To my guest reviewers: thank you both for your kind words. Jimmix, I promise you more updates. Secrets of Midguard, I have always felt that Hiccup had to have a reason for liking Astrid beyond "she's one of two teenage girls on the island and she's prettier". He's too smart and too deep to fall in love with her looks. Besides, if Astrid weren't an actually good person, I wouldn't like her!

First, I apologize for the long gap in updates. Finals and then a new job are my excuses. Second, I have been reliably informed by a French friend that I used the wrong word for these short glimpses of Astrid's life; apparently, these are not tableaux, but vignettes. You learn something new every day.

Daddy's Little Spitfire

"One more time, dad? Please?"

Arvid Hofferson chuckled. "Astrid, ye've already done the course three times today!"

"But my last run, I tripped on that root and it threw off my time!" she replied, cracking her knuckles determinedly. "Just one more; then we'll go home."

He nodded. "Remember, lass, it's not all about speed. Ye've got to move like water - find the natural path."

She nodded firmly and stepped up the the starting line of the practice course she and her father had rigged to prepare her for the Thawfest Games. In all her eleven years of life, she had never yet won, and she was determined that this would be her year. Winning would mean earning respect from everyone on Berk (even those rotten Jorgensons), getting a pouch of money to buy real armor with, and most importantly, making her father proud. Astrid was the youngest of seven siblings, and the only daughter to survive past the age of ten. Her two older brothers had already finished dragon training and were beginning lives of their own. Her parents had no one at home except her now, and she was determined to restore the Hofferson clan to all its shining glory for them.

"Ready?" Arvid asked. "Go!"

Astrid took off, trying to concentrate not just on running, but on running fluidly. Her father, a strong and beefy Viking himself, had always told her that since she was not big, she had to rely on speed and flexibility. She remembered when she was little how she had stolen his axe and tried to practice with it, only to end up dropping it on her foot and breaking two toes. Her dad had neither scolded her nor laughed; he bandaged the toes gently and offered to teach her to fight like he had taught her brothers. The next week, he went to Gobber, the clan blacksmith, and commissioned her seventh birthday present - a perfect, tiny, double-headed axe of her own. She had almost cried with disappointment over how small and light it was.

"You said you'd teach me just like you taught Argin and Bjorn!" she had complained.

"Ach, don't whine, lass! No, not just like them," her father had corrected patiently. "Can ye teach a sheep to do tricks the same way ye can a dog? Can ye mold stone the way ye can bread dough? Ye're not built like ye'r brothers, so ye must learn a little differently. But ye can learn."

No one else had ever said that to her, before or since, not even her beloved Uncle Finn. No one else had ever told her she could be anything other than a small, weak, disgraced Hofferson female. But her father had believed in her, and trained her, and spent countless hours helping her develop the beginnings of a real fighting style. And all Astrid wanted in this life was to make him proud of her.

She moved like Thor's own lightning along the course, dodging stumps and boulders and logs and spinning around branches roughly carved to resemble the swinging axes that would line the real race. She focused on using her size and weight to her advantage. She couldn't knock things down, but she could slip away or between or under. She couldn't bash rocks with her head, but she could handspring over them. She couldn't make the ground tremble when she walked, but she could, apparently, run the course flawlessly and in record time.

"Haha! That's my lass!" Arvid yelled delightedly. His big blond beard covered his broad smile, but Astrid could see the pride shining in his blue eyes. She grinned back, the happiest girl in the Archipelago.

"Ye run like that in the Thawfest races, and ye'll have that slimy Snotlout beggin' fer mercy," he laughed, slapping her on the shoulder. It hurt and knocked her sideways a few inches, but she couldn't have cared less. It was the same slap of comradery he gave her brothers after a successful hunt. "Now," he continued, "how's about gettin' home fer supper? Or are ye not yet satisfied?"

She shook her head and began to notice how winded she was. "That was… good enough. Let's get some food."

"Fine, but none of ye'r cooking!" he teased. "An axe is a fine friend in battle, but by Thor, it makes a bloody mess in the kitchen!"

"Whatever, dad." She laughed along with him as they walked home and discussed how she would train tomorrow.

Astrid felt as if her heart was simultaneously dropping into her toes and burning its way out of her chest. He cheated! That lowlife, mud-faced, sheep-stupid, troll-ugly, half-grown, chicken-livered Outcast thug cheated! She glared fiercely at Snotlout Jorgenson, who stood - no, paraded himself - in the winner's circle. The Thawfest Games had come and gone for another year, and the son of Spitelout was once again the winner. No one had been able to see that he had tripped Astrid up at a crucial moment during the race through the woods… or that Ruffnut and Tuffnut seemed to have decided that every single contest was a chance to mess her up on purpose. Did those unwashed blobs of idiocy actually like ticking her off?! She had tried desperately to regain her lost ground in each event, but Snotlout had won them all. She was second place in everything.

"You were really good out there," a nasally voice cut through her fuming thoughts.

"Huh?" she replied, unable to locate the source of the voice. She had to turn around and look down to see Hiccup. He was even smaller and spindlier than she was and had placed last in every event. She quickly did a recall of his performance and decided that he had been trying hard the whole time, but with no technique or skill, his size had only worked against him. "Oh. Thanks."

He dropped his gaze to his feet shyly and kicked at the grass. "Look, he… Everyone knows you're going to be a better warrior than Snotlout could ever be. You don't have to win to prove that."

She snorted in disappointment. "Yes, I do. But they'll see. Someday, I'm gonna be the best fighter and runner and warrior on Berk. On anywhere! They'll see."

Hiccup shrugged. "Only if they can tear their eyes away from Snot's 'rippling biceps'," he replied sarcastically, making finger quotes to indicate he was repeating something his cousin had said. She met his gaze for a long second before she saw the whimsical humor in his eyes and she laughed a little. He snickered too. "Well, better go swallow my pride for another year," he joked. Slipping through the gaps in the massive crowd of men cheering for Snotlout, he found a moment to congratulate his cousin. There was only a hint of patient martyrdom in his face.

Astrid watched in a mix of disgust and approval. On the one hand, inflating a Jorgenson's head any further than nature had made it was totally beyond the bounds of sanity. On the other, it was admittedly the decent thing to do. She tried to go over and say "good job" or "nice race" or even just "I'll see you next year". But she couldn't. It would be too humiliating. I guess even Hiccup's better than me at something, she thought bitterly. Still, she couldn't help shooting the chief's son a weak smile. He grinned back widely.

"Astrid!"

Reluctantly, she turned to face her father as he barreled across the field towards her. To her surprise, he scooped her up in his arms and gave her a bear hug that squashed the air out of her lungs.

"I'm so proud of ye, lass." She felt the words rumble up from his chest like a drum. Ashamed, she buried her face in his shoulder and blinked hard to keep from crying. Only weak people cried.

"But I… I lost," she blurted out.

Arvid pulled away just enough to see her. With one hand, he gently tilted her chin so she had to look him in the eyes. "Astrid, lass, don't ye know I'm proud of ye no matter what? Ye've got five times the talent of any other Viking here, and just because they can't see that yet don't mean I can't. Even if ye'd come in dead last, I'd be prouder'n a dragon with a horde o' jewels. Ye gave it ye'r best, and ye fought honorably. That's worth more than any prize." He nodded to where Snotlout was receiving a pewter cup with two small boar tusks mounted on either side like handles, and a pouch of copper coins. "There's more to fightin' than just how ye move or what weapon ye carry. A Viking without honor is like an axe with a rotten handle - useless and good fer nothin' but the garbage heap."

Astrid processed her father's words, biting her tongue thoughtfully. "Dad?"

"Yes, lass?"

"I'm proud to be a Hofferson."

He hugged her again. "So'm I." After a long moment, he set her down, and added, "Now, none of that's to say ye shouldn't destroy that Jorgenson hog next year."

Astrid grinned like a dragon, already plotting her revenge. She would need to train harder and longer, but she could beat him. As long as her dad believed in her, she could take on the world.