AN: Part 4 of 4. Trigger warning: blood, violence, abuse, mild gore.

She was twenty-four and he was twenty-five. Her sleep had been plagued with blood and violence, realities that were not altogether unfamiliar to Astrid. But it was different when she wasn't inflicting; it was different when she wasn't receiving. It was different when she'd been forced to stand idly by and watch. She'd been weaving since dawn, a mindless, repetitive set of motions. Over and under, over and under, again and again and again. Reliving last night in her mind was her latest form of torture.

It was her fault. It was Astrid's fault. She hadn't acted quickly enough. She hadn't trusted her own eyes. Because it had been almost two months of this. Two months alone here. Two months of fists and kicks; two months of threats; two months of teetering the edge of his patience. The last time he'd hit her, Astrid had seen stars and the look that had crossed his face had been inhuman. A feral rage that pushed at the edges of what little humanity he had. If it was just her, she'd push him over the edge.

There was movement in her womb, a sharp kick to her bladder to remind her that she wasn't alone. Dying wasn't an option. That last time she'd pushed him, he'd taken up his sword, his free hand buried in her hair, and wrenched her to her feet, her head still swimming. The flat of the blade had struck her lower back with enough force to bring tears to her eyes, the instance of stinging morphing into a deeper, lasting pain. He'd breathed heavy, snarling breaths against her ear, his sour gasps turning her already queasy stomach.

"You do enjoy testing me, my dear. Remember that the child means nothing to me. Less than nothing."

Astrid hadn't been able to see him then, but she knew it was a lie. It was she who was less than nothing. He wanted the child. She didn't know why, or even how she knew, but she knew. As always, she pushed the words out.

"I'm not your anything."

The guards had taken her back to her chambers then and she'd tried, once again, to think of a way out of here. But, it had been months and Hiccup was dead. Berk was miles upon miles away. She was in no fit state to sail and she had no dragon. Maybe when the child was born, maybe then… There was a part of her that knew that her life was tethered to the child's and the more she drove that man to the edge, the more likely she was to overstay her welcome in the fort. He suffered her disobedience with an iron fist, except more often than not, he was tolerant of her. More often than not, she acquiesced to his word. He hadn't tried to bed her and hadn't allowed anyone else to either. Some small part of her was grateful for that kindness. Somewhere in her heart, the shield maiden swore and seethed that she should be grateful for common decency. Still, Astrid was grateful.

She hadn't expected to see him again, not that night. His tolerance had limits and she'd pushed him to those limits – generally that meant he'd leave her for the night. He'd try again in the morning, probably bearing some small gift – honey or mutton or a fruit she'd never seen before. There would be a hostile peace until the next time. There was always a next time. So when the door was flung open and three guards entered, Astrid had been surprised. They'd spoken to her in their strange tongue, but she knew enough to understand their meaning. Come with us, they said in their own language. Her hand had rested against the obvious swell of her belly – less than three months left, she was in no fit form to fight them. Her heart had raced, her limbs energized, blood coursing rapidly through her veins. If he wanted to see her a second time tonight, then perhaps this was it. Perhaps it was time to reunite with those lost to Valhalla. In a way, the idea comforted her. The child wouldn't fall into his hands. She wouldn't fall into his hands. She would see Hiccup again.

The guards had led her down several sets of stone stairs, cold still from the chill of early spring. Astrid tried to picture Berk at this time of year, snow still heavy on the rooftops, stubborn sprouts forcing their way through hard ground. Even the plants of Berk were made of sterner stuff. She could face the end with defiance and bravery. It would be what she'd expected throughout her life – or at least until she'd settled into the complacency of Hiccup's Berk. Peaceful and safe and warm. Like his smile, gap-toothed and brilliant, green eyes flashing with intelligence. Hic had those eyes, but they flashed with a brightness more akin to hers. Gods, she missed them both so horribly. She missed Berk. She missed her life.

A door had swung open and Astrid's mouth had fallen open. There, on a chair in the centre of the room, was a man. He raised his head, dried blood at the corner of his mouth, his right eye swelling shut, and gave Astrid a cocky grin.

"Found you," he wheezed between swollen lips.

"Eret," she whispered.

He'd made her watch the interrogation. Blow by blow, fists and lashings, two broken fingers. He gave them nothing but his signature cocky grin, a mocking laugh and the occasional scream of pain. The guards had held her, but she had seen the look on that man's face. His tolerance level was already piqued because of her. He'd kill Eret.

Although she hadn't needed to in so long – she'd been resigned not to – Astrid was sent into action. Her foot found the back of the knee of the guard in front of her, sending him off balance as she wrenched on his shoulder and landed her knee in his groin, pushing him into the second guard. It was enough to break free; enough to throw herself in front of the lash that landed painfully on her raised arm. Her eyes had burned with blue flames and that man had smiled at her. Because he preferred it when she fought him. He delighted in it.

Astrid lowered her arm, knowing that it was dangerous to do so, knowing that he could knock her out the way with the flick of his wrist. Knowing that it was likely, given their earlier interlude.

"He won't tell you a thing," she said, her voice surprisingly strong, "That's what loyalty is."

He huffed in amusement and lowered his arm to his side, the leather snaked around her arm cutting in and dragging against her raw skin, blood weeping through linen. She wasn't sure if it was hers or Eret's.

"Loyalty to a dead chief? How nostalgic."

Eret's words had been quiet and wet, his mouth bleeding and tongue swollen. "He's alive."

Astrid knew the message was for her, not him, but he'd heard it nonetheless.

"Alive?" he asked. He laughed and it was louder and larger than Astrid had ever heard before. Not his wheezing chuckle that she'd grown so used to hearing, something more – something manic. He crossed the room in long strides, his cold hand gripping her chin with too much force forcing her to look into watery eyes, crazed eyes.

"Make him talk, my dear. Make him talk or I will make him suffer."

He let go of her, pushing her backward with just enough force that she stumbled against Eret's knee. Astrid whirled around, dropping to her knees and looking up at Eret imploringly.

"Tell him, Eret."

Eret focused on her with bloodshot eyes. His brow had come down and he gave her the tiniest shake of his head.

"Have you—have you talked to him?"

"Messages," he wheezed out upon a weak breath.

"How?"

"Terrors."

She whispered her words so soundlessly that she was sure he couldn't hear. "That's enough."

Eret let out a shaking breath. "Hiccup's alive, Astrid."

That room was no place for smiles, but Astrid couldn't help hers. It felt foreign on her face; the muscles aching from disuse.

But that was yesterday and Astrid had no way of knowing whether Eret still lived. He had promised her in an act of unadulterated kindness to spare Eret. Then he'd taken a lock of her hair and a lock of Eret's and had Eret call the Terror. Astrid had watched the tiny dragon fly toward Berk, shrinking into a speck on the darkening horizon, from the small window of her chamber. Hiccup would come for her and she wasn't sure if that was better or worse than being alone here.

Weaving had never been something that Astrid had taken joy in practicing, despite her mother's insistence that even warriors needed to know how to make clothing, weave blankets, run a household. She'd asked for the loom on a whim, after being tired of sitting in her room and waiting to be summoned for abuse. She'd thought about what she could craft – a rope, a net, something to help her escape – but her talent was limited. She'd made three blankets. She was halfway through another, just from this morning. Her fingertips were red and calloused, aching from the constant contact with the threads.

Astrid was nervous and nervousness didn't suit her. Her stomach flipped with every sound she heard in the halls. Her eyes were constantly flicking to the window. Hiccup – if he was alive as Eret had claimed – would come for her, wouldn't he? Unless… Unless he wasn't able to come for her. Shouldn't he have come weeks ago? Why would he send Eret, of all people? Why would Hiccup leave her here for so long? A cold jolt of dread settled in Astrid's stomach as another option became apparent. Her fingers tightened on the thread, weaving with newfound fervour, as though that could keep the thought from manifesting; as though that could stop the reality of the situation.

Hiccup was dead. Hiccup was dead and Eret had been sent by someone else to rescue her. He was never meant to be caught and when he was, he'd lied in order to buy them time. Hiccup wasn't coming for her after all. Someone was, but it couldn't be Hiccup. Because he'd be here by now, with his Alpha dragon. He'd have come for her already. Her fingers stilled on the loom and for the first time since the night she'd been brought to this room, she cried for reasons other than physical pain. Unshed tears burned her eyes, her breath hitching violently. Hiccup was dead. A sound filled her ears, ugly and desperate and wrenching. It took her a moment to realize that it was her own anguish. She'd seen him fall and separated from Toothless, how could he have survived? Eret's presence was the strange affirmation that her worst fears had been realized.

Palms pressed against her sticky, tear-drenched face, Astrid curled into herself on her stool. Despair was a lasting thing this time, clinging to her core and twisting her heart. She wanted to stop the tears, to pull herself together and put on that brave face again, but for what? To return to a Berk without Hiccup? To raise his children alone? To act as chief in his stead, until Hic was old enough? Even Astrid wasn't brave enough to face that future.

When the tears had ceased, when Astrid felt like she had no more to give, she lay in her bed feeling numb and hopeless. She closed her eyes and dreamed of a boy with a dragon and a heart of gold; she dreamed of a man with a stubborn brow and a will of iron; she dreamed of Hiccup. In those dreams, Astrid heard a familiar, whistling sound – a sound that once struck fear into her heart; a sound that later filled her heart with joy; the sound of an approaching Night Fury. It was a sound she was beginning to think she'd never hear again. The sound was followed by an explosive burst so realistic that it shook Astrid awake. As her eyes blinked open, she became aware of shouting in the hallways, of the familiar sounds of a torrent of dragonfire.

Hiccup. It was the first thing she thought when she sat up in her bed. Astrid closed her eyes, her skin tight and unforgiving, her mouth tacky from her earlier tears. It couldn't be Hiccup. He was dead. But there certainly was someone riding a Night Fury out there. There was another high-pitched whistle followed by a blast that shook the foundations, raining dust down from the ceiling. The thundering sound of boots against stone echoed through the hallway as Astrid hurriedly pulled herself from the bed. There were more blasts of dragonfire, shaking the edifice, crumbling its structure with shuddering accuracy.

The door swung open and her captor stood in the doorway, his thin smile stretching his face grotesquely.

"Come along, my dear," he said, his voice high-pitched and excited, "He's come for you."

His hand closed around her arm, vice-like and unyielding, as he dragged her from the room. The hallway was alight with activity, soldiers pushing past them, shouting in their alien language. Astrid struggled against his grip, pushing the heel of her hand against his clutching fingers. She tried to plant her feet and pull away, but he gave her a quick wrench forward.

"I would think you'd be happy to see your husband," he quipped.

"You're insane if you think he's actually alive. Eret lied to you."

His footsteps faltered but only for a second. He gave his reedy chuckle and continued dragging her down the hall. "There's a Night Fury," he said, as though it gave all the explanation that she needed.

"Other people can ride Toothless."

He spun her and slammed her back into a wall, another squadron of soldiers rushing past them. Her breath caught with the impact and his beady eyes locked on hers. He shook her once.

"Then why haven't they come sooner? Why would they wait? No. Your husband is very much alive and I am very much interested in what lengths he'll go to in order to save his wife and child."

"I'd rather die than let you near him," Astrid spat.

He smiled, again thin and grotesque. "It may come to that, my dear. It may come to that."

They were moving again, Astrid tripping over her own feet as he sent her launching through the doorway of his chambers. It was a room with which Astrid was well acquainted from many torturous days spent in his company. The view through the large windows of the room allowed Astrid to watch the maelstrom of fire as Berk's dragon riders assailed the encampment, storming against the remnants of Drago's army. He took his place behind his desk, steepling his fingers in front of him, a look of demonic glee on his face.

Astrid kept her attention on the well-coordinated attack of the fort. The strategy was familiar, albeit more recklessly brazen than ever before. Her heart swelled as she allowed herself to hope. Remembering her detestable companion, Astrid frowned. His army was struggling against Berk's forces and he was doing nothing when in the past he had such brilliant strategies.

"Why aren't you directing your forces?" she murmured into the window.

He huffed, amused. "My dear Astrid, why would I?"

She looked at him over her shoulder. "You're mad."

He grinned at her. "Admittedly, taking you had never been in the plan, but it was hard to walk away from such a consolation prize once the main treasure had been," he paused to widen his grin, "eliminated."

Astrid blinked at him as his objective became clear for the first time. He didn't want to win. Having Hiccup storm the fort was winning.

"You wanted Hiccup," she whispered.

He laughed, light and wheezing. "You can hardly fault me that."

Astrid shook her head. "You won't have him."

A rattling at the door handle drew Astrid's attention. It was followed by a series of thumps and the sound of muffled voices. She'd been so intent on those sounds that she'd failed to notice when he'd slipped up behind her, the edge of his blade cold and sharp against her throat, his free hand crushing her bicep.

"We shall see, my dear," he breathed in her ear, "We shall see."

There was the tell-tale sound of a plasma blast building before the door flew into the room, the hinges splintering. Two familiar faces flooded into the room.

"She's here!" Tuffnut hollered behind him.

Snotlout gave her a worried glance before turning a scathing glare upon her captor, who pressed his blade against her throat even tighter. Astrid's heart raced and her eyes burned as a familiar figure walked into the room. His armour had been freshly updated and Astrid could see where the adjustments had been made – hastily - to enhance the fit. He was thinner than he should be, but her eyes locked on the metal foot – new and shining and altered again – and she knew it was him. He hadn't removed his mask; he hadn't spoken. Astrid's sigh of relief – a sigh she'd been carrying and holding for almost two months – escaped as a whimper as Toothless pushed his head through the door. Hiccup's hand rested on the dragon's head and he murmured something. Toothless looked up at his friend, large emerald eyes clearly not in agreement with whatever it was that Hiccup had said. Toothless built his blue glow from within and stood firmly in the doorway. If Astrid had to guess, she would say that Hiccup had asked the dragon to leave his side. Toothless clearly wasn't taking the order.

Hiccup turned back to them and cocked his head. That man's breathing had increased in frequency and pace. She heard him chuckle into her hair, ecstatic about Hiccup's presence.

"Your army will lose," Hiccup said.

Astrid's eyes rolled shut at the sound of his voice, the balm to all the pain and hardship she'd endured without him. Hiccup.

"I can build another."

"Not if you're dead!" Snotlout shouted.

"Yeah! Not if you're dead!" Tuffnut agreed, shaking his sword at her captor.

Astrid stared at Hiccup, who stood calmly by the door, his helmet still in place. There was a tense moment where the hand on her arm tightened and she winced. It sent Hiccup's shoulders back, his stance tightened.

"Let Astrid go," he said, his voice flat and even.

Her captor snorted into her hair, his rank breath on her neck. For a moment, Astrid thought he'd decided to comply as the blade came away from her throat, but a quick twist of his wrist had the point resting on her belly. All three Berkians started when Astrid gasped and flinched, her teeth catching her bottom lip and holding it, her eyes pleading with Hiccup. Because she knew he would do it. He'd been threatening for weeks and now Astrid and her baby were little more than bargaining chips in whatever larger game he had planned.

Toothless lowered himself to the ground, growling.

"Ah, get your beast under control, Dragon Master. I wouldn't want anything to happen to the baby if I'm startled."

"Hold, Toothless," came the quite response. Toothless retained his aggressive stance, but ceased his growling.

Hiccup walked toward them with balanced steps, his hands empty and palms open at his side.

"I'll tell you one more time: Let Astrid go."

"I see no reason to release my hostage until I get what I want."

The point of the blade pierced through the fabric of her overdress, pricking the skin of her belly. Astrid shifted against him, trembling with effort to stay still. Astrid swallowed and looked to Hiccup. If the blade had still been at her throat, she would have attempted escape. She wouldn't risk the baby.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hiccup replied, not sounding sorry at all.

At this close distance, Astrid could make out Hiccup's eyes through his helmet. He held her gaze and tilted his head ever so slightly to her right. She mirrored his movement as his hand fell to his right side, Inferno blazing to life and whipping past her head, the heat of flames singeing her hair and blistering her skin, the blade at her belly piercing her skin gently before falling uselessly to the ground. The body behind her began to slump, his dead hand tight around her arm. Hiccup reached out to pry those unwanted fingers away, tugging her out of harm's way and tight against his lithe body. The scent of burnt flesh filled the room and Tuffnut rushed past them to retrieve the blade.

Astrid was still reeling from the shock of what had just happened, her fingers curling around Hiccup's thin arms. Thinner than usual. With shaking fingers, Astrid pushed the helmet from Hiccup's face. His face was gaunt, tighter than it should be, an angry red scar marring the right side of his face. But his smile, small and constricted, and his eyes, as green as spring growth and nakedly readable, watching her worriedly – those were Hiccup. Her fingers traced the edge of his face and he closed his eyes under her touch, releasing a shuddering breath.

"Took you long enough," she whispered.

"I was laid up for a while," he replied with a wry grin.

Astrid leaned back to take inventory. "At least you're not missing anything this time."

Hiccup's hand ghosted her hair. "Only the most important thing," he breathed, "But I have you back now."

Astrid smiled and this time she didn't even try to stop it.

"Shall we go, milady?"

Astrid glanced back at the body on the ground, one eye missing and the other vacantly staring at the failing ceiling. Her ire piqued, the only regret she had was that it hadn't been her hand that had slayed him; that she hadn't the chance to repay all his kindnesses.

"Astrid."

Hiccup's voice was gentle, his fingers tenderly running along her bloodied sleeve. She turned back in time to catch his furrowed brow and the angry set of his mouth. She remembered how she'd come to have those wounds, those stains.

"Eret," she said.

Her voice broke Hiccup from his fixation. "Already taken care of. Ruff's got him."

Astrid snorted. "I'm sure he's thrilled."

Hiccup gave her a sideways grin and caught her hand in his. "Let's get out of here."

Astrid nodded, following him to Toothless and settling on the dragon's back behind Hiccup.

"Alright, bud. Let's finish this and get out of here."

Astrid's arms tightened around Hiccup's waist, her cheek resting on his back, reassuringly solid beneath her. She closed her eyes when Toothless started to run, unwilling to look upon these cold, stone walls any longer. Beneath her legs, she could feel Toothless heating up, ready to release Hel fire upon anyone in their way. She was comforted by Hiccup's steady breathing, by his sharp directions, and even by the resounding roar of Toothless as he commanded the dragons. She opened her eyes only when the chill of the night air hit her face and she felt the lift of Toothless' flight. As the world below grew smaller and smaller, Astrid watched the tenements burn, she watched the Bewilderbeast wreaking icy havoc.

"A Bewilderbeast?" she asked.

"Drago's. It wouldn't leave Berk."

"Will it be back?"

Hiccup shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I doubt it. He and Toothless don't really get along."

He sat upright, his hands busy with something in front of him. Twisting, he handed her a fur cloak. Astrid wrapped it around her shoulders gratefully.

"It's a long ride home," Hiccup offered.

"And longer still to sleep," Astrid mumbled against his back, the furs warming her into drowsiness.

Hiccup's hand closed over her clasped hands around his waist. "You can rest, Astrid. I won't let you fall."

Astrid smiled against him, breathing in the scent of his leather armour and the cold freshness of the cloudy night. The scent of freedom.

"I always knew you wouldn't."