Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Red Death was dead. Her body, once an island of terror in the sky, lay broken and smoldering at the base of the sea-stack. A grotesque monument of ruin and wrath. The air reeked of scorched flesh and sulfur. Her once-majestic wings sprawled across shattered stone, torn and crumpled like discarded sails, their edges still flickering with dying embers. Each breath of wind stirred up clouds of ash and dust, a choking storm that veiled the carnage in grey.

And yet... no one cheered.

The cliffs were lined with villagers. Men and women who had clutched spears, axes, and hope. Now, they stood still, frozen in the growing dawn. Faces blackened with soot, eyes wide, voices silent. Because Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III had not returned.

The boy who had defied everything they thought they knew. About dragons, about war, about each other, was gone. Swallowed in fire and smoke. The last anyone had seen was Toothless diving and flying through the inferno with his rider clutched to his chest, the Night Fury's wings folded like a falcon's, vanishing into the mouth of death itself.

And now, the field was quiet. No movement from below. No victorious return. No sign of life.

"Where is he?" someone whispered. The question passed like a ripple, spreading among the villagers. "Where's the boy?" No one answered. Because everyone was watching the cliffs. Watching the woman who didn't wait.

Valka was already moving.

The moment the Red Death's neck collapsed under its own weight, she had thrown herself atop Cloudjumper, a dragon that she had befriended after the village found out the Red Death needed to be fought with more than just Hiccup and his friends, and launched off the cliff like an arrow loose from a bow. She didn't speak. She didn't look back. Her heart had already left the high ground. It was down there in the ruin, in the smoke, in the silence.

"He's down there," she whispered to herself, clutching the reins so tight her knuckles went white. "He has to be." The cold winds howled around them as they descended, the edges of the cliffs blurring past. Cloudjumper's massive wings tilted and angled, his instincts honed to match Valka's urgency. Together, they dove into the charred heart of the battlefield. Valka's eyes scanned frantically, searching through rising steam and shifting debris. Everything was still burning. The sea hissed against the rocks, extinguishing some fires, while others clung stubbornly to beams and bone. The sea-stack had cracked nearly in half from the impact. Smoke poured from the fissures.

Cloudjumper cried out, a short, sharp call and banked suddenly, she saw it. A flash of black. Scales. Movement.

"There!" Valka shouted, pointing toward a collapsed ridge of stone and timber. The ground came up hard, but she leapt before Cloudjumper had even finished descending. Her boots hit hot, broken rock. Heat surged up through the soles. Her clothing snagged on a jagged spar, but she tore it free and kept moving. There, beneath the ruins of what had once been a catwalk, something shifted. Black wings, a tail twitching in pain, Toothless. The Night Fury was barely conscious. One wing was caught beneath a pile of rocks and debris, his flanks heaving with shallow breaths. His eyes, dimmed with exhaustion and pain, flicked toward her as she approached.

Valka dropped to her knees beside him, coughing through the smoke. "Toothless... Toothless, it's okay," she said softly, reaching a hand toward his snout. "I'm not going to hurt you. Let me see Hiccup, please."

The dragon growled weakly, a shuddering, instinctive warning. His massive body was curled protectively around something– someone. She didn't need to guess. "Let me see him," she repeated. With a sound that was more whimper than roar, Toothless uncurled slightly, dragging his broken wing aside with visible agony.

And there he was, Hiccup. Valka's heart shattered.

The boy lay limp in the soot, half-buried in broken wood and ash. His body was twisted at a sickening angle, like a puppet cut from its strings. His face was barely visible beneath a mask of soot and blood. His chest rose and fell, but just barely. Faint. Fragile. And then she saw his left leg. It didn't look much like a leg anymore. From below the knee onwards, it looked unrecognizable. Toothless had unintentionally torn and mangled it when he caught Hiccup midair to save him, and the fall had done worse damage on top of it. Burned, bloodied, broken. The bone might have splintered; it was hard to tell through the mangled skin. His pants had fused with the wound in some places and burned away in others, exposing raw flesh. Blood stained the rock below, vivid against the ash. Valka made a sound, a keening, choked cry, one hand pressed to her mouth.

"Oh my gods... oh my boy..."

She dropped her staff and reached forward with both hands, one gently resting against his chest, the other stroking the soot from his hair. "Still breathing," she murmured, as if repeating it could make it more true. "Still here. Still here."

Behind her, more voices echoed from the cliffs. She didn't look. Didn't move.

But then...

"HICCUP!"

Stoick's roar cut through the smoke like thunder. He was scrambling down the rocks, Gobber right behind him. Stoick's bulk moved with reckless speed, uncaring of loose stone or fire. His boots crushed charred rubble. His face was stark with terror.

When he saw his son, his knees gave out. "No," Stoick breathed, stumbling the last few steps to kneel beside him. "No... no, no, no..." "He's alive," Valka said quickly, sharply. "But his leg is in bad shape. He's unconscious. He needs Gothi, now!" Gobber was already clearing debris from around Toothless frantically.. "Easy, lad. You did good, you got him back, let us help now."

Toothless growled again but didn't resist. His body trembled, his eyes locked on Hiccup. Even injured, even near collapse, he was unwilling to leave. "Thank you," Valka whispered, touching the dragon's snout again. "You saved him." They moved fast. Stoick lifted Hiccup as if he weighed nothing. He didn't cry out. Didn't stir. His arms dangled. His leg bled freely.

Gobber flanked Stoick, supporting his shoulder as they climbed onto Cloudjumper, Valka instructed the other dragon riders to take Toothless back to Berk too. Cloudjumper circled once, then returned to Berk from above. Behind them, the sea boiled around the carcass of the Red Death.

They burst into the village of Berk like a storm.

Stoick didn't feel the weight in his arms. He didn't feel the pain in his knees or the burns on his shoulder. All he saw was his son; silent, limp, leaving a trail of blood against his chest. Hiccup's head lolled to the side, his hair matted with soot, his lips pale and cracked. He didn't stir. Didn't make a sound. Not a breath, not a twitch. Every step Stoick took was powered by raw desperation.

"Move!" Valka shouted ahead, her voice sharp and shaking. "Out of the way!"

Villagers parted before her, their eyes wide with horror when they caught a glimpse of the boy in Stoick's arms. Some gasped. Others couldn't speak at all. Word was already spreading faster than the wind. The Red Death was gone. But Hiccup...

The boy who had saved them, might not survive.

Gothi's hut came into view. The elder was already outside, waiting at the door. How she had known, no one could say. She motioned without a word, her gnarled hands directing Stoick toward a bed inside, already prepared with linen, herbs, and salves. Her apprentices moved like shadows around the room, eyes grave. The moment Stoick set Hiccup down, the air changed.

Valka dropped to her knees at his side again, brushing back his hair, now damp with sweat. His skin was hot, and burning. A fever, already setting in. "Still breathing," she whispered again. "Still here." Gothi pressed her fingers to Hiccup's throat, then to his brow. Her face, usually unreadable, creased slightly as she felt the heat rising off his skin. She turned sharply and snapped her fingers. The healers moved at once. One brought a cold cloth, another with a bucket of water. Someone else unwrapped bundles of herbs, Another began heating a small iron over the fire.

Valka flinched. "What are you doing?"

Gothi didn't answer. She simply gestured to the leg, now fully visible under the torn remnants of Hiccup's pants. What remained of it was lacerated, broken, burned and severely damaged. The bleeding had slowed, but that wasn't good. It meant the body was shutting down. "He needs more than herbs," Gobber said quietly from the doorway, his voice brittle. "If that leg's not taken soon, theen Hiccup might also go with it."

Valka's face twisted. "There must be another way, there must be."

Stoick stared at his son, unable to speak. Gothi didn't argue. She simply gathered the tools she needed, handed them off, then brought over a poultice already thick with bitter paste. It reeked of crushed bark and something sour. A numbing agent.

Hiccup didn't even flinch when it touched the wound. That silence hurt more than any scream.

They worked quickly. Gothi's fingers moved with the efficiency of decades of battlefield healing. She didn't speak, but her movements told them everything: she had seen wounds like this before. And most who bore them never woke again. They cleansed the lacerations and burns, wrapped the torn flesh, splinted the ruined limb and stabilized the bone, some of it exposed. Valka sat beside Hiccup the entire time, holding his hand, whispering to him. "You're strong. Stronger than they know. I know you're still in there, Hiccup. I need you to fight."

Outside, the village was still eerily quiet. No one lit the feast fires, no one sang the village songs. They waited in anxious silence, watching the door to Gothi's hut like it was the only thing holding their world together.

The other dragon riders had bought Toothless back earlier. Toothless lay curled just outside the threshold, his head on his paws, eyes wide and glossy. He growled low if anyone approached too close. Gobber tried once, and the dragon snarled. Not in anger, but in a kind of aching panic. "He doesn't understand," Gobber murmured. "He thinks we're taking Hiccup from him." Stoick sighed, "No," he said quietly. "He understands all too well."

Inside, hours passed. Hiccup didn't wake.

The bandages were changed twice. The bleeding stopped finally, but his fever rose. His lips were dried and cracked, his skin flushed red, his breaths came faster and shallower. Every time Valka thought they might be his last, she reached for him and held his hand tightly. "Stay with us. Just a little longer, please." Gothi crushed more herbs, applied more cloth. Burned incense that filled the room with a thick, earthy smoke meant to ease pain and coax the spirit to remain in the body. But still, Hiccup lay motionless and unconscious.

Eventually, the healers stepped away, and Gothi lit a candle at the head of the bed. It was the waiting candle. Not for mourning, but not for hope either. Valka's shoulders curled forward. She felt like she was crumbling, bit by bit. This wasn't how it was supposed to end, not when they had finally fought for peace, not after all these years, after watching him grow into the boy he was meant to be.

"He's just a child," she whispered. "He's just a boy..." Stoick stood in the corner, arms crossed tightly, not trusting himself to speak. He had shouted at his son, scolded him, judged him, failed him. And still, Hiccup had saved them all. But now, all Stoick could do was stand here, and wait.

Gothi turned to them both, her gaze quiet, but firm. She raised one finger. He lives. Then held her hand flat, tilting it side to side. But barely. "Will he wake up?" Valka asked, voice thin as paper. Gothi didn't answer. Just turned back to her medicines.

Outside, the sun dipped low. Berk remained silent. Toothless stirred, ears flicking. He rose and limped toward the doorway, peering inside. Valka stood and opened the door for him. "You want to see him, don't you?" she said softly. Toothless moved slowly but gingerly, as if afraid that even his footsteps might disturb Hiccup's rest. He crossed the hut floor and lay down beside the bed. Carefully, he pressed his snout to Hiccup's side, just above his ribs, and closed his eyes.

Hiccup didn't respond, but Toothless didn't move again. He was staying. No matter what came next.

The sky darkened, and Berk fell into a hush, the kind of hush that wrapped itself around everything, even the wind. The sea, still churning from the battle's end, was muffled by the thick veil of fog and ash that clung to the shore like grief. Inside Gothi's hut, the world had narrowed to the space around the bed. To the flicker of candlelight, to the fragile rhythm of Hiccup's breathing, to the tension that hung in the air so tightly it could snap with the next breath.

Toothless had not moved in hours. He lay curled on the floor, his side pressed against the leg of the bed, his head resting gently along Hiccup's ribs. His tail twitched occasionally, and once, in the silence, he gave a soft croon, a longing, low sound, as if singing to his rider's soul in the hope that it was still near enough to hear. He had dragged himself there despite his own injuries. His wing was bruised and sore, but he had refused every attempt to pull him away. Even Gothi hadn't tried again.

Valka sat in a wooden chair beside Hiccup, the stiffness of the seat forgotten. Her hand hadn't left his. She'd begun to talk quietly and gently as the night deepened. At first, it was in whispers, then came the stories: about the days before he could walk, when he'd crawled across the floor of their home chasing a carved dragon toy, about how he used to draw dragons long before he ever saw one, and about how she used to sing to him during the long winters.

Now her voice barely rose above the crackle of the hearth.

"You were always meant for something more," she murmured, brushing a smudge of ash from his brow. "I see it in the way the dragons follow you. In how they trust you. How Toothless won't leave your side. They know what I know. That you're different." Stoick had taken up a place across the room, sitting on the floor, back against the far wall. He'd spent hours in silence. Staring at his son, his only child. The same boy he had tried to mold into a warrior, a chief, a dragon killer. But who instead became something else entirely, someone better, someone who had sacrificed so much to save his village, parents, and bring peace with dragons.

Now he looked at Hiccup laying motionlessly on the bed, scrawny, bruised, broken and saw not a disappointment, not a failure, but someone greater than he'd ever hoped to be himself. "I didn't deserve to be your father," he said at last, the words raw. "You deserved someone who listened, who understood what you were trying to do. Not someone who tried to break it out of you." Valka looked up, her eyes soft. "He doesn't hold that against you." she said, softly. "I know," Stoick said. His hands were clasped between his knees. "That's what makes it worse." A silence settled between them again. Not hostile. Just heavy. The only movement in the room came from the flicker of the candles and the gentle rise and fall of Hiccup's chest beneath the blankets. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep hope alive.

Gothi moved now and then, checking the poultices, replacing the damp cloth on his forehead, mixing more bitter pastes from the dried herbs in her stone bowls. She said nothing, but her movements had lost none of their urgency. She still worked as if death hovered just behind her, waiting for the moment she paused.

As midnight passed, Gobber slipped inside with a fresh basin of water and bandages. He said little– just a nod to Stoick, a quiet squeeze to Valka's shoulder. Then he crouched beside Toothless, inspecting the injured wing. The dragon barely reacted. "Still with us, lad," Gobber said softly. "That's what matters."

The poultice on Hiccup's leg was changed again.

It had stopped bleeding. But Gothi had shaken her head when she unwrapped it. The damage was too much. Flesh too far gone. The leg would have to go, or infection would claim the rest of him. The choice wasn't really a choice at all. Valka had nodded numbly. She had known from the moment she saw it. But now, she didn't look at the leg. She looked at his face. Pale, streaked with soot and sweat, but still his, still Hiccup.

"I used to watch you sleep when you were a baby," she whispered. "Just like this. So quiet. So small. I never imagined I'd be doing it again like this." Toothless gave a low rumble in his chest and nudged Hiccup gently, as if to remind him he was still waiting. The candles burned lower, one guttered out, the air grew colder, the hearth fire reduced to embers. But they still waited. As dawn crept closer, Gothi lit one final bundle of herbs, a mixture that smelled of lavender and wild mint and laid it near Hiccup's pillow. Valka lifted her head, her eyes burning with exhaustion.

"What is that?"

Gothi didn't speak. But she pointed toward Hiccup's brow, then mimed something soft—like air being breathed in. "It's... to ease dreams," Valka translated. Her hand trembled as she returned it to his. "To call him back." Then the old healer stepped away into the shadows of the room, where she would keep watch unseen.

And so, the long night waned. The sky outside began to shift—from deep indigo to a faint, hesitant grey. The first light of morning began to press against the horizon.

Inside the hut, no one had slept, no one had spoken for some time. Valka had stopped whispering stories, Stoick sat unmoving, Toothless hadn't opened his eyes in hours. Only the faintest signs of life remained in that hut.

Until, a twitch.. It was so small it might have been imagined. It was Hiccup's fingers that twitched, just barely. Valka sat upright, her breath caught in her throat. She held his hand more tightly, eyes scanning his face, waiting. Another twitch. This time a breath, longer than the ones before. Deeper. The rise of his chest lifted Toothless's snout slightly, and the dragon's eyes snapped open. He rose, pressing closer. Then, a sound. A soft, broken groan from Hiccup's throat.

Valka choked on a sob. "Hiccup?" He didn't open his eyes. But his brow twitched. His lips parted again. Another breath, labored but present. Stoick surged to his feet.

"Hiccup!?"

Nothing more came, but it was enough. He was still unconscious. Still drifting somewhere deep and unreachable. But he was fighting. Holding on. Coming back. Valka bent over him, her forehead resting against his hand as fresh tears spilled freely. "You're not gone. Not yet," she whispered. "You're still with us."

Toothless let out a sound that was half purr, half sigh, and laid his head back down, nuzzling into Hiccup's ribs like a child clinging to a dream. And outside, the first light of sunrise touched the cliffs of Berk. The Red Death was dead. The dragons were free. The war was over. And inside a quiet hut at the edge of the village, a broken boy still breathed. The victory had come at a cost.

But hope... remained.

Chapter Text

The sound of the sea had faded. From within the heavy stillness of Gothi's hut, the waves were like whispers, distant and unimportant. What mattered now was not the great ocean beyond the cliffs, what mattered was the boy on the bed.

His face, once flushed with fever, had faded to something pale and cold. A sheen of sweat clung to his brow. His lips were dry and cracked, the breath that passed them shallow. Too shallow. His body, still fragile even in strength, looked smaller than ever beneath the layers of furs and bandages. Valka hadn't moved from his side in over a day. She sat, as always, on the edge of the chair nearest the bed, one hand gently cupping his. Her fingers remained curled around his with quiet, desperate intent, as if afraid that loosening her grip would give death the opening it was waiting for.

Toothless had taken up vigil once more, silent and close. He hadn't slept, hadn't left– not even to eat. He lay beside Hiccup's bed with his body curled protectively around the base of the bed, nose pressed close to his rider's ribs, rising and falling with every labored breath. His eyes were dull with worry, tracking every movement, every flicker, every sound, and near the foot of the bed, Gothi worked.

The old healer unwrapped the bandages again, slow and careful, her gnarled hands sure despite their age. Valka's eyes flicked down instinctively, but she immediately wished she hadn't.

The leg was worse.

It had begun to deteriorate more. The skin was discolored near the wound's edges, a blooming infection stretching up the lower leg like ink dropped into water. Veins had darkened. The flesh, what little remained around the worst of the burns and deep lacerations, looked tight, swollen and angry. She closed her eyes, inhaled then looked up as the door creaked open.

Stoick entered, shoulders hunched against the weight of sleepless nights and wordless fears. His eyes locked on the bed first, on Hiccup, still unmoving, then dropped to Hiccup's left leg. He didn't flinch. He just exhaled slowly, the sound nearly a growl. "How bad?" he asked. Gothi glanced up, then held up two fingers. Two choices. Stoick nodded grimly. "Still?" Gothi raised one hand, palm down, and rocked it side to side. Still. But barely. The infection was gaining ground.

Gobber entered behind Stoick, carrying a basin of fresh water and a bundle of dried cloth. He set them down without a word, his expression unreadable, but his lips were pressed into a tight line. He, too, glanced at Hiccup's leg, and he, too, looked away quickly. "He needs more than cleaning," Gobber said finally, low and quiet. "That leg is killing him, and fast." he said, with a concerned look on his face. "No," Valka said instantly. "It hasn't gone too far, not yet."

Gobber arched an eyebrow. "You see what I see, don't you?" he said. "I see my son still breathing," Valka snapped. "And I see blood still moving through the limb. The infection hasn't reached the knee. There's time." "But not much," Stoick muttered, stepping around the cot to face her. "It's spreading, Valka. Look at him. He's barely here." Valka sighed. "I am looking at him." Her voice shook. "That's exactly why I won't give up." Valka was stressed, all she wanted to do was try to at least try and protect her son from losing his leg.

"No one's giving up," Stoick said, with quiet frustration. "We're trying to save him. There's no glory in letting him deteriorate from the inside just to avoid a choice we don't want to make." Valka stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "You think this is easy for me?"

"I think we have to be ready," Stoick said. "If we wait too long– " he said, before being cut off. "We won't." Valka cut Stoick off, then turned towards Gothi. "There must be something else. Another remedy. Something to draw the infection out." Gothi looked back at her steadily, then shook her head. "We clean it again," Valka insisted. "We support him through the fever. He's strong, Hiccup is stronger than anyone gives him credit for." Stoick stepped closer. "And if we wait," he said, "and it reaches his heart, his brain, what then? Do we gamble with his life just to save a piece of him?"

Valka's jaw tightened.

Gobber sighed and leaned against the wall. "I've seen it before. Lacerations this bad and burns this deep, wounds this infected... sometimes it looks better than it really is. Even if he wakes up, and I think he will, he'll probably never walk right again, never run. Every step will hurt, every winter, the cold will bite him through the bone."

Valka's voice cracked. "I don't care if he runs again, I just want him to try and keep his leg, he'd be upset waking up and seeing it gone." Gobber looked at Valka, "You might not. But he will," Gobber said gently. "You know him. He'll never stop pushing. And pain like that doesn't fade. It follows you." Valka exhaled shakily. "No," she murmured, turning back to the bed, her hand returning to Hiccup's brow. "We wait. Just a little longer. He'll wake up. He should be the one to decide."

Stoick said nothing. Instead, he looked at his son, at the boy he had tried so hard to shape, and the same boy who had shaped Berk for the best instead. He thought of the bravery it must have taken for Hiccup to face a dragon the size of a mountain, he thought of the fragility of his body that had done it. "He might not wake up in time," Stoick said quietly.

Valka didn't respond, because she knew he was right.

The sun moved slowly across the sky, its light falling through the single narrow window to stripe across the floor like a sundial, ticking ever closer toward a moment none of them wanted. Gothi changed the dressings again, the infection had crept higher, the damaged skin was beginning to blister, and still, Hiccup did not stir at all. The fire in the hearth crackled softly. Toothless snorted and nudged Hiccup once more, as if trying to will him back. Valka leaned her head against her son's and whispered through a breath that was almost prayer: "Please wake up. Please tell us what to do." But the only answer was the rustle of bandages and cloth... and the slow, creeping silence of time running out.

Night fell again, but the storm that brewed inside Gothi's hut had nothing to do with wind or thunder. The torches outside were unlit. Berk, for the second night since the battle, remained subdued. There were no celebrations, no toasts, no tales retold around hearths. Only silence and watchfulness, because Hiccup hadn't woken. Inside, the hearth had been stoked high. Flames roared in the small stone fireplace, filling the space with flickering warmth and sharp shadows. Steam curled from a boiling pot, thick with herbs meant to fight fever, but it did nothing for the poison spreading through the boy's body.

Gothi changed the bandages and cloths on Hiccup's leg for the fourth time that day, her movements though precise, had gained urgency. She didn't bother hiding the tremor in her hands anymore. Valka knelt beside her, refusing to leave Hiccup's side. Toothless had pressed himself closer to the bed now, his tail twitching anxiously. His eyes flicked between the healers, to Hiccup, to Stoick, then back again, like a sentry watching every corner of a battlefield.

The leg was pretty much no longer salvageable. The skin was darkening rapidly, and not from bruises, lacerations or burns now. The veins below the knee had turned sickly violet, pulsing sluggishly. Blisters from the burns oozed, then split open again. But Hiccup still breathed, and so his parents still argued over what they thought would be better for his future.

"No," Valka said, standing suddenly as Gothi finished another round of treatment. Her voice cracked like lightning, sharp with fear masked as certainty. "There's still time. We've kept the infection from reaching his heart. I can feel it. He's still strong he can fight it surely." she pleaded, worriedly. She wasn't thinking straight as she was just stressed, typical mom response to a severely injured child. "Strong doesn't stop infection," Stoick said firmly. His voice was low and heavy, like a forge anvil dropped into the sea. He stood near the door, arms crossed tightly, face hard but not cold. Just pained.

"It hasn't reached his knee yet," Valka said, eyes darting to the leg, then to Gothi, who offered no reassurance. "If we keep packing the herbs, replacing the wrappings every hour, draw out the poison—he might not need to lose it. Not all of it." Gobber shook his head from where he sat on a bench near the hearth, his single hand resting against his knee. "There's not enough time for 'might.'"

Valka whirled on him. "You'd cut off his leg without his permission and without him knowing?" she asked, worriedly. "I'd rather him wake up cursing me and hating me than never wake up at all," Gobber said flatly. "I've helped bury lads who waited too long, thought they were strong enough to beat it. You can't wait out an infection, Val, especially one this severe."

"I'm not being stubborn," she said, though even she could hear the lie. "You're being his mother," Gobber added, gently now. "And I don't fault you for it. But if this were anyone else– you'd know." Her breath hitched.

Gothi walked to the back of the hut, rummaging in silence. She returned with two wrapped bundles: one of long white cloth, one of iron and bone. A saw. Valka paled. "Don't– don't put that there." "She's not using it yet," Stoick said. "But she's preparing. We should be too."

Valka clutched Hiccup's hand, lowering herself beside him again. "He deserves to wake up. To make this choice." Gobber exhaled and leaned forward. "He might not wake up with the choice if we wait another night." Tears filled Valka's eyes. "He'll wake," she insisted, her voice desperate now. "I know he will. I just need more time." Toothless let out a low, drawn out trill. He nudged Hiccup's arm with his snout again. When nothing happened, the dragon whimpered and looked to Valka with wide, pleading eyes. "I know," she whispered to him, stroking the side of his face. "I know, boy."

Then a sound, a ragged breath, sounding not normal or stable whatsoever. Everyone turned. Hiccup had spasmed slightly, his chest rising sharply and then sinking too quickly. He groaned faintly, barely audible, but his body tensed under the furs.

"Hiccup?" Valka reached up, brushing his hair back. "Hiccup, can you hear me?" He didn't answer. But his breathing was now ragged, inconsistent. The air in his lungs seemed to struggle, either refusing to stay or refusing to come. Gothi rushed to his side. She checked his chest, then his neck. Her eyes went hard. She motioned rapidly– now. Not tomorrow. Not an hour from now.

Stoick took a step forward, fists clenched. "How much longer does he have?" Gothi raised one finger, then circled it toward the floor. An hour or two, maybe even less. "No- " Valka whispered. "No, please. Don't... " She pressed herself against her son, laying her forehead to his. "He's still here. Please don't take him."

Gothi moved quickly to a shelf and began preparing a thick paste. She set a basin in the fire to sterilize water. Gobber stood and unrolled the cloth. The saw gleamed dully in the firelight. No one wanted to touch it, but someone had to. Toothless had backed away again, sensing what was coming. He growled low, his body tense and confused. His eyes darted from face to face. And then, when no one explained anything, he let out a single distressed roar. It was short, sharp, heartbroken.

Stoick stood over the bed. "Valka. Look at him." She refused.

"Valka."

She looked.

And what she saw made the fight drain out of her chest like wind from a sail.

Hiccup's face had gone pale, his lips tinged grey. His breaths, quick and uneven, stuttered in and out with an eerie rhythm. A sheen of cold sweat had broken across his temple. His body, still so small in that bed, was fighting a war too great for it to handle, and it was losing.

Valka began to cry. But not in sobs or screams. In silence. Her whole body shook. "Do it," she whispered. No one moved. She raised her voice—not angry, but fierce.

"Do it. Save him."

Gothi gave no ceremony, no ritual. She moved swiftly, efficiently. Gobber retrieved the giant blade. His face had gone pale too. "We'll be quick." "Below the knee," Stoick said quietly. "Only as much as needed." Valka nodded, unable to speak again. She clutched Hiccup's hand and kissed his forehead. "You're not going to die, you hear me?" she whispered. "You're not going anywhere." Toothless had curled into the far corner of the hut now, watching through wide, unblinking eyes, his body shuddering with each shallow breath.

The hut had never felt colder. Even with the fire roaring, even with steam curling from the basin and sweat beading on every forehead, there was a chill in the room. It clung to the walls. Crawled into the marrow of those inside. A silence had taken hold. Not the peaceful kind. Not the hopeful kind. But the silence of something sacred about to be broken. Valka held Hiccup's hand, knuckles white, forehead resting gently against his. Her lips moved constantly, words without voice, prayers without names.

Across from her, Gothi finished applying the final numbing poultic a thick paste, strong enough to dull what pain Hiccup might still feel even in unconsciousness. The old healer didn't look up once. Her hands moved with grim precision.

Stoick stood nearby, unmoving, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, not in anger but in restraint. The Chief looked smaller than he ever had—less a mountain, more a man hollowed by the weight of this single hour.

Gobber, kneeling at the base of the bed, stared down at the mangled limb.

It wasn't just the deep lacerations and burns, it wasn't just the twisted angle and exposed bone. It was what the leg had become– an anchor dragging Hiccup closer towards death's door. A reminder that the victory had not come without cost, a cost that had to be paid now. "I can do this," Gobber muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "I've done it before. I'll be quick."

No one stopped him.

Toothless had backed himself into the corner of the room. His wings folded tight, his tail curled beneath him, eyes wide and shimmering with a fear beyond comprehension. He didn't understand why his boy hadn't moved in days. Why everyone's scent reeked of worry, why they were sharpening tools near Hiccup's bed. And now– why were they bringing pain? He made a low, keening sound, ears flat. It wasn't a roar. It wasn't a warning.

It was grief.

Valka turned to him. "I know," she said softly. "But this is how we save him." Toothless only pressed lower to the ground.

Gothi motioned. Gobber took a breath and adjusted the brace on Hiccup's thigh which was tight, to slow the blood. His prosthetic arm helped pin the upper leg while his real hand rested on the saw. "We go just below the knee. Leave enough for balance. If... if we can make a prosthetic." He didn't finish. No one replied, they all knew the weight of the situation about to become Hiccup's new reality.

Gothi leaned over Hiccup, one hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall. Still breathing, but fast and uneven. She nodded once, then stepped back.

And the world changed.

The saw met skin, the first pull was slow, clean. Gobber's jaw was tight, his teeth gritted, his eyes shining. The sound. Oh gods, the sound was not what anyone expected. Not violent, not sharp. It was wet, muffled. Bone under pressure, muscle parting. It was worse than screaming.

Valka turned her head away, her forehead pressing to Hiccup's temple. Her free hand clenched the edge of the cot so hard her knuckles cracked. Gobber's second pull was faster, he exhaled sharply, sweat dripping down his cheek.

There was no scream from Hiccup, just breaths. Shallow, frantic, unconscious gasps. Stoick stepped forward instinctively, as if to steady the air itself. He locked eyes with Gobber and gave the smallest nod.

The third pass broke bone. There was a snap. Soft, muted, but final. Gothi stepped forward again, pressing thick herbs to the stump, quickly wrapping it in hot cloth soaked in something that stung the air. Steam curled around her wrists. The bleeding slowed, not stopped, but slowed. Gobber dropped the saw beside him and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. His breathing was ragged. The severed leg, still wrapped partially in cloth, was taken away without ceremony.

No one looked at it... It no longer mattered, the worst had passed. But yet, none of them moved. Not for a long moment.

Toothless was the first. He rose slowly, padding forward with hesitant, low steps, like a soldier walking through a graveyard. He reached the edge of the bed, sniffed the air once, and whimpered. Gently, he climbed up, curling around Hiccup again, avoiding the wrapped stump. His nose brushed Hiccup's cheek, and he closed his eyes. Gothi finished the wrappings after suturing up the stump, the bleeding was starting to stop for now. The hut still smelled of pain, but Hiccup was alive. Valka cradled her son's face in both hands now, her thumbs brushing the line of his jaw.

"Shh... You're okay. You're okay."

Her tears finally came, soundless and slow. Stoick sat down hard in the nearest chair, elbows on knees, face in his hands. Gobber didn't sit. He just stood there, staring at the bed, and at what remained. "I'll start working on the new leg tomorrow," he said hoarsely. "He'll need it. Sooner than we think." Valka nodded faintly.

No one spoke again for a long time. Outside, the wind shifted. The sea breathed. Inside the hut, the world began again, quietly, painfully, differently. Hiccup had survived.

But he would never be the same.

Chapter Text

The hut had become a world of its own. Time didn’t exist there in any normal sense. Outside, the sun still rose and set. The waves still pounded against the base of the cliffs. Dragons came and went overhead. But inside that small, soot-darkened space, lit only by the flickering glow of firelight and the silent prayers of those within, the days bled together into one long moment of breathless waiting.

Hiccup was still unconscious, three days had passed since he had lost his leg. Three long, silent days since the saw had passed through flesh and bone. Since Gothi and Gobber had saved the scrawny, small teenager. Three days since Valka had whispered to him “You’re safe now,” with tears streaking down her face and blood still soaking into the furs.
And yet… he hadn’t stirred. No voice, no flicker of his big green eyes, no sign that the boy who had changed the world was ready to come back to it.
Valka never left his side.

She slept, when she did, in the wooden chair that creaked whenever she shifted her weight. Her back ached. Her hands were blistered from grinding poultices and heating compresses, but she never stopped. Every few hours, she wiped the sweat from Hiccup’s brow and changed the cloth wrapped around what remained of his leg. She hummed to him sometimes, soft, wordless melodies she used to sing when he was small and wriggly and always coughing in the night.

Sometimes she simply talked. She told him everything, about the dragons now perching along the ridge instead of diving at the sheep. About Cloudjumper keeping watch on the cliffs and scaring the fishers half to death with his shadow. About how Stoick had nearly broken down the door the night the fever spiked.
“Your father’s not very good at waiting,” she whispered once. “He’s just like you. You both burn.” Hiccup didn’t respond. But she kept talking anyway.
And he breathed. That was enough, just barely. Toothless refused to leave the hut. Not once.

On the first day after the amputation, the Night Fury had tried to crawl onto the bed again, nearly knocking over the table of medicines in his panic to get close. After that, Gothi set up a bed of thick pelts and cushions right beside Hiccup’s bed, close enough for Toothless to lay his head on the edge and breathe against his rider’s ribs.
He stayed there for hours, unmoving except for the twitch of his ears whenever Hiccup groaned or shifted. The dragon barely ate, and refused to fly. Whenever someone entered, even Stoick, Toothless would growl low in his throat until Valka placed a hand on his snout.

“He’s not alone,” she told him softly. “You’re not alone, either.” But she knew what it was he feared. He had watched Hiccup fall once before, through flame and storm and sky. He had caught him before the ocean did. But now? Now he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t protect, couldn’t fix what he did to Hiccup’s leg to save him. So he stayed with Hiccup and waited, ike the rest of them.

Gobber threw himself into his work. He couldn’t sit still, not when the image of Hiccup’s pale face and on the verge of being on Valhalla’s doorstep kept flashing behind his eyelids. The boy had looked so light in Stoick’s arms that day, as if his bones might blow away in the wind. And the leg… the leg had broken Gobber in a way he hadn’t known he could still be broken.
So he worked.

He sketched for hours, muttering under his breath, sharpening tools and scribbling ideas. A peg-leg, he sketched designs that were practical, but also very much Hiccup as well. He melted metal, shaped braces, carved prototypes, and discarded dozens of designs that he ended up hating or weren’t practical for Hiccup. On the second night, he didn’t go home. Just curled up in the corner of the forge with a half-finished metal leg and soot-streaked fingers. He didn’t say it out loud. But he was building it with faith, because Hiccup would need it.
Because he had to wake up.

Outside, the village of Berk moved quietly. It didn’t feel like victory. Not really. Not yet. The Red Death was gone, yes. Her mountainous body had crashed into the sea with a thunderous roar that still echoed in the villagers’ dreams. But Berk hadn’t celebrated. There had been no feast, no dancing, no bellowing cheers. Just questions. They asked Gobber when he walked through the square. They asked Stoick when they caught him by the docks. They watched the dragons circling overhead with unease, wondering what came next, wondering if it had all truly changed, wondering if the boy who made it all happen was still alive.

The children left fish for Toothless outside the hut, though none dared approach. One little girl even left a carved wooden dragon on the step. Valka found it and placed it on the shelf beside Hiccup’s bed, where it watched silently alongside the rest of them. Stoick couldn’t sit. He tried. He came inside the hut, often late in the day, and stood in the doorway with his arms folded tightly over his chest, staring at his son. Sometimes he would come closer, standing at the foot of the bed. Once, he reached out as if to touch Hiccup’s hand—but stopped short. His fingers hovered there for a long time.

He never spoke, what could he say? That he was sorry? He was. That he had been wrong? He had. That he had almost lost the one person, his only child who had saved the entire village? He couldn’t speak it, didn’t trust his voice not to crack, so he stayed silent. But each time he visited, Valka watched the way his jaw tensed when he looked at the stump. Watched how long he stood after she'd fallen quiet. She knew. Fathers bled differently.
By the fourth night, Hiccup’s fever had completely broken. Gothi said nothing, but she allowed herself a small nod when Hiccup’s breathing finally evened out and the heat had finally drained from his skin. But still, he didn’t wake. The days had become long stretches of holding one’s breath. Valka grew quieter, while Toothless became more anxious. Stoick returned less often, unable to stand the helpless waiting. Gobber threw himself deeper into his blueprints, sleepless and determined.

The village watched from afar, and the boy who had once faced a dragon the size of a mountain lay still, unmoving, beneath fur and firelight, but he was breathing.
And in a world that had once believed him gone completely, that was enough for now, but not for Hiccup’s friends, who were still anxiously waiting for an update on how he was doing, especially Astrid.

Astrid Hofferson wasn’t the kind of girl who panicked easily. She could track a raiding Gronckle through fog, outfly most boys in the village, and hit a target dead center with an axe at fifty paces. But when the other riders hadn’t returned by nightfall, and when the days dragged on without word, her gut told her something was terribly, terribly wrong with Hiccup.
No one had said anything specific about his condition, not at first. Only fragments of news, carried by other vikings and the dragon riders who spoke with too many pauses and too little clarity. The Red Death was dead, Hiccup had been at the center of it, and Berk was safe. But Hiccup wasn’t awake, so she went to go see him herself.
Astrid felt her chest tighten as she got closer to Gothi’s hut, not from exhaustion, but from dread. Even though the village looked the same as it had before the battle, something was missing. It was Hiccup.

She ran to the hut, and didn’t stop to greet anyone. Didn’t answer the few murmurs that followed her down the hill. She didn’t have time for wide eyes or awkward explanations, not until she knew the truth. Her blonde braid blew in the wind as she pushed through the paths, eyes scanning for him. She still didn’t see Hiccup.

Instead, she saw Gobber, bent over a table outside his forge, muttering to himself and surrounded by fragments of metal, wood and strips of leather. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Astrid,” he said, surprised when she appeared. His face flickered, somewhere between relief and guilt. “How are you?”
“Where is he?”

Gobber opened his mouth, then closed it. He pointed toward the healer’s hut, down near the cliff’s edge. She didn’t wait for more.
Gothi’s hut hut smelled of fire, herbs, and something older, something heavy. The kind of smell that soaked into cloth and never quite left. Astrid entered slowly, not barging in like she wanted to, but gently. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but what she saw still took her breath away. Hiccup lay on a bed near the hearth, unmoving. He looked… small. Smaller than she remembered, and paler. His skin was nearly translucent beneath the glow of the firelight, his freckles standing out like ash on snow. His hair was damp at the temples, pressed to his forehead. One arm rested over his chest, the other tucked beneath the furs.

She couldn’t see the leg, or what was left of it. But the way the blanket laid. Lopsided, shorter on the left side, told her enough. Hiccup lost his leg. Toothless lifted his head when she entered. He didn’t growl. Didn’t purr. Just stared at her with those huge, unblinking eyes, like he’d been holding his breath too, waiting for her.

Valka sat beside the bed, her face drawn but warm. Tired. “He’s still asleep,” she said quietly. Astrid nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “They told me he was… but I didn’t… no one said how bad it was.” Valka’s eyes softened. “There wasn’t time. It happened so fast. The blast. The fall. We didn’t know if he would make it back.”
Astrid stepped closer to the bed. She wanted to speak, to say something brave or clever or comforting, but the words caught. She looked down at him, at the boy who had thrown himself into the sky to save a world that didn’t understand him.
He looked peaceful. But too still. Too silent.

Astrid sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers curling together in her lap. “I should’ve come sooner,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. We– Snotlout, Fishlegs, the twins, we thought maybe you just stayed to deal with the dragons. We didn’t know you were…” Her voice cracked. “Gods, Hiccup. You idiot.” Valka smiled faintly. “That’s what I told him too.” Astrid stared at him.
He had always been reckless and clumsy, in his own way. Always trying to find answers and prove himself where others saw only danger and a weak, clumsy scrawny fishbone. But this? Fighting a dragon the size of a mountain with only a Night Fury and an on the spot plan? It was more than brave, it was maddening. Her eyes moved to his face. There were cuts and grazes along his cheek, a healing bruise beneath one eye, his lips cracked and pale. “You saved everyone,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Of course you did.” Toothless made a low sound. Astrid turned to him and, for the first time, reached out.

“Hey, bud,” she said softly, resting her hand on the Night Fury’s head. “You stayed with him?” Toothless pressed into her touch. Then gently nudged Hiccup’s side again, as if showing her what he’d done. What he’d always done. Astrid blinked hard. “I never got to say it,” she whispered. “When you flew off like that. I was going to… you know.” She smiled bitterly. “Tell you that I—” She stopped. Not now, not like this. “You better wake up,” she said instead. “You owe me one for that.” Then, softer: “You owe all of us. But mostly me.”

She leaned closer, just enough to rest her hand over his. “I’ll wait. However long it takes.”She didn’t know how long she sat there. Eventually, Valka gave her space. Gothi came and went. Toothless curled closer again, tail flicking now and then. But Astrid remained, holding the hand of a boy who had turned the world upside down and disappeared inside himself. Even heroes need someone to wait for them, and Astrid? Astrid would wait until the stars fell from the sky.

Later that day, it began with a twitch. Subtle, brief, almost imagined. Astrid had been dozing in the chair beside Hiccup’s bed, head tilted awkwardly, one hand still resting over Hiccup’s. The hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the walls. The wind whispered through the cracks of Gothi’s hut, and outside, Toothless lay curled like a sentry in the doorway, eyes half-lidded but never fully closed.

Then it happened again. A tremor beneath her fingers. It was faint, almost like the flutter of a bird’s wing, Astrid’s eyes snapped open. She stared at Hiccup’s hand, nothing. Her heart thudded. She leaned in, barely breathing. And then— A groan. It was soft. So soft it could have been the creaking of the floorboards. But no, it came from the bed, It came from Hiccup’s mouth.
He groaned again, low and hoarse, a sound pulled from the pit of his chest like it had taken everything just to make it. His face tensed, eyebrows drawing in, lips parting ever so slightly.
Astrid bolted upright. “Valka!” She was already at the door, pushing inside with wild hope in her eyes, looking at Astrid, then over to her son. “What is it?” “He moved,” Astrid breathed. “I felt it, his hand… and he made a sound.”

Valka was at his side in an instant, fingers brushing his hair back, eyes scanning for signs. Hiccup shifted slightly, not much- but enough. His right leg and the remainder of his left leg twitched beneath the furs, his brow furrowed. Another low groan bubbled in his throat, dry and broken. He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips moved, as if trying to form words without breath behind them.
Toothless pressed forward too, letting out a soft warble, his nose nudging Hiccup’s arm like he was trying to summon him back. “Hiccup?” Valka said gently, voice trembling. “It’s me, it’s your mother. You’re safe.” His mouth opened again—no words, only a faint whimper, he must have been in pain. Astrid swallowed hard. She didn’t realize her hand was shaking until she tried to reach for his again. “He’s in pain.” Valka nodded grimly. “He will be. The body doesn’t wait for the mind. The wounds, his leg… it’ll ache even if he’s not fully conscious yet.”
Astrid looked to the edge of the bed where the blanket dipped unevenly, glancing at the empty space where his left foot should have been, remembering what Gobber had told her the night before in a whisper he didn’t know she heard.

We’re going to have to take it below the knee. No saving it.

And now he was here, somewhere between sleep and waking. Trapped in a body that had changed forever without him being aware of it. Another groan, then a full-body flinch. Hiccup's arms curled in, one hand tightening into a weak fist. His head turned away from the light like it hurt him. The back of his neck strained, as if caught in a nightmare.
Toothless whined again and placed his paw carefully beside the boy’s ribs. “Easy, bud,” Astrid murmured. “It’s okay. We’re here.” Valka whispered something to Hiccup, an old Norse lullaby Astrid didn’t recognize, voice hushed and lyrical. She reached down and smoothed the sweat-damp hair from her son's temple, repeating his name like it could anchor him. Hiccup flinched again—and this time, something escaped his lips, a small but faint whisper, barely there. But it was something.

Valka leaned closer. “What did you say?” His throat worked. A rasp of air. Another mumble, slurred and choked. His eyes flickered beneath closed lids, darting wildly like his dreams were spinning. “No, no,” Valka soothed, “you don’t need to fight anymore. Just rest, you’re safe.” Astrid watched, frozen. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to wake or feared what he’d wake to. He whimpered again, then his hand gripped hers weakly, like a reflex. Like someone drowning reaching out for a rope in the dark.
Astrid felt her throat catch. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “You’re not alone.”

The moment passed, his body stilled. But the tension in his limbs didn’t vanish entirely. He was there, beneath the surface—like someone pressing up against ice from underneath, not quite able to break through. Valka sat back slowly, tears in her eyes. “He’s coming back.” Astrid nodded. “Not today. But soon.”
They said nothing for a long while.

Toothless climbed up gently onto the side of the bed, curling himself so that his flank brushed Hiccup’s side. Valka stayed nearby, but gave Astrid space. Gothi came in quietly an hour later to check his pulse, his breathing, the wounds, how his stump was healing, everything was stable, thank Thor. Still fragile, but stable.

He didn’t wake, but the shadows in the room had changed. He was no longer drifting in the deep. He was rising, slowly, toward the surface, toward them. But though he hadn’t spoken, or opened his eyes, or fully returned—Hiccup breathed, he groaned, he reached. And the world for Hiccup and his loved ones, for the first time in days, began to feel like hope was back again.

Chapter Text

The fire had burned low again. Embers cracked softly in the hearth, giving off a weak, flickering glow. The room had long since gone quiet. Not the silence of peace, but that fragile, brittle quiet of held breath. A hush too sacred to disturb.

The healer’s hut smelled of boiled herbs, smoke, sweat, and saltwater. The scent of pain and hope and time standing still. Astrid had to go home to her family and deal with Stormfly, Valka hadn’t left her post, neither had Toothless. They remained on either side of the cot, guardians of a still body, of a boy too light for the weight of the world he carried.
Hiccup had not moved again since earlier in the day, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest kept time. His skin was warm again, though pallid. His brow twitched at times, as if dreams chased each other across his mind but couldn’t break free, he made sounds and moved subtly. The poultices had been changed, the bandages refreshed, the fever managed.
But he hadn’t opened his eyes, until now. It started the way it had before; subtle, too subtle. A shudder across the ribs, the edge of a wince pulling at the corner of his mouth. But this time, it didn’t stop. Valka felt it first.

She had fallen into a half-sleep beside his bed, her forehead resting lightly on her arm, her hand folded over his. At first she thought she was dreaming, a faint pressure under her palm, a twitch of fingers. Then came a soft, broken sound. Like a gasp, like a cry swallowed before it could form. She jolted upright. “Hiccup?” Toothless immediately raised his head. His ears twitched. His tail flicked sharply behind him as he leaned forward.
Another sound left Hiccup’s throat. It was dry and hoarse, and it hurt to hear, like the voice of someone dragged back from the depths of Valhalla. Then a grimace split across his face.
“Ah…”
The sound was low and strangled, more exhale than a word. His brow furrowed deeper, and then his whole body gave a sudden jolt, a gasp paired with a shudder and his back arched just enough for pain to flash through him. His mouth opened, and this time, his eyes followed. Blinking, bleary, sluggish, but unmistakably awake. Green, clouded and glassy, but wide and very much alive.
Valka’s heart stopped and surged all at once. “Hiccup,” she said, barely more than a breath. He flinched at her voice. His pupils shrank against the light, and he squinted, dazed, as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing, or what was seeing him. “Mmm…” he rasped, eyes darting slightly. “Wh—” he tried to speak. “Shh.” She leaned close, brushing the hair from his brow, her hands trembling. “Don’t try to talk yet, son. You’re safe, you’re in Berk and you made it.”

His eyes moved again, slowly sweeping the room in jagged movements. He looked at her, but didn’t quite focus, but she knew he saw her. Then past her, his gaze caught on the large dark shape shifting beside the bed; Toothless.
The dragon let out a broken warble and nosed forward gently, eyes impossibly wide. Hiccup blinked again, struggling to track the motion, his brow furrowing like he was caught between confusion and disbelief. “Toothless…” he croaked. Valka’s throat caught. “Yes. He’s here. He brought you back.” Toothless let out a low, but happy warble, pressing his snout gently against Hiccup’s temple, and Hiccup winced, flinching, not from fear, but from the pain he was in.

It was only then that his body seemed to catch up with his mind, he grimaced hard and gasped again, a strained, reflexive noise. His hands clenched, and he tried to shift but the movement only made the pain worse. A hiss slipped from between his teeth.

“Stop, don’t move,” Valka said quickly, her hands already at his shoulders, gently stilling him. “You’re hurt, you’re still recovering. You need to rest.” His chest heaved with shallow breaths. “Wh… what—?” he whispered. “You’re all right,” she soothed. “You’re in the Gothi’s hut. You’ve been asleep for—” She stopped herself, her voice catching again. “You’ve been out for a few days, but you’re okay now.”

He blinked again, still sluggish. His face was pale and drawn, lips cracked. His throat flexed as he swallowed, or tried to, but it was clear even that simple motion hurt. “Water,” Valka said, realizing. She grabbed a small ladle from the bowl beside the hearth and poured it carefully into a cup. She held it to his mouth and tilted it slightly. He sipped. Only a small sips, but it was better than nothing. Afterward, he let his head fall back again, exhausted from even that much effort. His eyes drifted shut.

“No,” she whispered, cupping his cheek gently. “Stay awake Hiccup, please, just a little longer.” His eyes fluttered, but did not close completely. His breath came in shorter puffs now, trembling slightly. And then… he flinched again. Harder, pain surged visibly through his scrawny body. He gasped and let out a thin cry, and his hand reached instinctively toward his left leg, toward where it should’ve been.

Valka caught his wrist. “No—wait—don’t—” But he had already noticed.

His eyes flew wide again, suddenly focused. He looked down, saw the shape of the blanket, the way it sloped unnaturally, too short on the left side where his foot should have been. Valka braced. Hiccup didn’t scream, didn’t thrash. He just stared, and then something else happened—he froze in place. His face drained further of color, his eyes glazed in a way that terrified her more than the pain had.

“Hiccup—” His breath returned. Not in sobs, but in tremors. She moved to speak, but the door opened behind her. Stoick froze at the threshold. Valka turned toward him, eyes wide, wordless. Stoick crossed the space in three long strides and dropped to his knees beside the cot. His breath caught when he saw the green of his son’s eyes, open, watching, distant. “Hiccup?” he said, voice rougher than it had been in days. “Son?”

Hiccup turned his head slightly. Just a little. His eyes blinked once. “D-Dad…?” Valka’s hand flew to her mouth. Stoick reached for his hand. “I’m here, son. You’re okay. ” He stopped, choking on his words. There were too many things to say, and none of them were right. Not yet.

Hiccup’s lip trembled. His mouth opened like he might speak again—but nothing came. His eyes drifted closed once more, too heavy to hold open. But this time, he wasn’t unconscious. He was just tired, and fell asleep again. Toothless whined softly and leaned his head against Hiccup’s side. Stoick bowed his head and finally let himself weep, silent tears dripping onto his son's thin fingers. Valka stayed still, her hand still resting lightly on her son’s brow, and breathed for the first time in what felt like forever.

Later in the day, the moment Hiccup’s eyes opened fully, his world came crashing down. It wasn’t the gentle return from sleep he had hoped for. It was a brutal awakening, as if every nerve in his body had been set aflame. A searing pain roared from the place where his left leg once was. A sharp, stabbing fire that no breath or movement could soothe. His lungs seized, catching on a ragged gasp, then another. The room, the familiar, dim, herb-scented hut swam around him, a dizzying blur of shadow and flickering firelight. His gaze, unfocused at first, searched desperately for something steady. He saw the blankets, heavy and thick, wrapped around his lower half. But something was wrong. The familiar shape of his left leg was gone. Cold dread sank deep in his gut.

His fingers trembled, then clenched around the soft fabric of the blankets. Slowly, tentatively, he reached beneath the cloth, heart pounding, mind screaming.
His fingers met rough, wrapped bandages around his leg, but no foot. His heart sank. A wave of shock crashed over him. The burning pain flared brighter, sharper. It wasn’t just pain; it was agony that came from the stump of his missing leg, shooting upward through his body like a crash of lightning.

“No…” His voice was barely a whisper, cracked and broken. Tears sprung unbidden, hot and bitter, blurring his vision. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as the reality settled like a stone in his heart. His left leg, gone, below the knee.

The truth hit harder than any blow. His mind reeled, thoughts fracturing under the weight of loss. The future he had imagined, the boy who soared through the skies with Toothless beneath him, gone. Replaced by this sharp, aching void. He clenched his jaw, but the pain was merciless, agonizing, unforgiving. A strangled cry burst from his lips; a mixture of anguish, confusion, and raw, wrenching sorrow. It echoed in the small hut like a desperate plea to a cruel fate.

Valka was instantly at his side, eyes wide with alarm and compassion. Her hands found his shoulders, steadying him with gentle, unwavering strength.
“Hiccup,” she whispered, voice soft but urgent. “We’re so sorry. You would have died if you didn’t lose it.” But her words seemed to drift through a haze around him. His mind was clouded, trapped in the terrible ache radiating from his wound. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to shake off a nightmare that wouldn’t fade. “Alive…” he said, voice hollow. His gaze was wild and searching, full of fear and disbelief. “But… my leg…”

Stoick’s heavy footsteps crossed the room, filled with a father’s dread. His expression was strained, etched with grief but burning with fierce love and determination. “Son,” Stoick said, voice low but steady as he knelt beside the bed. His large hands enveloped Hiccup’s shaking ones, grounding him. “You’re here. You’re fighting, and you’re awake. That’s what matters.”
Hiccup’s eyes locked onto his father’s, desperately seeking reassurance, any anchor in the storm. “I… I can feel it,” he gasped, voice cracking with pain and raw emotion. “The pain… it’s everywhere. Like fire. Like my entire leg is burning.” Gobber stepped forward then, his weathered face shadowed with sympathy and understanding, and his voice quiet but firm.

“That’s phantom pain,” Gobber explained gently. “It’s the body’s way of telling the brain your leg is still there when it isn’t. It’s cruel, it’s relentless, but it’s part of healing. It’s common in people who have lost limbs.” Hiccup’s breath came in short, ragged gasps. Beads of sweat dotted his pale forehead. Every inch of his body throbbed with the vivid memory of loss.
Valka brushed back his damp hair, her hand warm on his cheek. “We’re here,” she promised softly. “We’ll help you through it.” But Hiccup’s mind was spinning. “I don’t want this,” he whispered, voice breaking under the weight of grief. “I don’t want to be in this much pain… I don’t want to be like this forever…” Stoick’s jaw tightened, voice rough and raw with love and pain.
“You didn’t lose who you are, son. Not one bit. And I’ll stand by you. Always.” Hiccup’s eyes fluttered closed as tears spilled down his cheeks, sobbing as his tears soaked into the thin blanket. His lips trembled, trying to speak again, but the agony stole the words from his mouth. He squeezed Stoick’s hand weakly, a silent plea for strength, for hope. Valka knelt beside him, tears pricking her own eyes, but her voice was steady.

“You’re stronger than you know, Hiccup.” He opened his eyes again, glassy with pain and exhaustion, and stared at the ceiling. What did strength mean now? His dreams of flying, of exploring, being at peace with dragons finally all seemed to feel like it was impossible, and crumbling beneath the crushing weight of what was lost, even though it was all still in fact possible, he just had to take time to heal .

But then Toothless stirred, pressing his massive head gently against Hiccup’s side. The dragon’s warm breath was a balm in the cold room. Hiccup reached out, fingers trembling, and laid his hand against the dragon’s snout. A shaky breath escaped him. Maybe, he thought, he could survive this. Just maybe.
The hours stretched endlessly. Hiccup’s body in pain with every movement, every breath. His mind, a tangle of fear, anger, and disbelief, struggled to comprehend this new reality of his . He hated seeing the empty space where his foot should have been, he couldn’t even bear to look at the stump, finishing just below the knee. A harsh reminder of what he had sacrificed while saving his village. He hated the weakness in his arms, the bruises on his ribs, the smaller bust still serious burns that made every touch unbearable.

But deepest of all, he hated the loss: the irreplaceable, devastating absence of his lower left leg. Valka stayed by his side, whispering stories of hope and healing, of battles won and futures forged anew. Stoick sat silently nearby, his presence a fortress of love and regret. Gobber worked quietly, helping to be ready with salves and advice, his gruff kindness a steady anchor. And Toothless, loyal and fierce never left Hiccup’s side, guarding him as he battled the most unbearable pain he had ever experienced.

That night, as the fire guttered low and the world outside held its breath, Hiccup finally allowed the tears to fall. They were tears for what he had lost, for the pain that refused to let go, the harsh new reality, and for the uncertain path that lay ahead. A little while after, the room was heavy with silence, so dense it seemed to press in on every breath.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers casting a weak, flickering glow that stretched long shadows across the wooden walls. The scent of herbs mingled with the faint tang of smoke and salt, creating an atmosphere thick with both healing and sorrow.

Hiccup lay propped up on the bed, fragile and pale, the weight of days lost in unconsciousness etched on his gaunt face. His green eyes, tired but alert searched the dim room with a quiet urgency, like a traveler seeking a distant landmark through fog. He had woken. Not just from a restless nap or a half-dream. He was awake now, fully, painfully aware.
Pain radiated through his stump, the relentless phantom pain beneath thin blankets clenched his chest tight with cold, relentless sadness. He swallowed hard and forced the words out, his voice cracking and weak as a fledgling’s first cry.

“Mom, dad… What… happened to my leg?”

Valka, seated close by, her eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights and unshed tears, looked toward Stoick. Her lips trembled, but her voice was steady. “Hiccup… you were caught by Toothless,” she began softly, reaching to clasp one of his hands. “He saved you from the fall, but the Red Death’s fire and Toothless catching you by your leg… it injured your leg. We found you wrapped in Toothless’ wings. Your leg was broken, badly lacerated, burned, and infection was setting in. Gothi did everything she could…”

Stoick moved closer, heavy-hearted, kneeling beside the bed. His large, rough hand brushed Hiccup’s hair back from his forehead. The warmth of his father’s touch was grounding, but it brought no comfort in this moment. “The infection was worse than we could fight,” Stoick said, voice thick with emotion. “It was spreading fast. We had to make a choice, to save your life and lose your leg, or risk losing you.” Gobber, standing quietly near the door, nodded gravely. He had been part of the rescue and the endless hours of treatment. “We tried poultices, we tried every remedy we knew,” Gobber said. “Hiccup sometimes, the body can’t heal itself, not all the way. To keep you breathing, to keep your heart beating, we had to… amputate.”

Hiccup’s breath caught like a gust of cold wind. His gaze dropped to the bed, to the slope of the blanket where his left leg should have been. There was a long, trembling silence as the weight of the truth settled around them all like a heavy shroud. “I—I’m…” His voice faltered, pain flashing across his features, not just physical, but the sharp sting of grief and disbelief. “It’s gone…” Valka’s eyes shimmered with tears as she squeezed his hand gently.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Your leg is gone, Hiccup. Below the knee. We’re so sorry son…”

Hiccup had tears run down his cheeks. “It hurts—everything hurts. I… I don’t know how to bear it,” he whispered, voice thick and trembling. Hiccup closed his eyes, a shudder running through his thin frame. “I don’t want this to be my life.” Stoick’s throat tightened as he spoke, steady and strong, but the tears gleaming in his eyes betrayed his pain. “It won’t be the same, no,” he said. “But you are still you. Still my son. Stronger than any warrior I’ve known.”

Valka leaned in, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. “We will walk this road together,” she promised. “There will be hard days, and long nights, but you will heal. You will learn new ways to move. You will live your life how you always wanted to, fully.” Hiccup’s eyes opened slowly, meeting theirs with a fragile flicker of hope amid the storm of pain.

“Toothless is here,” Valka whispered. “He’s by your side, always.” The dragon shifted, pressing his broad head gently against Hiccup’s arm. A soft whuff escaped him, a sound full of loyalty and quiet love. A single tear slipped down Hiccup’s cheek, then he swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he breathed, voice cracking. “For saving me. For not giving up on me.” Stoick tightened his grip on his son’s hand, voice thick with pride. “You saved Berk, you saved us all. Now, it’s time to look after yourself.” The fire flickered low, but in that quiet hut, surrounded by love and loss and the stubborn spark of hope, something new was kindling, A new beginning.

Chapter Text

The morning was slow to arrive. Thin rays of pale sun filtered through the cracks in the healer’s hut, slipping in quietly, as if afraid to disturb what had been broken. Outside, Berk still bore its wounds—burned rooftops, scorched trees, scorched hearts. But inside, the world was smaller. Softer. Slower.

Hiccup hadn’t spoken since waking fully the night before. He hadn’t cried either, not once. He simply stared, not at anyone, not at anything. Sometimes at the rafters, sometimes at the blanket stretched over what remained of his left leg. The quiet was not restful. It was the kind of quiet that filled the room like thick fog. A silence full of things unspoken, of pain too deep for words.
Valka sat by his side, her hand a steady weight on his. Stoick sat not far away, his elbows on his knees, big hands hanging loosely, like he didn’t know what to do with them. Toothless hadn’t left the hut. He was curled at the foot of the bed, tail tucked under his chin, eyes half-closed but never fully asleep.

Hiccup shifted slightly, just enough to feel the sharp pull across his side. He didn’t make a sound, but Valka noticed the way his jaw clenched and his face scrunched. He was trying so hard not to show anything, but everything showed. She brushed his hair back gently, trying to smile. “You’re stronger than you think, Hiccup.”
He didn’t answer, not right away. His throat worked with a hard swallow. Then, voice raspy and too soft, he whispered, “How long?” Valka blinked. “How long…?” He turned his head, eyes still staring forward, unfocused. “To… recover. To walk again.”

She hesitated. “It’ll take time. Most likely a few weeks, possibly months. “If ever,” he said, bluntly, he was definitely upset. Stoick sat up straighter. “You’ll walk again, son-” “With what leg?” Hiccup snapped and cut his father off, and for the first time, there was a sharpness under his voice; dry and bitter like splintered wood. Valka inhaled carefully. “We’ll build something. You’ll have support. We’ll help you relearn balance, movement… everything. And you won’t be alone.”

“That’s not the same,” he muttered. “No,” Stoick admitted quietly. “It’s not.” Silence again.

Hiccup lay back and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “What else?” Valka tilted her head. “What do you mean?” “How bad is it?” His voice shook now, just a little. “The rest of me.” Valka looked to Stoick, then back at Hiccup. “Your ribs are bruised. You’ve got burns, mild ones, on your arms and side, cuts, scrapes, but you’re healing really well so far.” “And the leg… it was just… too far gone.” She didn’t sugarcoat it. “The tissue was damaged beyond repair. The bone was shattered. Infection had already set in by the time we got you to Gothi. If we’d waited any longer…” “You’d be burying me,” Hiccup said hoarsely. Valka closed her eyes, her hand tightening around his.

“But you’re here,” Stoick said. “Because Toothless didn’t give up. Because we didn’t give up.” Hiccup turned his head, finally looking at them both. Really looking. Then he asked, “How long was I asleep?” Valka hesitated again. “Almost nine days.” His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “Nine…?” he said quietly. “You were unconscious for most of it,” Stoick explained. “Fever, shock, pain. Your body’s been through a battle of its own.” Hiccup was quiet again for a long moment.

Then, in a much smaller voice than before: “Am I… the only one?” Valka blinked. “What do you mean?” she asked him. “The only kid that...” His eyes drifted back to the empty space where his left foot used to be. “The youngest. The only teen in Berk missing a limb...” Neither of his parents spoke, because the truth was yes. Hiccup was the youngest amputee on Berk, by far and he knew it. He’d already figured it out in his head. He swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. “Everyone’s going to look at me like I’m broken.”

Valka’s chest ached at the words. She reached out, brushing his hair again, gentle but firm. “Let them look, you’re not broken.” She tried to reassure him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “They’re not the ones who have to limp around on a prosthetic and live with one actual leg,” he snapped, more hurt than angry. Stoick let out a slow, careful breath. “You won’t limp forever,” he said, softly. “But I will for a while.” Hiccup turned his head away again, blinking furiously. His jaw worked like he wanted to say more, but whatever it was, he didn’t have the strength. Not yet. Toothless stirred beside the bed, lifting his head. The dragon crawled forward slightly, placing his snout against Hiccup’s shoulder, and let out a low, comforting sound. A soft chirr that vibrated through his thin frame.

Hiccup didn’t push him away. He reached up slowly and placed a hand on the smooth scales, fingers curling weakly around Toothless’s jaw. “He still wants me?” Hiccup asked, voice cracking. “He never left,” Valka whispered. “Not once.” For the first time, something like tears began to form in Hiccup’s eyes. He didn’t cry, not fully. But his face trembled. And he didn’t fight it. Valka leaned forward and rested her forehead lightly against his. “You’re alive, Hiccup. We still have you, and no matter how long it takes, no matter what has to change… we will be here with you every step of the way.” He nodded once, just barely. His throat bobbed. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

Stoick stood slowly, his shadow stretching long across the cot. “Then be scared, son. But don’t think for a second that means you’re weak.” Hiccup cut him off, “I don’t feel strong.” Valka stepped closer to her son. “You don’t have to,” She said. “You just have to keep going.” They stayed with him like that, the three of them and Toothless, together in the hush of morning. The fear didn’t vanish. The pain didn’t fade.

But Hiccup didn’t feel quite as alone, and for now, that was enough to stop him from completely panicking.

Outside, the muffled chatter of Berk’s people drifted faintly through the thick wooden walls, but it was muted, like a distant storm that never broke over the village. Inside of Gothi’s hut, the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows that swayed gently over the carved beams overhead. It should have been comforting, but to Hiccup, it felt like he was trapped. Hiccup lay propped up in the bed, his head tilted slightly toward the window where a sliver of the gray winter sky peeked through. His eyes weren’t fixed on anything; they simply followed the movement of the clouds because it was easier than looking down at the emptiness beneath the blanket. Every so often, his fingers would twitch, almost like they wanted to pull the blanket back and check, but he didn’t, not again.

Valka sat at the edge of the bed, her hands busy with some small repairs on the leather work of Toothless’ harness. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She knew Hiccup wasn’t in the mood to talk, but she was there all the same, a quiet anchor in the room. Stoick was nearby, pacing, not in that impatient, booming way he usually did, but with a heaviness to his step, like each turn across the floor took effort.

They’d both been watching him. Not hovering, exactly but just there. Hiccup could feel it, the weight of their worry pressing in from both sides. It was making the silence heavier and more awkward.
Finally, Stoick broke it. “Gobber and Gothi says you might be able to get up in a week or two,” he said, voice low, careful. “Just to move around. You’ll need more time before you can… do anything more than that.”

Hiccup gave a small nod, still not meeting his father’s eyes. “Right, good to know I guess.” His voice was dry, quiet. Valka set down the harness and leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been through something most grown adult warriors couldn’t endure, Hiccup,” she said, her tone gentle but steady. “It’s not just your leg that needs healing, it’s also your body, your mind… all of it will take time, and we’re here to help you with it all.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup murmured. He meant it to sound like agreement, but it came out more like he was trying to shut his parents up, as if he wanted to end the subject. His eyes flicked toward the fire. Stoick hesitated, then moved to sit on the bench beside the bed. “Son… you’ve been awfully quiet since you woke up.” Hiccup’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Guess I don’t have much to say,” he replied, but the words felt false in his mouth. What he wanted to say sat like a knot in his throat, hard to push past. “You’ve always had plenty to say,” Stoick said softly, with just a hint of a smile. “Even when I didn’t want to hear it.” The corner of Hiccup’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something. Still, his gaze dropped, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again. “What do I have to say, other than I bought peace with vikings and dragons, saved Berk, killed the Red Death, and as a result I’m now the youngest amputee on Berk. Very heroic I know..” There it was. The knot loosened just enough for the words to escape, and they hung in the air like smoke. Valka’s face softened, and Stoick’s jaw tightened.

Hiccup swallowed hard. “People are gonna look at me and… that’s what they’ll see first. Not me. Just the kid who lost his leg.” He took a shaky breath. “I’m already the most hated in the village, so this will just make me even more hated.” Valka reached out, her hand resting over his. “They see you differently, Hiccup. The boy who fought the Red Death and selflessly saved Berk, the one who also changed Berk for better. Not because you lost your leg, but because of who you proved to everyone you are.”

Hiccup didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight again, and he hated it. Hated how raw everything felt. The pain in his leg throbbed steadily, but it was almost easier to bear than the twisting ache in his chest. Stoick leaned forward, his massive hand resting gently on his son’s shoulder. “They’ll see my son , and I’ve never been prouder of him.” For a moment, Hiccup’s eyes met his father’s. There was warmth there, something steady, but it felt so far from the storm of self-doubt he was trapped in. He wanted to believe them, he really did… But right now, all he could feel was the strange hollowness where part of him used to be.

He nodded faintly, more out of courtesy than conviction, and let his gaze drift back to the window. The clouds had shifted; the sky was breaking open in small patches of pale light. Somewhere far below, the village went about its day, unaware of how different everything felt for him now. The steady rhythm of Hiccup’s breathing was joined only by the occasional crack and sigh from the hearth, and the far-off cry of gulls outside. He was still propped up in bed, the soft, slightly uneven pile of pillows keeping his back from aching more than it already did. The blanket was tucked in around his middle, but the space where his left leg should have been was impossible to ignore. Even when he wasn’t looking at it, the absence had weight, a strange heaviness that seemed to gnaw at him from the inside out.
Every so often, he shifted to ease the pain and the phantom sensation, trying not to grimace too much when either of his parents caught him moving. It was hard enough seeing the worry in their eyes when he was still. But through it all, one thought kept circling back. A face, a voice. The kind of look that could both steady him and leave him breathless.

Astrid.

He’d thought of her more than once since waking, though “since waking” was a slippery concept. His mind still felt slightly foggy, as if it had to fight its way up through weeks of sleep to find daylight. But no matter how hazy things became, her name remained clear in his thoughts. For a while, he stayed quiet, watching his parents worry and fuss him in their own rhythms.

Valka was in the chair nearest to him, head bent slightly as she was mending a tear in the blanket at the end of the bed. The thread slipped through the fabric in neat, precise stitches, her fingers working with an ease that told him she’d done this a hundred times before. It was strangely calming to watch until he remembered she was only doing it because he was stuck here, unable to do even something as small as fix his own blanket without being in pure agony. Across the room, Stoick stood at the window, his massive frame outlined against the daylight spilling in. He had his arms folded, his gaze fixed on something beyond the glass, though whether it was the village, the horizon, or something farther still, Hiccup couldn’t tell. He drew in a slow breath, the thought pressing against him until it couldn’t be contained anymore. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.

“Um…”

Both of them turned instantly, heads lifting in unison. “Yes, son?” Stoick’s deep voice had lost its usual edge, made gentler by something Hiccup still wasn’t used to hearing in it. Hiccup hesitated. He’d almost talked himself out of saying it a dozen times in the last hour. But if he didn’t ask now, he might never. His fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it as if it might help the words come out.
“…Could…” he paused, swallowing hard. “Could Astrid come visit?”

The question hung in the air.

Valka’s needle stilled in her hand, frozen mid-stitch. Stoick’s brows pulled together slightly, not in disapproval but in thought, his gaze flicking to his wife before returning to Hiccup. Hiccup’s chest tightened. “I just… haven’t seen her. Not since…” He stopped himself, unwilling to finish with not since I almost died. He looked away, trying not to cry. “I’d like to see her.” Valka’s expression softened immediately, and she set her sewing aside, folding her hands in her lap as she leaned forward. “Of course, Hiccup,” she said gently. “If you feel you’re ready.” He gave a small nod, though “ready” was a word he wasn’t sure he understood anymore. Ready for what, her to see him? Or for him to see what her eyes might reveal when they landed on what was missing? Stoick stepped away from the window, the floorboards groaning faintly under his weight. “I’ll send for her,” he said after a moment, the decision in his tone clear. “But be prepared, lad. She’s bound to be worried, more than you might expect. You’ve been… out for nine days.”

“I know,” Hiccup murmured, eyes fixed on the blanket. He found a loose thread and fidgeted with it between his fingers, feeling a restless energy rise in him. “I just… I want to talk to her, I need to distract myself.” Valka reached across and laid her hand over his, stilling the restless movement. “She’s your friend, Hiccup. She will see you as you, not just what happened to you.” Her touch was warm, steady, and for a moment it quieted the swirl in his chest. But doubt still lingered in the corners. He could imagine it so vividly, Astrid walking in, her gaze sweeping over him, noticing his leg, and that quick flicker in her eyes before she hid it. The pity, the change.

He swallowed again, the knot in his throat making it harder to speak. “Thanks,” he managed quietly. Stoick gave a short, approving nod, then turned toward the door. “I’ll get someone to bring her.” The sound of his heavy steps faded down the hall, leaving Hiccup with Valka and the crackle of the fire again. He leaned back into the pillows, but his heart was beating harder now, not from pain, but from anticipation. Valka didn’t pick up her sewing this time. She watched him for a few moments, her gaze thoughtful but not pressing. Then she said, “You seem to care about her a lot.”
Heat crept up his neck before he could stop it. He tried for a casual shrug. “Yeah. I guess I do.” There was no teasing in her smile, just quiet understanding. They didn’t speak much after that, and though the room returned to stillness, his thoughts were anything but still.

He kept picturing the door opening. Kept imagining her face, every possible version of it, from smiling to solemn. Somewhere deep down, beyond the ache, beyond the fear of what she might see, something else stirred. He didn’t know if it was hope, or something far more dangerous. But he knew that when Astrid walked in, it would matter more than almost anything else had since the moment he woke.

A little while later, the door creaked softly as Valka pushed it open, just wide enough to slip through without letting the draft from the hallway touch the still air of the sickroom. Behind her, Astrid hesitated in the doorway, her hands fidgeting together in a nervous, uncharacteristic rhythm. She hadn’t seen Hiccup since he was unconscious just days after the battle. Her eyes darted to the bed, to the small, pale figure lying there with his head propped slightly on a pillow, his hair sticking in every direction as though he had fought some invisible storm in his sleep. “Astrid,” Valka’s voice was quiet but warm. “He’s awake. He… asked for you.” That was all it took. Astrid stepped inside, her boots barely making a sound against the wooden floor. She’d rehearsed this moment in her head a dozen times over the past days. Sometimes she imagined she would burst in, scolding him for scaring her; other times she pictured herself trying to play it cool, as though she hadn’t been counting the hours until she could see him. But all of those thoughts dissolved when she actually saw him.

Hiccup turned his head at the sound of her footsteps. His eyes found her instantly, green meeting blue, and something deep inside him cracked wide open. His lips trembled as if to form her name, but the air in his lungs stalled somewhere between his chest and throat. He swallowed hard, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up, slipping down along his face and cheeks. Astrid’s own breath caught. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, not in front of Hiccup, not when he needed her to be strong. But all that resolve shattered when she saw the tears tracking across his freckled face, and the raw, wounded look in his eyes. She crossed the room in three quick steps, the world narrowing to the space between them, and then she was by his side, kneeling so they were at the same level.
“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice breaking despite her best efforts. “Hiccup… I’m here.” He let out a shaky sound; half a sob, half a laugh of relief and reached for her with the arm that wasn’t tangled beneath the blankets. His fingers brushed hers, and she took his hand instantly, holding on as though she could anchor him to the bed, to the present, to her.

“I thought…” His voice cracked, too weak for anything more than a rasp. “I didn’t know if… I’d get to see you again.” Astrid shook her head quickly, her own tears spilling freely now. “Don’t you dare say that, and don’t you dare think that.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “You’re here, you stubborn idiot. You’re here, and I’m so glad you made it… I-I missed you.” She admitted.

His breath shuddered again, his face twisting briefly in pain as a spike of discomfort ran through his body. He didn’t need to say it, she could feel the tremor in his grip, see the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched.

Without thinking, she reached her free hand up to brush back his hair from his damp face, her thumb lingering against his temple. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay to hurt, it’s okay. You’ve been through… so much.” Her eyes flickered briefly, almost involuntarily, down to where the blanket covered the space where his leg used to be. The ache in her chest grew heavier, but she didn’t let it show in her face.

“I am so scared, Astrid,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes squeezed shut, as though saying it aloud made it too real. “I woke up and… my leg… it’s gone, and I don’t know what to do now. It doesn’t feel real, I don’t know if I can-” His words broke, tangled in sobs he couldn’t hold back. Astrid leaned forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms carefully around him, mindful of his injuries but determined not to let go. His forehead pressed into her shoulder, and she felt the hitch in his breathing as the weight of everything seemed to pour out of him. She closed her eyes against her own tears, tightening her hold. “You can, Hiccup. You will. I’m not going anywhere, do you hear me? I’m not leaving you to figure this out alone, I’m gonna be right here the entire time.”

For a long moment, there was no sound in the room except for the uneven breaths they shared, the quiet rustle of blankets, and the muffled storm of emotions neither of them could quite put into words. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red-rimmed but just a little steadier. She brushed her thumb along his cheek and then kissed him on the lips, and he leaned into the kiss without thinking. He smiled slightly, though his eyes still were filled with sadness deep down. “I missed you too,” he whispered, the words fragile but true. Astrid smiled through her tears, a small, trembling thing. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I love you so much, and I’m not going anywhere.”