Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started with a sneeze.

A small one, barely a puff of air—but Valka noticed it.

They were halfway through stacking firewood behind the longhouse, Hiccup awkwardly juggling split logs with his good arm and trying to steer clear of Toothless, who had curled up in a sunbeam and was napping dramatically right in the middle of the path, tail twitching in rhythm with his dreams.

Valka, halfway through lifting another heavy log to the pile, paused mid-motion and looked over her shoulder.

“Bless you,” she said lightly, not quite looking up from her work.

Hiccup blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You sneezed,” she repeated, now straightening up and squinting at him.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I—” Hiccup paused, nose twitching again. He barely had time to register the tickle before another sneeze burst out of him. Loud and very wet.

“Okay,” he admitted, rubbing at his nose with the edge of his sleeve. “Fine. Maybe once.”

Valka wiped her hands on her apron and stepped toward him, brows furrowing. “Come here a second.”

Hiccup leaned away instinctively. “Oh no.”

“Hiccup.”

“I’m fine—”

Valka didn’t give him a chance to squirm. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead before he could dodge. Her fingers were cool and precise, maternal muscle memory in action.

“Mooom,” he whined.

“Hiccup,” she returned calmly, hand now cupping his jaw as she peered into his face.

“That’s not even—ugh.” He tried to huff but found himself leaning into her touch anyway. It was annoyingly comforting.

She gave a small, knowing smile. “You’re warm.”

“It’s the sun.”

“It’s not the sun.”

Stoick, who had been watching the scene unfold from the porch with a tankard of tea and the kind of grin only fathers could manage, called out cheerfully, “He’s always warm. Gets it from me.”

“Or from the fever he’s definitely ignoring,” Valka said, glancing pointedly back at him.

Hiccup groaned. “Can’t I just carry wood without being treated like I’m dying?”

“No,” she said simply, stepping closer to place her forehead against his with a quiet hum. “You’re my son.”

He wilted under the gentle contact, sighing like he was melting into the ground. “Ugh. That’s cheating.”

“Everything’s cheating when you’re sick and stubborn,” she murmured, brushing his hair back.

Hiccup was stubborn, sure. But Valka was worse.

“Bed,” she said firmly, now blocking the doorway with her full height and a fur-lined cloak that gave her the silhouette of a judgmental mountain.

“I was going to bed,” Hiccup muttered, swaying slightly as he tried to maneuver around her. “Eventually.”

“‘Eventually’ could take hours with you,” she said, arms crossing. “You’re flushed, you’re sniffling, and you haven’t eaten anything but a half-burnt oatcake since yesterday morning.”

“It wasn’t burnt—”

“It crunched when you bit it.”

“That’s just—Viking texture?”

She gave him The Look.

He sighed heavily, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Going.”

He trudged inside with all the energy of a sulking Terrible Terror. Toothless trailed behind with a low, worried warble, nudging him gently in the ribs before curling up beside the bed.

“I’m fine,” Hiccup tried to reassure them both, though his voice cracked on the last word like it was made of old wood.

Valka helped him settle beneath the thickest furs they had, her hands practiced and gentle, her expression soft but unyielding. “You need rest. Real rest. You’ve been running on adrenaline and stubbornness for days.”

“And love,” Hiccup muttered, already halfway into the pillow. “Running on... love.”

That earned him a laugh. Not loud. Just warm.

Valka brushed his fringe back and kissed the top of his clammy head. “Exactly.”

An hour later, Hiccup stirred with a groggy frown. Something smelled... off.

Warm, yes. But also pungent. Like boiled fish and burnt herbs had decided to start a turf war in his sinuses.

He cracked one eye open just as Valka entered, holding a steaming wooden bowl like it was an offering to the gods.

“I made you soup,” she announced, bright-eyed.

Hiccup sat up slowly, head pounding. “Oh… great,” he said with clear caution. “What kind of soup?”

“Root vegetable. With herbs. And... possibly some dried eel.”

“Why eel?”

“It’s good for your constitution.”

He stared at the bowl. “That’s a bold assumption.”

Valka walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, ladle in hand. “Just try it.”

He leaned away slightly and sniffed the soup.

Then looked at her, deadpan. “Mom, this smells like if a dragon’s nest and the bottom of a fish barrel had a baby. And then the baby died.”

Valka frowned, sniffing it herself. “It’s aromatic.”

“I’ve had bowel movements with better aroma,” he muttered.

Before the conversation could escalate, the door creaked open again. Stoick stepped in, brushing snow from his shoulders. He stopped mid-step and sniffed the air.

“I smelled something odd. Is the forge burning cabbage again?”

“It’s soup,” Valka replied evenly.

Stoick froze. “...Ah. Soup.”

Hiccup sent him a pleading glance. “Save me.”

“Oh no,” Stoick said, holding back a grin. “You’re her patient now.”

Valka narrowed her eyes at them both. “Fine. If you’re going to complain, you can make the soup.”

Stoick, to his credit, did not hesitate. He walked straight into the kitchen, took one look into the pot, and muttered something in Norse that sounded like a prayer and a curse in equal measure.

He dumped half of it out, added bone broth, honey, garlic, salt, and something from a corked jar that made Hiccup’s eyes water even from the next room.

When he returned, the soup was a lighter gold, smelled vaguely like roast chicken, and tasted like heaven.

Hiccup took one bite, sighed like a man reborn, and whispered, “I would die for this.”

“I know,” Stoick said, ruffling his hair. “But you won’t. That’s the point.”

Valka rolled her eyes but looked secretly proud.

By late afternoon, the fever had tightened its grip. Hiccup tossed beneath the furs, half-asleep, his face pale and damp with sweat. The world pulsed behind his eyelids. Every noise felt too loud. Every movement is too slow.

He woke suddenly with a jolt of nausea. His stomach twisted.

His hand shot out, grasping blindly for the edge of the bed, throat tightening.

“Mom,” he rasped, voice hoarse and shaking. “Mom—”

She was there instantly.

She didn’t ask what was wrong. She didn’t make him explain.

She just appeared beside him like she’d been waiting, bucket in hand, already kneeling. One arm supported his shoulders, the other angled the bucket just in time.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He choked forward and vomited.

It wasn’t much—mostly bile, a bitter mix of broth and heat—but it left him panting, trembling. His whole body felt wrung out.

Valka held him close, murmuring soothing nonsense—gentle, meaningless phrases she hadn’t used since he was five and frightened of the dark.

When it passed, she set the bucket aside and reached for a cloth from the basin nearby. She wiped his mouth, then his forehead, and ran her fingers back through his sweat-damp hair.

“I hate this,” he whispered, voice small.

“I know,” she said, brushing his temple with her thumb. “I know, love.”

“I feel useless.”

“You’re sick. That’s not the same.”

“Feels the same.”

She leaned in closer. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty while shivering. That’s an order.”

He tried to laugh. It cracked and broke.

“Sorry,” she added. “Too soon?”

He managed a tired, crooked smile. “Maybe just a little.”

She shifted, settling behind him so he could lean against her, head on her chest, her arms a cocoon.

She stroked his hair as his breathing slowed.

“I threw up on your boots.”He said, sadly,

“They were hideous.” She assured,

He chuckled softly, the tension in his frame easing as her warmth soothed the worst of the fever away.

Toothless curled tighter at his feet, humming low and steady.

Valka held him like he was still that terrified little boy with a cold and a broken tooth—like time hadn’t passed at all.

“I love you, Mom,” he murmured sleepily.

She kissed his crown, fingers still combing through his hair.

“I love you, too, my boy. Always.”

He was asleep before the words were done.

Chapter Text

“Honestly,” Valka muttered, comb in hand as she gently separated a stubborn tangle, “I’m not sure whether this is dragon soot or pine sap.”

“It’s both,” Hiccup said from where he sat cross-legged on a stool in front of the hearth, shoulders drooping like a wet wool cloak. “I was in the cove when a baby Gronckle exploded a pinecone into my face. Toothless laughed.”

Toothless, curled nearby like a great dark cat, thumped his tail against the floor with smug satisfaction. He gave a low warble that sounded suspiciously like a snicker.

Valka raised an eyebrow, fingers moving slowly through Hiccup’s tangled hair. “And then you didn’t brush it. For how many days?”

“Define brush,” Hiccup said weakly, already anticipating the scolding.

She clicked her tongue, gently parting another knot. “The word isn’t the problem, dear.”

He winced as she tugged at a particularly stubborn snarl near the back. “Ow. Hey, careful—I use that scalp.”

“I’m trying to preserve it, not harm it,” she replied, patient and firm.

Toothless huffed again, blinking lazily in the firelight, his satisfaction evident.

“Traitor,” Hiccup muttered.

Valka twisted another section between her fingers and hummed thoughtfully. “Has Astrid braided your hair like this before?”

Hiccup blinked. “What? Uh. Yeah. I mean—not like this —she does it when I get banged up and can’t reach it. Usually after a fight. Or a storm. Or the time I fell in the eel pit.”

Valka hummed again. “I can tell. This side was almost a knot-bird’s nest. I assume that happened after some grand, reckless heroics?”

“More like falling off Toothless into a tree,” Hiccup muttered.

Toothless lifted his head in mock offense, then lowered it again with a very pointed sigh.

Valka chuckled, a quiet sound. “Well, if you want to keep wooing her, it wouldn’t hurt to take more care with your appearance.”

Hiccup stiffened, shoulders going straight. “Mom.”

She patted his shoulder, utterly unfazed. “I’m just saying. Clean clothes. A brushed braid. You know— charming .”

“Mooooom.” His face turned scarlet as he twisted halfway around to glare at her. “Can you not use the word ‘woo’? Like, ever?”

“But it’s such a lovely word,” she said sweetly. “Very Viking. Your father used to say it.”

“He also used to wear bear fur with the ears still attached.”

“Exactly.”

Hiccup groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I’m going to keel over right here. Bury me next to the fire.”

Valka laughed and gently pulled him back by the shoulder. “Sit still. You’ll mess up the braid.”

He sighed again, but leaned back, obedient now. Not because he wanted to—but because there was something soothing in her hands. Something familiar in the tug of fingers against his hair.

A few quiet moments passed.

Then he said, with half a shrug and a huff, “Anyway… Astrid likes it when I look a little disheveled. Says it makes me look ‘action-packed.’ You know. Rugged. Cool.”

Valka gave a thoughtful hum. “Ah. The heroic windswept look.”

“Exactly,” Hiccup said, sitting up straighter. “Like I just flew in from a daring rescue. Or tamed a rogue dragon with only a stick and a wink.”

“Or like you rolled out of bed after losing a fight with a tree branch,” she teased.

He groaned. “Why do I keep talking?”

“Because I’m your mother,” she said simply, “and you know I’ll listen, no matter how silly you get.”

Hiccup didn’t answer. But a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Valka smiled too, her hands still working—slow and deliberate, like braiding wasn’t just a task, but a kind of language. A rhythm. A ritual.

“You know,” she said softly, almost as an afterthought, “when you were little, I used to braid your hair in the spring.”

Hiccup blinked. “You did?”

She nodded. “Not because it was long, not really. Just to keep the wind from tangling it when we traveled. Or when we slept outside. You’d always fall asleep before I finished.”

“I... don’t remember that,” he admitted, voice small.

“You were one. Very little, but born with so much hair,” she said, smoothing a section down. “You’d lean against me, listening to stories I made up. There was one about a little boy who could speak to dragons. He had wild hair and an even wilder heart.”

Hiccup closed his eyes.

“Sounds like a smart kid.”

“He was,” she murmured. “Curious. Brave. Soft-hearted. Like someone I know.”

Her fingers lingered at the end of the braid. She tied it off with a small strip of leather, then brushed her hand gently over the crown of his head.

Hiccup was silent for a long time.

The fire crackled.

Toothless snored.

Finally, Hiccup reached up and ran his fingers along the short braid. It was tight and neat, but not strict. Not stiff. It flowed.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome, love.”

He didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

He stayed there on the stool, leaning ever so slightly back. Close enough that her hand brushed through his hair again.

A soft, involuntary sigh left his lips—one he immediately tried to stifle.

Valka smiled gently. “You like your hair being played with.”

“I do not ,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m a Viking. Vikings don’t like being pampered.”

“I see,” she said, brushing her fingers through again.

He didn’t stop her.

Toothless cracked one eye open, tail flicking once. Smug.

“I mean,” Hiccup said, a bit quieter now, “it’s not awful. ”

“Of course not.”

“It’s... kind of nice.”

“Very nice.”

He leaned his head back a little further. “Okay, but if anyone sees me like this—”

“I’ll tell them you were passed out from battle fatigue.”

“Make it sound dramatic.”

“Obviously.”

She combed through the braid again, gently checking the weave, fingers calm and steady.

“You’re my Viking,” she whispered, leaning close. “And I’ll pamper you if I want to.”

Hiccup let out a long sigh. Not exasperated. Not tired. Just... soft.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “Just don’t do the Mom Voice .”

Valka kissed the top of his head, right at the crown where the braid started. “No promises.”

And Hiccup, warm and safe in the gentle rhythm of her hands and the crackling of the fire and the soft, protective snores of Toothless behind him, didn’t mind.

Not even a little.

In fact, he leaned back just a little more.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a quick patrol.

Just him and Toothless, skimming the cliffs around Dragon’s Edge, checking for signs of raiders. There’d been a sighting the week before—nothing serious, but enough to put the Edge on edge.

Hiccup had even said it—half-grinning, tapping the side of his helmet: “Quick sweep, bud. In, out, breakfast.”

Then came the net.

Then the axe.

Then the second ship—hidden until it wasn’t.

Then the cliff, crumbling under his boots.

He remembered the fall.

He didn’t remember hitting the rocks.

Toothless flew like he was on fire.

Hiccup was slumped over his saddle, one arm hanging limp, his shoulder visibly out of place. Blood matted the side of his head, sticky and slow. His flight suit was torn open across the ribs, soaked with salt and dirt. His mouth moved sometimes, like he was trying to speak, but only vague sounds came out—broken syllables, confused vowels.

Toothless didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate.

Straight for Berk. Straight for her.

Valka was feeding Cloudjumper when she heard the roar—raw and panicked, low in the chest. She barely had time to turn before Toothless landed like a boulder in the courtyard, skidding hard, wings splayed, nostrils flaring.

Her heart stopped.

Then she saw him—her boy—crumpled across the saddle like a rag doll, blood trailing down his temple, lips pale and eyes unfocused.

“Hiccup,” she breathed, and was already running.

He blinked when she touched him. Sort of.

His gaze didn’t quite meet hers.

“M’not late,” he slurred. “There’s jam. Don’t yell, m’late…”

Valka didn’t cry. She pressed a shaking hand to his cheek, checking for warmth. Checked his pulse, checked his breathing.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you now.”

Toothless didn’t leave the door of her hut for hours.

The diagnosis was clear: a concussion. A nasty one. Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, split lip, and a likely sprained ankle to top it all off. He drifted in and out like a broken lantern—flickering, dim, always at risk of going dark again.

Valka worked silently, firmly. Resetting his shoulder. Cleaning the blood. Cooling the fever. Wrapping the ribs. Holding his hand while he muttered and twitched, his face twisting into pained confusion.

“...jam dragon… he said it would fit, I swear,” he said once, voice raspy. “Not my fault. Wasn't—wasn’t my idea to put the saddle on a sheep—”

Toothless groaned from the floor.

Valka smiled gently, running a cloth along his brow. “Of course it wasn’t.”

Another time, hours later, he squinted at her face and said, “You’re not... You're not Snotlout. Good. He doesn’t braid good.”

“No, love,” she murmured. “Definitely not Snotlout.”

By dawn, Hiccup was more awake—but still thoroughly scrambled.

Valka cracked open the window to let the sea air in, and he groaned like a dying man.

“Nooo,” came the croaky protest from under the furs. “Too light. Can’t trust mornings. Mornings are... traitors.”

She smiled. “Time to wake up, dear. You need food, a bath, and to stay conscious. Doctor’s orders.”

“I am the doctor,” he whined, face still buried in the blanket. “I overrule. Case closed. Write it down.”

Toothless entered the room and gave him a solid nudge.

“M’fine,” Hiccup slurred, patting the dragon’s face with a limp hand. “Toothless says I can skip. He says I smell heroic.”

Valka peeled back the blankets gently. “Your dragon says you smell like fire-charred socks and fish slime.”

Toothless let out a snort that absolutely sounded like agreement.

“Snitch,” Hiccup mumbled.

Bathing him was... an experience.

He kept listing off “inventions” mid-wash.

“Soap hat,” he said solemnly, blinking at nothing. “Put it on, suds rain down. No frogs. That’s... key.”

“Mhm,” Valka murmured, scrubbing gently behind his ears.

He leaned heavily to the side, eyes drooping. “Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Did you feed the house? It’s lookin’ hungry. It’s got... roof teeth.”

Valka paused, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “The house is fine. No roof teeth today.”

“Okay.” Pause. “Tell Astrid. She likes roofs. Likes me. Likes... me in roofs. Wait.”

“You’re rambling, love.”

“‘S cause... brain’s floatin’. Like a duck.”

Valka laughed under her breath. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

When she rinsed the blood and sweat from his hair, he sighed and leaned against her shoulder with a contented hum.

Dressing him was nearly impossible.

At one point, he got his foot stuck in his sleeve and looked genuinely betrayed by the laws of physics.

“Where’s the arm hole,” he demanded. “I know it’s here. I’m a chief, I know arms.”

“You’re wearing it like pants,” Valka pointed out gently.

“Oh.”

She helped him step out of the tunic and guided his arms into the right holes. He blinked at her, then whispered, “This is... teamwork.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I’m gonna knight you. Sword’s... somewhere. Toothless probably ate it.”

Toothless made a tired, long-suffering groan from the corner.

Breakfast was slow, but peaceful.

Valka held the spoon for him. He eyed it like it might bite him.

“Is it real food?”

“It’s porridge.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s lying.”

“Open.”

He did. Slowly. Like a man facing his doom.

He chewed. Thoughtfully. Swallowed.

“It’s warm. Suspiciously warm.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t trust warm food. Cold food can’t hide things.”

Toothless rolled onto his back with an exaggerated grunt.

Hiccup drifted off again sometime after the third spoonful, slumping sideways into his mother’s side, head resting against her ribs.

Valka didn’t move.

She wrapped an arm around his back, holding him there, running slow, rhythmic fingers through his hair. He was safe now. Healing. Her boy. Still breathing.

And that was enough.

Later that evening, when he was more himself—bandaged, groggy, but aware—he shifted beneath the blanket and murmured sleepily, “Thanks, Mom…”

Valka, already at his side with another bowl of tea, paused.

Then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You’re welcome, my boy,” she whispered.

Toothless lifted his head, watching them both. His tail flicked once—soft, approving.

And in the hush of the moment, with the fire burning low and the sea whispering outside, the world was whole again.

Just a little bruised.

But whole.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Astrid stepped outside first, boots crunching on the gravel path. "Stormfly needs water," she called over her shoulder, though no one had asked.

Valka watched her go, one brow slightly raised. Astrid was a good actress—but not that good.

Three minutes later, Hiccup awkwardly shoved back from the table, knocking over a spoon. "I—I’ll be right back. Forgot to… uh… check on something."

Toothless let out a low, knowing chirp.

Valka narrowed her eyes. “Something like a dragon?”

Hiccup was already halfway out the door. “Yup. Yep. Totally that. Very important. Be right back.”

The door swung shut.

Valka stared at it for a long second, then muttered, “Right.”

She returned to slicing roots, but something tugged at her—mother’s intuition or maybe just common sense. Five minutes. Then six. Then eight. Too long for just water and a dragon check.

Wiping her hands, she stepped onto the porch and glanced around. No sign of them near the stables. Not by the well either.

Then she heard it. A muffled thunk, followed by a breathless, half-stifled laugh—and something that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

She followed the sound around the forge’s outer wall.

And nearly walked straight into a crime scene of Viking hormones.

Hiccup had Astrid pinned between the stone wall and his body, one leg slipped between hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Hiccup's fingers were buried in her hair, and their mouths moved with feverish intensity. She was whimpering—actually whimpering—into the kiss.

Astrid tilted her head, deepening it, and Hiccup all but melted, his body arching toward her like gravity had changed.

Valka froze.

“Oh gods,” she muttered.

Hiccup didn’t hear her at first. Neither of them did. Not until she cleared her throat, loud and horrified.

They sprang apart like they'd been doused with cold water.

Hiccup hit the wall. “MOM?!”

Astrid backed up so fast she nearly tripped over her own foot. “Valka—I—uh—we—”

Valka held up both hands like she was physically trying to push the image out of her mind. “I am so sorry I walked back here. I thought—genuinely—I thought maybe someone had fallen into the fire pit or been mauled by eels.”

“We weren’t—” Hiccup started.

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Valka said quickly. “Because I will absolutely die.”

Astrid coughed into her sleeve, wiping her face.

Hiccup was a deep, deep shade of crimson. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Valka pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaled, exhaled, then pointed toward the hut. “Dinner is ready.”

“Y-Yeah. We’ll be right in.”

“And Hiccup?”

He looked at her like a rabbit caught in a net trap.

“I am not ready for grandkids, you are too young,” she said flatly.

“MOM.”

Astrid turned completely around, face in her hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I—We—That’s not—” Hiccup spluttered.

“I don’t need the details,” Valka said as she walked away. “I just need the two of you at the table and not liplocked behind blacksmith property.”

They watched her go in stunned silence.

Dinner was… quiet, at first.

Astrid kept her eyes glued to her bowl, cheeks flushed but determinedly calm, while Hiccup fidgeted with his spoon like it was a weapon he didn’t know how to use. Toothless thumped his tail under the table every few seconds like a metronome of tension.

Valka served stew and sat across from them with a perfectly polite expression. Only the slight twitch of her mouth betrayed that she was holding back some kind of emotion—exasperation? Amusement? Long-suffering dread?

Probably all three.

Halfway through the meal, Hiccup cleared his throat. “So… uh. Sorry.”

Valka arched a brow. “For…?”

“The forge. The—uh. Behind it. And your eyes. And… all of it.”

Astrid nearly choked on her bread.

Valka sighed, setting her spoon down with a small clink. “Hiccup, I appreciate the apology. But… you’re not a child anymore. This was coming eventually.”

Astrid looked up, surprised.

Valka continued gently, “You’re in love. It’s expected.”

Hiccup blinked, warmth creeping back into his face. “I mean. Yeah. I am.”

“Good,” Valka said, calm as anything. “Just… be safe. Emotionally. Physically. All of it.”

Astrid nodded seriously. “Yes. Absolutely. Of course. So safe.”

Hiccup, somehow even redder, nodded too. “Definitely. All the safety. So much safety.”

Toothless groaned and buried his face under his wing. 

As Astrid left for the night, giving Hiccup a quick kiss on the top of his head as she turned to leave, Valka couldn't help but watch the way Hiccup looked at Astrid. The she smiled—soft and genuine—and turned to Hiccup. “You’re really in love, aren’t you?”

He paused, a half-spoonful of stew hovering mid-air. Then slowly, like the words built in his chest without him realizing, he said:

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The spoon was forgotten.

“She’s—she’s the fiercest person I’ve ever met. But also the kindest. And she gets me, Mom. Like actually gets me. I don’t have to explain why I’m thinking ten things at once or why I disappear mid-conversation to go sketch a saddle modification. She just knows.”

Hiccup went on, warming with each word, “And she doesn’t baby me about the leg, or about being chief. She challenges me. She pushes me. She chooses me.”

His voice cracked a little. “And gods, I love her so much it’s stupid. Like, really, really stupid. I trip over things. I forget to eat. I smile like an idiot for no reason.”

Valka’s heart squeezed.

He turned, looking bashful but earnest. “Is that… normal?”

She reached across the table and rested her hand over his. “Completely.”

Astrid nudged his foot under the table.

“I’m so doomed,” Hiccup muttered, eyes wide and lovesick.

“You’re so in love,” Valka corrected softly, brushing a curl from his temple. “And it suits you.”

He beamed.

And for the rest of dinner, things felt warm, not just from the hearth, but from the quiet understanding that no matter how awkward the forge incident had been, this was something good. Something real.

And Valka… she was glad to witness it.

Even if she had to start knocking before walking around corners from now on.