"So what was that all about?" I asked him. It was his third day home today.
"What?" he asked distractedly, hammering at my axe. He'd ensconced himself straight back at the smithy as though he'd never gone. The view from my vantage point was a bit different, though.
"With Toothless, and the fish?" I was glad of the reason to visit, and even gladder of the excuse for conversation. Hiccup loved nothing more than talking about Toothless.
"Oh, that," he wiped his forearm across his brow, leaving a streak of soot. "Well, you remember where you first found us?"
How can I ever forget. Different Astrid, different Hiccup, same Toothless. "That little… valley? Cove?"
"Mmmm. When I first made friends with Toothless, I gave him a fish. And he, er, gave me half back." He grimaced. "It was salmon."
"Better than turbot," I shuddered.
"Well done on the not making faces thing, too," he grinned at me. "My fish wanted to be re-gifted back to Toothless."
"Eurgh," I opined decisively.
"Yeah. Anyway, it's sort of his 'getting to know you'… thing. Gift." Hiccup waved his hammer around descriptively. "It happened right against that boulder you sat on when you scared the living Hel out of me."
"You got revenge on me for that," I objected, and crossed my arms as he smirked at me.
The new handle he was inserting into my axe was ready, but he had to extract the remains of the old one first. It was stiflingly hot in the smithy, and I could feel sweat pricking at my neck – though I didn't entirely think it was down to the forge.
Hiccup was hammering the steel around the wooden handle loose enough to work it free. Behind him, the cherry red of melted metal was glowing as Gobber poured it into moulds for arrowheads. Gobber and Hiccup were both shirtless.
The contrast could not have been more different.
I had been trying, really. I had been sensible, normal, I hadn't stared (much), and I'd only squeaked a little when he answered my knock. But it. There was. Him. Chest. Shoulders. Back. Unnnnnnnggggg.
So much smooth, pink, lightly freckled skin.
His collarbone should be against the Lore. It's like a dragon's wings fanning across his chest. Delicate and strong at the same time, and I want to bite it.
To restore myself to normality, I would let my eyes drift to Gobber. Now, there's a man built like almost every Viking in the village. Barrel-chested, broad, slightly pot-bellied, hairy and scarred. Clawed arm attached to a stump-cap newly decorated with leaping boar. Strangely, it worked. Gobber is the anti-Hiccup!
"Sooooo, you were going to tell me about your trip," I prodded him, still resolutely looking over at Gobber.
"Oh yeah," Hiccup's shoulders (mmm, shoulders) tightened. "Well, some things went well."
That didn't sound promising. "And others didn't?"
"You could say that," Hiccup sighed, working the broken handle out with tongs now. "Chief Oglaranna, well…"
"Fine, lusty wench, Hiccup! Ye shoulda stayed," Gobber suddenly interjected with a stone-toothed leer. I wrenched my eyes away from him with a slight cringe. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, this meant that I was looking Hiccup in the face. I felt my ears burning again.
"No way. That is too much woman for one man to handle, even if he's got a dragon," Hiccup said fervently. I tilted my head at his tone, not liking it.
"Too much… woman?" I asked sharply, and his head ducked a little, his turn to go red.
"Not like that," he mumbled. "Just… there was an awful lot of her…"
"Took a shine to our lad here," Gobber threw down his gloves and leaned back upon his workbench. "Took severalshines, in fact. Lady just about threw herself on the floor at his foot."
"It would have made an awful noise. Anyway, not at first," Hiccup continued his mumbling.
"Nay, lad," Gobber said kindly. "Ye barely stepped from the ship at first, that's why."
"I hadn't any clothes that fit!" Hiccup protested.
"That wouldnae worried her none!" Gobber chortled. My fists clenched, and I suddenly wished I had another axe handle to break.
"So, she liked Hiccup, then?" I asked in a frosty tone.
"Lass, saying that she liked Hiccup is like saying dragons like long grass. You haven't ever seen a person so struck."
"I did a lot of hiding," Hiccup interrupted, his humour restoring itself. "And flying."
"But you had to present the offer, didn't you?" I asked.
"Ah," Hiccup looked mortified. I was disgusted to notice that even mortification looked good on him.
"Hm," agreed Gobber. "Well."
"Oh, go on, tell it," Hiccup sighed, and turned back to the axe handle. The hard line of his shoulders had solidified to steel. Mmm, shoulders. Stop that!
"Astrid, ye see, Lady Oglaranna, she, ah. Um. She made Hiccup a counter-offer."
Oh no.
"She did, did she?" I turned to glare at Hiccup. If he was already married, I'd kill him myself.
"It was when I presented her with the two Nightmare eggs, and with little Bugeyes," Hiccup muttered. "My jerkin split."
"And your tunic, Hiccup, and your tunic!" Gobber roared with laughter. "It's taken a while but you were right, eventually they simply couldnae contain that much raw Viking!"
"Gobber! You are forbidden on pain of pain from telling any more of this." Hiccup threw the tongs and axe down. "All right, so there I am, a Terror in my arms, and freezing naked to the waist in the Brass Monkey air. And this woman the size of my father says to cement the peace there needs to be a wedding. And I say…"
" 'I ne'er heard of a dragon marrying a woman before, but if you say so,' " Gobber mimicked Hiccup, with some accuracy. "An' then he plops the Terror into the harridan's arms. All I could do not to burst me pants laughing!"
"It was all I could think of!" Hiccup protested, glaring, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.
I was not giggling. I was… clearing my throat. A lot.
"Poor little Bugeyes," Gobber chortled. "Never seen a dragon go pale before."
"So, ah…" Hiccup glared some more at Gobber before rolling his head back in resignation, "they kinda declared war on us."
I blinked.
"On us?" I asked hesitantly.
Hiccup nodded, a mixture of morose and humiliated.
"Not on dragons?" I clarified.
Both Hiccup and Gobber shook their heads. Gobber was a mixture of hilarity and more hilarity.
"Us," I confirmed weakly.
"She likes Bugeyes," Hiccup muttered. "Bugeyes likes her. He catches rats, makes himself useful. No more war on dragons. But…" Hiccup slumped down into the chair he normally used. It was too low now.
"Oh boy," I breathed. "This is… this is…"
Great!
"Awful!" I finished. "Hiccup, you can't fight! You've insulted the chief of a rival clan, and you can't fight! This is a total disaster – she'll be coming after you to fight you personally. We've got to train you up!"
"I know!" he said miserably. "I started on the ship! But Gobber, my father, Spitelout, no-one can train me to fight! I'm hopeless at it!"
"Aye," said Gobber kindly, "you're hopeless. So we'll remember you kindly, eh, Hiccup?"
"What?" I rounded on him. "He's a hero!"
"Aye, but Oglaranna isnae called 'The Aggressive', nor become the first Chieftess in five generations by being sweet an' ladylike," Gobber pointed out.
"I'll teach you," I grabbed Hiccup's shoulders. My heart immediately started singing shoulders! again. However, my brain was screaming she won't-won't-won't get him!and, shamefully, also opportunity knocks! "No troll-chieftess is going to kill you, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock! You are a hero! You are the dragon-tamer! And you are going to be an amazing fighter! Got that? Hmm?" I shook him so hard he had to grab onto his chair.
He swallowed. His throat is so damn pretty. "Uh, yes, ma'am!"
"Good," I let him go and gave him my best steely-eyes. "Meet me in Toothless' cove at the second hour past dawn tomorrow. No being late. Bring that axe."
I stalked out of the smithy, and then my knees buckled.
Ohhhh, shoulders!
So this morning I was waiting for him in the cove. I'd brought along a selection of weapons, and was working out a few winter kinks in my back. I was disappointed in my tumble-rolls, but my somersault was clean and crisp. All that work perfecting it.
"Hey, Astrid."
"Ulph!" I swung around in shock to find my hatchet two inches from his throat. "Um. Sorry. Hi, Hiccup."
"Wow," he gulped. "Guess I'm in good hands, then."
I tried not to beam. "Ah, thanks. So, brought the axe?"
He pulled it from where it was slung on his back and looked at the new handle critically. "Not my best work," he apologised sheepishly, "I'll take it back tonight and finish it off."
I took it from him. He'd beaten metal rings around the axehead to stop the new handle sliding off, and the wood was warm and polished. Oak, maybe, something too hard to snap in my hands. It was lovely. "No… really," I ran my hands down the carefully wound twine around the grip. "It's…" Gorgeous? Beautiful? Absolutely Hiccup? "Fine." Idiot. "You've done a fantastic job." Better.
He sort of shrugged one shoulder and scuffed at the frozen sod with his metal foot. "Thanks, but the balance is sort of off. Your reach isn't as long as most Vikings, so you need a closer balance. I've got a few ideas on how to sort that, but…"
I held up a finger. "And that is exactly why no-one has been able to teach you to fight," I said clearly.
He looked startled. And delicious, but mostly startled. "Why? Because I have ideas?"
"Because you think everything through. You're methodical. Exact." I hefted the axe. He was right, it was too end-heavy.
"That'd be a good thing in a fight though, wouldn't it?" he scratched at his head.
"You'd think so, but no," I shook mine firmly. My bangs were too long, I needed to cut them again. Funny how they grow faster than the rest of my hair. "Methodical and exact is great for smithing, but not in a fight, not really. With fighting, you've got to do all the preparation, train yourself to have certain responses, so that when you're actually in the moment you barely need to think at all. It's all built in."
"Sort of like an instinct?" Hiccup sat down on a boulder. He looked interested now, the way he looked when talking about dragons or machines.
"Sort of," I accepted. "But one you create yourself. I know you can act on instinct – you once told me that when you first flew with Toothless properly, you lost your notes and had to wing it." I grimaced. "Arrgh. I need forgiveness for that horrible pun."
He grinned. "I like puns." Then his face grew absorbed again. "I almost crashed us because I was relying too much on the diagrams. It didn't work until I threw my notes away."
"See!" I pointed out triumphantly.
"So I have to build responses into my body?" he looked up at me from his boulder. "Okay. I can do that."
I could build him a few responses that- no. No.
"First step is the hardest one," I took a deep breath. "In order to find your strengths, you have to pinpoint what theyaren't. Your weaknesses. You have to acknowledge them."
His face fell into very familiar, sardonic lines, and I was suddenly seeing his fourteen year old self looking back at me. "Can we spare the time? The list is back at home," he said sourly.
It struck me then. Hiccup still doesn't know. How he looks. That his differences aren't weaknesses. He's not been a hero long. Two and a half years, and six months of that away. And he's always been, well, not quite your usual Viking. He probably still doesn't believe any of it.
He'd better.
I punched his arm. "Not like that. No way, Hiccup!"
"What?" he rubbed at his arm. "Can you quit that? Sheesh!"
"Stop saying stupid things, then!" I snapped. "You are not weak, and you are not useless! You are the best of us all, and don't you ever, ever forget it!"
He gaped at me. Funny, even inhumanly good-looking guys look stupid when they're gaping. "You said what now?"
"I mean it," I seethed. "Facing your weaknesses doesn't mean believing every cruel thing said about you, Hiccup! You're different, yes, but it makes you strong!"
He was still gaping at me. "I… I. Um. Wow. Um. So, then. So. Er, what does facing your weaknesses mean? In a," he cleared his throat, "in a fighting sense?"
I pulled him up by the arms until we were standing face to face. Well, face to chin, anyway. "Look at me," I commanded. I was still livid that he believed that...
"What do you think mine would be?" I lifted my eyebrow challengingly, swallowing my anger as much as I could. After all, I was as much to blame as anyone. "Go on. In a fight. Logically."
"Um…" He seemed uncertain of where to put his eyes. "I don't know?"
I sighed, trying to settle down. I had a long way to go here.
"I'm at least a foot shorter than any other Shieldmaiden," I pointed out in my calmest voice. I was proud of that, girl. You would have been too. "This means I'm not as heavy, so I can't overpower with brute force like say, Stoick or Spitelout. You even mentioned one before. I don't have the reach of the taller Vikings, so another blade is always going to get close to me before mine gets close to my opponent. I can't carry heavy armour, so I can't be as well protected. Get the idea?"
He was frowning. "But you're an amazing fighter."
"We'll get to that. Now, in a logical sense, what would yours be?" I held his eyes. So green. But this had to be about him, now. No musing on his beauty would help. He still believed…
He tried to hold my gaze, I could tell, but his eyes involuntarily dropped to his left before snapping back up. I nodded slowly.
"It's not a weakness, Hiccup," I said, still in my calmest voice. "But an enemy will see it as such, and so you are going to get very, very good at protecting your foot, your stance and your balance. What else?"
He seemed to breathe easier now that the difficult topic of his foot had been broached. "Um, I'm thin? Not as heavy?"
"Right. And?"
"Well, I'm stronger than I was, but not like... like Dad. Not that anyone's really as strong as... anyway. Um. Um. Oh! And I still can't run very fast, but I've got a modification that'll fix that. I hope. Oh gods, I hope. Running away is a very attractive proposition right now."
"Tall isn't always a good thing in a fight, either," I pointed out. "Less likely to see someone like me."
"Hmm," he tipped his head, puzzled. "You know... I can't really think of much else."
"Less than you thought, weren't there?" I said gently. "Not really a list at all."
He blinked, and then his face looked suddenly, utterly stricken. I used my advantage ruthlessly.
"So what does that suggest your strengths in battle are? Let's see. You have reach, speed of reaction, and height to your advantage. You don't always need strength, depending on the weapon. People are breakable, you don't need to split them in half to take them out. And knowing you, I'm sure you'd prefer not to. You're agile, you've had to be to keep up with Toothless. And smithing has given you plenty of endurance."
He was gaping again. This was becoming my favourite of his expressions.
I continued. "You're also clever. And that's the best thing to be in a fight."
"I thought I didn't need to think? That I'd be building automatic body responses?" he said weakly.
"Nope. You always need to think, but those learned responses give you time. You can't think about every move. Cut, swing, parry, slash, roll, cut, thrust, kick, slash, punch, cut! Imagine if your head was like that in a fight! But if your body is doing it for you, then you can be thinking of ways to end the whole thing as well."
He looked thoughtful. "I think I understand," he said slowly.
I breathed out. "Right. Talking done. Let's get moving."
I assumed a fight stance, but long fingers quickly grasped my wrist.
"Right," he said, and his smile was a crooked cut on my heart. "Astrid, thank you. Thank you."
I forced a grin. "Don't thank me just yet. Not until tomorrow's bruises are yellow."
I can still feel his fingers on my wrist.