AN: Part one of a two-shot. See 'The Haddock House' for my collection of interrelated oneshots about Hiccup, Astrid & their family.

Enjoy!

A VIKING'S COURAGE

PART I

Nuffink hit the ground with a grunt. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the burly, outstretched arm to seize him, to hoist him off his grassy refuge and into whatever Hel lay beyond.

But it never came. Instead came the sound of steel colliding and the flapping of startled birds fleeing trees.

It wasn't his captor who'd pushed him, he realized. The hand had been smaller – gentle almost, despite contacting his chest in a violent shove – and somehow amidst all the chaos, its touch left imparted a fragment of hope.

Slowly, the young teen opened his eyes and his voice escaped in a croak. "M-Mom?"

She moved like a dancer. Arms poised, feet fluid; axe twirling in immaculate rhythm with her steps. They were familiar, those steps – a sequence of light taps and turns that skimmed the grass in seemingly effortless grace.

But they were different. It wasn't the dance that had captivated him for as long as he could remember; the one that always left him in awe during training; the one he'd tried to mimic before he was old enough to own a weapon, which would earn him delighted laughter and a snuggle that made him feel like he owned the archipelago instead.

And although that voice whose laughter would swell his heart was now yelling at him, Nuffink perceived that it wasn't her voice. Nor was the splay of beautiful copper hair before him, dazzling in the sunlight that streamed through the canopy.

"Go, Nuff! Go! Run!"

Run...?

Nuff blinked dazedly, Zephyr's words a foreign echo to his ears. He'd tried that already, escaped the first group of pursuers only to be ambushed by a new trio. Surely there were more of them out there.

What was happening beyond the grove? How did she find him? Was the village under attack?

"RUN!" his sister shouted, louder, voice cracking with desperation. "Get out of here!"

He would have obeyed if he could. But the young Viking found himself in a trance, paralyzed but for the ragged catching of his breaths and his trembling elbows wanting to give way. It was all happening too fast: steel hitting steel with clangs horrid to his ears; thrusts giving off an awful woody-metal smell; footfalls vibrating the dirt beneath his palms – until a large body fell at his feet with a strenuous thud and Nuff felt the world shift as reality finally registered.

Just a moment ago, that was almost him.

Just then, it could have been her.

His paralyzed feet leapt up of their own accord, shaky fingers lifting the captor's blade. Zeph parried a lunging spear and kicked out at its wielder – a man twice her thew – and Nuff felt his pulse pound in his ears as their mother's words rung through.

Spears are risky in close quarters, unless you're fast.

This man was fast, and he was big – much bigger than Zeph – which gave him the advantage of strength. Advancing again, his eyes flickered to Nuffink, though he gave no further acknowledgement as the latter lunged toward him.

"No, don't!"

Zeph's shout didn't register, and Nuffink didn't realize his mistake until it was too late. All Astrid's tutelage seemed to flood into his now helpless mind at once. The body can lie; don't trust it. But watch the eyes – the eyes always tell the truth!

Dread consumed him and he held his breath, bracing for the impact. But once again his sister's arm was over his chest, sweeping him behind her as she bent backwards and the spear struck at empty air.

The spearman was fast.

But Zeph was faster.

Taking the opening at his miss, she spun left in a sidestep and brought her axe across his path of recovery, cleaving his neck in a fatal blow.

That left just one attacker. A man of average build wielding a greatsword. He glanced at his companions on the forest floor, then back up at their killer, eyes full of malice.

His body charged forward with rage, closing the distance between them in an instant. Nuff held his breath as the man feigned left, spun and struck out at Zephyr from the right. Their weapons connected in a bloodcurdling screech, and the force of the impact was enough to send Zeph recoiling. She staggered and recovered, enough to block his second strike, but not the one that followed rapidly after it, knocking loose her shoulder-guard.

Zephyr inhaled sharply, either in pain or in anger. She ducked beneath his next swing and nimbly leapt out of reach of the next.

She was lighter on her feet than the foe welcomed. And were her movements not desperate defenses to stay alive, Nuffink would have sat back comfortably and smiled; instead, he found his body frozen and the bitter taste of iron in his mouth.

The warrior flew at his sister. Nuff heard her cry out. Blood flecked the grass and a deep line of crimson tore her upper arm. Something inside Nuff broke at the sight, knowing that he was responsible – that this was all happening to protect him – and watching the sword slash wildly at her, he saw its wielder had a different motive than that of his comrades.

This man did not have the intent to capture; this man was out to kill.

He flung at Zephyr with a greater intensity. This time when she slipped back, she struck at a low branch above and a cluster of leaf-strewn wood rained down on him. The loud clang echoed off his helm, and he flinched away, temporarily stunned. And in that moment of confusion, Zeph came at him.

Her blow would have struck him dead, and Nuffink almost found himself rejoicing. But in that last fraction of a second, the swordsman saw her weakness, and extended his leg beneath hers, knocking her off her feet. Rather than fall flat where he'd have her, she shifted her momentum into a somersault, swinging her weapon desperately to deflect his. Their blades shrieked and clanged in the quiet forest, spitting faint sparks as the swordsman pushed and pushed and drove Zephyr back. She spun and parried. He plunged and smashed down on every block.

Inside, Nuff felt a skirmish of similar sorts. The desire to jump in tore at him, shred through every fiber of his being.

But he fought it. If he stepped in now, he would likely only get both him and Zeph killed.

Her movements were uncannily like their mother's. They kept her always one inch beyond the reach of the blade, and just graceful and wigged out enough to remain unpredictable. She was Astrid at sixteen, Nuff had heard their father gloat – though she had a greater love for books than thrill for battle to the latter's credit.

Yet not even Berk's next-greatest shieldmaiden could keep up with this man. She risked a glance behind her every few steps. Nuff could see her tiring, repeatedly breaking away to gain some advantage, only to be pinned once more exchanging desperate clashes to keep his sword from sinking into her.

One slash was so close that she was only spared by fate laying a loose tree-stump in her path.

Get up, Nuff prayed, feeling as though he'd just avoided being impaled. He prayed to every god he could think of. Please get up.

But to his horror, Zeph attempted to side-roll only to grunt with pain and fall back again. Instantly the attacker was on her, raising his blade for the final strike.

Time seemed to slow as she swept her axe through the air in front of her, hooking it around the swordsman's calf and yanking him off balance. He stumbled forward with an agonized groan and she rolled up to slam her feet against his chest. As he was knocked back, he struck out, slicing the sword into the crease behind her knee.

Zephyr's scream as her leg gave out was too much. And all of a sudden Nuff found himself in front of her, bringing his own blade down on their wounded adversary. Steel sunk into lacerated flesh. Blood seeped from beneath silver mail. Lungs heaved raggedly as breaths escaped in slowing rasps.

Trembling like a leaf in the evening wind, the bewildered boy stared at the man dying before him. His first kill.

"Nuff…"

"Zeph…"

Recovering with a jolt, Nuffink released his iron grasp on the sword-hilt and clambered toward his sister.

"Zeph!" he gasped, feeling helpless and guilty and pathetic all at once, "You're… you're hurt!"

As the words left his lips, he heard a chorus of muffled yells in the distance, bringing on a fresh bout of dread.

Zephyr groaned. "Nuff, I…" she struggled to sit as they both glanced at her wounds. The skin beneath her mottled shoulder-guard was flecked with a darkened red – the cut didn't appear deep. But fresh blood leaked freely down her leg, painting the grass an ugly maroon. She propped up on her elbows, wincing. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he whispered, catching her sea-blue stare with terrified orbs.

She gave him a weak grin, "Mom would have thrashed them."

Despite himself, her brother found himself smiling back. Though his relief was extinguished the moment it begun to settle by an angered yell from across the grove. The shouts were growing louder.

Nuff gulped, straining to listen, and felt his stomach drop. Although they came from the direction of the village, these voices weren't Berkian.

Scrambling behind Zephyr, he tore off the end of his tunic to hastily fasten around the slit. After a weak apology for the crudeness, his hands hooked under her arms and he leaned his weight back, lifting her upper half in a gentler tug.

Another groan escaped her as she raised her knee to stop the wound scraping. "Nuff– urgh–" she grimaced, "Nuff, wait."

He shook his head roughly, forgetting that she couldn't see him. The approaching voices were a lot closer now, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Nuffink abandoned his gentle attempts, and pulled hard, grunting himself at the effort.

"It's too late," Zephyr breathed, fear seeping through her protest. But he ignored her, maneuvering into a half standing half squatting position. "Just go–"

"Don't even think it. I'll be the one at the end of Mom's wrath if I don't get you home safely."

"Better than both of us being– urgh!"

She didn't finish her sentence, for a fresh bout of pain overcame her as her leg scuffed over a shallow tree-root.

"I'm not leaving you, Zeph!" her brother whisper-snapped. "I know you're future Chief and all, but you're not yet and I don't have to listen to you. So shut up and work with me here!"

She tilted her head back to look at him, ocean meeting upside-down forest. He held her stare firmly, resolutely; his determination winning over hers, her fear winning over his.

She nodded with a wince, shifting the weight of her axe into one hand and gripping his skinny bicep with the other. In one strong movement, she hoisted herself up in sync with his next pull and pushed back with her good leg, careful to keep her other knee as high off the ground as possible.

Their struggle was all but elegant. Red continued to leak from Zeph's cut, forcing them to stop to redress it with Nuffink's vest a few strides in. She was quickly becoming fatigued, likely from the blood loss, and Nuff's muscles cramped as he clumsily hauled her through the woods.

He cursed the gods. Why couldn't they have been blessed him with his grandfather's brawn? (The late one – Grampy Hoff's constitution was a bit too on the blubbery side.) Hel, his fate was nadir in that regard; when it came to tangible brawn, New Berk's Chief and Chieftess were the most petite Vikings of their generation.

That was usually a comforting thought, considering the former was the greatest revolutionary Berk had ever seen and the latter the most feared shieldmaiden in the archipelago. Nuff could have laughed at the irony. But their parents' fame was probably the reason for him and Zeph's present situation, and the young teen lamented being the smallest in the family, both in height and thew.

He tried to shake the image of Cousin Smitelout from his mind, carrying Zeph over one shoulder like a sack of feathers, yelling boasts and insults at "Aunt Astrid's Baby Chiefink." But daring a glance behind him, Nuff was met with a relief that could have swallowed the whole island.

There it was, at the edge of the forest – their sanctuary. No raven-haired tower of muscle waiting to chaff him. No stronger, 'Viking-er' peer to lay his own triumph on the thick. He, Nuffink Haddock, had made it; played the hero.

A twig cracked beneath his foot and he paused to listen for the sound of pursuing doom. For what felt an eternity he held his breath, fought down his panting, resisted the collapse of his frail, unsteady legs. And at last, his fears began to dwindle, exchanged for a hope that lodged this time.

The blend of foreign voices and footsteps was distant again. Still approaching – but slowly, and not in conscious pursuit.

"Zeph, look, we made it," Nuff whispered although no one else could have heard him.

And, for a moment, it seemed no one at all did.

"Zeph…?" He glanced down at the limp form of his sister. Her head lolled forward, tousled strands of copper falling over her face. Her arms were flaccid, fingers weakly clasping the throat of her axe. Crimson soaked the vest wrapped around her leg, staining the material a ghastly color.

"Oh no, Zeph!" Nuff dropped to his knees and pulled her into his lap. "Zeph! Zephyr!" He her a light shake, arms locked around her front above the chest. "Please, answer me!"

He shook her harder, and slowly, Zeph stirred, opening dulled oceany eyes to half-lidded.

"What are you waiting for?" her voice was weak, her free hand lifting to rest over his, "If we sit out here, we're dead."

"Sorry," Nuff said shakily as she gave his fingers a squeeze. "I'll… I'll get us under cover."

He dragged her toward the entrance of the hideout, slowly, gently, and propped her up against a neighboring trunk. Pulling open the leaf-cloaked hatch their father had built for training, he swallowed the lump of uneasiness in his throat. They had made it to safety, yes. But by the look of her injury, Zeph was in trouble.

She groaned as he helped her into the cave, and her head flopped against the wall with a shudder of relief.

Or was it weakness? Debility?

Nuff shook his worry aside, knowing there was no use dwelling on it. There was nothing they could do but wait now – wait and hope to be found by someone from the village. And though he was afraid, Nuff was certain they would be; he and Zeph were the son and daughter of the two greatest Vikings to walk the archipelago after all.

Feeling an overwhelming love for their father, the young teen sealed the hatch and made a dash toward his sister. He mimicked her position, his head coming to rest against the wall as their shoulders brushed under the faint light spilling in from the ceiling cover.

Half-lidded, she met his gaze, the cheek and confidence of their mother's sea-blue eyes shining through.

"You know," Nuff said, shaky but assured with a look that was all Astrid, "Mom's definitely gonna thrash them."

Part Two coming soon. 'Til then, keep well, everyone.