Safe Out of Sight - Chapter Eight

"He spread pitch on the stairs. I was caught unawares. And I thought, 'Well, he cares…'" ~ On the Steps of the Palace: Into the Woods

Chapter 8

"Wow."

"Yep."

"Sounds like a mess."

Hiccup snorted and nodded in agreement, finding the general consensus that his life summed up to a mess lately strangely comforting. Regan leaned back from where she sat at her workbench, eyes wide, soaking in the story she had just heard. Hiccup turned from his work as well to tentatively observe her reaction. To his relief, her expression held none of the skepticism he had become accustomed to seeing from her. He could see the thoughts flying wildly behind her eyes, trying desperately to make sense of everything this stranger had told her.

"That's...that's really something," she finally said. "Really, Hiccup. Standing up for yourself like that, and against your own people? Takes guts."

Hiccup allowed himself to crack a smile; her ability to respect his actions for what they were without instantly idolizing him was wonderfully refreshing.

"Thanks," he said, and his reply was, for the first time in a long time, sincere. "It was difficult, especially because…" Hiccup caught himself before mentioning his father, deciding it may be best to keep his status a secret for the time being. "Especially because of my responsibilities," he finished vaguely.

"But Toothless was worth it?"

When Hiccup looked to her, there was an understanding in her eyes that he never expected to see from her. Slowly, he nodded.

"More than worth it."

And she smiled at him. Not in a manner of girlish embarrassment or superficial kindness, but as someone who had found a kindred spirit where she had never expected. This Northerner who had appeared seemingly from thin air was different from the others; he had proven in his short time in her village that he had seen his fair share of hardships just as she had and, as she was working to do, had overcome them. As difficult as it was to admit to herself, she stood to learn something from this boy.

"My old village was never victim of the Dragon Raids," she began, and her tone immediately told Hiccup that it would a struggle for her to continue much further. "But there were…other raids." Her eyes closed. "Northerners, your kind, invaded my home only a season ago."

The blood in Hiccup's face immediately fled, leaving him cold. A season ago when, he recalled, he watched fleet after fleet of ships leave the docks in search of the Nest. But that's all that those ships did, right? He tried to calm his rapidly quickening pulse, reassuring himself with the knowledge that his father would certainly be far too focused with the search to even ponder raiding offensively. However, if driven by necessity for supplies…

"They ransacked homes and churches, stealing anything of value: relics, food, clothing, livestock…" Regan's eyes remained closed as did Hiccup's mouth. He could almost see the horrifying scenes racing behind her eyelids. He sat silently, praying the generally peaceable Hooligans were in no way involved. "It was so hard for me to just stand by and watch, to be the one the adults were trying to protect, always kept safe and out of sight. But to be unscathed when the people I cared about, the village I cared about, was being tormented…"She snorted, disgusted, "They might as well have just tortured me."

Hiccup kept his mouth closed still, but out of shock rather than his own volition. His people had been attacked too, ransacked and raided by an invading force, but the Hooligans always fought back. It was the only way they knew how to respond. Hiccup tried to picture how farmers could possibly hope to defend themselves against a horde of Vikings - Vikings who regularly defended themselves from dragons, no less. Any and all possibilities escaped him.

"What I'm getting at is I understand what you're going through as far as the responsibility thing," she said quickly, clearly doing her best to inconspicuously shake the horrific memories from her mind. "It's hard when people expect so much of you, but I've learned you have to stand up and face it dead on." Hiccup swallowed audibly, wishing he could say the same, shame forming a lump in his throat when he realized he couldn't. "My father had so much life drained out of him by those murderous barbarians that I've taken on most of his duties."

Hiccup hadn't taken on any of his duties. In fact, he had run away from them. In fact, he realized, he had been relishing the lack of responsibility even in his efforts to return to Berk. Toothless had recognized this ages before her had. Hiccup was simply happier here than he had been in weeks, basking in the freedom provided by the miles of rolling waves between him and the isolated isle of Berk, home to every pressure and responsibility he faced. So why now, of all times, did Regan feel the need to plant guilt in his long-overdue contentment?

"He's still suffering," she continued, "He'd be able to get his strength back if my mother were here. Without her, I don't know if he'll ever recover."

"I lost my mother too," Hiccup said, a part of him glad to have found a way to identify with her, albeit a rather morbid one. While death in war-torn Berk was not uncommon, Hiccup had never been able to commiserate with any of his peers in that respect. Given, none of them ever approached Hiccup to do more than deliver some contemptuous remark. Again, he was amazed at the similarities between them despite all cultural disparities. Her wordless response told him she felt exactly the same. If only trier leaders could approach delegations in such a manner, there would be much less need for bloodshed in the Archipelago. Two polar opposites could see eye to eye if they only took the time to try to understand the other's point of view…

"It's getting late," Regan said, effectively shattering the conversation and calling Hiccup's attention to the fading light outside the forge. She stood, brushing her apron and moving to hang it in its place on the wall. When Hiccup failed to do the same, she paused. "Why don't you take a night off?"

Before she had even finished Hiccup shook his head. "Ah, no I've got a lot to finish here…"

"You've worked hard today," she countered, "You've earned a break. And it's the last night of Samhain. You owe it to yourself to have a little bit of fun."

Hiccup wavered, wanting dearly to agree with her, but unable to for fear of admitting his lack of motivation to work on getting back home. Plus, he had never been invited to participate in Vetrnætr festivities before, or paid any attention to when he forced himself to go.

"It's the only way to deal with the pressure of being a leader. You have to let yourself breathe sometime, Hiccup."

Finally, he stood from his assigned place at his workbench and turned to the exit. She was right; it was time for him to stop holding his breath, waiting for things to happen or stop happening or exist in the chaotic world around him. Maybe it was time to let go, let himself exist where he was in the present moment and release the pressures and responsibilities that even Toothless knew ate at his soul. Really, it was almost frightening how much better the dragon knew him than he would ever know himself.

And so Hiccup followed her out of the forge and towards the music and laughter echoing from the village square. Instantly, Hiccup felt the cold night air wash over his face, fill his lungs, and ease his mind. So weightless, he was finally flying again, even though his feet never left the ground.

--

They were right there. Right beneath her, below her knees and above the ground, planted firmly on the docks where she stood watching the fleet depart. Her boots were in fact in contact with the dock and her feet were, to her knowledge, safely inside them, however, despite this logical deduction from the given facts, Astrid was nearly positive that her feet had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. They sat there, boots and all, scratching her insides and weighing her down, threatening to drag her under the crashing waves below.

The fleet. The fleet was gone, and although no one that remained in the village knew where exactly they were headed, everyone had ideas. Including Astrid.

During the final hours of the celebration the previous night, the chief was nowhere to be found. Come morning, supplies were being gathered, warriors assembled, and longboats prepared to launch as quickly as humanly possible. Something was clearly amiss.

Astrid was reminded of the eerie emptiness that settled over Berk on the only other occasion that the entire fleet had left at once: the final hunt for the Nest. Then, however, Astrid had been the one to rescue the boy who stood staring after the ships. But Hiccup didn't need her rescuing anymore; he made that perfectly clear when he picked up and left. She was the one who needed sense talked into her to prompt her to action this time, and Hiccup wasn't going to return the favor.

At the thought, Astrid was instantly reacquainted with the boots that still sat in the pit of her stomach.

"I don't think they'll be back for a while."

"I know," Astrid replied. "Doesn't change the fact that I wish I knew where they were going. Or what is going on."

Fishlegs stepped forward to sit down on the docks beside her, staring out towards the same distant spot. "I sure hope Hiccup's not in trouble."

"He's not," she responded. She could have tried to control the bite in her words, but could no longer find the will. Fishlegs, taken aback but masking any hurt, studied her. Astrid bit her lip and looked away.

"You don't know that," he said.

"Sure I do! He's fine without us right? That came across loud and clear when he ran away!"

"You don't know that," Fishlegs said again, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed his own uncertainty. Every day that Hiccup failed to reappear made it harder for Fish to convince himself that he ever would. At Fishlegs' faltering response, Astrid felt the weight in her stomach sink even further; if Fishlegs was losing faith, it seemed more believable that Hiccup meant to be gone for good.

"But then…" Fishlegs thought aloud, "what would the Meatheads have to do with any of this?"

Astrid spun to face him. "Meatheads?" she asked. "What about the Meatheads?"

Taking heart in her returned interest, Fishlegs continued. "Well, I head Snotlout bragging to Tuffnut about being allowed at the council meeting before the fleet left because…well…"

"Because Hiccup isn't here," Astrid finished.

"Yeah. That," Fishlegs finished lamely, just as uncomfortable at the thought of Snotlout at the council meeting as Astrid was. "Anyway, there was apparently talk about the Meatheads. A lot of it." He paused to gage the girl's reaction. Her features were beginning to show the same skepticism Fishlegs felt. Encouraged, he continued. "It just doesn't make sense. If Hiccup ran away and the fleet went after him, why would the Meatheads be involved at all?"

For a moment, the girl appeared to agree with his point, but just as soon was shaking her head.

"I don't know, Fishlegs. For all we know this could have nothing to do with Hiccup. Just business with the Meatheads. A trade agreement or something." Now Astrid was the one who faltered, fishing for some alternative explanation, and Fishlegs couldn't help but smile. The gods had gifted him with a divine opportunity to coax Astrid out of her vendetta against the supposed runaway and he wasn't about to let it get away.

"Astrid, you know something's going on here and if we can get to the bottom of it, maybe we can find out what happened to Hiccup."

His story was so so tempting to believe, yet it was so much easier to stick with her earlier conclusion. Much less painful than hoping.

"C'mon, what happened to the Astrid that stalked her competitor through the woods for weeks because she thought something was fishy? Be that determinator again," Fishlegs pressed. "What would Hiccup do?"

The answer was out there, and standing on the docks waiting for Thor-knows-what was getting her absolutely nowhere. Swiftly, she turned on her heel and marched toward the village square.

"Whoa, where are you going?" Fishlegs asked, nearly upended into the waves by the girl as she swept passed him.

"Go saddle Meatlug,"Astrid called, still staring straight ahead, eyes locked on her destination. "Tell the others to saddle up as well. If we want answers, we'll have to go straight to the source." The Meatheads were going to give them answers. Astrid was tired: tired of lies, tired of waiting, and most of all tired of feeling so ridiculously helpless. It was the Viking way and it wasn't her. So Astrid stroke away from the docks and towards her answers, leaving the boots in her stomach far behind her.