.
THE CHARIOTS
Hiccup has been mucking out stables since he was big enough to hold a pitchfork, not that it helped his muscles much. His prep team spent his entire hideously embarrassing makeover making faces at each other when they thought he wasn't looking; Hiccup knows they were probably just disappointed to be assigned to such a scrawny nobody, but he wouldn't be surprised if they could smell manure on him. It's not like he was happy to be there, either. Even shoveling manure sounds delightful compared to listening to twittering Capitol gossip for that long.
(At least that's finished for now, and he's dressed again, which is pretty great, comparatively speaking. Not being naked! Hooray! The luxuries of the Capitol are amazing him already.)
Hiccup stands awkwardly by the District 10 chariot, watching the attendants hitching up team after team of ridiculously beautiful horses. His fingers itch to stroke their velvety noses. Maybe he could talk quietly to them, make one last connection with something alive and friendly.
Maybe he could get his skull kicked in before he ever sets foot in the Arena.
Hiccup isn't in a huge hurry to die his inevitable gruesome death. But he does have a way with horses. Even Astrid would admit that. His partner is already in the chariot, gripping the rail a little too tightly. Her knuckles are showing white, but otherwise she seems grimly composed and calm.
If only he had a tenth of her confidence. Hiccup feels ridiculous in his parade costume, which tackles the "livestock" theme by being all leather and fur with an enormous horned helmet. It's probably supposed to make him look barbaric and dangerous, but the effect in his opinion is just top-heavy and pathetic. He feels like an underfed steer being taken to slaughter.
Astrid, of course, looks magnificent. Her golden hair is braided down her back, crowned with a helmet like his, but somehow the powerful horns don't look out of place on her. She wears her leather and furs like a barbarian queen about to ride off to war, standing proud and strong and beautiful in the chariot. Hiccup can already imagine the comparisons she'll draw to last year's victor. At this rate, District Ten is going to get a reputation for producing tough, dangerous blondes.
At least she'll draw the crowd's attention off Hiccup.
The other tributes are arriving and climbing into their own chariots, now. Hiccup reluctantly gives up on the horses and takes a look at his fellow tributes. He's not the worst-dressed, at least. The giant headlamps on the District Twelve tributes make Hiccup's helmet look subdued and tasteful, and the brother and sister from District Five are peering out of silvery glass bubbles that are probably meant to evoke lightbulbs, but remind Hiccup more of ancient pictures of space travelers from before the war. They're still better off than the Career tributes from Four, draped in glittering nets; they look about one stiff breeze away from completely losing their dignity.
As Hiccup steps up into his chariot, a bright flash of color catches his eye. The chariot in front of theirs is from District Nine, and the boy tribute looks barely old enough to be here, poor kid; but it's the girl's costume that makes Hiccup's jaw drop. Her abundant yellow hair has been braided and woven, just like a straw basket, into the shape of a gleaming cornucopia. It curves up and over her head, spilling over with a cascade of artificial flowers and golden grain.
She's managing to smile and hold her chin high, but her jaw is clenched, and the tension in her slim neck and shoulders is visible from yards away. There's got to be some kind of support frame inside all that braided hair, not to mention the wads of stuff they've shoved into it; the whole design must weigh a ton.
"Wishful thinking," Astrid says, grimly. Startled, Hiccup glances at his district partner. She's watching the District Nine girl, too.
"It's not like she'll get anywhere near the Cornucopia," she says, with a roll of her eyes. "They're just making her look even smaller and weaker than she is." Hiccup stares at his partner, and Astrid actually colors slightly under his reproachful gaze and looks away. "What?" she mutters. "She can barely stand up in that thing."
Is that pity in Astrid's voice? Sympathy? Or is Hiccup just thinking wishfully, too? The great doors swing open, and the roar of the crowd outside washes over them like a storm, deafening and clamorous and wild, drowning out his chance to reply. Hiccup grips the chariot rail, squares his shoulders, and manages not to wince at the sudden blare of the national anthem as the first chariot rolls out into the crowded streets.
It'll be over soon enough.