This plot was the brainchild of the incomparable psychicsaphie. Wellspring of ideas, sounding board and beta, thank you so much!

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, no sue.

Thank you everyone, for your wonderful kind words! The Incredible Puba: Oh, please don't freak out, there's plenty to go yet! Necro-wulf, Ze Great Camicazi, xv323, PercabethFax97 & OmarBarria: Thank you so much, guys! Foxy's Girl: I shall mend your poor shattered heart with the writing of another lemon later in this fic, promise! Leon Woon: Heh, ain't I a stinker? And thanks for the wonderful compliments on the twist *blushy blush* Crouchbk: Ah, another Roman history student! Absolutely right, gold star! Voldyne: Some sort of book/fictional world-entering-device is required, mayhaps. And then we punch Alvin in the face.

For reference, this story is set approximately 500-600 years before the true age of Viking exploration (so we can have our bread and circuses in Rome). The year I have chosen is 50AD. (Spot on, crouchbk!)

Boy, I did mountains of research for this thing...

Preserved cabbage was the best.

Astrid had rediscovered her appetite after a week on board Berk's fastest longship. Strangely though, the things which had always been her favourites barely interested her now. Some of them even provoked the nausea again. But preserved cabbage, usually eaten grudgingly to save off the sailing-sickness, had proven to be the most delicious thing in the world. Especially with cured herring. Five weeks into the voyage south, Tuffnut watched her in aghast amazement as she devoured the lot in a trice and stood to serve herself up some more.

"Whoa, Astrid, that is gross," he said, his agile face twisting in disgust. Snotlout had gone a violent shade of green.

"What?" she said defensively, her mouth full. "It's good! You should try it!"

"I think what Tuff is saying is that salt herring and preserved cabbage is more salt than anyone on a sea-voyage should technically need," said Fishlegs hesitantly. Astrid scowled.

"Well, it is good," she said haughtily, and stalked off to the prow to finish her meal.

Ruffnut came and sat with her after a few moments. "Actually, Astrid, it is gross," she said conversationally. "I guess this is a tiny Haddock thing?"

Astrid huffed through a mouthful of deliciously salty fish. "I guess. Just happy to be able to eat again."

"I'd say you're making up for lost time," Ruff said dryly. "Are you going to tell the others?"

"No!" Astrid growled. "No way. Not… not yet, anyway. I don't need anyone treating me any differently, and I'm still perfectly capable of doing…"

"Hey, hey," Ruffnut held up her hands in a defensive gesture. "No one's gonna think you're not, y'know, Astrid. Just that your passenger there might force a few decisions on you, and people might want to know what they are."

"Ruff," Astrid rounded on her furiously. "Just because I'm… you know, doesn't mean any of my decisions are going to change!"

"You say that now," Ruffnut drawled sceptically. "You're not showing yet, or anything. What about when you can feel it move? Also, you have cabbage on your face."

Astid wiped at her face roughly. "It won't…" But, she thought, it would, wouldn't it? If she could feel the tiny Haddock move, it'd be real. A person. Her baby. She sighed.

"I don't know," she finally said. "I don't know."

"Gonna start showing soon, Astrid," Ruff stood, brushing off her skirt. "Gotta make a decision."

"How come you're here lecturing me?" Astrid flared, and Ruff shrugged one shoulder languidly.

"So, I'm like your friend now, Astrid?" Ruff said in a disinterested way, her head tipping. "I'm looking out for you."

Asrid watched the tall blonde girl walk back to the group of young adults seated in the middle of the longship. She groaned aloud and her head fell into her hands, her empty plate falling onto the deck with a clatter. Her stomach growled.

"Oh no," she muttered. "No way. I just fed you. Twice!"

And now she was speaking to herself. Wonderful.

The tiny Haddock was growing bigger in her mind every day. Now that they were on the move, she had lost most of her melancholy. She didn't do well with inaction. She was physically scouring the sea for traces of her gorgeous, wayward, idiot husband who had gotten himself stolen. The very pro-activeness of this was comforting. Unfortunately, this had given her even more time to dwell on the other matter preying on her mind, and now the words 'TINY HADDOCK' were written across her mind's eye in runes of fire fifty feet high.

It was infuriating.

And terrifying.

She couldn't be a mother. She wasn't ready. She'd just gotten used to being a wife, only three months of it. She'd thought she would have far longer with just Hiccup and herself to contend with. Infants scared her, their tiny, fragile little bodies and red, open screaming mouths. Her own mother had struggled every day of their lives, and she was the strongest woman she had ever known. Her hands were roughened by a battle-axe, not a scrubbing board. She could barely sew.

She didn't want to go through this without Hiccup.

She'd never prayed so fervently to Frigga before. The great fertility goddess had certainly been generous at precisely the wrong time, but in her fear and anxiety, Astrid thought that praying to the Mother of all mothers was probably the smart move.

She needed him back with her. This wasn't an enemy she could beat with fists. This was a piece of him and her that was slowly taking over her body. And she was scared, scared, scared.

His gentle, humorous ways of calming her down – she needed them so badly she ached. His silly grin and his biting wit. He would be a good daddy. And that would ease some of her worry. At least the kid would have a parent who wasn't totally ill-suited to the job.

Her eyes focused on the immobile shape of the Night Fury, seated behind her in the prow. His eyes scanned the horizon constantly and she hadn't seen him close them yet, not in the whole five weeks of sailing. He didn't even stop his vigil whilst eating, and Stoick had to lean past the carven figurehead in order to put fish into the dragon's mouth. The Chief was growing increasingly surly about the whole business.

Stoick. She had begun to speak to him again, if only because the confines of the ship were not all that large, and it was impossible to avoid him forever. He was huge and grim and forbidding most of the time, and his eyes only softened when they landed on her. She knew what that was about. Make that runes of fire sixty feet high.

Still, he was one of two people on the boat who knew about the tiny Haddock, and that gave her some relief. It meant she wasn't totally alone in the knowledge.

It seemed to ease him out of the black mood he had sunk into. Stoick had always been a stern and exact leader, but he was carven in granite now, a stone as immobile as the graven fire-beacons in their harbour. If the thought of her little passenger gave him any comfort, she was fine with that. Besides, it meant there was at least one person who thought her new eating habits were wonderful.

She hadn't tried to connect with Toothless yet. In a vague way, she resented that the Night Fury had not protected Hiccup in Phlock. She knew intellectually that he had been told to go back down to the ship to avoid freaking out the convocation members – but the dragon had been able to hear Hiccup in trouble all the way from the dragon-ring to the cove. Even if Hiccup had been drugged, he should have been there, Astrid told herself stubbornly, her eyes trailing back to the second figurehead of the longship.

She sighed. If he'd been drugged, he wouldn't have cried out. Toothless couldn't have known.

It didn't stop the feeling that he should have, however.

She stood and walked over to the dragon. His ear twitched, indicating that he knew she was there, but he didn't stop looking at the horizon.

"Toothless, I'm sorry," she began, and a snort through draconic nostrils answered her.

"I am," she insisted. "I shouldn't have… look, I shouldn't blame you, okay? I know that. I just… I couldn't help it. Can'thelp it. I'm trying. But I'm a bit mixed up right now, and the only thing that could sort it all out is having him back," she finished, and that uncharacteristic lump was back in her throat. Gods, she was going to be ecstatic when her emotions were her own again.

Toothless huuuruuumh'd in scorn, and then sniffed haughtily. She shook her head. She had tried.

And then the dragon snapped his head around to face her, his pupils wide as plates.

"What?" she said quickly, pushing past him. He must have seen something, to take his gaze off the horizon like that. "What is it? Where?"

Toothless simply sniffed again, deeper this time, and then snuffled gently along her armoured shoulders. "Me?" she said in surprise, and then, "Oh."

Make that seventy feet high.

"Yes," she said quietly and shortly. "That's right. I smell different because I'm pregnant. I'm having…" she couldn't finish.

Toothless whined high in his throat, and pushed his snout against her body once, very, very gently. Her hand extended shakily, before settling on the dull black scales.

"Right there," she whispered. "Right where he left it."

She rubbed the scales softly. "No one's given you a rub down in weeks," she noted clinically. "I'll get to that tomorrow. You should sleep."

Toothless growled, barking twice and finishing on a whuffling noise, looking back to the sea. Astrid rolled her eyes.

"You haven't slept in five weeks. I know dragons can go for ages without, but that's just ridiculous. What if we need to fight when we find him? You'll be too exhausted to move. Sleep. Right where you are. I'll keep watch."

Toothless gave her a doubtful look, but curled himself into a ball anyway, his wings unfurling and furling around his usually glossy body. She sat down by the figurehead pointedly.

"See? Keeping watch."

Toothless extended a forepaw to her, tilting his head and emitting a purling rumble ending with a questioning bark. She folded her arms.

"I'll be fine, the tiny Haddock will be fine," she said crossly. "I'm not getting much sleep anyway thanks to the little intruder. So lie down and sleep. I'll rub you down in the morning."

He was asleep before his head hit the deck.

"Thought he'd never move from that spot," said a voice behind her, and Astrid whipped her head around to see Stoick leaning on some rigging. His eyes were ringed with dark shadows, and he looked ten years older.

"I gave him a reason," she said shortly, and turned her face back to the dark sea.

Stoick paused, then moved to stand beside her. "We're due west of Phlock by two weeks," he said quietly. "An' maybe a week or two south. The longboat was drawn up on the western shore of the island."

"With a whole five week's head start," she said bitterly, and he grunted.

"Aye, but look at the bright side."

"What's that?" she asked brokenly.

"They can't go very fast in a longboat."

She snorted, and then laughed aloud. "No, I suppose they can't."

It was the first time she'd laughed since Stoick came home.

The next week moved very, very slowly.

Astrid wondered why they called it 'becalmed'. It was the noisiest experience she'd been through in ages. The sails clapped loudly and the beams of the longship creaked constantly.

The oars had been broken out, but they didn't have a full contingent of rowers. Progress was haltingly, painfully slow.

It was a glorious day when they finally dropped anchor by a tiny islet with a single grubby grey beach to make camp. Six weeks was enough for everyone on board to be thoroughly sick of sea travel, and simply standing on a surface that didn't pitch and toss was a relief to all. Astrid built a fire efficiently (her camp-skills had always been exemplary) and Phlegma and Fishlegs started hovering over the large stew-pot. Further away, Ruff and Tuff could be heard bickering as they coiled rope and furled sails.

Stoick and Toothless were still watching the oceans. Toothless had relaxed his obsessive watch somewhat, taking every third day or so to sleep. Stoick and Astrid, and surprisingly Hensteeth Ingerman on occasion, took over the vigil for him while he slept like a large black bat upside down in the rigging.

Astrid was kicking at the grubby grey sand when to her mild astonishment Snotlout swaggered his way over to her. "Hey Astrid," he said in his brash way.

"Hey 'Lout," she said. He'd been uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole trip, and Astrid wondered what was on his mind.

"Sooooo," he said uncomfortably.

"So," she repeated, eyes turning out to the sullen sea.

"How you doin'?" he asked with a flirtatious lilt and a smarmy smile, his shoulders flexing. Astrid wondered if he even knew he'd done it, or if it was just Snotlout in Talking To Girls mode.

"How do you think I'm doing?" she snapped, and sighed when she saw his wince. "Sorry, Snotlout. I'm... better than I was, I guess. Still not good, though."

"No, right, right," he mumbled, and followed her gaze out over the featureless ocean. "We'll get my scrawny little cuz back, Astrid," he said in what she suspected was an attempt at a sympathetic tone.

"Oh, I know," she said flatly. "I know."

He didn't seem in any hurry to break the ensuing silence, but the expressions that flitted over his face told her that he definitely had something on his mind.

"Spit it out," she said eventually.

He looked a little grateful for that. "Uh, yeah, soooo. I'm thinking that when this is all done and we've got Hiccup back I should be looking for a wife."

Her eyebrow rose. "Why are you talking to me about it?"

"Because you're sort of my friend, at least you're my age and you're a wife, well, you're married," Snotlout said in a rush. Astrid smiled in satisfaction. It was true – everyone knew she was married, but 'wife' still wasn't a title that sat well on her. She remembered the tiny Haddock, and tensed.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "And?"

"So what can I do to get a chick?" he said desperately. "I'm begging here, Astrid. I'm going to have to move to Phlock or Freezing-To-Death or Hopeless, and I'm gonna know no one. I'm gonna have no family there to negotiate for me. It's all gonna have to be me!"

"What, Vikingdom's biggest stud, worried?" she said in mock-surprise, and Snotlout's face reddened a little.

"I am still the manliest stud who ever hunked," he said in a stiff, wounded way. Astrid stifled another smile.

"Sure you are," she said consolingly. "Look, 'Lout, just… don't announce it all over the place. The girls in wherever you decide to settle have had enough of that their whole lives. Every Viking goes through life as though they're making sagas about him on the spot. It can get pretty repetitive. Just talk to them – and not always about how awesome you are or how you totally killed something to death."

Snotlout looked taken aback. "I thought chicks liked hearing about how awesome a guy is?"

Astrid folded her arms and looked at him significantly. He shifted uncomfortably, his face twisting through a number of indecipherable emotions. "Okay, all right, I get it," he eventually mumbled.

"Don't come on too strong, either," Astrid warned him. "Girls aren't idiots, and neither are they hugely impressed by a guy who only seems to be interested in them for their body. For example, offers to 'work out' together? Not terribly exciting. Or subtle."

Snotlout now looked a trifle bereft. "Then what in Freyr's name can I talk to a chick about?" he said in rising horror.

"Oh for the love of Thor," Astrid muttered. "Talk about how Berk is different to Phlock, or wherever. Places are different, you know. Talk about the dragons, about how it all changed. Talk about your family. Talk about your friends. And listen to them when they want to talk about theirs."

Snotlout's eyes lost some of their panic, though he still looked distressed. "Listen?" he winced.

"Listen," Astrid confirmed.

"I think you're crazy, but I guess I'll try…" mumbled Snotlout, and he kicked at the grey sand awkwardly. "Uh, thanks, Astrid."

"No charge," she replied, her amusement resurfacing. Snotlout squared his shoulders and began to walk back to the fire. "Hey 'Lout? One last thing," she called after him.

"Yeah?" he turned, his face apprehensive.

"Don't call girls 'chicks'," she waggled her finger at him.

"Aw, man!" she heard his mutter as he turned away again.

She grinned at his broad, retreating back. That hadn't been so hard. Maybe she was better at this whole motherly advice thing than she'd thought. It was just a different version of the way she managed Hiccup. That was when she noticed Tuffnut standing off to one side, his eyes wide.

"How much of that was true?" he whispered hoarsely.

Astrid lifted her chin. "All of it."

Tuffnut's face fell. "I am hurt. I am sooooo hurt right now," he whimpered, pulling at his hair.

"There, there," Astrid said, fighting to control her twitching mouth as Tuff slouched miserably after Snotlout.

Gods, boys. Thank Frigga Hiccup had never been that clueless…

Her smile abruptly vanished, and her hand unconsciously travelled to her stomach as she eyed the steely waves, her mood sobering. Not showing yet. But soon, very soon. By her estimates (and the Elder's) it would probably be within the next three weeks.

Gotta make a decision, Ruff's voice surfaced in her mind.

Getting closer, and no way of stalling. The tiny Haddock was on its own timetable, and ignoring it hadn't made it stop. It seemed the kid was as tenacious as she was. She had heard stories – what woman hadn't? – of children that melted away, or were born too early, their limbs and faces unfinished. She had never really considered that. Any kid of hers was going to fight, and any kid of Hiccup's was going to be more stubborn than a Gronkle with its own patch of kittygrass.

"You really want to live, don't you?" she murmured.

Great, talking to herself again. The tiny Haddock was in no place to hear her.

It was comforting though. She'd caught herself talking to it now and then. It was better than talking to the yawning space where Hiccup should be.

"Hang on, kid," she tapped her still-slim stomach irritably. "I gotta get Daddy back first."

Then there was a flicker of movement in the scrubby salt-brush beside the beach. Her brows knit, and she peered into the fading light.

Suddenly, a man clad in a ragged tunic burst from the bushes. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, and brandishing a rusty sword. His eyes were alight with a terrible, sneering glee. Astrid's breath caught, but that was all the shock she allowed herself to feel, sweeping her axe off her back and burying it in the man's stomach in a clean, hard blow. She kicked him off her weapon and span it to flick the blood off.

"Attack on the camp!" she yelled, turning to face the bushes where another four men were beginning a charge. "Attack on the camp!"

"Frigga's tits and teeth!" she heard Gobber swear, and she set her teeth as yet another wave of ragged men burst from the scrubby, stunted undergrowth. She ducked under a wild blow from a branch and swiped her axe across a dirt-smeared face, her body moving in smooth, practised motions. She pulled her dirk from her belt and threw it overarm into another's belly as she sensed the others behind her entering the fray.

"Have a taste of this!" Gobber roared, his hammer thudding over a red head and then swinging wildly into a chest. His assailant hit the ground with an 'oof!', his breath obviously gone. Stoick was fighting as though possessed, his prodigious strength shattering bones and smashing skulls. His face was a rictus of concentration, teeth bared in a grimace of pure rage. Astrid couldn't blame him for taking this opportunity to let some of his pent-up fury out on their attackers. Phlegma was spinning her spear, a wicked smile on her broad face and a shrill war-cry on her lips, while Spitelout stood back to back with her, his stony expression unmoving. Snotlout had one down, as did Ruffnut, her eyes hard and bright with the excitement.

Fishlegs was looking at his huge opponent with tremulous courage, his axe held protectively high as the black-haired, cruel-faced man stalked him. A low cry of distress caused his blond-bearded head to whip around to register Ruffnut cradling her arm protectively. A snarl of pain crossed her lips, and beads of her blood hit the dirty grey sand in an obscene pattern. "No…" he breathed.

And then something happened that Astrid could have sworn would never happen. Ever.

Fishlegs, sweet, shy, meticulous and nerdy, raised his thick arms and slashed his stalker's head clean from his shoulders faster than thought. A bellow of incomprehensible wrath tore from his lips, and he fought like a demon straight from Loki's loins over to Ruff. Blood flew as his axe ripped through the growling, hooting pack of attackers.

When he reached her side, he stood over her in a possessive crouch. His eyes were maddened, and he looked like a wild man. Blood dripped from his axe-edge and he hissed air between his teeth, a warning to any who would approach.

Astrid was incredulous.

"Night Fury!" hollered Tuffnut, as with a scream of attack, Toothless entered the fight. All the Berkians dropped to the ground immediately, as Toothless shot a sizzling ball of fire directly through the centre of the struggling combatants. Before the men could react to the shock, a one-finned tail had swept through their ranks and bowled them over. Those struggling to recover found a weapon pointed directly in their eyes, held by a grim-faced warrior.

It was over almost before it had begun, the ambushers lying dead, bleeding or unconscious on the ground. There were around thirty in number, all unkempt and scruffy, their faces cruel and vicious. Like a pack of carrion-feeders, Astrid thought in disgust, her breath coming fast.

"Get that one up!" Stoick pointed with his hammer at the red-haired man Gobber had winded, his face contorted in anger. "Get him up!"

Gobber hooked his hammer under the fellow's arm, and propped him up against one of the stunted trees. Toothless pranced impatiently before him, green eyes slitted in suspicion. Gobber pushed the Night Fury away, and smacked the man's face until he focused properly.

"What was the idea behind all that?" Gobber demanded.

The man spat in his face. Gobber smiled slowly, wiping it off, and then punched him solidly in the mouth.

"Lovely little fight," he commented breezily to the reeling redhead, before standing and making way for Stoick.

"Ambush," growled the Chief. "Cowardly an' pathetic, attacking a small camp. You could have asked for food, but no, you set up an ambush. What was the plan? Take the ship an' the women, kill the rest? Thought so. You're a pirate."

"Oh, well done," croaked the evil-faced man mockingly, before breaking into a round of coughing.

"You're goin' to answer some questions, lad," Stoick said with a glacial smile. "Or I'm goin' to feed you to the dragon. Which is it goin' to be?"

Toothless crept forward menacingly, a tongue of flame escaping his mouth. Astrid was impressed. The dragon had a true gift for the drama of the situation. Only the Berkians knew that he wouldn't hurt anything – at least not permanently. Except for fish.

"Ask, ask! But for pity's sake keep that monster away from me!" the man cried hoarsely. He tried to crawl away from the black beast, but with his back against the tree and with Phlegma and Spitelout holding their weapons to his throat, he couldn't move an inch and his legs simply scrabbled at the ground uselessly.

"Have you seen a lad, about so tall, eighteen summers old with reddish hair and one foot?" Stoick demanded. All those that knew him heard his voice shake, though it was doubtful that their captive could concentrate on anything but the dragon looming threateningly before him. "His name's Hiccup."

Astrid's breath caught. Such a short summary for the most important person in her life.

"The boy? Yeah, yeah, I seen him!" the man gabbled. "We was paid to get him, him an' the other bloke."

"Alberich," Stoick grunted. "Where did you take them?"

"Alberich!" the man laughed rustily, the whites of his eyes showing. "Told you all a pack of lies, he did. His name's Alvin the Treacherous, an' he's the one who paid us! An' then the lying little rat sold us out, he did. Took the kid an' all our plunder onto that scum Regin's tub! He's goin' south - I heard the name 'Ostia'... that's all I know! I swear!"

"Regin," Gobber scratched his chin. "That sounds familiar."

"Who's Regin?" Astrid shoved her axe into the man's face. He looked up at her merciless blue eyes, and gulped.

"Another pirate, miss," he whispered. "Torched our boat before he set off. He wouldn't have let us go at all, would have killed us all, 'cept the lad convinced the rat to put us in the longboat instead. Regin's a bad sort, miss. You don't want to go chasing after him."

"And you're all paragons of virtue and light," snorted Phlegma.

Astrid felt her insides freeze even as her throat grew tight. "That's Hiccup," she murmured. Then she fixed the brigand with a look that promised painful, embarrassing death. "And it's Mrs," she grated in a voice like thunder.

"Missus, right, right…" the man shrank back even further. His neck seemed to be retreating into his torso, his face becoming nothing but eyes.

Astrid stalked away. She'd heard enough.

"You all right?" It was Fishlegs, his broad features back in their usual, slightly worried but still genial configuration.

"Fine," she said curtly. "I'm fine."

"Astrid, I know you're not going to want to hear any statistics right now…" he started, and she gave him a sharp look. He swallowed. "And so, right, I don't actually have any to give you… but I can say we're better off now than we were ten minutes ago. Odds-wise."

Astrid fixed her eyes back on the sea. How like him to try and make sure all of his friends were as happy as possible. "How about you, then?" she asked, wanting to get the topic of discussion as far away from herself and Hiccup as possible. "Did you know you were a berserker?"

Fishlegs went red. "Uh. Yeah. I've known since I was approximately eight years and eleven months old."

"Approximately?" she repeated, her humour tweaking. Even now, she found his earnest dedication to accuracy and relative 'plusses' endearing. It was such a part of him.

"And three days," he mumbled. "I couldn't help it. I can't control it."

"It's okay, 'Legs," she said softly, and reached out a hand to pat him on his hunched, broad back. She thought of what she couldn't control, and her eyes drifted south. The clouds scudded across the horizon, and she lowered her brow, as though by pure force of will she could part them. "It's okay."

AN: I just can't stop writing in Astrid's headspace, it seems!

Also, timetable for the curious: It was four weeks (two there and two back) to undergo the trip to Phlock and back, then a week in Berk as they made their plans and gathered their provisions, and now five weeks into the voyage south. This would make Astrid 10 weeks along at the very, very earliest.