Chapter Text
The way back was nothing like how they had gone to the battle.
Most men — maimed or not — cheered and celebrated; dancing and singing along relentlessly. The prior silent, eerie atmosphere was nowhere to be seen. Not when they had won. Not after a war that had drained their patience had finally ended with them standing victorious. Not when they knew their closed ones — wives, husbands, sons, daughters, siblings — were waiting for them to come back.
The enemy’s army — or what was left of it — only had the chance to run away feebly with their boats or let themselves be imprisoned and enslaved. If they appreciated their wellbeing over their honour, they fled like cowards and sailed away. Otherwise, Berk housed beautiful, fruitful and rich mines waiting to be exploited.
Gobber was always one to celebrate on any given occasion, but chose to carry on aiding Asher to walk. Strangely enough, serving as a human crutch did suit him.
The jovial atmosphere surrounding him helped the Hofferson to stop crying, the remains of the tears drying on his cheeks. Without having watery eyes and the adrenaline rush having faded, his vision ameliorated considerably despite remaining to have blood all over it.
A hot bath sounded like glory at the moment, yet Asher kept quiet about it. His throat was not up to speaking at the moment, dry and aching.
When, slowly but steadily, the army began arriving at the camp, Gobber parted ways from the flow of men and led the blonde to the biggest tent, worthy of belonging to their chief. Upon entering it, the first thing Gobber did was discard the boy’s axe, still holding him in place.
“Aye, Stoick. This young man needs a visit ta’ the Hot Springs.” Turning to look at him, Gobber chuckled. “And ta’ have his wounds and nose cured, but I believe he deserves a reward, huh?”
The Chief looked tired. He also had some minor wounds and cuts, yet despite needing medical care — and the battle having finished very recently — he was already filling reports and searching through parchments. Out of everyone, Asher thought, he was the one who needed to go back home and rest.
Stoick, as imposing and impressive as ever, raised his head from the parchment and looked at his friend. Asher soon followed, his gaze scanning closely how he looked. A sense of understanding and recognition flashed through his eyes as he took in the youngster’s thrashed appearance, standing up.
The Hofferson did not doubt he looked like crap. Like a wee, trembling lamb, in the eyes of the beholder; only that a lamb did not appear smeared with blood and dirt all over him, nor have his face absolutely knackered and hair tangled and messy.
Still, the boy stood in place as Stoick looked at him from head to toe.
“How are you standing, lad?”
“...Fine, sir.” Answered Asher, though in a second thought he added, tilting his head a bit. “My nose hurts.”
And my eyes, arms, hands, legs, torso. Everything does.
“Tomorrow we will return.” Shooting an empathetic smile, the Chief spoke. “But you will need assistance today. You know, better get those cuts checked.” After a brief pause, he finished talking. “Yes, let him go to the Hot Springs.”
“Off ya go!” Cheered Gobber.
Sighing, Asher’s muscles relaxed into the water.
He was frazzled, beat up, absolutely gaunt. But most of all, he was overwhelmed.
Not many could notice what gave the latter away — the nervous tick on his right eye, the stiffness of his jaw, the tightness of his pursed lips. And those who did did not comment on it, not after seeing how the Hofferson could barely stand. After all, it was easier to highlight his physical state rather than the emotional one.
Not even Snotlout intercepted him on his way to the Hot Springs, catching up on his battered state. His greeting fell silent once he opened his mouth, dropping his hand simultaneously. His own father let him go wordlessly.
Therefore there he was, washing his body in beneficial waters and hearing others’ laughs in the background.
The blonde needed Hela by his side.
There was nothing, at the moment, he longed for the most. To cry and hide his face in the crook of her neck, let himself lose control of his emotions while being safely tucked in her embrace. To be consoled just as he did for her.
Now Asher understood Hela. Her tears, her concerns, her fears… it was all clear now, the blonde had finally gotten the full picture. It had only cost him to live all the horrors and brutalities in the flesh to fathom it.
How did he survive it the first time? The Hofferson could not recall it. Some spare fragments came to mind — the vomiting, dizziness, uneasiness. It all came to a stop when the moment he was wounded replayed in his mind.
How could he want to eagerly experience it again, the first time, after having such a bitter taste of it?
Asher had been foolish to think so.
His nose throbbed in pain. All the dried blood had been washed away, revealing the true painting left behind by the battle. Though the blood, despite having vanished, seemed to have stayed in his skin, weighing him down in the water. As if all the people — men and women — he had killed were pulling him to Helheim to suffer with them.
Asher also had small cuts across his body, deeper wounds in his torso and arms and a few nicks all over his face. The most prominent of the latter was right in his left eyebrow. Needless to talk about the bruises, scattered all over his physique.
His lower lip had been broken, too.
In brevity, he was a mess.
The Hofferson could not wait to hit the hay and dream about whatever could distract him from the stabbing pain. Coming home, for instance. Or about a brunette girl with emerald eyes waiting for him to return. However, the blonde knew what awaited him when he returned to the camp: medical assistance (have his nose and torso swathed), party and beers pulled out from nowhere.
Mentally, the boy agreed to skip the celebration. It was bad timing for his body, Asher did not need a hangover added to the list.
Being cured by someone who was not Hela was alright — not pleasant, but alright. The whole time was not spent talking idly or poking fun at each other, but it was good enough.
As he attempted to fall asleep in his hut while ignoring the laughs and songs, Asher thought about Hela’s whereabouts. What would she be doing right now? Would she be tending to the heavily wounded, or eating dinner with Ruffnut in the Great Hall. With the mental comings and goings, he fell asleep.
The way home was a long, tiring one.
Men helped each other walk — some wounded, others hungover —, carrying their weapons after taking down the camp. Asher paced with Tuffnut, who tried to jab unrepentantly at his healing nose. Snotlout made up an excuse to hide his hangover, while Fishlegs straight up told them he’d be helping his mother.
Despite the Chief’s urge to start the hike early, there were too many slow soldiers to do so; hence they would be arriving when night settled. The Hofferson did not want to think about it.
Moreover, when Berk was finally on sight, everyone scrambled and rushed to arrive, daydreaming about their partners and beer awaiting for them — even if they had not even recovered from the previous ones they had drunk.
The blonde did not follow, too tired to even do so. He knew he would arrive sooner or later, there was no need to rush what was bound to happen.
Hence, when he reached the village’s gates no party could be seen, nor people in general. They were all in the Great Hall, he mused. Either way, Asher did not care.
His aim was to look for Hela, find her and clear their… situation. For once and for all.
Walking towards the main square, the Hofferson picked up his chain of thoughts from where he had left it, the one that started with ‘what will I do when I’m finally face to face with her?’. The one that made him flustered, that made his brain become a mushy mess.
Hug her?
Feel her embrace, wrap his arms around her and never let go. Bury his face into the crook of her neck — or even better, her hair. That sounded nice. His hands fumbled with his axe sloppily, completely unlike him.
Kiss her?
A mouth to skin contact. So small, insignificant even, yet enough to send shivers down his spine. Something he had never done to her.
If so, where? On the cheek? Both?
Those freckled, creamy cheekbones. The ones that Asher had stared at for hours, sending discreet and unnoticeable glances. His lips would be blessed to have such an opportunity. And forsaken if he did not leverage.
On her temple?
Above those emerald eyes, placing a soft, welcoming kiss that channeled his feelings for her to understand and embrace. Reciprocate.
Wait, even much better.
Oh.
On the lips?
Oh.
His axe almost dropped. Asher almost tripped on his own feet, his mind short-circuiting. The idea was close to unattainable, an utopia he had long dreamt of, and now it could happen. If he had the guts to do it, of course.
Finally on the main square, the Hofferson opted to not enter the Great Hall. He knew Hela didn’t particularly like being surrounded by drunk, sweaty vikings. In lieu of it, he sat alone, watching people come and go.
Music and general racket was heard from the Great Hall, where the torches were lit and many people entered. Though at the same time, some exited the communal building, staggering and giddy of beer. It was the celebration of the war’s end — and victory thereof —, no less. Everyone would be dancing, mocking the enemy, having fun and eating, greeting the soldiers.
Asher could not care less about it.
Not when he had not seen Hela yet. Not when he desperately needed her by his side right now. As he absent-mindedly traced irregular patterns on his axe, the blonde surveyed the main square with his eyes in hopes of spotting the familiar face and emerald eyes, all to no avail. Maybe it was time to go and wander the streets and find her personally.
He inwardly cursed when he saw two figures leave the Great Hall and approach him, clearly tipsy for two nights in a row.
“Ashy! Why are you all alone here? Come celebrate, man!” Laughed Tuffnut, joining him at his left.
The annoying nickname did not go unnoticed. He surely was Ruffnut’s twin.
“Nah, poor thing,” mocked Snotlout, also joining the blonde at his free side, “he’s got his nose broken and has come to sulk alone.”
“At least I did something.” He counterattacked, shrugging both boys off him.
“Hey! We also did.”
“Carrying supplies from here and there, being message boys…” Taunted the Hofferson, smiling annoyingly to the verge of snorting sardonically. “Surely an honorable act worthy of a seat in Valhalla, yes.”
“At least we weren’t away for Thor knows how much.” Replied Tuffnut, nerves fraying.
“Yes!” Slurred the raven boy, pointing. “You did not waste any time being here, coddled by your mom and Ruff…”
The sole implication made Asher feel disgusted, wrinkling his nose — which he instantly regretted, as the pain shot right through him. “Ugh, not Ruffnut, stupid.”
“Yeah, not her, moron!” Seconded Tuffnut, just as weirded out.
“What about me, dumbasses?”
The new, feminine voice that chimed in made the three of them snap their heads in its direction, forgetting about their trifling prior conversation. With her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, Ruffnut stood a few meters from them, having Hela trailing behind.
Hela.
The blonde boy was left speechless, finally seeing the girl he had been pining for so long.
The brunette was not in her usual brown attire. Instead, an embroidered green flax strap dress covered her form. Still, entering winter and being far into the night, she had a fur cloak on — the fur was certainly high-quality, she wasn’t the Chief’s daughter for nothing.
Despite being mostly covered by the cloak, the Hofferson could devise necklaces and the golden, detailed brooches that helped hold up the dress, linked by strings of amber and colorful-glassed beads. Whereas for the cloak itself, a chiseled trilobite brooch was fastening the piece of clothing.
The most remarkable detail, despite her elaborate and opulent attire, was her hair. Unlike every day, the Haddock had gathered it in an intricate set of braids — ones too different to having been made by the Hoffersons. Asher could not stop looking at it.
Her attire called for the occasion, a royal and magnificent dress for a great, magnificent war won. It was clear it had been chosen days ago, planned to show how Berk remained standing and thriving.
She stood regally, fae-like and looking untouchable to the average, mere humans standing on the archipelago. Like having been sent from Feryja herself to bless the blonde’s crippled, sore eyes and keep him happy for what was left of his life. Like a divine reward for everything he had gone through the prior day.
It almost made him tear up. Asher had waited and yearned so long to be next to her that the sole action of breathing the same air she did sent a shiver down his spine. The Hofferson wanted to breathe every breath she exhaled, answer everything she asked for.
As soon as the blonde landed his eyes on her, Hela met his gaze.
His throat closed instantly, another electric shock striking his body uncontrollably.
Regrettably, Snotlout and Tuffnut also caught sight of her.
“Well, who do we have here!” Drawled the raven boy, approaching both girls. “Who would have said that some chief would want to marry you, huh?” Mocked Snotlout measly, addressing Hela. It was clear the alcohol had gotten to his head.
Tuffnut laughed along. “Hah! You had to see him.”
The spoken implication of Hela being undesirable or unwanted felt like a stranger to the Hofferson’s mind. Those assholes had no idea what they talked about.
“Hands off, both of you.” Warned Ruffnut, already fed up. “You stink of cheap beer, gods!”
“Since when do you have a stick up your ass?”
The — admittedly stupid — question from Snotlout earned an outraged squeak from Ruffnut, who pointedly began to chase the drunk teenager through the whole main square. In lieu of watching and enjoying, her twin also went after the pair, much happier and giddy.
It left him and Hela alone.
The realisation made him weak on the knees.
Turning to face the brunette, the Hofferson feared his legs would actually give up functioning.
“You got hurt.” Stated the Chief’s daughter as a greeting, staring at the taupe bandages on his nose. The shameful feeling of looking silly and lame with it tormented him for a moment.
“You braided your hair.” Asher let out, unable to speak coherently. The distance had fried his brain into an useless organ. A mush.
“It was Ruffnut’s idea.” Hela conceded, smiling a tad. She carded a hand through the braids, examining them instead of looking at the Hofferson in front of her. “I let her take the reins. Some locks of hair have gone loose. They are not as good as yours.”
Finally, the Haddock looked at him, and his heart pounded uncontrollably. The burning, aching desire of dropping his axe hard on the floor and rushing to kiss her flooded his senses and every inch of skin.
For the umpteenth — third, fourth, fifth? — time, Asher let it win and did so, leaving behind discarded his axe and embracing the Chief’s daughter figure as if she were to disappear from Midgar. His hands found her waist almost instinctively, just as his lips did with hers.
A thousand fires roared inside of him, the thrill of eventually fulfilling his long yearned wish becoming true was something the blonde feared he would never get used to. However, he decided to focus on savoring the touch, the actual real closeness and the contact of it all. How Hela at first was shocked and did not expect the outburst, how she then melted into the kiss, tangling her fingers into his hair…
The surprised noise the Haddock made was immediately swallowed by their kiss, just as Asher angled his head to better the contact. The brunette’s touch in his hair was the biggest war loot the Hofferson could have ever gotten, while the warmth of her skin compensated every kill he had accumulated over his absence beside her.
The undeniable reward was being back to Hela.
It almost physically hurt when it came to separate and put some distance between them, despite his hands remaining on her waist.
Both pairs of eyes met, icy blue with emerald green and the fires inside of him lit again with more intensity than ever. The red of the Chief’s daughter’s ears probably mimicked his, although Asher was more occupied forging into his memory once again every single one of her freckles.
“I could get used to this.” The Haddock spoke, breaking the silence with a loose smile.
“You better do.”
At the certain, self-assured and almost brusque tone, she raised an eyebrow. To demonstrate his words, the Hofferson dipped his head once again and initiated another kiss, slower and calmer than the prior. Almost natural, the brunette reciprocated the contact, suave lips against his chopped and broken ones.
Gods, he was completely embroiled at her mercy.
It was addicting. The blonde felt like he would not get enough, never.
“Oi, lovebirds! They are asking for you at the Great Hall!”
Ruffnut shouted from afar, making both teenagers jolt away from each other.
“We were coming!” Answered Hela, fastening the pace of her steps.
A laugh echoed.
“Heh, yeah, sure.”
The taste of beer burned Asher’s taste buds in the best way possible. Perhaps it was the great company he was with, or the warm body seated next to him that neutralised the taste. Either way, he was not complaining. It was welcomed.
“So, any plans now that the war’s over?”
Everyone at the table turned to stare at Ruffnut and her half-assed attempt at keeping the light of conversation burning.
“You already know, dipshit.” Answered Tuffnut. “We’re twins.”
“I’m planning to carry on and learn carpentry, to continue with the Ingerman’s legacy.” Offered Fishlegs, staring at his drink tiredly.
“I’ll continue helping my dad with his business.” Spoke Asher.
“I have to continue my lessons.”
Snotlout turned to Hela, very much mild-mannered now. “How are they going?”
“Went on a hiatus for the war, remember?”
That managed to cease the separate conversation and turn Snotlout’s attention to the main one, leaving the Haddock alone. The girl, much to Asher’s chagrin, chose to torment him.
“Well, you are finally a man.” Mocked Hela, derisively simulating his words from weeks before. Asher had a feeling where this was going and he was not going to lose, so he decided to snake one arm through the other’s waist.
“I am…” Playing along, Asher spoke, scratching his chin. “I’m thinking of growing a beard.”
A moment passed, with pure horror plastered on the Haddock’s frozen face. The blonde boy wanted to laugh right in her face, but held back to the right moment. Vengeance tasted sweeter when it lasted longer.
“Gods above, no!” The brunette detached herself from the hug, groaning. “Absolutely not! Ugh, how could you even say that!”
“Yes, a long beard with braids in it, it’s perfect.”
Hela repeated her words, horrified. “Absolutely not, I refuse!”
Asher argued seriously, maintaining a straight face. “But it’s my beard. Grow your own and refuse to it.”
More serious, she pointed a finger to him.
“I’ll cut it in your sleep, I’m warning you.”
“You can’t sneak in my hut, stupid.”
“Once we’re married, it will be my hut.” Chastised Hela, menacingly. “And then I’ll cut it for once and for all.”
The unspoken promise — once we’re married — left a warm feeling on his stomach, the same the Hofferson felt when he reached out to kiss her. His smile was impossible to hide now.
“I haven’t even asked your dad for courtship and you talk about getting married. Hurried much?”
“You’re the one who is down bad, rushing to kiss me without speaking a word.” Pointed out the brunette, sending a meaning yet teasing glare at his direction.
“Details.” Downplayed Asher. “Though I do have to ask your dad.”
“Better do it soon, otherwise an outsider Chief will come and snatch me from your grip.” Retorted Hela off-handedly, knowing perfectly the effect of her words.
The innuendo didn’t go unnoticed, making his gut twist with disgust.
“Very funny.” The Hofferson munched, letting her know how hilarious the words were to him.
“You don’t look amused.” She smiled wolfishly as she snaked an arm around his shoulders.
“Oh, shut up.”
To prevent Hela from embarrassing his ego further, the blonde stole a kiss to her lips. A chaste, soft contact enough to keep her quiet for a few seconds. The Chief’s daughter’s grin couldn’t even ruin the kiss no matter how hard it tried.
Once the kiss ended, the Haddock scowled. “That’s cheating.”
“Maybe.” Asher shrugged. “Want a rematch?”
The brunette’s eyes shone with mischief. “In the nursery?”
“Let’s go.”
Sneaking out of the Great Hall between accessory giggles and intertwined hands, both teenagers rushed to the building — their building . With matching smirks and rushed heartbeats, they closed the distance between them yet again, merging in a cocktail of kisses, laughs, dominance and closeness.
They knew they would be okay.
Even if anyone were to ask where they were that night, if another war stormed into their lives or even if Loki himself interceded to pull them apart for an indefinite period of time; they knew they would be okay.
As long as they had the other next to match stares, help them to help have their feet on the ground, aid in any time of need and hold each other, they would stay afloat.
And what was to come — courtship, marriage, hardships — would only reinforce their place next to the other’s.
As long as they had each other, they knew they would be okay.
Desmayarse, atreverse, estar furioso,
áspero, tierno, liberal, esquivo,
alentado, mortal, difunto, vivo,
leal, traidor, cobarde y animoso;
no hallar fuera del bien centro y reposo,
mostrarse alegre, triste, humilde, altivo,
enojado, valiente, fugitivo,
satisfecho, ofendido, receloso;
huir el rostro al claro desengaño,
beber veneno por licor süave,
olvidar el provecho, amar el daño;
creer que un cielo en un infierno cabe,
dar la vida y el alma a un desengaño;
esto es amor, quien lo probó lo sabe.
—Lope de Vega.