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Hiccup had missed a spot, and Astrid couldn’t take her eyes off of it. He had finally cut his hair once his bangs fell so far into his eyes it was a problem when flying. A couple days ago he had come into the academy and Astrid had had to do a double take at the entirely new silhouette of his head. It was choppy looking, but it suited him. Somehow, his bangs that used to fall into his eyes and hide the bright pigment of green from the world had decided to defy gravity and stick almost straight up. The shorter bits around his face also served to highlight the sharp cheekbones and jaw that were emerging as his baby fat dropped off of his face. Astrid hadn’t really known there was baby fat on his face. He had been skinny for so long; she’d figured he was as fatless as healthily possible. But now, with the piercing green eyes under bushy eyebrows, Hiccup’s now tall frame coupled with that new straight jawline, the concept of growing up seemed a lot more important.
She was the only one who came to the academy every day. The twins had decided the dragon academy was more schooling than adventure, and had devoted themselves to pranking the poor citizens of Berk while Hiccup was busy teaching another lesson. For a while, the lessons had been just tracking the twins and stopping them before they caused another disaster. Snotlout quickly got fed up with the routine and announced his departure from the academy. He was to spend his days testing weapons now with Gobber, but if he was looking for sorrow from his comrades at seeing him go, he was severely disappointed. He wasn’t nearly as important as he thought. When Hiccup still helped Gobber out once a week, all of the weapons he made or repaired were always perfectly balanced and tempered - there was no need to check them further. She no longer checked her axe after he sharpened it. In fact, she usually had Hiccup check it when she sharpened it, as he could tell if it had the slightest of nicks or imbalance she couldn’t sense.
Fishlegs hadn’t wanted to leave the academy, but Hiccup had grown restless with his lessons, and now wanted to explore the Archipelago for new species. Then Fishlegs had been offered a position to help teach the young children of Berk, too young to properly bond and care for a dragon of their own. The Gronckle rider had accepted and now spent every day taking the kids for a ride on Meatlug, recounting various histories of the island, pointing to warriors and speaking of their achievements.
“Bushlout Jorgenson won the Thawfest for eight years in a row,” he’d say, to his audience’s awe. “Not even Spitelout Jorgenson could beat him . . .”
Astrid was growing up, too. She was taller now and at an age where the clucking of old aunties about the length of her skirt drew a frown from her mother instead of defending her against them. She had recut her bangs shorter than before, swept to the side instead of falling straight into her face. Her hair was lighter from riding in the sun so often, and her braid fell farther down her back. She sparred with seasoned warriors when she trained instead of just normal Vikings.
“You could join the Guard,” one of them praised her, and she thanked him but brushed the suggestion aside. Her days were already spoken for. She was the Heir’s right hand, and she couldn’t leave her post.
They were still kids, she kept telling herself, desperate to keep the comradery between her and the Heir as long as she could. Once they started accepting they were growing up, she would go on to become a warrior, everyone knew that, but Hiccup would become the Heir, flying around town or sitting in on council meetings. She wouldn’t see him anymore. The chief rarely ate early, and the Berkian warriors took their meals before night patrol. Hiccup rarely saw his father before he went to bed, and he had a habit of going to bed at ungodly hours. Stoick didn’t have much time for his son, and Hiccup had accepted that, but Astrid selfishly didn’t want to have to live with the same acceptance when it came to Hiccup’s time. They wouldn’t stay friends. He had Toothless for a friend, and the rest he could do without. Astrid would become just another soldier who faithfully followed his orders and he might look upon their time together fondly, reminiscing about ‘when they were kids’ while Astrid would miss him fiercely. Toothless was his first friend, and while Astrid had Stormfly, Hiccup had been her first friend.
So now, even as the seas came up empty, the many spires of rock bare, and Hiccup’s face stoic but disappointed, she stuck to his side, praying he’d know she wasn’t leaving, begging him not to leave her.
“What?” Hiccup turned to look at her. “You keep staring at something and it’s distracting me. Is there a dragon behind me?” He twisted his neck, trying to spot the glimpse of a tail.
“I - no,” Astrid assured him. “It’s just, um, your hair.”
“Does it look bad?” he asked immediately, his eyes wide.
“No!” Astrid exclaimed. “No, it looks good. Nice, a nice change. You just, um - you missed a bit.”
“Where?” he asked, hands going to his ear.
“Not there,” she brushed his hand away. He set his hand in his lap and flexed his fingers. “Right here.” She lightly gripped a few locks under his ear. Their length stuck out quite a bit from the rest of his hair. She combed her fingers through them and - oh . When had his hair gotten so soft? She couldn’t remember the last time she had touched his head but surely she would have remembered the soft, silky slide of his reddish brown locks through her fingers. It felt so fine it was almost ticklish, and her fingers started moving automatically, parting it into sections.
“What are you doing?” Hiccup asked, trying to turn to see what she was doing, but she tugged harshly at the hair in her hands. “Ow!” he yelped.
“Hold still,” she ordered. “I’m doing something.” She was braiding his hair. She was braiding his hair. What was she thinking? How could she not, though?
“Are you braiding it?” Hiccup asked incredulously. She gave him a stern look.
“Hush, all Vikings have braids.” Then, softer, “Do you want me to stop?” Hiccup hesitated.
“No,” he admitted.
“Good,” Astrid said, focusing on the task at hand. She finished one small braid and tied it off. Hiccup reached up to touch it but she smacked his hand away again. “I’m not done,” she scolded. He grumbled but acquiesced.
“There,” she nodded, satisfied, after she finished the second one. Hiccup reached up to touch them, mulling over the feeling and probably debating over whether to take them out.
“Don’t take them out,” she said. It came out like an order, but she knew it was a plea. Don’t forget me. Let me leave you with something to remember me by. She kept waiting for him to do something to ensure their continued companionship even when their duties went separate ways, but he never said anything. The old Hofferson aunties would cluck their tongues disapprovingly when she’d come home late at night, still without a firm promise from the Haddock boy to court her or whatever. She used to hate it; she wasn’t ready for courtship, couldn’t they see that? That was the only reason Hiccup hadn’t made any moves toward her. But as she grew older, putting the extra effort to add a little side braid in her hair before she went to meet him, the slight womanly additions to her clothes, he still continued to treat her as he always had, and now Astrid would bow her head, red faced with shame when one of the old crones shook her head at Hiccup walking her chivalrously to her door, with never a secure promise to return. She wondered now if he didn’t want to court her anymore, now that he’d seen her up close for years, witnessed her hot temper and her struggles to prove herself, her constant need for validation and how she coveted people’s admiration for her strength and honor - even her looks. She knew she wasn’t the only pretty girl who had shown interest in him, and though she was sure no one could quite compare to what she was to him, was that what he wanted?
She wondered where she went wrong sometimes. Should she have let Hiccup court her while they were becoming friends? Would that have made everything better? Or would she have broken their relationship off from the pressure of being a girlfriend before she learned to treasure their friendship? Now, she was way too invested in whatever they had to leave. Even if it was just friendship and Astrid following him to the ends of Midgard just to see him turn in his saddle and grin at her with that excited smile that lit up his eyes, she would take it. He was avoiding his responsibilities, and sometimes when she watched the way he threw his head back in the wind, eyes closing and savoring the moment, she wondered if there would ever be a day he wouldn’t stop flying. Was he even a Viking, or a dragon in human form lent to them by the gods for a short time? Was she destined to fall for someone divinely unreachable? Was it selfish of her to even want to chain him down with chiefdom if only to ensure he could never escape to the heavens without her?
Hiccup didn’t say much about the braids, and they continued to fly and explore, glancing fruitlessly into coves, skimming the surface of the water, flying high into the mountainous forests. Nothing. Not even many wild dragons were found, and all were too docile to warrant any new discoveries. He was frustrated, that draconic part of him itching for satisfaction and unable to find it yet again. She wondered if that frustration was all Hiccup, or if some of it was Toothless, too. Their bond was unlike anything she had ever witnessed, it wouldn’t surprise her to find their thoughts and wanderlust were somehow connected.
As they flew back to Berk, she saw him fiddling with his braids again. She wanted to warn him away from them; what if he undid them? Then she’d have to be annoyed with the accidental difference in length of his hair. At least with the braids in it looked intentional. Or - if he undid them, she supposed she might redo them for him.
Hiccup was terrible at braiding. It was almost funny: he could sew and work leather and cook quite well, especially for someone who had grown up without a mother. But he couldn’t braid. He always passed off braiding leather cords or rope to Ruffnut or her back when they all attended the academy. He wouldn’t be able to redo his braids on his own. He’d have to come to Astrid to have her redo them now. That was - that was actually a good idea. He didn’t have any good friends to do his hair other than her. The chief would never find time to braid - his own beard wasn’t as kept as Astrid’s father’s was, with Mother’s help. He never let Ruffnut get close enough to him, and Gobber wouldn’t be able to braid such tiny ones with his hook.
It was like that promise those old aunties kept complaining about her not having. It was a mark. Not for other girls who’d come and try to take the spot of Chieftess, but for her. That they were still friends. They could still fulfill the things no one else could for each other. It wouldn’t last, and it was stupid, but to her the braids felt like a promise to return. They were like the bonfire they kept lit on the tower to guide the ships to not break on the rocks, used to sometimes send out flares or reassurance that the coast was safe. As long as he had those, Astrid would know he’d come back to her.
And she’d dread the day he lost those trusty braids.