A Starcrossed Love between Gods (God AU)

In the backstage of reality, two very different worlds collided.

On the one side, an ocean of sea-water and ice, crashing against the cliff-sides that made-up an island topped with longhouses. In the sky, there-be dragons.

On the other side, warm river waters and bright colorful jungle landscapes. Rainbow-beaked toucans and spotted wildcats hid in the brush.

Sailing from the harbors of the town was a Viking long-ship sat Chief Stoick, King of the vestigial kingdom of Asgard. Accompanying him is his scrawny son Hiccup, their friend Gobber and the adolescent heirs of Asgard's remaining clans Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Astrid. The boat carried them from the cold sea-waters to the warm, fresh-water river of a newer world.

Waiting for them at the bank of the river are a separate pantheon, worshiped in the deep recesses of Columbia. Descended from the Saints of Roman Catholicism and the indigenous Aztec, Mayan and Incan gods, the Madrigals as a pantheon were only three generations old.

Stoick and Gobber were the first to step off of the boat, followed by Hiccup and the rest.

"Presenting his divine highness, King Stoick of Asgard," said Gobber. "New All-Father of the Nine Realms, descendant of Odin the First and God of his people."

Stoick unsheathed his sword -- most of the Madrigals flinching, unaccustomed to having such a War God so close to them -- before plunging the blade into the sand as a show of vulnerability. He had not come to wage war, but to foster peace with what could be a new ally in a progressively secularized world.

The matriarch of the Madrigals Mother Alma walking to the front of her family, armed with nothing but an eternal candle grasped in her hands, its holy flame so powerful that it could raise mountains and fell armies if she willed it. She did not put it down like Stoick had with his blade, but she gave him a respectful bow, which he accepted.

"I am Mother Alma of the Madrigals, Matriarch of the New Gods of the wilds of Columbia, Protector and Nurturer. I grant you Stoick and company hospitality in my hearth and home."

Stoick, unflinching as his namesake, gave her a nod of approval. Formalities met, Stoick and Alma walked towards the rode, the Madrigal pantheon and Stoick's entourage walked their way into town.

It wasn't a real town, but a manifestation of one, built on a foundation from the offerings and worship of their mortal followers. Ghostly manifestations of those people walked the cobblestones as they went about their business. Every godly realm with a following had their share of worshippers building and serving their gods and saints on a spiritual level.

Walking next to the scrawny godling Hiccup was one of the younger goddesses. She was his age, with curly hair under a sky-blue cloak, her blouse carrying an embroidered glowing heart on the front. He figured it had some symbolic significance to their culture.

"Hey," she said.

"U-Uh, hey."

"I'm Mirabel. And you are?"

"Hiccup. I'm Hiccup." She snorted.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Blame my dad." He pointed to Stoick. "God of War and Peace, not God of Baby-Names, I can tell you that."

"My name means 'miracle'. A bit on the nose for a goddess name."

"Well I think it's nice."

Mirabel blushed a little at his compliment and he blushed back.

"So. You got a domain?" She asked.

Hiccup didn't like where this conversation was going. On Asgard, gods would take their children to the Well of Ymir or the Norns or some other seer to see what they would be good at. That is when their affinity wasn't apparent the moment of their birth. All of his peers were already training to be gods of their domains. Hiccup however has yet to show an affinity to anything. Or at least nothing worth venerating in their culture.

"I, uh... I'm supposed to take over for my dad," said Hiccup, deflecting. "What about you?"

"It's kind of embarrassing. My family all got their domains right out the gate. Me? I was given one. I'm supposed to be a 'Sacred Virgin' archetype."

"Sacred what?!" If Hiccup was drinking anything, he would have spat it out.

"You know: The Maiden? A sort of chaste-feminine ideal? Lots of pantheons have those. Or they used to."

"Well, not in mine. Not that I would know."

"Abuela used to be one before she met my Abuelo. They called her 'The Madonna Alma'. It feels like a participation trophy sometimes."

"Well I'm sure whatever a 'Sacred Virgin' does must be important if your God-Queen did it too."

Mirabel chuckled again.

"I've never heard anyone call her 'God-Queen', but I guess we'll add that to the list."

At the end of town, there was a two-story house. It was no pyramid or golden palace, but compared to the rest of the village, it as pretty impressive. The Asgardians had no room to judge anyway. There aren't exactly that many Vikings in our modern times to pay enough tributes for anything more than a few mess-halls and a set of fishing boats you could generously call a "fleet".

"Honored guests," said Alma, her face alit with candle-light on front of the doors of their casa. "I welcome all of you to the Encanto."

The doors opened and allowed everyone inside. The dinner table was decorated with delicious dishes of fruit and stews, wine and roasted chicken, all offerings given to them by their worshippers who thank them for their hopes and prosperity.

Alma sat at one end of the table, Stoick in the other, both silently agreeing that hospitality comes before business. Stoick gave his party a nod and all decorum went out the window as they went after their dinner that wolves.

The Madrigals all stared at their guests with disgust and fascination, yet said nothing. Bad table manners weren't exactly in violation of sacred hospitality, no matter how much some of them thought it was.

Many Decades later...

Mirabel was on her back, naked except for her glasses, her legs wrapped around Hiccup's waist and nails clawing at his shoulder-blades.

He kissed her neck before pushing himself up, getting a better look at his lover as he kept thrusting. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. He loved the way she smiled. He loved the way her eyes sparkled. When she warmed his bed, he can't help but marvel at the way her breasts moved, or how good he felt inside of her, or her voice as she told him to do it harder.

Hiccup and Mirabel have developed a close friendship after their first visit and had discovered that they had a lot in common.

They were both artistic; she painted and embroidered and sewn, he having learned smithing from their Forge-God Gobber and developed a love of inventing. His skills weren't immaculate enough to consider him a Forge-God too, but it was his passion. They both traded barbs and went on little adventures in and out of the godly plain.

They also felt like the bottom-rung of their pantheons; dismissed by their families, downplayed in their religions and ignored by their followers.

After years of companionship, love blossomed. It started out as an open secret between them, one thinking the other was too good for them. Then came the confession, agreeing to keep it a secret. They would spend as much time together as they could manage, both during and in between treaty renewals and negotiations.

Then one night, lust overcame them. It overcame them again and again and again. Mirabel could barely walk the day afterwards, the virgin goddess a virgin no longer.

If her Tio Bruno, Patron of Fortune-Tellers and God of Foresight, hadn't disappeared all those years ago, he might have foreseen her little political scandal and told Alma about it. These days she relied on her granddaughter Dolores, who's impressive semi-omniscience was limited to one realm at a time, so they could never do it back at the Encanto.

Alma expected a lot out of her family, but she only ever wanted Mirabel to take the mantle she'd been given and sit quietly while the rest of her family did their duties. If she ever found out that their Virgin Goddess wasn't a virgin anymore, much less to a "barbaric pagan-ruffian from the Old World" she only mildly tolerated, they'd be lucky if war was the only thing on the table. While their pantheon was small, they were a denomination of the Abrahamic faiths and thus had many allies.

Mirabel didn't want a war, but she didn't regret what she did. She loved him, and he loved her. The pure-gold ring he made for her was proof of that. She wished she could wear it all the time, but she couldn't let anyone know, so she kept it on a necklace she would wear under her shirt when she was home.