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Hitchups: Bluffed

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Bluffed

::Wait...that's it!:: Toothless exclaimed, knocking one of the boots over with his nose. ::That's what you nearly killed me for?::

Hiccup reached over and snatched the shoe from the shore of the lake they set camp at, shooting Toothless a dark look. Yesterday's high had been brought down significantly by the everlasting and freezing bath he had been subjected to. He literally had to talk the dragon through finding some conkers and mashing them up for a bootleg version of soap, all while sitting naked in a French lake. To say that sobered him up quickly was an understatement.

Even after he gained Toothless' approval for his personal hygiene, he still had to wait until his only pair of clothes dried from a vicious scrub down. His lack of effects became quite apparent when he realized had no change of clothes or comb, and he was left to fall into a chilled, fitful sleep, unaided by extra clothing or blankets and aggravated by wet hair.

Now he was stuck with a rat nest bundled around his head and only his fingers to brush it out.

"In what way did you nearly die? Look at who you're talking to! What did you do that was remotely life-threatening?"

Hearing Toothless complain from the get-go that morning had done nothing to help Hiccup's mood. Apparently, the dragon had been under the impression that the pretty horn had been the treasure, and the boots were just an impulse grab. He claimed Hiccup did weird things like that all the time and he'd have believed it.

Toothless sniffed. ::Watching you do exceedingly stupid things is harmful for my health. You're going to turn my scales grey prematurely!::

"Good. We can die at the same time," Hiccup grunted, tugging through a hard snarl.

The dragon's jaw-fins fell back in perturbation. ::Don't joke about that!::

Hiccup bit his lip, realizing that he unthinkingly treaded on a subject still sensitive for both of them. "Sorry..."

::Too right you are:: Toothless harrumphed. His human companion continued to try and manage the silly hair, looking properly cowed, and Toothless felt a twinge of sympathy for the boy. It must be awful to have such a limited time in this world. It was no wonder humans rotated through times of war and peace more often than a snake could shed its skin. Everything was on hyper-speed for them.

He could understand the human's discomfort with his situation since last night; Toothless had done his best to keep the boy warm but apparently prolong exposure to moisture in cold temperatures made it nearly impossible for Hiccup to fully dry.

Toothless tried to think of something reassuring to say to Hiccup, anything that would lift his spirits, when his attention was suddenly jerked in another direction. His nose twitched at first, lifting to the air, and then he gave several heavy sniffs in succession.

Ah, the scent of perpetual disgruntlement.

::They're coming:: he warned aloud.

Hiccup leapt to his feet in an instant, hair forgotten. He didn't need to wonder who 'they' were.

"Hide!" he hissed, pushing at Toothless' flank to get the dragon moving.

The Night Fury immediately began to protest, ::But I want to—::

"No! Not yet!" Hiccup knew exactly what Toothless wanted to do. "I need my stuff first!"

::Fine, fine:: Toothless made to turn when Hiccup stopped him.

"Wait! Saddle on!" Hiccup said in a loud, rushed whisper. He had no idea how close or far the Frenchmen were, but this was a necessity he felt he had to risk. He threw the leather over Toothless' back and the dragon waited impatiently for Hiccup to assemble the straps.

::They're almost h—::

"Take this!" Hiccup next shoved the horn at him. "I don't want them to think it's the treasure."

::It probably is:: Toothless retorted as he grabbed the leather strap with his mouth.

"No! It's mine!" Hiccup insisted at the Night Fury who practically melted into the shadows. He didn't care how childish that came out; he wasn't giving it up. Especially when beautiful, mermaid sisters gave it to him.

"You argre facing dze wrong deerehction you fooleesh boy," a voice Hiccup had begun to identify with ire sounded behind him. Like a curse reacting to a trigger, his cheek throbbed where the man struck him yesterday. "Euh. I dzought you Norgrsemehn wergre supposed to be good at deerehction. Or wergre you actually trgrying to ehscape frgrom us? Dzis ees not whergre we agrgreed to meet!"

Hiccup turned to find Arnulf with a smaller group of lackeys assembled behind him. One of the underlings had Hiccup's belongings, the pack hanging carelessly from a gloved fist, and the boy was suddenly hit with such a forceful sense of injustice that self-assurance bloomed within him. He really hated being bullied.

"I figured you were competent enough to find me." Hiccup retorted. Now that he had leverage over them in the form of the treasure, and the comfort of knowing Toothless proximity, he felt much less inclined to put up with tripe on Arnulf's behalf.

It appeared the Frenchmen had sensed Hiccup's increased mettle compared to their last encounter, because his scowl managed to turn sour.

"Do you 'ave my trgrehsure?" he asked.

Hiccup didn't favor him with a verbal response, only a cold look and stiff movements to the boots—still worn and moth-eaten and looking anything but a treasure-like.

He picked them up by the ankle cuffs and held them out.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Please let it be what you wanted.

A deep-seated nervousness chipped away at his bravado; a very logical fear that he didn't actually have the treasure and was, in fact, down a bargaining chip.

The looks exchanged by the men were not promising; many regarded the shoes with arched eyebrows and grimaces. And then, looking like a dragon amongst a flock of sheep, Arnulf's face broke into a...a pleased sneer, if there could ever be such a thing.

"Wehll eet seems you 'ave a purgrpose on dzis eharth after all, leettle boy!" Arnulf remarked. He gazed at the boots with such a predatory intensity that Hiccup felt a passing fear for his hand.

"Really?" Hiccup asked tonelessly. His tense uncertainty dipped into an incredulous doubt. "This is what you wanted?"

The aristocratic face was brought under strict control once more.

"I do not need to ehxplain mysehlf to dze likes of you," Arnulf jeered. "Now, geeve eet hergre."

"My stuff first," Hiccup demanded. He gave the man holding his bag a pointed look so the message would be clear in more than just Norse.

The man looked at Arnulf who barked, "Rendez-le-lui!"

The Count clearly had nothing to lose in giving Hiccup his stuff; a single boy stood no chance at trying to cheat he and his men.

The nameless Frenchman threw the whicker bag and it landed in the dirt feet from Hiccup's own, bouncing slightly. He could hear the clang of Astrid's axe and against sacks of coins as it jostled.

Hiccup slowly lowered himself enough to grab it, keeping his eyes on the gathering of irritated humans. His gaze never left them, even as he fumbled with the clasp and dug his hand into the bag. Only once or twice did his eyes flicker downwards to confirm what he felt as he took inventory.

Arnulf watched Hiccup with the same patience one would have for a child insisting on counting every step to the Mead Hall.

Hiccup sighed, hoping he mimicked the Frenchman enough to convey his annoyance, and dropped the sack to the ground.

"You still haven't given me everything," Hiccup stated flatly. Not the most important thing, but certainly not something he was willing to give up.

A cruel smile smoothed its way beneath a thin, carefully groomed mustache and Arnulf took a casual step forward while patting a bulge under his belt.

"Eef you argre rgrehfergring to dze rgrubies, I took dze leebehrgrty of putting dzem undehr dze cargre of someone much morgre apprgroprgriate. I am afrgraid dze value of such gehms ees wastehd on dze likes of you."

Though barbed by the words (and the oily manner in which they were delivered), Hiccup couldn't even muster the expression of surprise. He should have foreseen this the moment the bag had left his possession.

"Well you're not getting these," Hiccup said, taking a step backwards towards the lake with the boots gripped securely in his hand. It was time to see how well he could bluff.

Arnulf gave a short, false laugh. "I don't dzeenk you undehrgrstand dze seetuation, ingrgrate—"

"No, I don't think you understand," Hiccup interrupted, his voice strong. He lifted the boots. "Do you even realize what me having these means?"

Arnulf's face and actions showed badly concealed hesitance, like he had several sudden ideas but was unsure of which one Hiccup referred to. His uncertainty gave Hiccup another boost in confidence.

"You were right," Hiccup began slowly, "I do have powers...and you forced me to use them. So as you can see," he jiggled the boots, "this means I did get the sea serpent retrieve these for me. In fact, I can get it to do all sorts of things..." A dreadful comprehension dawned on Arnulf and the Count then realized Hiccup was not going to be a cooperative as he initially expected. "So if you don't want your trade routes to be demolished, if you don't want me to make it impossible for you to ever travel North, you'll give me the rest of my belongings right now."

For a single moment, Arnulf looked like he might actually consider taking the chance—not to keep the rubies out of greed but to spite Hiccup for having the audacity to threaten him.

Even though Arnulf made no move to relinquish the stones, Hiccup could see his words had set the man off balance. Now he just needed to keep pushing—not too hard, he didn't want Arnulf piecing half-truths together and call his bluff, just hard enough to make the threat look plausible.

"Look," Hiccup sighed, aiming for an image of control and security, "I'm a pretty nice guy," Truth. "I would have rather avoided all this." Former truth. "But, if it comes down to it; if you continue to push me—then you will have to take responsibility for the misfortunes that will ruin your life. I will destroy your economy, your village, and everything else that makes you powerful." False. "Because I can."

Truth.

Arnulf looked torn, conflicted in believing Hiccup, in challenging his overt threat, and in saving face in front of his men. His army could not understand Norse, but they would surely know something was up if he handed more payment over for nothing in return.

Hiccup, meanwhile, relished in the power he felt at besting someone with words. It was hard to do on Berk, where even if he insulted someone forwards and backwards it was either lost on them or ended with a punch to the head. But against someone like Arnulf, someone who understood the power of blackmail and persuasion and subterfuge, he could see results. Hiccup watched the man's face morph between different reactions, gradually falling as Hiccup delivered his terms. Even Hiccup's poise made all the difference: from casual annoyance for having to deal with the situation at all to the cold resolution of his threat. He destroyed this man's game, his confidence; he reset the board in his favor.

"Eef I give you dze rgrubies, weell you give me dze boots?" Arnulf asked, his voice low, almost pleading if it were possible.

"I might as well," Hiccup shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant, wanting to keep his inner rush at the turn of this meeting under wraps. "I have no use for these."

Arnulf huffed and with reluctant movements retrieved the sack from his belt. It didn't look any thinner to Hiccup, though he'd still have to check it to be sure.

Hiccup held out his hand. "Toss them."

"I alrgrehdy gave you dze bag," Arnulf argued. "Eet ees yourgr turgrn to geeve me somedzing."

Hiccup had already started shaking his head before the man stopped talking. He wasn't relinquishing this new power; not now.

"The deal was my stuff for the "treasure"—you never finished giving me my stuff," Hiccup pointed out. He motioned with his fingers for Arnulf to comply, keeping his palm facing up.

Many of the of the Frenchmen lost their stiff composure, shifting to get a better look at what their leader held in the little bag. Apparently Arnulf hadn't let on to the others that there was anything of value in Hiccup's belongings.

"How badly do you want these?" Hiccup prodded, giving the boots a good shake. "Because I have half a mind to throw them back to the ocean for even trying to steal from me. Then you can wait around for the next giant snake charmer to come around. It might take a while..."

"Non! No," Arnulf quickly composed himself. "Dzat won't be nehcehssary."

"Are you sure? Arnulf the Patient has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

The man's eyes flashed and his chest swelled with a harsh inhalation through flared nostrils. Hiccup realized from these observations that Arnulf found his reputation to be quite a serious subject.

"I weell make heestorgry," Arnulf growled, confirming Hiccup's thoughts. "I weell ehxpand my land all dze way to dze Océan Atlantique, and eet weell not be widz such a name. Hergre!"

He tossed the bag to Hiccup with just the right about of force to bring it within reaching distance. Hiccup snatched it from the air, rubbing the cloth between his fingers and counting four lumps.

"Cheers," he said in English, smiling brightly and tucked it away under his own belt. The men behind Arnulf delivered surreptitious glances to each other.

Arnulf cleared his throat, frowning deeply. Hiccup made a show of knocking the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"Oh right, the boots! Sure. So, I'm going to give them to you, and then I'm going to leave—right—away." Hiccup emphasized the last part loudly (earning some odd looks) while hoping Toothless would get the idea. "Just going to hand it over and leave immediately. It will happen so fast you'll forget I ever existed."

Not likely.

Arnulf was not in the mood for stalling. "Fine, fine! Just geeve me dze damn boots, fool!"

Hiccup held both boots in his right hand and tried to look as calm as possible as he approached the Frenchmen with even-paced steps. Arnulf's face suggested he would very much like to hit Hiccup, even if it risked trouble from the serpent.

To be safe, Hiccup made an offhanded comment. "The sea serpent's expecting me for a rundown—he wants to make sure you get these alright. I told him to wreak havoc if I didn't show up on time. Just for insurance, you know?"

Arnulf's nose twitched. Probably trying to fight down another sneer.

Hiccup calculated where his feet were to stop—not within Arnulf's immediate striking distance but close enough to hand over the boots with an outstretched arm. He calculated the direct angle to approach, predicting the arm Arnulf would use in grabbing the boots and the turn of his body. He calculated the strength of his own stance against the spilt vulnerability of Arnulf's.

Leaning forward, turned just slightly to collect his prize, Arnulf's finger's touched the deer-skin leather of the Seven League Boots. He could see his future in that moment—his power, his connections, his slow, premeditated, and thorough takeover of Europe. With these boots he would capture the loyalty of his enemy's allies; from Castile to Saxony, no distance would be too great for floundered and twisted communications; he wouldn't have to rely on the dubious trust of messengers or carrier pigeons. It would be his own slick tongue that swayed and forged his connections, his own two feet that brought him—

And then the express reverie was shattered by sharp blow to the face. The boots, only in his grasp for a heartbeat, fell to the ground as Arnulf was knocked backwards.

As soon as Hiccup's (more than justified) punch landed the boy turned and ran, stooping only to get the bag has he sprinted towards the forest. If this wasn't a testament to his utter lack of Viking conduct then he didn't know what was.

Arnulf was only just recovering from the blow, a hand held over his face in disbelief rather than pain, as though he weren't quite sure it actually just happened.

Several indignant and swearing men began to pursue the escaping Norseman.

"He hehd it coming!" Hiccup hollered jauntily over his shoulder as he moved into thicker foliage. He was confident in his speed, as always, and swerved between only a handful trees before he saw Toothless, crouched and ready to fly.

"Let's go!" he yipped, pouncing onto the saddle.

::I wanted to have a go at him:: Toothless whined, though he complied anyway.

Hiccup laughed. "You'll get your chance the next time we pass through. Promise."

Their ascent possessed its usual jerky quality with Toothless pumping his powerful wings to get them airborne. Hiccup moved his body in time with Toothless', experience teaching him the most aerodynamic methods of fast rising. Before he knew it they were already in the clear; escaping Arnulf's men was too easy. Now they only needed to worry about being seen in broad daylight; they were moving inland and would have less opportunity to escape oversea.

::Next time you gotta follow up with another hit:: Toothless advised, though Hiccup could hear a note of pride in his voice. ::He hit first, unprovoked, so by right you get two shots off::

"I don't think the French agree with that," Hiccup returned. He discreetly rubbed his knuckles, unused to fighting with his fist and thankful he at least missed the chainmail head covering Arnulf wore. He would take the physical fighting one step at a time.

Toothless snorted, envisioning his future return to France. ::I don't think I agree with the French::

"I agree with you."

Hiccup was back in the air—the both of them were—and he couldn't help but compare it to his underwater ride. This was where he belonged. This was what he left the comfort of a stable home and birthright for. The more he flew, the less he had to regret.

Though his submarine journey hadn't been without its perks.

"So," he said conversationally, as if he hadn't just nailed a Frenchman in the face and then run off like some mad deviant, "Tell me everything you know about mermaids..."

######## ########

Astrid sat in the hard chair rigid-backed, her arm moving meticulously through the motions of a running stitch. The beginnings of stiffness were starting to pain her back and neck, but she had too much sewing to finish before she could tend to her aches. She had gotten quite good as of late, her patters becoming more uniform and her stitching tighter. At any other time she would have reveled in mastering yet another task. But this wasn't how she wanted to do it, not out of desperate necessity.

She didn't want to master sewing simply for being the only able body in her home capable of keeping them clothed.

A series of harsh, raspy coughs emitted from the bed situated by the roaring fire. Astrid jerked at the noise and sent the lightly shifting bulge in the blankets a doleful glance. She knew from experience that her mother wasn't awake; she often fell into fits during her nearly coma-long sleeps.

It had been a brutal winter—both in coldness and in raids. Their house had been damaged one too many times, there weren't enough resources to go around for quick repairs, and, inevitably, the austere conditions had taken its toll on her family. Her mother had gotten sick. It started slow—an exposure to too much cold, skipping on a meal or two so that those who fought could have their energy—and then snowballed into dizzy spells and high temperatures and day-long naps.

Now Glume hardly left the bed, too weak to do anything but endure the pain wracking her aged body. She could barely keep down food, could barely lift her head to drink broth. The combined heat of the fire and piles of blankets could not keep the shivers under-control. No cool cloth could abate the burning of her head.

She no longer had the speech to continue apologizing to her daughter for having to take care of her.

A part of Astrid was thankful for this, for she could hardly stand the guilt of her sick mother trying to take responsibility for this grave misfortune. When Astrid had declared that she'd rather "die than get married" so many weeks ago, she hadn't meant trading any death for her independence. Of course, now no marriage arrangements loomed on the horizon, not without any sound adults available to do the bartering, but this was not a price she was willing to pay. This felt more like a punishment for rebuffing a part of the Viking way of life.

They were well into February now—in the throes of the harshest weather—and spring was too far away for her to bother with hope. The only thing that drove Astrid through her monotonous routine each day was obligation. Every now and then she would make tiny promises to herself and the Gods, trying to spring some good into her life again. Most of her vows promised her ready agreement to any marriage as long as her mother survived. She'd do anything for her mother to survive. She just didn't want to be alone anymore.

A light, quick knock sounded at the door. Astrid frowned and set aside her work. Very few Vikings would produce such a knock.

Casting the bed a fleeting look out of habit, she rose from her seat and swung open the heavy wooden barrier.

"Oh," Astrid greeted blandly to the caller.

"Hey," Ruffnut said in her throaty voice, made more so by the ruthless elements that assaulted anyone who stepped outside. The taller girl strode in the threshold without an invite, but Astrid wouldn't have expected anything less from the generally rude twin. "My mom wanted you to have this."

Ruffnut held out a basket that smelled of fresh bread and lamb under the blanketed top.

"Thanks," Astrid said emotionlessly, taking the offered food. Every now and then, when people could take a break from their own winter trials, they would remember those who were unable to care for themselves. She had been given mostly food in the time her mother had been sick, as people knew she had little knowledge on cooking; they recognized her as only a fighter and rightly so.

As Astrid moved to place the gift on the table Ruffnut took a moment to take in her surroundings. She immediately noticed the occupied bed highlighted by the moving fires above the hearth. The activity of the fire made the bed look so inanimate it gave the disheartening impression that death had already taken Glume Hofferson.

The entire home reeked of depression, for that matter. Frigid and still and quiet. It was suffocating.

The braided girl looked at Astrid, who appeared thinner and wan. She probably had no time to train or take care of herself these days; she certainly hadn't been seen at náttmál for a couple weeks.

Astrid had been in a weird place for a long time now. They used to have a feminine camaraderie going on; they learned to rely on each other as the boys became boys and the differences in their genders became more apparent. Astrid was still too focused on becoming the best and Ruffnut too much of a mischief-maker for them to become best friends, but they still had an understanding. They still could exchange exasperated looks and wily, knowing smiles that only girls could smile.

And then everything changed. Ruffnut couldn't remember if it was before or after Hiccup left—things got kind of hazy thinking that far back—but Astrid had let an anger take over her heart and mind that left her more isolated than before. The girl had gone and tried to turn herself into an icon; her dedication to the Viking code became exemplary, like she was the epitome of a Viking warrior, and people both feared and exulted her for it. Ruffnut would have believed the girl aimed to become an undead einherjar or something equally as preposterous.

The girl had a few of her own theories. Maybe Hiccup being driven out of the clan hadn't been enough for Astrid. Maybe Astrid felt so insulted that such a traitor to their creed tried to best her that she wanted to drive home to the village who they were and what they stood for.

Whatever the reason was, it not only pushed Ruffnut away, but anyone who once felt comfortable enough to call Astrid their friend. An icon had no need for friends, after all.

But then, an icon wasn't supposed to be human.

Astrid had lost much of her steam as of late—ever since her mother had fallen too ill to leave her bed and the girl had been forced to spend more and more time maintaining the house. The drive to impress and better herself had abandoned Astrid, and with it the shield that had kept her from realizing how remote she had become. Her father wouldn't be back until spring, perhaps summer, and she had nothing but the occasional gift from well-wishers to connect her to the village.

Perhaps, in the beginning, Astrid could endure the isolation, but it had been too long, and despair had finally taken a hold of the young woman.

Ruffnut wasn't the sentimental kind, but she had trouble stomaching the site of someone as vivacious as Astrid looking so defeated.

"You know...my mom wouldn't mind watching over yours for a little while," she suggested. "You could come down to the Mead Hall one night for some drinks with the guys. They miss you."

This was a white lie; the guys were too intimidated by Astrid at this point to do much more than admire her from afar. Even Snotlout had backed off from his sycophantic praise.

The 'proud' Astrid would have flat out refused without so much as a twitch in her face. But Ruffnut miraculously witnessed a sadness, almost longing, in Astrid's eyes before the girl replied:

"I have too much to do."

Astrid gestured to the unfinished clothing.

Ruffnut looked at the mess of half-finished fabrics—unable to tell if they were meant to be headscarves or blankets or hot mitts. Then she looked around the home that had become a prison—a depressing, guilt-addling prison. She inwardly sighed at the ridiculous and unwanted wave of compassion that overwhelmed her, but it couldn't be helped.

"I'll help you," Ruffnut stated with finality. She moved with purpose towards one of the chairs at the table and picked up a needle.

Astrid usually would have objected; she never accepted assistance in anything because she didn't want to look incompetent and she never wanted to owe anyone for favors. She was averse to giving anyone any sort of power over her. But there was something about Ruffnut's nonchalance in everything she did that Astrid found herself grateful for. If the girl lit your favorite doll on fire or decided to help you finish chores, it was always with the same attitude—clearly un-wanting of thanks.

And gratitude was something she still hadn't quite mastered in delivering. She sat in the chair across from Ruffnut and resumed her practice.

"How is she doing?" Ruffnut asked after a moment of silence.

Astrid shrugged one shoulder, feeling weird enough that she had someone in the house with her, seated like a guest. She felt like she had forgotten how to even hold a conversation.

"Think she'll make the winter?"

Had anyone else asked her that Astrid would have knocked their head against the wall. But Ruffnut had spent the last decade conditioning people to expect insensitive questions from her. It was rather clever on her part.

The bluntness of the question spurred the other blonde into a truthful reply. She focused on her needle as she spoke, so she wouldn't have to look at anything else—not at her mother and not at Ruffnut.

"It's hard to say right now. At first I thought she could—I mean, she's my mother—it's not like I could have been born from...from a wimp or..." Something was happening within her; something she didn't like. A pressure that collected into a heavy mass over the weeks, sitting on her heart, now rose to her throat, clogging and hurting. She focused on keeping the pain at bay, wanting to uphold her resolute in the face of the first person she'd talked to in days, but her distraction with her countenance caused words to spill from her mouth, unchecked. "It's just so out of control. Every time she looks better she gets worse the next day and it's happening too fast. We don't have the medicine to help her and sometimes I think she doesn't have the will to live any more. How can someone face death and just...just lay there? It makes me so mad and I hate it because I know this isn't her fault and I have no business being so angry with her..."

"It is frustrating," Ruffnut agreed, nodding. She kept her face neutral and her words few. Though she would never be comfortable being someone's living diary, she knew Astrid needed some sort of outlet more than anyone she knew. Astrid needed someone to just listen.

Astrid didn't know when she set down her craft, but she found herself rubbing her throat, trying to ease the mysterious pressure, and leaning forward on her elbows so that her bangs could partially hide her face. It could have been Ruffnut's presence or maybe she had finally reached her limit, but she was losing control—over everything.

"It's more than frustrating...this should have never happened! If it hadn't been for these damn dragons she wouldn't have gotten this sick," Astrid growled, knocking the headscarf she had been working on to the ground. "I should have been paying attention during the raid; I should have seen them coming. It could have spared our house, spared her the cold." She had been distracted at the time, the first damaging blow their home took, when yelling at her mother. "But now it's too late. I can't... I can't..."

Fight this. She couldn't fight this, she didn't know how. And it was killing her.

Astrid had been trained from birth to be a fighter—to protect and hunt and survive. She was only as powerful as she made herself to be, and she did everything in her power to make herself the best. She wanted to be the best hunter, the best protector and the best survivor.

But how could she fight something she had no control over? This was a battle decided by her mother and the gods; she wasn't even a participant, just a spectator on the sidelines who had to live with the end result. And right now nothing seemed to be fighting in their favor. It killed her inside, to have to witness such an idle death; slow and action-less and very clearly destined for Hel.

A different, but entirely related, strain began to push from behind her skull, concentrating around her eyes. She tried—oh how she tried—to keep the tears down. She could feel the temperature emanating from her eyes swiftly increase as her vision began to swim.

"I hate this," she whispered out loud. The words burned in her throat. "I hate this."

A shadow fell over her, and Ruffnut bent at her feet to pick up the unfinished hem.

"Whether she makes it or not, you're going to have to learn how to do a proper running stitch," Ruffnut said, gesturing to the slightly uneven pattern—the one Astrid thought she had gotten pretty good with, but almost certainly paled in comparison to Ruffnut's. Sewing was probably the one thing Ruffnut had over Astrid—

And then realization struck the tearful girl like a chilling slap: Ruffnut knew exactly what she was going through. Ruffnut had already felt the anxiety of the wait, the helplessness, the anger and the despair...because Ruffnut had a little sister, Hangnail, who died to winter illness three years ago. Hangnail had only been nine.

That's how Ruffnut became so good at sewing; she used to practice making outfits for her litter sister. And for a while continued to do so, leaving them in a pasture of Cranesbills on the east side of the island as a tribute to the deceased little girl. Not even Tuffnut knew this. It was something only Astrid knew on the privilege of being her only girlfriend.

Something she let fall apart.

Sniffing—and trying to make it discreet—Astrid accepted the cloth back with a nod and a harsh swallow she couldn't hide well enough.

If Ruffnut could sit before her, comforting her in her own crude way, then Astrid could get through this as well. There would be a normalcy beyond this nightmare, she just had to persevere. She was a Viking, and not just any Viking—she was a Viking of Berk. She would fight dragons and accept the deaths caused by them—whether direct or indirect—with grace. She wasn't the first to lose a loved one to illness and she wouldn't be the last. It was an occupational hazard. It was their way of life.

Ruffnut sat back in her seat and resumed her own pattern. The girls continued their pastime in a muted atmosphere, but this time the silence wasn't stony or awkward. This time the heat from the fireplace could be felt on their skin, bringing quickness to their fingers and ease to their hearts.

Something had thawed within that house. Something had thawed within Astrid.

Still, the girl had a reputation to maintain.

"If you tell anyone I cried I'll nail you to the torch post with carving knives," she stated indifferently as she tugged a thread through the hem.

Ruffnut spared her no glance. "I'm into it."

"I'll recommend you for stall mucking."

"Won't tell a soul."

######## ########

Though spring still lingered weeks away, Hiccup and Toothless were fortunate enough to experience a particularly mild winter day, which they both agreed was to be spent lazing around in the sun.

Hiccup currently sat cross-legged on a large rock with the map spread out in front of him and an apple in his hand, trying to plan where they would travel next. He took another large bite of his apple and unconsciously rubbed his chin as he surveyed his options.

They wanted to eventually get to Miklagard—he had to at least see those walls!—and it seemed that finding and following a prominent looking river would be the most secure way of going about it from where they were now. It would also ensure they would be near a body of water for the majority of—

::Get rid of it::

"What?" Hiccup asked with his hand falling from his chin. He looked up at Toothless to find the dragon sprawled out on his own warmed rock, glaring at him. Surely, Toothless didn't want him to throw out the map?

::That fur on your face:: Toothless elaborated with a terse tone. ::I want it gone::

Hiccup's hand returned to his face, feeling the sparse, slightly rough hairs under the pads of his fingers.

"No!" he immediately intoned, aghast. Not wanting to sound too petulant (as well as wanting a somewhat sound argument on his side) he added, "It will keep my face warm! It's cold!"

And the hair was just starting to become visible in a watery reflection without him almost drowning.

::You just got that scarf:: Toothless pointed out, unmoved.

Hiccup pouted. "Yeah, but it still smells funny and I've already washed it twice."

He didn't know what was up with the funny smelling smoke all over the campsite, but it had stuck to anything of cloth they once had.

Either way, obtaining it had been good fun. Sneaking up on a bandit camp in the dead of the night and having a dragon throw fireballs at their feet from different shadows of the trees was one of their rare methods of acquiring goods the lazy way—and more necessary as the language barrier broadened. That and watching grown and hardened men run about squealing always brought a good chuckle out of him. Hiccup wouldn't be surprised if the woods they had been traveling through would have stories of being haunted before they made it to Austria.

Along with the scarf, he obtained a couple of more skillfully crafted daggers to add to his collection of valuables. He had fun working with the new balance of the weapons.

::And the rest is just as bad:: Toothless added, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What are you talking about?" Hiccup yelled, not caring if he attracted all sorts of trouble. "What rest? This is all I got so far! Do you know how long this took me?"

Hiccup took a particularly vigorous bite of his apple, as though to emphasize how strongly he felt about this.

Toothless appeared unconcerned with the hardships of coaxing hair out of a jaw. ::I am built for speed...and you are starting to slow me down. I've held my tongue for far too long, but now it needs to be said::

"I'm not fat!" Hiccup cried, some apple falling from his mouth. It didn't matter that he couldn't help eating more than his usual share lately; he still couldn't seem to bulk up. If anything, he looked skinnier these days, his limbs stretching in only one direction and not keeping in proportion.

Sometimes he felt genuinely thankful he lived out of society and wouldn't mind remaining in the woods until he looked relatively normal again.

::I was referring to your hair:: Toothless said, sounding disgusted with the very word. ::It's ridiculous and pointless. Humans are freaks::

"Excuse me?" Hiccup gasped, affronted. Toothless pushed himself to his feet and approached the human.

::What is the point to all this:: he huffed at Hiccup's face, blowing strands of hair into a mouth that had been partially open chewing. ::I understand elk and wolves and every other mammal, but you have dismal proportions here and there and then a mass at the very top. It's senseless. This is more pathetic than your square teeth::

Oddly enough, Hiccup couldn't fault Toothless for his opinion. If he were to look at humans as animals of survival, they certainly were bizarre. That didn't mean his best friend had to be so blunt about it.

He opted to give the dragon a flat look.

"My teeth terrify you. Don't try to say any different."

::You're getting rid of it:: Toothless declared once more, refusing to be derailed. ::If it's human females you're trying to attract, that won't help::

Hiccup began to bluster, "I wasn't—it's not—!"

He knew he shouldn't have told Toothless about those mermaids! Between them and the vördr, the dragon would continually make snide remarks regarding human mating rituals and how Hiccup was aiming at the wrong species.

"Fine," he finally groused. He couldn't grow a full beard yet anyway. "I'll shave...but I'm not cutting my hair!"

Cutting his own hair with his dagger hurt, and was time consuming, and would make him look more like a freak than he felt. He had enough self-confidence issues.

Toothless dropped himself heavily on top of the teen, causing the smaller male to cry out in dismay about his ruined apple.

::Well, it's a start::
Almost caught up, almost caught up!

The boots were the seven league boots. Arnulf the Great did expand westward and he killed William Longsword in the process, who was the son of Rollo—the first Duke of Normandy and a former Viking. Yay history!

Astrid moment—her attitude wasn't completely explained in that, but that's because it was mostly from Ruffnut's POV.

The boys are in Germany. The horn will come into play soon. As will the river Hiccup plans to follow

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PepperJDarcy's avatar
OH MY GOSH! SOOOOOO MUCH GOING ON! I'm loving it! I'm consumed! I'm SO totally sucked up into it that it stinks I have to go into work today! HECK! THIS IS AWESOME! SOOOOO much!! I loved every bit off it. Hiccup punching Arnulf, Astrid and Ruffnut, and then the apple and the 'shave' :laughing: TOOO AWESOME FOR WORDS!

WHAT will happen NEXT?! :D