Stoick the Vast had somehow come across the best and worst idea he ever could.
It had all started on a raid much like any other. Dragons attack, vikings fight back, Hiccup runs off to seek glory. But this time around, his dad had seen him out early, and shouted at the nearest and least needed viking to put him in the forge and make sure he stayed put. As it turned out, that viking was Astrid Hofferson.
Had it been literally anyone else, Hiccup could have escaped. They would have eventually been distracted, or needed to join the fight, or simply gotten annoyed. But Astrid was far too dutiful to do anything else than what the very Chief of the village had told her to, and Hiccup would absolutely not run away from her. So he stayed put in the forge, sharpening and repairing, and when the raid ended the Breast-Opener had gone unused and Hiccup had caused no disasters.
This was the start of a terrible trend. In Stoick's mind, if someone was proven to be capable of getting something done, they were the best candidate for it, and that was it. The practical realities of keeping the village alive through one more raid left out more complex thoughts, not that he had ever been very interested in those. So from then on, whenever there was a raid, it ended up being Astrid's job to keep Hiccup from causing as much damage as the dragons.
Astrid resented this. No, Astrid resented Hiccup. Astrid hated this. She couldn't even say she thought it was wrong-headed, because every adult in the village had either failed at the job or was needed fighting; and because Hiccup would jammer at her about his ideas and even try to sneak off sometimes. She had always caught him so far, but it made her furious. Stoick, when it was put to him that it might be shameful for such a promising young warrior to be put to such a use, made the public announcement declaring her his heir's huskarl while she was in training. On paper an honor, this was essentially declaring her babysitter and bodyguard both.
But it was also a high duty that could not easily be refused, and it could do a good deal to wash away the shame of Frozen Finn Hofferson. So Astrid herself stayed put.
Hiccup did not like this much either. For the first few times, he had nursed fantasies of impressing Astrid in their time alone. These fantasies had been brutally murdered. While Astrid had never aggressed him, she had made clear he was her charge and nothing more. His tenacity, rather than impressing her, annoyed her as it was aimed in all the wrong places. His bravery she instead seemed to consider pigheaded stupidity.
And she did not understand, and did not want to understand, his ideas. They were unvikingly, wasteful, and all round silly. And Astrid was a serious girl. She was a warrior in training. She was going to avenge her uncle. She was going to serve in the front lines of a war that had been ongoing three hundred years. She had no time for silliness from Snotlout or the Twins, why should she have it for Hiccup?
So all in all, though they had gotten to know each other better, neither Hiccup nor Astrid greeted the announcement that she was now his huskarl with much excitement. For her, it was simply an extension of her chore, with a better prize at the end. For him, it meant more time suffering the disapproval of the girl he had idolised since childhood. Neither of them thought much new would come of it, though both had some hopes.
Those soft hopes were to be looked after, years later, with the loving eyes of a couple for whom everything had turned out all right in the end.
It all started with the oath. As a citizen of Berk, Astrid already owed Stoick and clan Haddock her loyalty. She had her rights and duties, and viking law was very clear on the latter. 'Yea, any 'o mislæd, betraye or akt gainst theyre lawffulle cheef shalt be hung to deatth wiff a thicke rope of dragon entrails.' Very clear. But now she owed Hiccup certain duties, and he her.
The ceremony had been carried out in the Great Hall, Hiccup obviously straining with the axe he gave her and spluttering all over his mead. She had not glared at him… much.
"I swear to be your axe and your shield, to follow you unswervingly into battle, to put your commands before any but the Gods" here her father had clarified while practising that this still meant Stoick's orders went before Hiccup's, and since he had clearly ordered her to keep him safe and not let him cause trouble, there went most of her worries "to give to you every feastday and Snoggletog, and to seek for you only the best that I am capable of."
Those had been her words. She had meant them. She had not wanted to, but they had been given, and in public. Berk had witnessed her oaths, and more than that she herself had. She could not dishonor herself nor her family. However, she was only oathbound so long as Hiccup kept his own oaths, which she thought (meanly, and knowingly a little unfairly) was not very likely.
Blushing quite strongly, he had told her feet that he promised her his protection, a place in his counsel, aid to her family in peace and war. He had offered her a hearth so long as he lived, and a strong arm against her enemies (there had been sniggers in the hall at that). He had stuttered heavily when he promised her aid in finding her a worthy husband who would give her many children. Then they exchanged iron and gold rings, and sat together for the rest of the feast. It almost felt like a marriage.
The first week of fealty had been uneventful. Little of her routine had needed to change from the last three months of her new task, other than checking in on him once a day to make sure he was still unmangled. These interactions should have always gone in the same way: Astrid walking up to the forge after midday training, seeing Hiccup working, looking him up and down to make sure he was alright, saying goodbye, and leaving.
But instead they went more like this:
Gobber would see her and holler hullo. She'd reply with a greeting, and then he'd ask her to stay just a minute while he went to do something. That something varied. Once Gobber told her he needed to go get his spare peg leg, another time that he had to get some nail polish, and once that he was going after the thing. What the thing was, she didn't want to know. So every day she sat around talking to Hiccup for a little while he oiled or sharpened her axe.
These conversations were not the highlight of her day. Hiccup always had some mad idea he was obsessed with, to somehow compensate for his lack of interest in training and physical weakness. On the sixth day of Hiccup rambling about some axe-bola launcher she had, however, a sudden realisation.
If I can get the gut-string right, it could throw knives at twice the speed of a Deadly Nadder, Hiccup was saying, when she interrupted. "Wait, start over again, I need to know this." she said. Hiccup stared at her, mouth agape, then stutteringly continued, and she listened.
Despite the average opinion, she had not gone mad. She had realised that this was something she could not afford to ignore. Hiccup would not listen to sense. He would not listen to his village. He would barely listen to her, or his father. There was no way out she could see where anyone just convinced him to stop. So until then, until he finally realised what life was like, she had to pay attention so she knew what to stop. Her task wasn't just to protect him, but to protect the village. And if that meant treating Hiccup's actions like a threat, then so be it. Her body was fast becoming a weapon, and that meant understanding the enemy.
This could quickly become a problem, however. Hiccup could not be the enemy- he was the boy she owed homage and loyalty. But resentment had already coiled within her, and it was easy to hold the self-denial inside, to hold both thoughts at the same time.
That was the start of it, inauspicious as it might seem.
Hiccup had a new spring in his step. His dad and he might not talk much at all. The village might think he was a useless idiot. Snotlout and the Twins might've increased the physicality of their teasing. All his ideas so far had failed. But, but, but- someone was listening to him! Someone cared enough to hear him out. And that someone was Astrid.
Astrid of the wicked arm, the unerring aim, the fleet feet, and the rare smile. Currently, she was indeed not smiling.
"I really think I've got it this time, with the whip-cannon. The magnets make it spin so fast that, when I press the release tail, the whip comes out strong enough to break stone!" Hiccup said. He was gesturing wildly at the mentioned machine, a round wooden tube on wheels with activated iron circles inside it ready to move and free a long leather tail. It was almost dragonish, Hiccup knew, but if it worked...
"But you know you aren't going out, right?" Astrid said, a hand on her axe. "Next raid you're staying put here." She added, pointing to the ground with the axe for emphasis.
He looked crestfallen, eyes all guarded and looking down. He had gotten better at looking her in the eyes, especially as he talked about his inventions. "Well, I thought that maybe we could go out and find a dragon next time?" he said.
The force of her glare made him cower. "I believe in my oaths, Hiccup." She hissed. "You are not going anywhere, and neither am I. The most you'll be doing is staying behind me if a dragon attacks the forge, and if that happens you had better make sure all the weapons here are sharp!"
Hiccup swallowed and nodded. Sighing, she turned to see Gobber coming back, and added: "See you tomorrow, Hiccup." as she left. Maybe she'd gotten through his thick skull this time.
"Dad, do we know what kind of food the dragons like best?" Hiccup asked. Yeah. He's the man. He can talk to his dad. Who is, as usual, staring at him with no comprehension.
"Hiccup, why would you care to know that?" Stoick said, in between slurps of cold cod stew that Hiccup had prepared. They were eating lunch at home, a rare treat thanks to there being less work around this week and his father being able to spend more time with him.
Thanking the gods he'd thought of an excuse, he said: "Was wondering if we could poison some of the food the dragons take, to kill off a few." Please don't think me cowardly, dad, he thought. Vikings hate poison. They're more of a take your head off while shouting at you kind of people.
His father shook his head, and said: "That was tried when I was a youth, it didn't work. My da kept it up for a year but they didn't even notice it, no matter how much we put. You'd know this-" the Finger pointed at him menacingly "- if you'd read the Book of Dragons, lad." Standing up to refill his bowl, he added in his brogue: "But it's fresh mutton they really go wild for, I can tell you that."
Deep in thought, Hiccup nodded. "Um. Thanks, dad. I'll be back later, I've got to go… do errands… in the forge." He said, and ran off.