Disclaimer: I don't own How To Train Your Dragon or any of the associated characters or settings.
She was twelve and he was thirteen. It was the third dragon attack that week. They'd lost so many people, so many homes. Astrid wanted to help. She was exceling so much with her weapon training. She was top of the class. She thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn't let her fight. She should be fighting alongside her parents.
Astrid hadn't seen her parents since last night, but this wasn't the first time that had happened. It happened often. They had dragons to kill. They were fighting in a war that would never end. A war that one day she would also fight in.
Maybe today was that day.
The scream of a Night Fury plasma blast whistled through the air. She heard it hit. Night Furies never missed. There were screams in the village and she couldn't wait anymore. She grabbed her battle axe and ran outside. It was chaos – burning houses, broken bodies, the air thick with terror. A Deadly Nadder turned and flew straight for her. She was ready for it, ready to throw her axe in its face. Ready to kill her first dragon.
It was so close and her heart was pounding, blood hammering in her ears. Then everything was sideways as she was thrown out of the way.
"Astrid! Get back inside!" her mother yelled at her as she climbed to her feet and turned to face the Nadder.
But her mother was too slow and the Nadder was too fast. Astrid screamed in fury and fear as the Nadder swiped at her mother with its claws. She watched her mother fall to the ground. She watched the Nadder leave. The wounds were too deep, too big. Astrid tried to stop the bleeding, tried to stop her own tears. Her mother's last words to her were: The summer moments always pass quickly.
Astrid howled in grief. She picked up her battle axe and ran toward the nearest dragon. She couldn't even see for her tears. She threw the axe at whatever it was that was in her way. She howled and raged and fought against whatever it was that was holding her now. It took her a while to realize that it was a person and not a dragon. It was a small person with green eyes. In them she saw pity and sadness and worry. She hated all of those emotions. She hated that this person could feel all these things when all she could feel was rage and hatred and misery. She hated that he had stopped her from being killed by dragons. Her mother was dead and Hiccup had stopped her from joining her.
She glared at him. "I hate you," she hissed through clenched teeth.
She regretted it as soon as she said it. She hadn't meant it. She had never hated Hiccup. But a Viking doesn't take back her words. And even when his hands fell away from her and his eyes filled with hurt, she couldn't bring herself to apologize. A Viking never apologizes.