Edited.

The upcoming evening presented remains of both teens' previous awkwardness. Hiccup had asked for Artichoke's ideas for new, further places to hide Toothless, maybe somewhere she could get food for herself. After a few talking, he managed to get her to agree that flying at night had more cos than pros, given how close winter was getting in the island at that point. Previous years had snow at this time, he was sure.

They went on for hours that evening, though, talked more than they ever had and, with space to go on about her Night Fury friend, the girl shared notes and notes with no interruptions, even when Artichoke's brows would shoot up to his hairline, as he couldn't help but be impressed with how long, how much of Hiccup's time was given to that dragon, and, of course, how much she had discovered. Although, at every wonder-filled word she let out, he questioned innerly whether or not this was a peculiar dragon, after all.

"No, other dragons are like this!", she would insist, "we were wrong about all of them".

"Have you befriended more of them, then?", he frowned, sure that there was a death wish inside her veins somewhere.

"Well I- I shared food with a group of Terrible Terrors once and… I fed the Zippleback from the arena".

"You did what now?".

She gave in a sheepishly shrug that did nothing to hide her growing smile before she explained how she had scared the double-head dragon on training that day. Apparently, eels had a pretty strong effect on dragons and Artichoke thought on how that information alone could be used to avoid so many ashes and bloodshed, but Hiccup was right when saying there was no way they could explain it.

And she went on, telling more of her newfound tricks and curiosities enough to fill up a whole new Book of Dragons, something he was sure Fishlegs would more than love to help in. Hiccup also promised not to use any of her tricks the next day, just mind her business in the back, try and avoid trouble, as she did on the first days of training. She did, however, asked if he'd want to use the tricks to be safe. And though it would, indeed, be considerably easier and quicker to just create a sunlight reflex on his shield's iron to make the next dragon hunt it like an oblivious house cat, or to hold a grip of grass in front of tomorrow's beast and see it melt down with its belly-up yearning for a scratch… And even more cheating tricks Hiccup had found out about, a part of him, a part debatably stupid and definitely filled with proud, wanted him to do it by his own means. By the old Viking means he had been taught his whole life and always thrived upon.

Hiccup respected that, but he knew she was growing far too soft and compassionate towards dragons in general. Artichoke couldn't deny how, when she'd draw Toothless, she was able to make the Night Fury seem rather cute, and protective, and intelligent and even if this artist had, indeed, met an amicable group of Terrible Terrors who let her pet them over a shared meal… It's not as if Artichoke doubted her words. He had seen no signs of lying since their flight the day before. It was just that this was a logic-shattering subject he was still absorbing.

The Zippleback event had been the most confusing, though. Whenever a gate was opened in the arena, dragons went directly for the kill. Always. He had seen it. Had seen a Gronckle try to kill Hiccup, even. These dragons were angry and imprisoned, and Gobber had reason saying they always went for the kill. So maybe Hiccup is, indeed, one blessed by the gods as some sort of dragon charmer… He didn't know.

What Artichoke did know is that he could always count on his axe and shield, those never failed him before… And they wouldn't fail him tomorrow.

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Hiccup was, as she rarely would, awake before the blond boy next to her. Purple bruises still fading on his fight with Snotlout, apparently. He didn't tell her what reason it was before he dropped his head on the table like a sack of potatoes that night and she had more to fill her mind with than to care about that.

She would spend the hours with her mind on the clouds, sometimes literally, and her heart painfully sank whenever she thought of her dragon's safety and her father's disappointment. At some point her husband asked who the helmet belonged to at which Hiccup just replied with a rather dry "my father gave it to me".

It was a rather well-done work, probably made by Gobber, as there were not many other blacksmiths around there. Despite its appearances, it was terrible to look at and she felt like she'd punch herself if she let even one tear drop over it again. Or until she was alone. Or with Toothless.

Hiccup took a deep breath, already fully dressed, hair strongly braided to her core as if to keep her awake. This would be a part of her vests now. As much as her boots were always on her feet, these horns would be always on her head… Right?

So she placed it on her auburn crown. It's too big. Made her look like a child playing with her parents' helmet. Another sigh. The sky was barely showing any light, though it wasn't pitch black, no, it was just a very dark blue. Like the sea would look like sometimes. She didn't bother waking Artichoke till any light was seen, and he woke up before that anyway.

In the meantime, she had all her notes about Toothless gather up and spread across her table, thinking if she shouldn't burn all drawings and sketches and models of prosthetic tail and saddle, except for the most necessary ones. Maybe she should burn all evidence, keep only what she'd need to remake a functional flying gear case something happened.

The other day she had flied till her fingers became numb with cold as she held tight to the saddle and talked it all to Toothless, completely aware she would get no response, but thankful and glad that the dragon stayed to listen, right before an attempt to play and lift her mood.

"Are you sure you don't want to use anything?", she asked in a whisper, one last time as they walked towards the arena, aware a friend or another would tag along anytime soon. Artichoke was back at his decisive self, the one she'd secretly admire from a distance before all this started, eyes of steel looking forward. The clouds above them let them know the day wouldn't allow him to use the reflex thing and he hadn't bothered learning the right spots to scratch their chin, either.

Somehow, she felt even more nervous than in the first day, although she was rather sure she could find any of these dragon breeds in the wild and maybe befriend them if it was all quiet.

Sometimes the helmet would block one of her eye's vision, but Hiccup still was able to see Stoick's wish for good luck and waved back. She still heard – everybody heard his discourse before the training lesson, even. How the idea of having his daughter succeeding at this would make anyone be taken as a madman and sent to the sea for no more salvation.

There were more people watching that day, the ones who came back and even the parents who stayed, all went to show their kids their wish for good luck, all leaned the nearest as possible against the chains of the kill rink's dome. Opposite to the front door, where Hiccup and her peers walked in, tension and determination feeling the air, there was the Chief's seat. An old wooden chair, big enough to accommodate the mighty warrior, wolves' skin, and fur to comfort Stoick and to show how important their leader was. He probably hunted these wolves himself, after all, what were a pack of grey wolves to a man who defeated Monstrous Nightmares in his childhood?

Sat beside her father there was a much, much smaller figure. Not only was she small, her back also showed curvature decay and frail bones behind it. Gothi held the scepter for help to walk and as an object to show who the healer and elder ones were. That woman had pure white hair as long as Hiccup could remember, maybe before she was even born. The elder was already an adult for the Berkians when Stoick was carried by Hiccup's grandmother's womb… There was no way to know her real age when she was probably the only one left from her generation. All those circumstances just made the tribe – Hiccup included – respect her more. Someone whom the gods let live for so long, her wisdom was to be trusted. She wasn't a seer though, and even if Hiccup wasn't particularly religious, she couldn't help but wonder, if the elder gave her eye for Odin's knowledge, what would she have to say about Toothless and their friendship?

Anyway, it didn't matter.

It was a Gronckle, great.

Except not great, Hiccup had to run from it, they had the nose of a hound or something, perhaps it could smell Toothless on her or something, cause it seemed to hunt her specifically. She agreed to stay out of its way, to stay out of Artichoke's way, anyone's way.

Her initial plan was to stay hidden, close to the walls the whole time, amongst with others who had no expectations of winning this year, the younger ones who would just be contempt with Gobber's word that they could fight next spring or stay for another year.

The Gronckle shattered those plans like glass, its zooming sound getting way too close, making the teens scatter across the arena, few places to hide in their final test. Hiccup would notice some odd stares and whispers at her, why did the new prodigy was hiding like a scared little kitten after weeks of developing confidence in the rink? But that was fine, that was expected; the real problem was her father's eyes. Pinning her amongst the other young Berkians, just like an eagle would identify its prey. Hiccup could only imagine the disappointment he was sinking on, seeing how the stories of her unexpected success at his arrival nothing was but that: stories. She couldn't face him back just yet. Or ever.

Thinking about this got her distracted and alone, while others ran, the Gronckle aimed for her and she had no time to think any further. Frozen, like on the very first day, she dropped her shield.

Hiccup wasn't exactly scared- she just stood there, unsure what to do next, until a shield was thrown right into the Gronckle's left eye, followed by a war shouting as Artichoke got the dragon's attention, running towards it, axe held high. Somehow, that seemed to make the girl even more frightened, rather than saved. In an instinct driven, thought-less reaction, Hiccup ran towards the dragon as well, bare-handed, and just for a fraction of a second, her husband's blue eyes diverted from his aim. Even so, he didn't stop, too far gone in his attack, but he didn't went for the kill either.

No, Artichoke could have buried his axe within the Gronckle's thick skin, the impact and the blade would make it gush blood and glory in front of them all and Although all the watchers, Hiccup herself included, thought it was just a calculation mistake, Artichoke only knew it wasn't. He wouldn't have missed it. And he hit it just enough to make the rock-like dragon fall.

Gobber broke the running thoughts and slow-motion scene that just happened in front of the Chief's daughter, pulling the Gronckle by putting a net above it, then pulling back to its cage. It had fall for long enough, though it was breathing still.

Even with the Berkians excited sounds and screams and revibrating sounds through the arena, she could only look at the near dragon slayer she would share a bed with for uncertain time now.

She couldn't tell. She couldn't tell why she ran after agreeing she'd let him. She couldn't tell why he missed it. And she couldn't stop staring him, ignoring the large body of a wounded (but not killed) dragon between them.

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Artichoke kept an eye contact with her, still barely holding his axe, a much-loosened grip. It had been more than the other lessons that morning – it hadn't been a lesson at all, it was a test. The test he was as ready to win as he was on the first day in that arena. And not only than aiming for the beast, but he was also competing with the others as soon as the gates to that rink opened.

"The Elder has decided!", Stoick's stern voice shushed all of their tribe's sheering, whispering, and booing. The boy standing in the middle of that wide circular killing arena looked up to his Chief. His father-in-law, soon to be mentor and part of the reason he was up in this mess with Hiccup. He seemed just as dumbfounded, but the posture and tone hided it well.

Gothi approached the chains of the near-roofless training area. She moved like the world was slower and it just made the attention in her decisions and gestures much bigger. He couldn't remember hearing her voice, even if she was the one to officialize his own wedding before the gods.

All teens lined up, side to side, cutting the arena on its middle and, as they did so, Gobber held his hook above each of the kid's head, moving on to the next every time Gothi would close her eyes or shake her head.

It was the same reaction when the hook was above Fishlegs, when it was above Ruffnut, above Tuffnut and many other younglings, but none seemed to be as upset or surprised about it as Snotlout. The hook continued as did her reaction, but Artichoke noticed the raven-haired boy murmur a vengeance promise towards him. Right, he still had that to fix.

A breath Artichoke didn't realize to be holding was freed after a too-long moment of tension when Gobber had his hook above Hiccup's head. The elder had to know of Hiccup's progress, had to have seen her improvement, had to have heard how others even thought it was a gods-given gift. And she couldn't have known about the Night Fury. Could she?

Gothi shook her head once again. Thank Odin.

Though there weren't many other warriors in training left, Gothi took her time when the hook was held above Artichoke's golden locks as well. She approved.

The crowd sheered altogether now.

A new warrior would be welcomed to their tribe and nobody dared to disagree with their elder's final word.

Artichoke left another breath, a less tense one.

The crowd was sheering, howling, clapping, intensifying sounds as they'd stomp and drum any solid surface near them. Just like he had done all the years before. He had won. He was the chosen one for this year's dragon killing training. And he couldn't help but smile, lift his axe in the approval, glory, and pride he felt showering over him.

Hiccup didn't share any of this when he looked at her, though. She was distressed, swallowing whatever thoughts she had, and he couldn't ask, as his peers united to congratulate him as well.