A/N: Man, I'm fast. This was Herculean. We are getting into the meaty, angsty, subtextual stuff that I love. Enjoy.


She found her boyfriend's father at the docks, overseeing the loading of a ship—the envoy to Berserker Island, maybe, which would leave tomorrow at dawn. The sun glinted off the top of his helmet: he stood two feet taller than Astrid, three times as wide, his back to her looking out over the harbor. Her initially determined steps grew slower as she traversed the pier: she had nearly forgotten that her boyfriend's father was also the chief of their tribe, the highest authority on their island beneath the gods, a man who could banish her at will. A man who felt she'd put the integrity of his heir under fire.

"Chief," she managed, and he started to turn. "I'd like to speak to you as—a concerned citizen of Berk."

He gazed down at her, expression mostly obscured by explosive facial hair, but she thought she saw his eyebrows twitch. "Speak, then, Astrid." The last time they'd spoken he had only grunted her name and said to get out, so while this greeting did not ring of fondness, it was at least a small improvement.

"I…" She glanced down into the half-laden boat, where some workers had slowed their progress to watch the exchange. Understandable, it was not everyday you saw a girl of seventeen have an audience with the chief. She began to see why that was. Stoick frowned at her hesitation—no more waiting, okay. "It's about Hiccup, sir," she blurted.

At once, his frown deepened. He turned back to the ship. "Aye, of course it is."

When Stoick climbed on board, Astrid scrambled after him. "Sir, it's very important, please."

"I've forbidden him to see you, Astrid."

"I know—"

Stoick swung around to face her, and demanded, knowing the answer, "How did you know?"

"He saw me anyway," she admitted.

"Aye, what else?" The far-away rage in Stoick's eyes (he was thinking of all he would say to his son later, she guessed) made clear to Astrid why Hiccup always acted so downtrodden after their fights. Even the tempered tone he used now sounded halfway to a roar—she was almost too frightened to proceed. Almost.

"You need to stop treating him like this, sir," she declared.

Stoick stopped moving, but for the rise and fall of his chest, the rustling of his beard with each breath. The angle of his brow made an arrow, trained right between her eyes by the keenness of his glare, but more than any other moment of her life it was here essential not to look away.

For Hiccup, and for Berk, and most importantly for herself, she raised her chin, and glared right back.

Her demand had carried over the ship's deck, to the sailors who paused their work and were now creeping away, back on to the pier and toward the village, where they might avoid the encroaching bloodbath.

"You," his voice might've shaken the wood beneath their feet, "would give your chief an order?"

"I would," she whispered, still meeting his eye, but she heard the tremor in her words.

Scowl fixed, Stoick let out a low sigh that stirred Astrid's bangs. He turned, and went to the edge of the ship, watching the outlines of dragons fluttering around the village above them. But he did not speak.

Astrid glanced hastily around the deck, unsure of this development, but took a creeping step toward Hiccup's father.

"I know you think that the way Hiccup acts because of me is going to screw him up as chief." She put forth this statement experimentally, and got no response, so she went on. "But it only means that he goes with his heart, and that's going to make him a great chief—really," she insisted, observing the skeptical stir of Stoick's shoulders. "I think, maybe a few years ago, I would have thought…" Hiccup with all his questions, beating her in the Kill Ring, explaining himself in too many words. "I would have thought that made him weak, but Hiccup isn't weak, sir, you know that yourself, you've seen—"

"A good chief does not lead with his heart," Stoick interrupted, gripping the ship's railing. "It's naïve to think so, Astrid—"

"And that's why he needs me." The chief looked at her again, surprised, and she drew herself up as tall as she felt. "To tell him when he's being stupid. I can do that."

Stoick hesitated, and then leaned harder into the rail, squinting at the sea. Astrid waited, she did not shuffle her feet.

After an extended silence, the chief told her, "Hiccup's mother thought our war with the dragons was unnecessary violence. It was many years ago, and everyone has forgotten she felt that way, even the ones who haven't forgotten her, everyone except me. She was right." He drew a deep breath; he had such presence that every inhale might have impacted the weather patterns. She felt strangely honored—she sensed this was a story Stoick did not often share. "Had I listened to her, she might still be alive. But the way her mind worked was so different from my own, I couldn't conceive of it."

She opened her mouth, wanting to protest somehow, but she couldn't place what it was about this that struck her as false. It reminded her of how Hiccup twisted situations so he might carry the responsibility on his own shoulders, a sort of masochistic honor. The exact sort of behavior she'd tell him was stupid, given the chance.

"You and my son are very different," said Stoick, with finality. It was not untrue, they had told one another this time and time again. Funny, Hiccup too said it like a bad thing, and she'd had to correct him. What was it about these Haddock men, putting everything in apocalyptic terms?

She shook her head. "With all due respect, sir, you don't know me that well. And you don't know Hiccup like I know him."

"You think I don't know my own son?" he snapped, a surge of anger. He didn't expect her to keep fighting, which only proved Astrid's point: they were almost strangers.

"No, you just know him differently from how I know him, just like he knows me differently from the way my mom does." She had a passing thought about how hers and Hiccup's son might be, how one day she would have to confront this alternate perspective, to accept that she and her child would only ever know certain parts of one another. "We're different," she agreed, a smile finding the corners of her mouth, "but we're similar, too. Otherwise we'd have nothing to talk about."

"You and Hiccup do a lot of talking, do you?" he asked incredulously.

Her cheeks went hot. "Yeah, actually, we do. We talk all the time."

Sounding a little more resigned, he said, "All right." She didn't know what that meant, that she had convinced him, or that she ought to stop, now. So Astrid decided neither, and pressed on.

"I listened to him." She leaned over the rail, to make him look at her. "I rode a dragon. I changed."

Stoick met her eye reluctantly, then shrugged. "Boar-headed," he muttered.

"I'll listen to him," she swore, "and I'll make him listen to me! We'll change when we need to."

"I've no doubt you could make him listen to you," snorted the chief, and Astrid grinned.

"Can I keep seeing him?"

"Aye," groaned Stoick, waving her away. "If engagement's out of the question, I don't see how I can stop you."

"Only for now. Thank you, sir!" She gave his massive forearm arm a hug, and started to leave her astonished future father-in-law, but remembered something and darted back: "Oh, and, sir, please don't tell anyone we're together, it's sort of a secret."

"Can't tell anyone about what I don't see, so don't let me see it."

Fighting a laugh, she nodded vigorously. "Aye, sir."

She had turned to go when he added, "And you'll accompany the envoy tomorrow. Consider it a trial run. Convince me, Astrid."

"Okay," she said, the grin sliding from her face. All that progress and she wasn't in yet? She could feel her patience threatening to break, but managed to hold her tongue and head back to the village without chopping anything in half.

Hiccup was waiting for her in the arena—well, actually, he was discussing some dragon species thing with Fishlegs, who had the dragon book out, but in effect he was waiting for her. Or so she thought, until he seemed too involved in a speech about the prospect of a four-winged dragon to even notice her arrival.

"Hiccup."

He swung around, slack-jawed. Always so amazed to see her. "Astrid. Hi." It occurred to him where she was coming from, and he glanced at Fishlegs. "How'd it go? Should we talk somewhere else?"

"I'm going with you tomorrow."

He frowned, not understanding, and then his eyes grew wide. "To Berserker Island? What—"

"Your dad said so," she cringed.

"Hello?" said Fishlegs from behind them, somewhat pathetic. "Guys?"

"Fishlegs, could you run up to the forge for me?" asked Hiccup, not taking his eyes off Astrid.

"And get what?"

"I don't know, just run up there. Tell Gobber I'll be into work later."

"You guys are acting so weird," Fishlegs sobbed, but he scampered out of the arena with the dragon book under his arm.

Astrid watched him go. "We have to be careful about that kind of thing. We want our privacy, but we can't be alienating people."

A little red flashed in his cheeks, but he shook his head, resolving not to get caught up in anything other than the issue at hand. "Okay, but what happened with my dad? Fishlegs will be fine, this is important."

She threw him a quick frown. "So is that." But she couldn't get anywhere with Hiccup on this, not right now, judging from the look on his face. "It went well, he just… he thought we weren't going to make a good team because we're different, which is dumb, yeah. And I thought I had him convinced, but then right when I was leaving, he said I had to go with you to Berserker Island, as a trial run."

Hiccup's face lit up. "So that's great," he said, taking her hands in his, "we'll just go together and negotiate the new treaty, and my dad will see what a good team we make, and everything will be fine!"

Astrid's eyebrow flicked upward. "I think you're forgetting the part where I nearly killed Dagur the last time I saw him."

A cloud came over Hiccup's expression and he let go of her. "You didn't kill him."

She stifled an eye roll—easier than being upset, because it felt as though a part of him that hadn't forgive her for what she'd done that day, even without the follow-through. Get over it, she wanted to scream, though she knew he had the moral high ground. Instead she joked, "You know, the weird thing is that, rage-wise, there's usually not a whole lot of difference between killing someone and almost killing them?"

"You spared him!"

"It won't matter, Hiccup," she said seriously. "I'll have to hang back in the ship or the negotiation will be ruined."

The muscles in Hiccup's jaw twitched dangerously. He needed a better blade for shaving, there was stubble on his chin; the thought gave her a surge of affection she had to squash in this moment of tension. "Then my dad is right. We're not a good team."

She shrugged dismissively. "That's not what that means."

"Doesn't it? If we can't take responsibility for one another's faults together, doesn't that mean we're not working well with each other?"

Outwardly, she glared at him. Inwardly, she murmured, Gods, he's good at this arguing thing. "I've changed since then," she pointed out.

"So prove it, and talk to Dagur with me."

At this titillating jibe—he was standing close to her, bristling—she gave him a smile, coy, inscrutable. Her, negotiating a treaty at Hiccup's side. Either way, Dagur or no Dagur, it was in her future. And she was no longer the girl who could only be stopped from killing a man at the sound of her friend's pleading voice, she had grown a little taller and a lot bigger. Ironically she had also become exactly what they'd once thought her to be, Hiccup's girlfriend, but that felt like the least important development. Dagur would not dare to call her girl, not now.

"Okay, I'll prove it," she told him, still smiling that coy smile. Hiccup narrowed his eyes at her.

"Why do I feel like I'm missing something?"

"I don't know what you mean," she lied happily.

"Astrid," he began, a reprimanding note in his tone, but she spun on her heel and bounced toward the exit.

"We probably shouldn't be seen together anymore today, bye!"

And it was very weird. Yes, it was all very weird and strange for Hiccup, who sort of felt like his father and Astrid and Fishlegs and all the Hooligans on Berk were prodding him each with little wooden sticks, and every time he managed to swat one away someone else got him at a different angle, so he was just doing this stupid flinching dance constantly, and one day he would have no recourse but to fall over and weep to himself.

After an afternoon in the forge, he went for a long flight with Toothless, thinking of the strange argument with Astrid, and then had dinner with the rest of the riders in the hall—she was conspicuously absent and no one mentioned it, and he couldn't ask about her without risking a bunch of tawdry jokes from the twins and a smack in the face from Snotlout, who he had caught glowering at him more than once in the past couple of weeks—yet another stick in his side.

At home, his father was asleep by the fire, which might've been the best thing to happen to Hiccup all day if he hadn't tripped over a stray bit of armor and woken up not only Stoick but likely their neighbors as well.

The great chief of the Hooligan tribe sat up in his armchair and yawned a yawn so big that his whole face was, for a moment, a cavernous mouth. Hiccup heard a sound from his bedroom above their heads—Toothless had just yawned, too. He managed a laugh.

Stoick saw him, and waved groggily. "'Evening, son."

"Long day?"

"Aye."

A pause and he met his father's gaze across the room. The friendliness faded. "Goodnight," said Hiccup stiffly, not wanting to talk about it, and he went for the stairs. An end to this day sounded like easiest thing for which to hope.

But it did not end there, because when he opened the door to his room, Astrid was sitting on his bed, humming to herself.

"A—" he started to say, but she put a finger to her smirking lips and gestured downward. His dad. He shut the door quietly, and then addressed her urgently.

"What are you doing?"

Astrid grinned at him, and he realized she didn't quite look herself—her boots were off, exposing small white feet that she tucked behind her knees as she sat cross-legged, the thick fur hood he'd made her many months ago hung with her shoulder armor from the corner post of his bed. Her hair was half-loose, and she went back to unbraiding it now. It fell to her hips in an off-yellow deluge.

"Hello to you too," she said, smiling.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, and turned to Toothless, who was stretched out over his bed. "Did you let this happen?" The dragon squawked noncommittally, and then went back to sleep.

"He likes me," Astrid explained, rising from the bed, the intensity of her attention making him feel more than a bit nauseous. "He has good taste."

"Eh, well, can't disagree with that." Somehow his eyes were on the ceiling now. Like if he looked at Astrid, who stood a foot away from him with a curious expression on her face, he might spontaneously combust.

"You're not going to kiss me?"

"I could, I gu—"

"You're not going to look at me?"

Wincing, he shut his eyes, lowered his chin, and opened them again. He saw rosy cheeks and not much else before Astrid pressed her lips to his. Her hand found his, and he felt himself being dragged somewhere—in the direction of the bed. A heat came over him, followed by a bone-deep chill, and he instantly jerked out of the embrace, stumbling away from her.

"Ah, ha, wow, Astrid, shouldn't you be heading home, now, your mom is going to worry."

Assessing him with a look of amusement and (terrifyingly) confidence, Astrid shook her head. "You know, I really don't think she will."

"You sure?" he croaked, voice soaring octaves. Shrill enough to break glass, probably, if he'd had any glass to break.

"Hiccup," said Astrid flatly, reaching out to him. "It'll be fine."

"No it won't," he replied automatically, refusing her hand, and he scrambled to collect her things from the room. His pulse was going crazy, he was sure he'd gone bright red. "We need to be up early. I'll see you then." He tried to deposit the boots and armor in her arms but she folded them resolutely across her chest, and everything clattered to the floor, noisier than he would've guessed.

On the first floor something creaked loudly, and they froze. There were a number of quiet thumps, each louder than the last, and then a familiar voice called up the stairs, "Everything all right, son?"

Hiccup tossed Astrid a glare, and went to crack the door open. He called down, "It's fine, I was talking to Toothless and I knocked something over."

"Sleep well, then," said Stoick, a little sad. Hiccup didn't have time to feel guilty about that, too. The thumping sounds receded. When he turned around, Astrid was tugging on her boots.

"I guess the mood's passed anyway," she said, attempting nonchalance, but she was hurt. He heard the edge of distress in her voice, and could have kicked himself, whether or not he was right, which he was—had been, both times. They had fought twice today, real fights. The disparity between moments like this in the heart of Berk, and the hours they could spend together in the middle of nowhere, unsettled him. What did that mean for their future? What was he supposed to do if he and Astrid couldn't work together and be together?

As she was climbing out of the window, he managed to get out, "Sorry, Astrid," but he heard no reply before she leapt down.

Tomorrow they would have to convince Dagur not to wage war on them, when they could hardly keep from waging war on each other. Perhaps his father had been right to posit a test—perhaps his father had been right about a lot of things.