Please enjoy.

Berkian Eddur - 1

Becoming Lífþrasir

Day 4

Evening

Heather was really tired, and her poor Clover was going to collapse, but by the time they arrived in Berk, they realised from the beehive of activity that something – something big – had gone down.

"Oh, no, don't tell me we missed the fun," Cami moaned. They had reunited with the Bog Burglar heir while they flew in towards Berk, together with half a dozen fighters from Freezing. Heather didn't know what difference they would make, but she hoped they'd at least make a dent larger than the heirs had made last time.

"And Bloodthirst was all primed up for battle, too!" Heather's eyes rolled skywards involuntarily. Asgard, she loved her husband, she really did, but sometimes he was so melodramatic she almost clobbered him. And really, he couldn't think of a better name than that for their wedding axe? She wasn't sure if she should laugh or feel insulted.

"I swear, if Hiccup started the party without us, there's going to be Hel's wrath to pay!" Cami bellowed, echoed by her Bog warrior women. Cami had, against advisement, told everyone who Hiccup was. Heather wished she could reach over and choke the woman; subtlety and strategy were not her strong suits, apparently. Heather was never happier that she hadn't been born a stubborn Viking. At least she knew the Bog women knew how to keep a secret better than any other when it benefited them.

"If the battle came to Berk, there was little he had to do with it," Heather said, trying to spare the poor man any embarrassment Cami was ready to dole out, not to mention unnecessary rowdiness to add to this mayhem. As they landed, Heather looked worriedly at her poor Clover, momentarily distracted by the grateful gargle her nadder made; they had come from Freezing with no stops, after only a few hours of sleep as they went all over the island with the Chief, who was preparing for winter and had little mind for anything else. They had been lucky that Thuggory had convinced him to spare five warriors in the name of diplomacy and keeping the treaty with Berk. But at least, for all that, their fighters were riders; five more trained dragons could make a difference.

Cami and her Bog sisters dismounted Sting, who curled up with a hiss. Apparently, her dragon wasn't the only one who was tired – not a good thing. Still, Clover seemed to have blustered up some energy somewhere as a familiar blue naddar came up, initiating the greeting dance.

"Hoy! Welcome back!"

Heather slyly watched Cami's grin go wider as the male Thorston twin trotted up, shirt helpfully removed as he lugged a few planks around.

"You missed the party." His grin got bigger as Cami's sank to her boots. Heather could have slapped herself in the face. "We had a massive dragon raid. Some of the old folk are calling it the biggest one in the history of Berk since Madguts the Horrible chased out the terror colony in the mountains."

Cami let out a long wail. "Where there explosion?!"

"Like you wouldn't believe! Look at that, our hall is still smoking, and the Great Hall got a couple of holes in it! But then we whipped out this awesome strategy Cattongue came up with, and bam! Now we have dragon prisoners! Like, a baggillion of them."

"Wow," Heather told Thuggory in a whisper. "I didn't think he knew words longer than two syllables."

"And Cattongue is going to teach us how to ride them." Heather was doing her utmost, but was not able to keep herself from snickering. "I want one that makes things blow up, but he says Zipplebacks need two riders, and my stupid sister just had the baby. Which totally means she can't fly. Which is awesome because I can rub it in her face and she has to go with the 'women and children' instead of coming with me blowing things up. But then I can't blow things up!"

Cami punched him chummily. "We'll find you another dragon that's destructive enough, I tell you. Where's that scallywag Cattongue's gone?"

"With Astrid." She saw Thug's eyebrows shoot up, and Cami's grin split into a leer. Uh-oh… "Got banged up big, apparently, and so did the Chief. From what I heard, Astrid hauled the both of them to the healer by the ear."

"And I missed that?" Cami sounded mournful. And about to get into mischief. Heather rolled her shoulders, looked at her roosting nadder gargling at his, apparently, flame. Baby nadders would be on the way or she was a virgin. And other kinds of babies.

"Come on, love birds," she sighed, grabbing Cami's ear and snapping her fingers so that her dragon and her husband would follow her. "Let's go see what Cattongue's got himself into."

=0=

Astrid sighed long and hard as she sat down on the cushioned bench beside Ruffnut.

"Here, take her!"

And promptly found herself with a wriggling bundle of tiny arms and legs and tiny wails and hiccups. Another sigh again, rocking the child, who stopped crying probably purely from being set into a new pair of arms.

"Long day?" Astrid asked lightly. Ruffnut huffed and nodded. The taller blonde had her hair in disarray, bags under her eyes, and looked ready to fall asleep.

"Stupid raid woke her up. And then she wouldn't stop crying from all the noise." Ruffnut gave a long moan. "She's going to resemble her father, I just know it. She should have been cackling evilly through the lovely destruction, with things going up in flames!"

Astrid gave her shoulders a good petting as she tried not to laugh. "You'll train it into her, don't worry."

"Yeah, just like Stoick trained Hiccup to hold a mace." Astrid and Ruffnut winced simultaneously. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

Little Woodnut gave a gargle, reaching up and tugging at Astrid's hair.

"Well, she's got a good grip."

"Don't remind me. My nipples are going to fall off." Astrid scrunched her nose, and Ruffnut only avoided a good punch in the face because Astrid's hands were too full. Another tug made her look down, and she found Woodnut sucking on the ends of her braid, endlessly fascinated by the fur on Astrid's clothes and valiantly reaching for it. The child's large blue eyes blinked up at her, and Astrid felt a tug in a completely different place.

Oh Freya have mercy, she was getting old if she was looking at babies and wondering. Thor forgive her for ever doubting her mother's words. Speaking of whom…

The Hofferson matriarch was ambling towards them, weaving through the people in the Great Hall with practiced ease. Once she sat on Astrid's other side with a sigh, Ruffnut reached across and took one of three tankards of mead she was carrying.

"Well, one of them was for the husband, but you're welcome to it as that big lug got stuck playing King's Table with Cattongue at the sick bay," she laughed, taking a swig from hers. Astrid took her own mug of warmed alcohol, careful to keep it out of the waving reach of tiny arms and hands. "Looking to practice for our future chief, ah, daughter?"

Astrid rolled her shoulders uncomfortably and fought down a blush, but couldn't help smiling. Her mother had never minced words, and was a practical kind of Viking woman who had raised a family of eight , always helped her and supported her through her rough patches and difficult challenges – in training, and in the house. Learning how to mend a hem would never have been possible without her mother's calloused, patient hands guiding her through her messy stitches into something that resembled domesticity. And the cooking …

Woodnut blew bubbles and gave a high-pitched laugh that left her blinking. Brunhilda snorted and waved the mead at the child, who started cackling again.

"There, see? And you were worried she didn't resemble you enough," Astrid laughed as Ruffnut gave a tired version of her usual deviant smirk.

"Thank Asgard. I wouldn't know what I'd have done if she had her father's tolerance," she said. "So Brun – the man's stuck in the sickbay for any reason?"

Astrid realised that she had to be much more tired than she thought if she hadn't connected the potential reason for her dad being in the sick bay. Worry slithered up her back, but her mother was already waving Ruff off.

"Nothing his hard bones can't take. Dislocated his shoulder, but good ol' Goethi popped it back like a butter rod in its bucket. Arm's in a sling and all, but he'll be right as rain in two days, I'll warrant. If he doesn't go liftin' any of the things because 'it's nothing', tha' is," she ended with a snicker. The two younger girls joined in the chorus.

"Or 'It's just a scratch'," Astrid offered.

"Or 'It'll go in a minute' when he just hammered his own hand," Ruffnut added, making them all laugh harder with a fond imitation of Fishlegs holding up a pained and bruised thumb. Woodnut gargled and giggle through imitation, and for such a young child, wiggled around energetically enough. Astrid hoisted her up to avoid any slipping, and the babe gripped onto her tunic and gnawed at it the moment Astrid supported her head.

"Don't know what gets into their heads, sometimes," Ruff continued.

"You're assuming there's anything in there, dear." Another bout of laughter. "Well, daughter, how's the house going?"

"Fine. We had no damage, so I'll have to leave early to visit Stoick at the healer's and make sure the heirs have bed rushes, but I get a night off tonight. Everybody else thought the same thing though," she waved at the full hall. The poor barmaids had their hands full trying to make sure there was enough mutton to go around and mead to wash it down.

"After a raid like that, nobody had time to put the pot on the fire today. But for all the halls they broke, that Cattongue pulled a fast one enough – there wasn't a single chicken stolen!"

Astrid smiled. "I know. He spotted the raid first – I was passing by the smithy when he came rushing out yelling about the raid," she suddenly felt the need to justify herself. Her mother seemed to have noticed, but Astrid wasn't surprised; mothers, and hers in particular, knew everything. "Next thing I knew, he was barking at me to sound the alarm, then everything went to Hel's realm in Loki's handbasket."

"Damn, to have missed it! I envy you, stupid single woman," Ruff grumbled, and the place Astrid liked to smother in her chest gave another pull. She frowned thunderously at her, but her mother got there first.

"Single she's not, deary. We got a handsome price from the chief for her, and once Hiccup's back, she'll make him a good wife. She'll make him a good mother too, I'll say. She seems to be keeping this baby more than you are," Brunhilda laughed again, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and Ruff childishly poked her tongue out at her. "Show that to your husband, dear, he'll know what to do with it." Ruff's yelp was almost worth the awkward moment as soon as her mother's words sunk in.

"On that cheerful note," Astrid said, standing and handing Ruff her daughter, who immediately began trying to pull off her long braids. "I'd better go see what the damage is to the men of the hour, then." She hoisted the cloak up, tying it off with some leather strips she always had in her pocket. Unfortunately this caught her mother's sharp eye.

"That one of Stoick's?" she asked, too casually for it to be an innocent question. Astrid squared her jaw, wondering suddenly why this felt like an invasion of her privacy. Ruffnut's prying eyes may have had something to do with it.

"No," she said defiantly. She had nothing to hide, and therefore would not lie about this. "I was soaked through with the rain. Cattongue gave me this after the battle to avoid a sickness. I will give it back once I am at the Goethi's hut."

"Hmm," her mother said, and Astrid knew just from the inflection and the tone that she was screwed – though she didn't yet know why. "Well then, I have to go pry the husband away from that board before he starts putting good house money where his drunk mouth is. Don't cut that Cattongue boy as a grifter, but one never knows." She stood, towering over Astrid still. The firm grip she took on Astrid's shoulders was reassuring, but also inflexible. They exited the hall quietly, the cold night swallowing the noises from the hall as soon as the great oak doors groaned shut.

"So daughter, how's the chief treating you?" her mother asked, deceptively good-natured and innocent in her first approach. Astrid wasn't fooled, she knew her mother was aiming for something, but she didn't yet know what, so she couldn't head her off.

"Well, as always," she answered with a sigh as they trudged towards the higher parts of the village. A light snowfall began to feather down on them, making both women huff in simultaneous annoyance. "This is going to make hauling those dragons around easier," Astrid went on grouchily.

"Well, we could always ask your Cattongue whether it's a good thing or not," her mother interjected.

"Hmm, he seems to know quite a bit about the dragons…" Astrid stopped walking when her mother's insinuation registered. "Wait … what?"

"Daughter," Brunhilda started, but Astrid cut her off.

"What on earth are you thinking!" Her cheeks had caught fire despite the dropping temperatures. "He gives me a cloak - which I took because he was being a man and wouldn't go to the healer's, by the way! - and you start making comments like that. My own mother!" She began trudging forward furiously.

"Daughter." Astrid stopped despite herself and turned to look at her mother. The look she was getting made her feel knee-high, ghosts of blonde plaits brushing her shoulders as she tried to hide her dad's broken hatchet. "I will not judge you, Astrid, nor am I angry with you." ...What? Astrid blinked as her mother's rough hand brushed against her still-flushed cheek. What? "I know that when you proposed this arrangement, you hadn't seen yourself on your own for so long - or perhaps you had, the life of the shield maiden had still been attractive to you five years ago. But that changes as you grow older and your friends start telling you the joys of the wedding bed."

Ok, her mother couldn't be serious.

"Mother!"

"And," her mother went on, giving her a look that shut her up automatically. She regretted it three seconds later. "I will admit that that Cattongue has some arse. Oh, reminds me of your father's tight buns when were only just married."

"Ok, ok!" she said, waving her arms around, causing her mother to laugh uproariously.

"Right, I've made my point, I reckon," she said with a wink, throwing her arm around Astrid's thinner shoulders and hugging her into her side. "Just remember, darling; be discrete, if you must, and make sure to come to me for the teas, if you do."

"I'm not hearing this," she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flame up as her mother frogmarched her on, laughing at her expense.

The trip up to the Goethi's hut was a suffering of her mother's laughter and boots crunching in the newly fallen snow and worrying about all those with a broken hall sleeping in the Great Hall tonight to distract herself. Unfortunately, her mother's words kept ringing in her head as they entered the hut, wafts of warm air swallowing them whole, even though both women were left blinking at the scene before them.

Cattongue and her father were sitting at a wooden table on one side of the room, and Astrid's father was slapping his knee and demanding a rematch uproariously, while Stoick and Gobber - the chief with a sizable bandage about his head - were laughing heartily and placing bets. Cattongue was holding his free hand up, the other in a sling, and Toothless was lying at his feet, looking bored, so much so that the dragon shot up and trotted to her with a bump of his head to Astrid's chest the moment they entered. Her mother snorted and walked in.

"Sir, I really don't need three barrels of mead…" Cattongue was saying, half-apologetic and half panicking. He turned to see where his dragon had gone and stood, only to be dragged down again by Gobber, who grabbed the back of his shirt and sat him back, slapping him on the back. Toothless trotted back in, looked at the board and gave a growling laugh at his rider, nudging him with a smile.

"I knew it, the dragon can play King's Table," Stoick growled irritably. Astrid closed the door and walked into the room, noticing that all the men were nursing a mug of mead. The Goethi herself was perched next to her fire pit, also holding a mug, and snickering circumspectly.

"If the rider taught the beast, then we have no chance!" Hacknee said with a guffaw. Brunhilda sighed.

"Have you been sampling the 'medical' alcohol again, scallywag?" her mother asked her father affectionately, twacking his head. Astrid snorted as her father gave a whine typical of his drunken state and the healer was simply snickering knowingly, her boned staff gangling as she tottered on her seat. Obviously the men had been given mead to deaden the pain. In her dad's case, it deadened his brains.

"Eh, leave 'im alone, he's just been soundly beaten, six times," Gobber sniggered into his mug hand.

"And now I owe him three pieces of silver since he won't take the mead, woman, so don't go emasculating me," her father grumbled. Astrid rolled her eyes and gently took the mug from Stoick, shooing Gobber off the pallet so that Stoick could rest, and catching the healer's eyes to make sure she was doing the right thing. With a nod of approval from her, Astrid smiled at the larger man and made sure he was comfortable before she covered him. It was so strange to see him out of his armour and trapping, and with his hair undone that Astrid, for a moment, got a glimpse of the man who was beneath that larger-than-life chief who had run the village all her life. Her tired head next wondered whether she was possibly looking at a future version of Hiccup, before stepping back and removing a good amount of weight, some shoulder width and …

She wondered if he had an arse anywhere near as firm as Cattongue's. That would be a plus.

It was lucky that Stoick was blinking tiredly at the ceiling and her mother was busy debating with her father, because neither one of them caught her sudden blush on her cheeks - or her truly evil and rebellious eyes sliding to his seat of their own accord. Her mother was bad influence on her; Astrid never thought she'd think that.

Gobber, on the other hand, seemed to have noticed. His eyebrows first shot up, then shot down, and Astrid readied herself for a good lecture. Until the same bushy eyebrows began wiggling suggestively and his head began nodding towards Cattongue.

Had everyone gone insane?

"You can't make a wager with a man and then not take his prise! It's unethical!" her father was ranting, red in the face. Cattongue was rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sir, I didn't make the wager, and I have little use for silver - I usually sell my trade, and anyone who wants trinkets made in it comes with their own."

"No lovely girl to give it to, yet?" her father asked conspiratorially. "Don't you worry, boy, turn them into a bracelet or two and they'll come running."

"Um, no, Sir." Was it her imagination, or had Cattongue glanced at her? Blast that helmet. And blast her mother's twinkling eyes too! "But, um, what about this?" Another hesitant glance in her direction. "I will take it as payment for repairing Astrid's axe?"

Astrid looked at him sharply, to find everyone in the room looking at her.

"That's Hiccup's axe," she said stoutly, feeling suddenly so awful for saying his name in the same room as Stoick, who grimaced but said nothing. Cattongue simply kept looking at her, and Astrid wanted to slug her mother more than ever. There was no way she liked this idiot.

"I'll say it's a steal," her drunk father said, slapping his knee and standing, much to her mother's scoffing as he stumbled. The two pieces of silver were dropped in front of Cattongue before she left, and Gobber followed, winking at Astrid maddeningly obviously and telling Stoick suggestively that he should totally sleep.

"Well," Cattongue said into the ensuing silence. "I have to say, Hofferson, your father is an interesting man." He could have been smiling, his tone seemed to suggest it, but the helmet refused to give up its secrets, so she simply kept looking at him steadily. His frame slackened slightly and he rolled his shoulders. He picked the silver up and offered it up to her. "You have any way to get this back to your mum? I really wasn't playing for money."

"But my dad gave it, so I don't have the right to take it back. Not part of that household anymore, either." She gave him a tight smile and turned to Stoick. There was an uncomfortable moment, but then Cattongue stood.

"Very well, Hofferson. I'd say I owe you axe repairs. It is … going to have to wait, I'm afraid." He nodded towards his right shoulder, hand in a sling, and it didn't take seeing through metal to know he was scowling at it. "I have to meet all the possible riders tomorrow as well, and see to all the dragons. I really am sorry I can't get to that axe for you right away."

"It really is alright," she replied, smiling in surprise at his vehemence.

"I'm used to living off my trade. I do not like owing people something they have paid for."

"Now you know what all of Berk feels like," she said primely, trying to stare him down. All he did was huff impatiently.

"Berk doesn't owe me anything, Miss Hofferson." Back to the Miss? It only made her more annoyed. "You decided that on your own. But I have to say, I don't mind that much, it gave me the chance to teach you all how great dragons are, really." Toothless cooed his approval at that comment and rubbed his head against the man's thin frame, nearly knocking Cattongue over. Astrid couldn't help a snigger.

"I suppose," she replied, thinking of her nadder, waiting for her at home diligently and obediently.

"Will you be there, tomorrow?" he asked almost hopefully.

"Sorry?"

"For the training; will you be there tomorrow? We lost a whole afternoon because of this." He nodded towards his arm. "I may need a hand with the edgier villagers, and if they see one of their own being comfortable with her dragon, it would be a great help. Fish` being there would be useful, too. Unfortunately, Snotlout already said he's coming."

"Oh, I'll come. If only to see Snotlout trying to 'help'," she replied, earning a snort.

"I think you mean show off."

"Precisely what I said," was her laughing reply. The strange, light feeling returned in her chest as she chortled with him, and she suddenly found herself noticing the line of his shoulders under his shirt, visible now that all his armour had been removed, his well-toned smith arms, the freckles on the back of his hands, and strong but spindly legs, apparently built for speed on the back of a dragon more than for lifting logs and carrying grain sacks for miles on end.

"Will he be strong enough?" he asked cautiously, then. Astrid gave Stoick a worried look, and suddenly felt ice run through her veins as she found his green eyes staring back at her blankly.

Gods, why did she suddenly feel like she had just done something horrible? Why was it feeling like she was being weighed and measured? Was he also seeing what her mother saw - and if he was, what would he do?

Her mother had warned her to be careful precisely for this reason. As much as it pained her to admit it, she belonged to Stoick's clan by right, he'd paid her bride price to her father and received her dowry, which as far as she knew was still lying untouched in the corner of what was once Hiccup's room, and was now her own.

There was a sudden hollow tapping, and Astrid turned with a start towards Goethi, realising with horror that she had also forgotten the healer was there, despite the fact that she was in the healer's hut.

Oh Frigga and Freya, she needed protection from this man. Something in the way he fascinated her made him more dangerous to her than any other mace-wielding male or fire breathing dragon she'd ever beheaded in battle.

"Sorry, I really don't understand… Er, Hofferson, could you?" Astrid looked blankly at him for a moment before realising he was indicating the Goethi's writings on the floor. With an embarrassed blush - that really had to stop, too - she shook her head.

"Gobber's the only one who can do it, really," she said, feeling uncomfortable admitting the deficiency. The Goethi rubbed her forehead in exasperation, then pointed to Stoick with her staff, pointed towards the door and shook her head once emphatically.

"Ah," Cattongue said. "Darn… Sir, it seems Goethi doesn't think you will be able to help for the moment. Is there anything you would like us to do?"

He turned towards Stoick and waited, and Astrid would always remember how earnestly he'd said that. The chief must have had some headache, however, because he gave the younger man a deep scowl.

"If I need, I will tell Astrid," he replied coldly, and the temperature in the room suddenly turned glacial. Feeling that she was at least partially responsible for Stoick's mood for some reason, Astrid shot off the stool, heading towards the door.

"I'll leave him in your hands then, Goethi. Please send word to me if he needs me to do something. I have to make sure that the heirs are well provided for, now that the first snow's upon us."

"It is?" Cattongue said in dismay. "Ah, Loki's balls, I'm totally not stocked up enough on my Island this year," he lamented. Truth was, he'd assumed he would be more than welcome on Freezing, having just made Thuggory such fine axes, and he knew his fellow friend would put in a good word for him. That's what he got, for assuming things. "Going to be lean pickings till the hares break through next spring, bud." Toothless moaned mournfully as they stood to leave, and Cattongue shuddered as Astrid opened the door, letting in the freezing air outside. "Ung, my nose is going to fall off. Frostbite pain! Love it!"

The man and his dragon moved down the tortuous staircase to solid ground, bantering quietly back and forth as Cattongue's off arm was mocked for it stopping them from flying off, as Toothless obviously wanted. Astrid, on the other hand, stood still at the head of the steps, snow accumulating at her feet as she looked down blankly after them, her mind lost in a memory five years old.

Something in her chest shifted as a possibility occurred to her, one that she tried to deflect from the sheer discomfort it caused, but that simply bounced back and attacked again like a harvest fly. In her insistent vigilance over Cattongue, both to find his motivation and to try to gauge his mettle and appease her seemingly illogical fascination with him, she failed to see that perhaps, possibly, just maybe, why she couldn't look away from him was the fact that he reminded her so much of the boy she'd driven off the island with misplaced, cruel words in some of the things he said and did. He was so different in so many other ways, and yet sometimes, just sometimes, he was just as kind, or just as gentle, or just as awkward. He wasn't the same person, not in the way he spoke or moved, but perhaps he had spent enough time with ... with him to have taken on some of his traits, some of his kindness. Always in a different way, but always just enough to remind her of … her Hiccup. She was allowed to call him that, wasn't she? Her Hiccup?

She hoped so.

Astrid hugged herself when the temperature plummeted further as the sun began its early descent towards the horizon. The high post of the Goethi's house gave her a view of all the village, being systematically blanketed in white, and she wondered in sudden alarm where Cattongue would sleep tonight.

"Hofferson?" She blinked down, finding Cattongue looking up at her. He'd obviously climbed up again to see she hadn't fallen or slipped like a silly ninny when he hadn't found her behind him. She knew she should have been furious with him for thinking her any less than a warrior she was, but Hiccup's face jumped to her mind, always kind in these little ways as well, and suddenly her chest filled with the strangest of feelings, as if someone had let loose a pack of frightened terrors in there.

"You're not sleeping in the forest tonight," she said, jutting her chin out defiantly against the weirdness and shouldering her way through her thoughts.

"Er, I rather figured. I'd be fine really, once I got there, but the track there with my armour at Gobber's may do me in. He's offered a blanket at the smithy, though, and I think I'll take it. Save time getting here tomorrow too, since I can't fly yet, the Goethi says."

"Good." She walked around him, descending the stairs in front of him, and pointedly made herself ignore his footsteps behind her. And if she listened to them carefully anyway, it was only to make sure he didn't tumble into her and take her with him if he slipped.

=0=

Hiccup huffed at himself in annoyance as he trudged back up the winding stairs, wind cutting through his clothing. He'd really been looking forward to some quiet time with Toothless and Gobber in the forge, but nooo, he had to go and forget his shoulder pad in the Goethi's hut. He needed that repaired as soon as possible, because injured arm or not, he wasn't to know when he'd need it next, and he'd learned the hard way to focus and plan ahead; when the alternative was starving, letting go of distractions became second nature. Pity there wasn't a distraction like Astrid anywhere on his island that could have trained him against her lovely eyes and self in general.

So here he was, sprinting through the sparse light up to the healer's hut again, praying to get back to the forge before the dusk faded completely.

His knock wasn't answered, and instead of knocking again and risking a disturbance of his dad's sleep, he let himself in as quietly as he could. The Goethi wasn't there, although where she could have gone with the snow still fresh on the ground and night fast approaching he didn't know. His father was a large bundle on the largest wooden bunk. The sight of Stoick's head, bundled up with its huge bandage made his stomach sink into his feet.

When Stoick'd been hit, during the heat of battle, it had fired up his blood like nothing else would - well, perhaps her being in danger. And after, when he'd started blindly calling him by name in his delirium as they bodily dragged him to the healer's hut … it had hammered the last nail in the coffin of his denial.

He'd missed his dad. He still loved him with all his heart. And a very large part of him still wished to live up to Stoick's expectations.

Hiccup tiptoed into the room, closing the door behind him carefully, and then looking around to try to find his missing armour. He also carefully deposited the chainmail he'd done for his dad as quietly as he could on the table. His head had been a litany of 'if only's and 'why didn't he's since Stoick had been injured, as the mail had a hood, and if only he'd just worn it …

He grabbed the shoulder pad, fingering the hole in it with a discontented frown, and turned towards the door when a grunt from the bed made him pause. Stoick was obviously in some discomfort, as he was sleeping uneasily, and Hiccup stepped up to his bed before he could stop himself. Lifting the blanket carefully, he raised it up the large man's chest, stepping back when his dad came awake with a grunt.

"What do you want?" Stoick asked, his voice rough from sleep and eyes shining with fatigue. Hiccup bit his lip and felt terrible for waking him.

"Nothing, nothing," he said quickly. "I was just …" It felt odd to admit that he was covering his dad - it felt too personal, something only family was allowed to do, somehow. The fact that he wasn't allowed anymore was more of a pang than he cared to admit. "I was just retrieving this, and I was leaving."

Stoick gave another grunt, eyeballing him carefully. Hiccup felt five years old again, somehow in trouble for having tried to help and gotten it wrong again.

"Is there anything you need?" he whispered despite himself. The echo of his dad's uncomfortable groan haunted him, and he reached into the pot for a ladle-full of willow bark brew. "Maybe some willowbark, Sir. That wound mustn't be comfortable."

"Don't mock me, boy," his dad hissed, and Hiccup was five years old again, trying so hard and never quite measuring up. With a sigh, he gave up; it was no use, and he was truly stupid for not having given up on this yet. Yes, his dad didn't know who he was right now, but Hiccup had never seen Stoick treat anyone the way he was treating 'Cattongue'. Stoick had hated Hotshot, but he'd always treated him cordially when he sailed in. He really didn't like Osvald's son Dagur, but he'd never let it on. Hiccup? He'd made sure Hiccup always knew how disappointed he was in him. And now somehow, even in disguise, he managed to garner his dad's disdain. It really was disheartening… but also frustrating.

"Sir," he finally said, letting out a disgruntled sigh. "I don't know what your problem with me is, Sir. I've never done anything to harm your tribe, nor will I ever." That wasn't even a lie, either; even if Berk actually ran him out with spears this time, he still somehow wouldn't be able to bring himself to hate it. "But you seem to dislike me on principle." He swallowed. That was harder to admit than he thought, and his voice had almost cracked.

His chest swelled up, but he stamped it down regardless, letting anger fill him instead; disappointment and years of loneliness used as fuel for silly righteous anger that was pointless in the long run, but needed at the moment, and went on. "I only wish to help, and I will help, in spite of you or with your approval. Good night." He turned to leave and was with his hand on the door.

"You think you're so smart," Stoick answered from the back, rising to a sitting position laboriously. Hiccup had to resist the urge to rush to help him. "You think you have more to offer this village than any of us here? That you know more on Berk and of Berk to see what is right by us better than those who lived here before you were even born?"

Stoick snarled at him. Hiccup resisted the urge to take a step back. He'd never seen his father like this; he'd been angry often, disappointed often, and so very cold sometimes. But he'd been wrong before; Hiccup had never been on the receiving end of something like this treatment 'Cattongue' was being dished. Hiccup felt the chilling certainty running up his spine that had Stoick not been addled by his head injury, he would have reached out and wrung his neck in a moment with no remorse.

"Let me tell you something. Every man, woman and child of this village is worth a hundred of you. And even if we are in your debt, do not think for a single moment that we'll let you walk all over us."

"What? Sir, I…"

"And let me tell you something else. My son is a thousand times the man you are, so let me make myself clear; don't make yourself comfortable here. You, your attitude and your strange ideas are not welcome, nor will you ever be."

Hiccup stepped back, trying to resist the urge to shudder and only succeeding partially. With a clumsy nod, he ducked out the door, his chest roiling and threatening to collapse in on itself between confused hurt and honest to Asgard fright. His father had looked deadly, like Hiccup had never seen him look in his direction, and it was terrifying to be on the receiving end of that stare.

And it was so, so confusing. What had Stoick meant? Why had he spoken of Hiccup like that - why had he brought his name up at all, out of nowhere? Hiccup couldn't understand, try as he might as he ran through the village towards the forge. Somehow, it felt like the ultimate paradox, a secret box the likes he'd seen only once, and managed to solve only after countless hours of delicate teasing and finangeling. Stoick spoke of him as if he was someone he was proud of, and yet Hiccup's mere presence had made him so irrationally angry that he'd been snarling like an angry nightmare. He couldn't decide whether or not to be happy that his father seemed to think well of him, when him being there and just being himself seemed to be enough to make his dad hate him at the same time.

Stoick was possibly only speaking through nostalgia, through guilt, perhaps. If Hiccup were to take off the helmet and say the truth, would Stoick's furious, snarling face become something he consciously directed towards the son he thought he was proud of? Did that mean that Stoick was proud of the boy he had been five years ago, but could never be proud of what Hiccup had become? Because 'Cattongue' was what Hiccup had become. If he elicited this reaction from his dad simply by being on Berk, it meant that nothing he'd done had any worth in the chief's eyes.

He really was five years old again, trying so badly to help out, and being scolded into the corner for making a mess of it all instead.

By the time he'd reached the forge, Hiccup was freezing, and no less confused. Gobber had left a hot bowl of soup by the smouldering embers, and he sat down to it, his hopes of discussing things with the blacksmith dashed. Toothless curled up around him, always sensitive to his moods. Lying back against his best friend and constant companion, Hiccup found consolations in the fact that at least, Berk would know how awesome dragons were, approval or no approval.

And another thing bloomed in his chest through the confusion. At least, somehow, his dad really did miss him. Perhaps Astrid had been saying the truth, because the tone of pride as he spoke about 'his son' had been unmistakable. Even if he left Berk, and never came back after this business was through, that was one thing he could carry with him.

His dad had spoken of him with pride to a perceived stranger, almost boasting in his tone. It didn't matter what he'd been thinking or whether he was sincere; it didn't matter if Hiccup's current self and life was something his dad hated; Stoick the Vast had spoken of Hiccup the Useless with pride.

Somehow, it made everything a little bit better.

=0=

"So Stoick, you sure you're up for this?" Gobber asked as they gathered around the chief's bed in the healer's hut. The poor Goethi had been sent to spend the night at the Jorgensen's hall so that the men of the council could discuss things quietly.

"I'm not out on the count yet," he growled, feeling more than a little offended at his best friend's doubt. "We have to step things up. We don't have time for a small wound to get in the way."

"Eh, same thing Cattongue said," Gobber replied with a nonchalant shrug that made Stoick's temper rise another notch.

"So why do you say we have to get things going?" Ingerman asked in his quiet yet authoritative way.

"That boy," Stock spat with proud disdain, "was in here when I wrote up, after everyone had left, and then tried to feed me willow bark tea."

"Maybe because you were in pain, and you're cranky when you are?" Gobber interjected helpfully. Stoick couldn't stop the furious glare this time. Whose side was Gobber on?

"After he was gone already? Conveniently, he waited for the Goethi to leave as well before he came up with his bogus excuse to come back. I'll have the Goethi throw that tea out tomorrow. I'll warrant there's something in there that shouldn't."

"Oy, now 'ang on..."

"So you think he's about to make another move, Stoick?" Spitelout asked in a growl.

"That's more than certain. And we'll be ready for him. We're not as stupid as he thinks we are; he's trying to get his hand on Berk, through wits if not through blood. Make us trust him, make us think he's a decent sort, teach us a few cheap tricks. He's already gotten under the skin of all the rest of the tribes, so he has plenty of support there. If push comes to shove, we're in this on our own. But we don't need them; I want at least one of you with him at all times. With all the dragons he captured, there will be little we can do if he actually pits them against us. But if you see any suspicious behavior, any at all, wring his neck."

A chorus of 'Aye's, and one sigh.

"I think you're looking at this all wrong," Gobber said. Stoick's temper gave another jolt. "He's honestly trying to help, Stoick. Been talking to him in the smithy, I have, and he hasn't once said anything untowards. I'd swear on it."

"Oh, he hasn't, has he? Of course he wouldn't! Can't you see! He's trying to win us over, get into our good books. Do us favours for free then sick us with the steep bill at the end of it. I won't have that, Gobber. I won't let him take my Hiccup's place with his underhanded ways!"

Gobber seemed to bristle at this. "He doesn't want your Hiccup's place, don't you see it! Don't you see it at all? He won't stay past this business, Stoick. Not fer want of trying on mah part, neither."

Betrayal rose in Stoick's chest like another wound. "What do you mean by that?" he growled. Gobber looked away.

"Only that he's a good smith, Stoick. Would be nice to know who the smithy's going to after I'm gone. Odin knows I don't have the patience to take on another bairn."

"You don't need to. Hiccup will take over when he's back," Stoick answered stubbornly. This seemed to ignite Gobber's own ire.

"Damn you Stoick. Didn't I just say? He's not... He not coming back, Stoick. He would have if he wanted to."

"And who told you this?" Stoick growled, suddenly very aware of the top fighters in his village listening in to this conversation. They couldn't know, couldn't suspect that his only boy wasn't coming back. They would only insist on wanting another heir. They would insist on writing his Hiccup's name out, even if now Stoick knew with crushing certainty that his boy was alive and well and out there.

He had started to resign himself to leaving it all to Astrid before. The girl was steady, good, strong, and had seemed to have a place for his Hiccup in her heart as well, if only to remember a comrade.

Now he wasn't so sure. He has seen the way she looked at that slithering snake of a man. He had managed to hoodwink her, reel her into his little honey trap. She was too young, too naive, and she was not worthy to take his smart Hiccup's place.

No one was.

"Is this what your loyalty amounts to?" He snarled at the blacksmith who had been his best friend for years. Stoick felt trapped, like a noose had suddenly surrounded his neck while he was unawares. While he wasn't looking that slimy eel of a boy had taken from him both the girl he'd lived with and trusted since Hiccup was gone, and the best friend he'd known and trusted all his life. If even Gobber and Astrid were doubting him, if even Gobber was gainsaying his words in front of everyone, there was very little left he could do. Already, the number of people who had answered his summons had decreased. Hoark was missing. The Thorstons too. Ingerman was here, he was sure, because the large man was peaceful, and always liked to know all the sides of things before making a decision. Very few were left who truly believed his word; and that meant that very few were left who believed in him as a chief. Which meant that what he most feared was happening, regardless of how hard he fought to keep Hiccup's birthright away from this sleazy boy's hands.

Stoick felt trapped. Cornered. And like any cornered animal, he knew he was at his most dangerous.

"Who told you that, aye? Cattongue did, of course, didn't he?" Stoick rose laboriously, shrugging off any hand that tried to help him steady himself. There wasn't a finish line set up for him - not yet. He was Stoick the Vast, Haddock, chief of Berk. There would be another Haddock at the helm of Berk after him; he would not be the last one. "That's how much your loyalty's worth, Gobber? Hoodwinked by a mere boy. I thought you of all people would have Hiccup's interest at heart. Evidently all your talk about 'making it up to him' was only that. Talk."

Gobber stood up, crimson below his flaxen beard. He rolled his massive shoulders, opening his mouth several times before he managed to say anything. With a pointed, cocked finger, he levelled Stoick with his worse glare, one Stoick hadn't seen since they'd come to blows over Hiccup leaving, and since they had been stuck on a mountain, huddling to avoid freezing to death on the path of his grandfather Hamish's treasure. He seemed on the point of exploding into a tirade of words that would not be easy to take back.

Until he didn't. Gobber rolled his shoulders, swallowed three times, as if trying to keep the words in his belly, and ran a meaty hand down his crimson face.

"We will talk about this later, Stoick, over a tankard of good ale, someday. And I won't accept your apology, because I know you don't mean any of that, even though right now you do." Stoick opened his mouth, fury rising with bile to choke him up, but Gobber cut him off again. "I just have one more thing to say to you, Stoick. If you want to see your son again, don't harm Cattongue."

"What?" Stoick asked, voice dangerously low. Was that … was that a threat?

"He knows where he is, Stoick. He knows where he is, and I've been prying it from him a little at a time. Astrid too. Hiccup … doesn't seem to think he's ready to come back yet, seems to think he's not good enough for Berk; but he is, and we need him. He's asked those who are in the know to keep it quiet, and they are. So I've been working on it." He slapped the back of his neck, looking steadily at Stoick in a way that began to calm some of the ire burning in his belly. Gobber was on his side; Gobber had always been on his side. He should feel shame for the way he was treating those who were friends and family.

But he didn't have time for shame. Not when he had a village to run, a birthright to protect and a son to recover.

"You'll do that, then?" Stoick asked.

"Yeah, but only if you don't do something stupid to Cattongue before it all calms down," Gobber replied, folding his arms. "You really have to stop being so paranoid, Stoick. That boy wants nothing from Berk except what he says."

That much he didn't believe. But as long as Gobber kept doing what he said… and if it turned out Cattongue was lying on that too, there would just be more hours added to his slow, agonising death.

"Right, then." He turned to the other men. "Are we all in agreement on this? We wait for Gobber to bring us news?" The men nodded. Stoick turned a narrow eyed look on the blacksmith again. "And we don't harm him. For now. Unless it looks like he's trying something stupid. So we still keep an eye on him."

Gobber narrowed his eyes right back and huffed, leaving the hut without an 'aye'. All the others shifted at the tension, but gave an 'aye' and were on their way. Spitelout went last, giving him a nod and closing the door behind him.

Stoick was left looking at the ceiling in tired confusion. His addled, injured mind was presenting him with two worlds, two possibilities that seemed to be mutually exclusive. One was a world where Gobber was right; where the acts of kindness and respect that boy was perpetuating were genuine, and they were going to be rid of him the moment this problem was solved. Then there was the world which was much more likely, the one where there was something else in that willow tea, something else behind every kind gesture, and they would never, ever be rid of him.

Stoick couldn't decide which world was worse. There was simply too much to lose, too much at stake in both. The boy had fought back-to-back with him, covered him and put himself in harm's way. A warrior did not forget another's courage. But Stoick also knew that that display was one way like another to showcase his strength and his ability to the village in order to promote himself and his own agenda. And for a moment, during the battle and after, he had been so sure, so certain he had heard Hiccup…

Stoick fell asleep with his son's voice in his ears, and fell into dreams where he stabbed a spear into all his enemies' hearts, and the dreams stabbed his heart right back.

=0=

An honest thank-you to all my sweet reviewers, who take their time to leave notes and reviews to me about their likes AND dislikes in this narrative. In case you missed the memo last chapter, I will no longer be able to answer individual reviews/PMs as my professional requirements have just doubled on the Real Life front. Please forgive me, and I will try as much as I can! And a great big Thank You to Foxy, who's been helping me out with hammering a (possibly, not sure it's happening yet) sequel idea. Go support her on BRACED when it starts coming out, please! Foxy-girl is only becoming a better writer with time.

=0=

Before the baying for blood starts … I want you all to remember that Stoick does NOT know it is Hiccup – he is, in fact, protecting his son's interests. The Viking way. I am so cruel to him. I almost wish you all didn't know who Cattongue was; it would be easier for your all to appreciate what Stoick is going through.

And Astrid circles closer…