A/N: So your friendly author had three papers due this past week and no time for any Fun writing. Here, finally, is a chapter. I might put up another in the next 1-2 days. Notably, I've gone from switching POVs from chapter to chapter to just seamlessly integrating the swaps. Thought that was nice and symbolic, hope it makes sense to you all.

Snotlout won the tournament, but it came with less praise and attention than in years before; the Hooligans talked not about who'd competed but about who hadn't.

Astrid and Hiccup's privacy concerns might've been better served had they considered them before running off in front of all their friends and more than a few villagers. But, foresight rarely lends itself to passion. By the time they arrived back to Berk, the sun was receding behind the horizon line, people were beginning to gather in the Great Hall for the second night of festivities, and Snotlout was sitting on Hiccup's front steps with a sword across his lap and a terrible glower on his face.

"Snotlout," said Hiccup when he came upon his cousin, half-greeting, half-apprehensive exclamation (he'd had a few nightmares that started this way). He and Astrid had returned in strategic separation, but he nonetheless felt the eyes of passing Hooligans on his back. And Snotlout's eyes on his front. Specifically the neck area. That was sort of weird. Not good, he suspected.

Snotlout rose from the steps, frown twitching. Hiccup had to swallow the urge to back away—how many lunches and best toys had he given up to Snotlout's brutish intimidation over the years? Old habits, new Hiccup. He stood his ground.

"What's up, Snotlout?"

"Are you with Astrid?" Oh, great. This, already.

He cleared his throat and put on an innocent voice, scuffing his boot in the dirt. "What? Me and Astrid? She… You know that's never going to happen." His lips pursed, remembering the weight of Astrid's.

"She's kissed you. Twice." Snotlout was making an effort not to sound hurt, but a weakened pride snagged the end of his words. Hiccup felt a pang of guilt, though Astrid was not the Thawfest, which he'd thrown to appease Snot's ego: without an ego, what did Snotlout have? Patchy budding facial hair? He certainly hadn't turned out as tall as everyone had hoped.

"Well," said Hiccup, "What's kissing got to do with anything, really?"

"Everything," growled Snotlout, rightly.

But Hiccup shrugged, starting to slip past him into the house. "Some would say."

Suddenly, with a grunt, Snotlout slammed his sword into the earth, making Hiccup start. "You are with her."

Indignation flared within him—after all, what right did Snot even have to be upset? Astrid didn't belong to him, she had never reciprocated his advances, and after years of them! If anything, Astrid ought to be upset with Snotlout, not the other way around (though, as clear as she'd made her disinterest, he couldn't recall her ever insisting Snotlout stop; what was that?)—only now that Snot had to confront the possibility of Astrid being with someone else could he see he'd been rejected. Hiccup did not need to pity him for something that had happened years ago, even if he had only just realized it.

"It doesn't matter if I am," he snapped. Snotlout looked briefly surprised, then furious. "Astrid's life isn't any of your business. If it were, you'd be talking to her right now, and not me."

Something peculiar flashed in Snot's eyes and he ripped his sword from the ground, then stomped off wordlessly. Relieved, Hiccup collapsed against the house. That wouldn't be the last of Snotlout, he guessed, but in the meantime he could breathe. Now he thought, turning to go inside, if only he could avoid his father too.

He could not avoid his father. And Stoick was angry.

And Stoick yelled—they had fought more in two days than they'd fought in two years, it felt. You left the tournament, your people need to see you participate, everything you do shows what kind of chief you'll be one day and you don't want to be the kind of chief who runs off with a woman in the middle of the most important festival in years. Hiccup said what he'd said every time: don't I get some allowance for being young? Can't you remember when you were my age? All of it fell on deaf ears, and he started to suspect Astrid was right, that this was his father's dilemma projected on to him. But he couldn't understand what that projection meant for him and Astrid, for his faint understand of what his parents' marriage had been. His father left without letting them resolve anything, making Hiccup swear he'd attend the party that night.

Which Astrid would've dragged him to, anyway, if only because it gave them an excuse to spend time together without sneaking around. The euphoria of an incredible afternoon kept floating through her; she even sat on the steps to the Great Hall, waiting for Hiccup to appear in the spools of torchlight illuminating the path. And there he was—looking dour.

"Hi?" she asked, throwing him a puzzled glance.

"Hi," he echoed, and at once she knew he had fought with Stoick again. She could almost hear the big man's voice above the din of the feast behind her. "Say," he lowered his voice, "you want to ditch this and go for a night flight, or something?"

Astrid shook her head. "You're avoiding him, that's a bad idea, it'll only make things worse."

"Well, I—" he blustered, then plopped down on the steps beside her. "What else am I supposed to do? Every move I make is wrong. I go left, he says right. I stand up, he sits down." He raised his hands, a plea to Odin. "Are we actually related, is what I'm wondering."

"You're exaggerating," she told him gently.

"I am exaggerating," he agreed, "but it still feels like that, sometimes." Astrid bit her lip: she'd had an idea, but it seemed reckless, possibly insane, considering they didn't know exactly what Stoick's problem was—

"ASTRID!"

She spun around—Snotlout was tripping down the steps, sloshing mead down his front, drunk off his arse. She heard Hiccup groan, "For Odin's sake, not now."

"Snotlout?" Stifling a laugh, she got to her feet when he stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"What are you doing, Astrid?" seethed their intoxicated friend. "Look at him!" He gestured wildly at Hiccup, showering him with alcohol and spit. "YOU COULD SNAP HIM LIKE A TWIG!"

"Go home, Snotlout, or we'll dunk you in the well," she said simply. Hiccup was blushing.

"I've seen his manhood," Snot continued, his face blotched red, "it was like a little boy's! Granted, we were six, so I guess we were little boys, but it can't have—"

"SNOTLOUT," roared Hiccup, on his feet. Astrid nearly fell over. "Go home right now." She stared at his profile, ringed in firelight. For a moment he had sounded like someone else entirely—like his father, like Stoick.

Snotlout made a few spluttering sounds and glared at them. "All right, Chief," he spat, and stumbled off into the night.

They remained silent, staring at the spot where Snot had disappeared. Hiccup's face stayed contorted with anger, then began easing into annoyance, his brow worried. She wondered if any villagers had overheard the incident, or if they'd notice her reach out to touch him reassuringly. And then she did it anyway, putting a hand on his arm.

The gesture seemed to pull Hiccup from his furious daydream, and he gave her a weak smile. "Sorry."

"Did you put Snotlout up to that?"

"Of course not!"

"Then there's no reason for you to apologize."

Hiccup's mouth hung open, the tops of his ears going red. "I guess not." Astrid weighed what she was about to ask for a long time—longer than she typically weighed statements, at least. It was important. There were things he might misinterpret; he had so much trouble with the way people looked at him, sometimes. She could understand that.

"So," she began, "you know I don't care about—"

"You know what," said Hiccup loudly, starting up the stairs into the hall, "I think I heard Tuffnut reciting poetry. I wouldn't miss that for the world, would you, Astrid?" Pausing, he gave her a significant look. A look that didn't want to talk about manhood in any sense of the word.

Astrid frowned at him, but the look was so persistent—she shook it off, and went past him.

Behind her, Hiccup muttered something that sounded an awful lot like, "Not until we're married," and Astrid let out a violent snort. Well, well. There was a project.

That night, and the next five, flew by in a rapid successive pattern: a morning of gaming, an afternoon of eating, and an evening of drinking. Snotlout solidly ignoring both of them. Astrid knew they couldn't run off again, and Hiccup supposed he knew too, even if his submission to this wisdom was reluctant. He had entered those teenage years where compromising with his father's faults reeked of injustice. But Astrid, out of her element, did well as peacekeeper. They had their own ways of being stubborn.

So instead they stayed sober and slipped out around two or three when the booze started putting people to sleep, and went out to the unlit fire pit and kissed and talked. Hiccup heard all the stories she had to tell, like he'd wanted.

And Winter Nights was over. Which just left them with winter.

Not a week into the new season, Hiccup came back from his and Astrid's first mapping trip in nearly a year to find Stoick in the forge, hovering over his worktable. The fire crackled but Gobber had gone for the night, and Hiccup wondered how long his father had waited for him here.

"Son," he started softly. They had barely been speaking. Hiccup approached with caution.

"Hi, Dad." He hugged the brown leather book that held the map close to his chest; he had not had the heart to work on it with Astrid gone, this was its first outing in months.

Stoick cleared his throat, eyes trained on the fire, and retrieved a sheet of parchment tucked into his belt. "I received a letter today. From the Berserker tribe. An apology from Dagur the Deranged himself."

Hiccup's stomach dropped. It had been a year since he'd last seen Dagur, now—last thing he'd heard, the Berserker tribe had mutinied and put in a bloke called Karl as their new chief. "Dagur's back?"

"Aye," said his father slowly. "And he apologizes for the kidnapping of my heir." Wait. Something dawned on Hiccup. "Nowhere," Stoick added, a little louder, "does this letter mention the goddess Freya, or Astrid. No plan to build a temple in her honor. Nothing." For the first time, he met Hiccup's eye. It was not good. "What do you make of that, son?"

The deception seemed distant to Hiccup, committed for vague reasons related to pleasing Astrid. Now it would bite him.

"I'm sorry."

"You lied," breathed Stoick.

"I didn't mean—"

"A matter of politics, of war, of the tribe! And you lied, for—"

"They wanted to take Astrid, Dad!" Hiccup cried, with enough passion to quell Stoick's ranting for a moment—he had not heard this side of the story. "Ruffnut spread this rumor that we were together, and Dagur heard, and, and he thought if he took Astrid he could get to me, so she was nearly killed a bunch of times and it was my fault, they were hurting her because of me, except one time—one time I tried to step in and he actually got me too, so—"

"You lied to protect Astrid," Stoick said, inscrutable. He might've been remarking on the weather. Hiccup fell silent, heart in his throat. "I knew you were lying," he remarked, mostly to himself. "Astrid is involved and all of a sudden you're keeping things from me. Lying. Forgetting your duties. Compromising your integrity."

"I don't mean it that way," Hiccup whispered, not even sure if his father could here. Stoick moved to the window, where you could just make out the beacons burning in Hooligan Bay. The word integrity rang in his ears and he thought of Astrid touching him after he fought with Snotlout, how there had been something strange in her voice, of the way she spoke and moved when they were alone sometimes, I understand plenty was what she had said, of how he didn't want to disappoint her—

"You'll go to Berserker Island as an envoy and conduct the negotiations for a new peace treaty."

Face burning, he felt more sick than innocent. The prospect of seeing Dagur again struck him as far and away difficult enough for one punishment, but he sensed this was not all his father had to say on the matter. And Stoick went on,

"One day, Hiccup, you'll have to choose between your tribe and yourself." The moon had come out and it highlighted the newly silvered strands in Stoick's beard. "What you want and what your people need. It'll be hard enough as is. And harder if you start young."

What did that mean? That he was supposed to cut himself off from all kinds of personal fulfillment? "So you're saying," Hiccup did very little not to sound disgruntled, "that because I love her and I'd do anything for her, I shouldn't marry her. I should marry someone I love—less?"

"Having never been in a loveless marriage, I cannot recommend one, son." The chief's anger had dissipated, returned to some recessive pool to which Hiccup possessed special access. One of those father-son privileges you always hear about, except that Hiccup's involved getting screamed at in a heavy accent. "But." Stoick pulled a hammer from the forge wall and tested it in his hand. "Until you're ready to pay the bride price and set a date, stay away from the girl. She's said she'll marry you?"

Hiccup blushed. Marriage seemed like the least important of the things Astrid had promised him. And she was very good about keeping promises, he'd noticed. "Uh, well, yes? I guess?"

"Then why should you see her before the wedding night?" asked Stoick, an ice in his voice that Hiccup hadn't heard in years, since before he'd fought the Red Death.

His head shook reflexively. Unbelievable. His dad had changed, he was good now, he understood how Hiccup was different and what he needed.

"Because," he started, but he would not be able to explain why he should see Astrid. He couldn't communicate that it was Astrid who had convinced him to follow the Hooligan fleet to Dragon Island years ago, who had kept him from being helplessly beaten in front of the Berserk army, who persuaded him to build the sword that even Stoick found impressive. These were massive ideas, needing care and deconstruction; he didn't have time, no words came out.

"Then it's settled," said Stoick, swinging the hammer back up on the wall. "I'll speak to Phlegma to see if she can't help make things a little easier from Astrid's end."

"This is ridiculous, Dad."

"So marry her now."

Hiccup could not speak. Not enough time.

His father turned to leave. "As I thought. Goodnight, son."

The next morning, Astrid drove her axe into one of the few trees on their island, nearly felling it. "That is so ridiculous."

"I know," groaned Hiccup, from where he was prostrate on the ground, Toothless leaning over him curiously. "I know, bud, it's insane. My dad has lost it."

"Something is definitely up with him," Astrid announced to the half-dead tree. "He's seen me throw an axe and he still thinks the only thing I can do for you is bear sons. That's just… weird."

Hiccup started to pull himself up off the ground. "What if we just left?"

"What?"

"What if we ran away?" He went to her, nearly serious. "You, me, Toothless, Stormfly. Living off the land. Discovering new dragons. I'd never need to be chief. You'd never need to be the chief's wife. It'd be great, we could do whatever we want!"

"Snotlout would be chief," she observed dryly, but Hiccup only shrugged. Astrid chewed her lip and moved away from him, to get her axe out of the trunk. She murmured, "I want to be chief's wife one day. I'd probably want to be chief, if that were possible."

"We're not leaving," he said, agreeing with her implicit answer, but he still sounded as if he'd fly off at any minute, should Astrid change her mind. Hiccup had a restless streak, and she thought for the first time that it ought to frighten her—but no. He wasn't going anywhere. He might dream of far off places, but he would never leave Berk. She knew from personal experience that leaving only lead to coming back, when you had somewhere that was really home.

"Okay, fine," Astrid sighed, as if worn down after a long persuasion. "I'll talk to your dad!"

Hiccup tripped over an exposed root and tumbled into Toothless. "What?"

"I'll talk to him and set him straight, and then we can see each other again." Glancing at their surroundings, she added, "Non-secretly." She'd considered this option during Winter Nights, too, but had become too distracted by Snotlout's whining to give it total consideration. Now it seemed like the best and only option for them, like she'd been holding on to the storm-in-and-demand-justice-from-the-chief card for the whole game and had finally found the perfect round to play it. A gear had clicked into place. A switch had flipped on in her head.

"You can't do that, Astrid!"

She had started for Stormfly but he blocked her way, arms waving, making Astrid frown and dodge the gesticulating. "Why not?"

"Because my dad is the chief, and he's already angry, and he'll know that we've been spending time together when he just said we couldn't—"

"Hiccup, I could count on one hand the number of times your dad and I have said more than three words to each other." She waved a hand at him, as if to demonstrate. "So, he clearly doesn't really know me, or know what I'm capable of. And I'll show him." She pulled herself on to her dragon, Hiccup watching, somewhat stricken.

When she'd settled into her saddle, they locked eyes. His expression was grave.

"I can do it," she insisted.

After a long pause, Hiccup demanded, "And what if he says I can't marry you after all?"

Withholding her reply, Astrid leaned down and kissed him. "Then," she said, pulling away, "I'll run away as far as you'd like to go."