Wrong Impressions.
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was not much for balls. He disliked the staring crowds littered with purse seekers. He disliked the way that the formal attire restricted his movement, and the deafening music limited conversation. And he very much disliked having to politely refuse each and every dance partner thrown his way.
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III did not dance.
He did, however, enjoy spending summers traveling with his father. The young man was often plagued by an itch to see more and learn more. There was something about the way a new place looked for the first time from a carriage window or horse's back that filled him with a sense of purpose and fulfillment. That summer, in their travels, Hiccup's father had decided it was time to pay a visit to his brother in law in Berk, where Hiccup had not been for at least a decade.
So they let Slippery Cliffs in Berk, a cozy estate merely a stone's throw from his uncle's own. It was undecided how long they would stay, but of course, because they were staying, someone had proposed a ball.
Hiccup did everything he could to avoid it. He drove his father mad with his excuses not to attend. Since the loss of the boy's leg, Stoick had been lenient with his son. He rarely pushed him to attend social engagements, only occasionally pressed him to make new acquaintances or visit old ones. But his son was coming to the age where Stoick could no longer restrain himself from urging him into marriage. And so, on the subject of attending Spitelout Jorgenson's ball, the man would not be moved.
He hid in the fields until well past dark, riding and exploring his uncle's land. Hiccup knew his father would be looking for him, knew he'd be expected to parade through a never ending crowd of advantageous marriage seekers and their even more tenacious mothers. He sighed with the excitement of a fish being waved in front of a pack of wild cats, but led his horse to pasture and dismounted.
"Can't be put off any longer, Toothless," he muttered, petting the sleek black stallion's neck. "See you in the morning."
Rearranging his clothing with only the slightest semblance of care, Hiccup climbed the back steps to his uncle's estate and put his hand on the patio doorknob. Light from inside spilled from wide windows, and the sound of music and conversation murmured through the door. He took a breath to steel himself and then peeked inside. Various party-goers were positioned around the room, chatting and sipping at their punch, but none seemed to notice him. Relieved, he ran a hand through his hair and slipped inside.
It quickly occurred to Hiccup that perhaps he should have spent more time studying the layout of his uncle's home than learning the expanse of his acres. He was unsure where he'd entered from, where his father was, or how to get to him. He tried to remember the tour his cousin had apathetically given him the previous evening, but he failed to recall even a bit of the back rooms.
That's when his eyes fell on her— a Miss Hofferson, he learned after asking her for directions. She glowed like some angelic portrait, with porcelain skin and hair that glimmered like precious metals. Her blue eyes stared at him with polite suspicion, but Hiccup couldn't keep from smiling despite himself. After finding his father and receiving a sound scolding for the state of his attire, he meant to begin his usual habit of finding someplace quiet to think. However, after a few moments of wandering, he found himself being pulled back to that back room to see if the young lady remained.
She didn't. There was a flash of disappointment that he quickly stifled, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on it. He passed through a few more crowded rooms, receiving more than one curious glance, but soon decided that it was better off he not find her anyways. In his experience, the ladies fair enough to draw his attention were either already married or politely dull.
And so he set about searching for his quiet space. In a way that seemed almost like fate, when Hiccup located a corner room away from the pressing crowds and deafening music, the lovely Miss Hofferson appeared.
She sat in a window seat, her expression deeply thoughtful. It couldn't be helped— he suppressed a smile at the sight of her. They engaged in light conversation, exchanging a sort of banter that he found surprisingly refreshing. Though she'd seemed like the picture of a fine lady when he'd first laid eyes on her, she slouched against the window and revealed a splendidly acerbic wit. It disarmed him so much that he found himself confessing his crippled state within minutes.
And then, she'd narrowed those pretty blue eyes and accused him of sneaking into his own ball. The thought itself was hilarious, but it revealed what he'd suspected from the beginning— she had no idea who (or rather, whose son) he was. Half of him savored the anonymity, wanting to spend the rest of his night under the ruse she accused him of. But the other half wanted to surprise her, to catch her off guard. She was bound to discover his identity by the end of the evening, so he grinned and leaned forward.
"Do you really want to know?" he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper as if in confidence.
Her slender fingers, which had been playing absently with a ribbon from her dress, fell still. Her gaze turned scrutinizing, and she nodded. When she did that, her lips pursed just so, and Hiccup found himself almost distracted by the sight. He regained his focus and introduced himself.
"My name is Hiccup Haddock. My father is Lord Stoick of Chiefly Rock."
In the young lady's defense, she did manage to quickly shut her mouth, which had fallen open at his father's name. He couldn't fight back a little chuckle, but his amusement waned when he watched her suddenly straighten. Like she'd been pulled taut by puppet strings, her back straightened, her chin leveled, and she rearranged her position with flushed cheeks. The sincerity in his smile faded.
"I apologize, sir, I didn't realize," she blurted, nodding her head in respect.
Hiccup hesitated, and then held out an uncertain hand. "Please. I was enjoying our conversation. It would please me greatly if we could continue speaking without formalities."
He observed her face as she searched his. The young lady seemed torn between his request and what propriety dictated. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. "What were we discussing?" she breathed, the shock not yet completely draining from her features.
"Balls," he reminded her, raising his brow encouragingly. "You suggested that men invented them for purchasing purposes—"
She winced.
"—and I countered that it must have been the females who evaluate the gentlemen as providers and cheque-writers." Hiccup tilted his head and tried to find that wit that had entertained him so much just moments ago. "To which you replied that I was bitter. And I insisted that it was you, Miss Hofferson, the one plagued by bitterness."
The blush didn't fade from her cheeks, but the cutting glint was returning to her gaze. It proved to be an enticing mixture of expressions. "You assured me I've no need to be bitter," she began slowly, her tongue attempting to find traction on the retort. "Because you've merely been saving me the stress of a rather… wooden performance."
Hiccup had to chew on the corner of his lips to hide his mirth from her. Yes, this Miss Hofferson certainly had no trouble stepping on toes. Or lack-thereof.
"Ah. Yes, there was that." He leaned back and stretched an arm over the back of his chair. "Though, it's not the stress of my performance I was sparing you, but the unfortunate heartbreak sure to ensue."
"Oh?" Her eyes widened with feigned naivete. "One dance, and I'm bound to fall in love with you? Is that it?"
"Of course. Why do you think I'm back here?" He gestured up and down his body. "The young ladies can't help themselves around all… this."
Her eyes raked down his figure, and he knew what she saw. A gangly young man in wrinkled breeches, likely covered in horse hair, his wooden leg propped out and stiff. The edges of her mouth curled slightly, though, and he suddenly worried that he'd be the one to break out in a girlish blush.
"Well, if that's your curse, why not marry one of them and end their suffering?" she inquired, her gaze returning to his face.
"Unfortunately, I find myself incapable or returning their sentiments," he sighed with a shrug. "That would be my real curse." For a moment, he considered swallowing the words on the tip of his tongue. They felt almost too genuine, too real for this artificial environment. But the way the young lady observed him, with a shrewdness bereft of judgement or deceit, pressed him into it. "I'll only settle into marriage for love. And of that, I've come to find my relationships considerably lacking."
Her expression turned unreadable. She sat back just slightly. "Yes, I'd suppose that's a luxury someone of your status could afford."
Hiccup blinked, taken aback by the implication of her words. Furrowing his brow with just a little irritation, he gestured at her. "Just who exactly are you, Miss Hofferson?" At his question, her lips became tight and displeased. "Your clothing is fine, so you're not impoverished. You hold your own in conversation, so you're not stupid. And I think we can both agree that you are possibly the least unattractive of the guests in attendance tonight."
He watched a flash of surprise cross her lovely face. Narrowing his gaze at her, he finished, "So how is it that you remain unmarried, if the fact doesn't remain that you are waiting for something as well?"
She seemed indignant. It dawned at him that he was possibly cutting too close to the edge of her patience, but it was her honesty he found himself craving. Her sincerity.
"If I'm correct, Snotlout Jorgenson is a relation of yours."
Hiccup nodded slowly. "My cousin."
The Hofferson girl folded hands on top of her knees in a way that somehow communicated her vexation to him. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but it's been implied in more ways than one that he means to ask for my hand."
His brows shot up at that. He'd overheard his uncle telling his father about a girl that Snotlout had his eye on, but he'd never have suspected the sharp-tongued Miss Hofferson as the subject of his cousin's interest. Though, after a second look at her obvious beauty and attractive confidence, he could clearly see how she'd earned it. "And? The way you speak, I must infer you don't have strong feelings for him. Will you accept his proposal anyway?"
She suddenly rose to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I believe I hear my mother calling for me."
She started away, but he stood in protest. "Let's be honest here, Miss. Is this ball for my cousin's evaluation of you, or yours of him? Are you a thoroughbred or a purse chaser?"
His words seemed to crack like a whip against her back— it pulled as straight as an arrow. Turning on her heel, she came to stand just inches from him. The invasion of his personal space was discomforting, but in a rather exciting way. His pulse quickened.
"You speak of hypocrisies," she hissed through her teeth. "Since mine are so easily spotted, let's delve a little deeper. Humans are all hypocrites anyways, so let's discover yours." Her eyes had gone from calm lakes to hard sapphires, sharp enough to wound. "Is it that you like playing with party guests? Hiding your nobility for the secret pleasure of watching us common people make utter asses of ourselves? Or is that you condemn us for our balls and our frivolity, free to enjoy the luxury of sitting against the wall and pitying the misfortune of your sex?"
Hiccup found himself tempted to take a step back from her intensity, but she wasn't done. She all but closed the space between them, her contempt filling the last centimeters that separated their chests.
"Or, good sir, is your hypocrisy that you swear off marriage without the condition of love, and yet you skulk away from the dance rooms? Rooms full of girls waiting to be swept off their feet by somebody whose purse they don't have to chase!" Her soft bangs swept into her eyes. The ire that lit her face was oddly exquisite— she'd turned from an angel to a harpy, and yet he found her no less desirable.
He tried not to glare. "My leg—"
"Is not as much of an excuse as you'd like it to be, is it?" Her question stabbed through him. "Because yes, you can beg off dancing with a wooden leg, but you can't very well use it to avoid falling for a woman who could be eyeing your money, could you? You can protect your pride with it, but not your heart."
With that, she gave him one final, piercing glower and tore away. The soft white fabric of her gown fluttered behind her, and Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was left gaping in the aftermath of the hurricane that was Astrid Hofferson.