrid had given them an hour’s period to cool off before she and Stormfly tracked them down. Usually she’d find them on some abandoned outcrop or seated in the branches of a high tree. They’d talk, tease, fight, kiss, and go home.

This time was different.

Hiccup offered no acknowledgement of Astrid’s arrival, not even when she dismounted in a jingle of metal and leather loud enough to disturb the thick tension strung between he and the stranger. His fixation on the woman across from him remained undisturbed; he stood with empty hands, parted lips, and naked disbelief raked across his face.

The hair on her arms prickled. Astrid did not dare step away from her Nadder’s side, choosing instead to keep a hand closed on the packed axe and observe the stranger from afar (who had spared Astrid a look when Stormfly first landed and nothing more; it was more than Hiccup gave her anyway).

The woman was tall and able-bodied, with bared teeth and poised spear. The unknown, grisly dragon at her side looked every bit as aggressive and feral as its rider.

Where Hiccup appeared to have lost all self-awareness, she was ready for attack.

“Hiccup?” Astrid asked after the tense silence drew on. “Who’s this?”

Hiccup remained silent—still staring, barely breathing—as though he hadn’t heard her. His hands trembled.

Once more, it was the stranger who gave her response. The woman’s grip first loosened from her spear. Her spine straightened and her stance dropped. All of her aggression dissipated and Astrid could see—even through the distance—how her eyes grew impossibly wide, trailing over Hiccup’s from.

“Hiccup?” the stranger repeated. She had the gruff, tight voice of a throat rarely used, but somehow still managed to portray something aghast.

Hiccup jolted—perhaps from hearing his name carried in her voice. The appall was thrown from his features and overridden by a sudden, hard scowl.

Astrid watched a deep, thunderous energy overtake Hiccup, frightening in its potency. His chest swelled, his fingers curled, his cheeks flexed over a tight jaw.

“Hic—,” her voice caught halfway through the name. She saw the dark turn of his brow and the unfamiliar rage that lit his eyes.

Astrid tried, instead, to step toward him and in a flurry of movement Hiccup was suddenly on Toothless. The Night Fury was ready for it—ready before anyone else could have predicted, as though he knew exactly what Hiccup needed. They were off.

Astrid swore and followed. She had a leg over Stormfly before she even thought to spare the stranger a thought. The woman hadn’t moved—rooted in the sand and staring after Hiccup with a hand fisted over her breast.

Astrid faced no indecision in leaving her behind—that would come later. Answers would come later. Right now Hiccup scared her. The venomous rage she had never seen in him before scared her. She felt scared for him.

She pushed Stormfly to keep up.

“Hiccup!” she cried at his back. “Hiccup, wait! Who was that?”

The wind drowned her voice; cold and salt seared her throat. Even if he had heard her, she doubt he’d answer. She tried to level out with him but he and Toothless did that thing where they become a unified, supernatural force of flight, and Astrid got an abrupt, hard reminder of why the racing games didn’t appeal to Hiccup. He said he had other things he wanted to do, but the truth was in his rapidly diminishing form. There was no challenge—Not when it came to speed.

Fortunately, his designation was clear. Astrid followed him all the way back to Berk, barely managing to keep him in sight.

She saw him dismount from Toothless on the hill of his home.

“Hiccup!” she screamed loudly as she skyrocketed towards the Night Fury, hoping to stall him.

Astrid landed as he passed.

“Hiccup!” she snapped again, throwing herself from Stormfly. She’d honestly never seen him like this—rigid and angry. Furious.

He continued to ignore her which, in any other circumstance, would have left Astrid livid, but something was wrong. Nothing was getting through to him.

He blazed a warpath up the steps and kicked open the door to his home. It swung open with a bang. From inside she heard Stoick’s muffled cry of shock.

Scandalized, Astrid scrambled to follow.

Hiccup never stopped, he strode forward with such purpose that Stoick barely had the time to lower his mug of evening mead before Hiccup thrust his palm into the man’s chest.

Astrid remained in the doorway, riveted in horror. Hiccup had just attacked their chief.

Stoick looked equally appalled. “Son—”

“You said she was dead!” Hiccup snarled. He jabbed his finger into his father’s chest again and Stoick, a man twice Hiccup’s size, staggered back.

“You said,” Hiccup gasped, as though the fervor quickly drained from him, “she—was—dead!”

He shoved Stoick one last time and stepped back. Astrid couldn’t see Hiccup’s expression—just the shake of his shoulders from ragged breaths—but she imagined it mirrored the pinched, heartbroken look of the chief.

“Son,” Stoick said again, but this time his voice sounded defeated, his face aged. “I don’t—I didn’t think—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Hiccup shouted over him, raw with grief. He lifted a shaking fist to his mouth. “I can’t believe—after all these years—“

“Hiccup, please,” Stoick begged in a quiet, wretched whisper.

But Hiccup couldn’t stop. He paced the floor in short, jittery steps. His voice thick and shaking as he pushed on.

“And you let me…you let me think that she was…she was…”

Stoick wet his lips, brow high, “Son, you have to understand—”

He took one step forward, one movement, and Astrid immediately knew it as a mistake.

Hiccup bolted.

Astrid stepped aside.

She could have stopped him—Thor knew she had the strength—but Hiccup was in far too much pain to corner. He hated being cornered; she knew that, if nothing else, of him.

So she ran a hand down his back as he passed. She saw his throat bob and swore he caught her eye in gratitude, but the sun had already started to set and the long shadows made it impossible to tell.

He moved towards the forest, Toothless at his side in an instant with his unwavering support. Astrid looked back into the household, realizing her hands ached with the strength she clutched the door frame.

“Chief,” she started delicately, “I’ll—”

“Yeah,” Stoick whispered to the contents of his cup. “Go.”

Astrid paused long enough to see Stoick settle heavily into his armchair and cast a blank stare into the beating hearth. Then she turned to seek out her boyfriend for the second time that day.
She knew where he’d be, she knew he’d be alone this time, and she knew, finally, the identity of the stranger on the beach.

Description
The only thing Astrid found more unsettling than finding Hiccup on a secluded beach, soaking wet and staring off against another dragon rider, was his conduct.

An hour earlier she had caught sight of him flying off after storming from his father’s home—a common enough occurrence. Hiccup was often more willing to open up after a good fly, so Astrid had given them an hour’s period to cool off before she and Stormfly tracked them down. Usually she’d find them on some abandoned outcrop or seated in the branches of a high tree. They’d talk, tease, fight, kiss, and go home.

This time was different.

Hiccup offered no acknowledgement of Astrid’s arrival, not even when she dismounted in a jingle of metal and leather loud enough to disturb the thick tension strung between he and the stranger. His fixation on the woman across from him remained undisturbed; he stood with empty hands, parted lips, and naked disbelief raked across his face.

The hair on her arms prickled. Astrid did not dare step away from her Nadder’s side, choosing instead to keep a hand closed on the packed axe and observe the stranger from afar (who had spared Astrid a look when Stormfly first landed and nothing more; it was more than Hiccup gave her anyway).

The woman was tall and able-bodied, with bared teeth and poised spear. The unknown, grisly dragon at her side looked every bit as aggressive and feral as its rider.

Where Hiccup appeared to have lost all self-awareness, she was ready for attack.

“Hiccup?” Astrid asked after the tense silence drew on. “Who’s this?”

Hiccup remained silent—still staring, barely breathing—as though he hadn’t heard her. His hands trembled.

Once more, it was the stranger who gave her response. The woman’s grip first loosened from her spear. Her spine straightened and her stance dropped. All of her aggression dissipated and Astrid could see—even through the distance—how her eyes grew impossibly wide, trailing over Hiccup’s from.

“Hiccup?” the stranger repeated. She had the gruff, tight voice of a throat rarely used, but somehow still managed to portray something aghast.

Hiccup jolted—perhaps from hearing his name carried in her voice. The appall was thrown from his features and overridden by a sudden, hard scowl.

Astrid watched a deep, thunderous energy overtake Hiccup, frightening in its potency. His chest swelled, his fingers curled, his cheeks flexed over a tight jaw.

“Hic—,” her voice caught halfway through the name. She saw the dark turn of his brow and the unfamiliar rage that lit his eyes.

Astrid tried, instead, to step toward him and in a flurry of movement Hiccup was suddenly on Toothless. The Night Fury was ready for it—ready before anyone else could have predicted, as though he knew exactly what Hiccup needed. They were off.

Astrid swore and followed. She had a leg over Stormfly before she even thought to spare the stranger a thought. The woman hadn’t moved—rooted in the sand and staring after Hiccup with a hand fisted over her breast.

Astrid faced no indecision in leaving her behind—that would come later. Answers would come later. Right now Hiccup scared her. The venomous rage she had never seen in him before scared her. She felt scared for him.

She pushed Stormfly to keep up.

“Hiccup!” she cried at his back. “Hiccup, wait! Who was that?”

The wind drowned her voice; cold and salt seared her throat. Even if he had heard her, she doubt he’d answer. She tried to level out with him but he and Toothless did that thing where they become a unified, supernatural force of flight, and Astrid got an abrupt, hard reminder of why the racing games didn’t appeal to Hiccup. He said he had other things he wanted to do, but the truth was in his rapidly diminishing form. There was no challenge—Not when it came to speed.

Fortunately, his designation was clear. Astrid followed him all the way back to Berk, barely managing to keep him in sight.

She saw him dismount from Toothless on the hill of his home.

“Hiccup!” she screamed loudly as she skyrocketed towards the Night Fury, hoping to stall him.

Astrid landed as he passed.

“Hiccup!” she snapped again, throwing herself from Stormfly. She’d honestly never seen him like this—rigid and angry. Furious.

He continued to ignore her which, in any other circumstance, would have left Astrid livid, but something was wrong. Nothing was getting through to him.

He blazed a warpath up the steps and kicked open the door to his home. It swung open with a bang. From inside she heard Stoick’s muffled cry of shock.

Scandalized, Astrid scrambled to follow.

Hiccup never stopped, he strode forward with such purpose that Stoick barely had the time to lower his mug of evening mead before Hiccup thrust his palm into the man’s chest.

Astrid remained in the doorway, riveted in horror. Hiccup had just attacked their chief.

Stoick looked equally appalled. “Son—”

“You said she was dead!” Hiccup snarled. He jabbed his finger into his father’s chest again and Stoick, a man twice Hiccup’s size, staggered back.

“You said,” Hiccup gasped, as though the fervor quickly drained from him, “she—was—dead!”

He shoved Stoick one last time and stepped back. Astrid couldn’t see Hiccup’s expression—just the shake of his shoulders from ragged breaths—but she imagined it mirrored the pinched, heartbroken look of the chief.

“Son,” Stoick said again, but this time his voice sounded defeated, his face aged. “I don’t—I didn’t think—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Hiccup shouted over him, raw with grief. He lifted a shaking fist to his mouth. “I can’t believe—after all these years—“

“Hiccup, please,” Stoick begged in a quiet, wretched whisper.

But Hiccup couldn’t stop. He paced the floor in short, jittery steps. His voice thick and shaking as he pushed on.

“And you let me…you let me think that she was…she was…”

Stoick wet his lips, brow high, “Son, you have to understand—”

He took one step forward, one movement, and Astrid immediately knew it as a mistake.

Hiccup bolted.

Astrid stepped aside.

She could have stopped him—Thor knew she had the strength—but Hiccup was in far too much pain to corner. He hated being cornered; she knew that, if nothing else, of him.

So she ran a hand down his back as he passed. She saw his throat bob and swore he caught her eye in gratitude, but the sun had already started to set and the long shadows made it impossible to tell.

He moved towards the forest, Toothless at his side in an instant with his unwavering support. Astrid looked back into the household, realizing her hands ached with the strength she clutched the door frame.

“Chief,” she started delicately, “I’ll—”

“Yeah,” Stoick whispered to the contents of his cup. “Go.”

Astrid paused long enough to see Stoick settle heavily into his armchair and cast a blank stare into the beating hearth. Then she turned to seek out her boyfriend for the second time that day.
She knew where he’d be, she knew he’d be alone this time, and she knew, finally, the identity of the stranger on the beach.