We both attend a boarding school and we aren’t supposed to be out this late. I thought I heard a teacher. Quick hide in this small space with me!
I tried to sneak out using my window and now I’m hanging from it can you help me?
I was skipping class to sleep in an empty class room and you caught me but the door closed behind you and now we’re trapped inside cause the inside lock is broken.
Teacher left us alone in detention wanna make out??
I may have brought my pet to school by accident and it may have escaped you have to help me.
You just caught me stealing my phone back from the teachers desk and it turns out you were here to steal the lesson plans. Wow you’re a thief….
I just accidentally kicked a rock too hard and it broke that window and you saw it happen
I run a (technically illegal) snack shop in school and you’re the student council president who caught me
You accidentally broke the clay figure the boss keeps on their desk and some how I’m helping you fix it???
I accidentally stumbled upon your makeshift hideout on school grounds let me nap here and I won’t say a word.
I may or may not be the one who set off those fireworks but on the off chance that I was what would I have to do to get out of trouble???
You know that I’m the one who set the teachers ringtone to boys moaning and called them during class now you’re using this against me.
Someone has been leaving post it notes with hyper realistic dicks drawn on them around the school and as Student Council President I have to find out who it is
headcanon that if Kaz and Inej have a baby girl that Jesper and Wylan are the official babysitters. they hold the baby up like simba to show her off to the dregs. They made a baby crow costume for her. Jesper/Wylan get one of those baby chest holders idk what they’re called. When Kaz and Inej come home the entire gang of the dregs are lined up outside the front door to meet their baby. Kaz realizes they can monetize off of this. Inej gives him a look and he says he was just joking.
At long last, I came to the very obvious decision to continue. Thank you so much for all those who enjoyed the story and didn't hesitate to me know ❤️ Chapter 2 and all the oncoming chapters would not be possible without you!
So, as the poll dictated, I am sharing chapter 2 now!
Tagging @macheriemila, @borrassofi, @bi-bi-want-dragon, @triumphantfury, and @katergator84 (you said I could!) If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, don't be afraid to reach out!
~~~
“I should - go,” Astrid heard herself say. So many things were happening and she wanted to retreat to her tent so she could silently scream into the hard pillow issued along with the cot she slept on.
“But - but what about your shoulder?” Hiccup asked. She blinked, and the cut on her shoulder throbbed with the reminder. She had forgotten about that, the whole reason she was sitting here.
“I can take care of it myself,” she assured her friend. “I was going to anyway.”
“Why didn’t you?” asked Hiccup. “I mean, you could've taken care of it a lot sooner without me. . .” he trailed off. “Right, stupid question.”
“I don’t know, she answered, mostly to herself. She crawled out of the tent and nearly ran to her own. She cleaned the shallow cut - it probably didn’t even need to be bandaged, but she did just in case.
The next morning she wrapped a handkerchief around her nose to block out the smell and went to report to Gobber for cleaning out chamber pots or shoveling excrement. The work was welcome, and she found her mind concentrating on the task at hand instead of wandering off to think about complicated things. At an hour past noon Gobber sent her off for some grub.
She found Hiccup sitting on the outskirts of the group, no one willing to sit near him due to the stench. She plopped down beside him with an inelegant sigh.
“How’s your shoulder?” he inquired. Astrid pulled down her handkerchief and took a bite of grub, eyes fluttering shut in appreciation of the lukewarm sludge warming her body.
“It’s fine, she told him. “It was shallow; I didn’t even have to bandage it.”
“But you did,” Hiccup checked. She let out a good natured huff.
“Yeah, yeah. Of course I did.” She turned her attention back to the rations. Hiccup finished his before her.
“Can I ask you something?” he broke the comfortable silence, keeping his gaze fixed on the empty tin plate on his lap.
“Sure,” agreed Astrid warily. She had honestly just fallen in her old patterns with Hiccup, forgetting he knew about her being a her. She took another bite of food to occupy herself.
“Why?”
Ah. Astrid didn’t know how to answer that. She chased the now-cold food around her plate, the utensil grating on their ears.
“You know females can’t inherit?” she asked after a while.
Hiccup blinked, as if surprised she’d even answered him. “Yeah I knew that . . . ooooh .”
“I just-” her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “My parents . . . especially Mother, they were worried. And I knew I’d have to marry like my sister to reassure them, but I don’t want to!” Her voice had begun to rise. She cleared her throat embarrassedly and continued. “So I figured I’d give them an heir who could inherit, because I was always the best at fighting and dealing with the land.” She felt stupid. Just because everyone thought Lord Hofferson had a son didn’t actually mean he did . Would inheriting even be valid?
“That’s messed up,” Hiccup said contemplatively, breaking through her spiral of thoughts.
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
They sat quietly a little longer, enjoying the reprieve before they were to be sent to work again. The infantry finished their meals and stood to head off to their stations on the battlefield. Hiccup watched them go pensively. He had no taste for death.
“Do you ever think it’s curious how we’ve been supposedly winning this war for nearly a decade, and yet are no closer to victory?” he asked suddenly. Astrid looked ahead contemplatively.
“A war takes time to win, does it not?” she answered thoughtfully.
“But is it winning if we’re making no progress?” Hiccup pressed. Astrid frowned.
“How is it no progress?” she argued. “We’ve been pressing Bludvist’s armies away from Berk and gaining land. Even if we weren't, we are wearing down his fighters, are we not?”
“True,” he nodded. “But also our own. If we’re at a stalemate, we’re still losing soldiers.” Astrid’s face cleared as she realized what Hiccup was getting at.
“The King wouldn’t just send people to die while he thought on his next move,” she said stoutly. “Our fighters know what they are sacrificing, and are doing it happily. Besides, the enemy is sustaining far more casualties than us.”
“I just wish there was a way to end this without more killing,” Hiccup sighed.
“You could always try the diplomatic approach once we’ve graduated into true knights,” she suggested. He opened his mouth to reply, but Gobber called them over for their next shift before he could speak.
A month after that, Gobber assigned them to a knight to work as the traditional squires.
“I ken we dun’ away wi’ tha’ program,” he acknowledged, “but ye need at least a wee bit of experience before we can call on ye. The war is not neer as bad as it was a few years ago, so ye’ll get to be on the battlefield but not in too much danger.” Hiccup nudged Astrid pointedly, who ignored him in favor of listening to Gobber’s next instructions.
He told them who each would be working for and took them to meet the knights they would serve for the next couple months.
Astrid was assigned to a knight called Sir Eret, a young man only about five years older than her. He was broad shouldered with long, dark black hair, twinkling amber eyes, and an easy smile, and a very skilled fighter. He spoke with a slight accent, and had a large chin. Astrid knew they would become friends very quickly. She was relieved she liked who she would be serving for the next bit of her training, unlike poor Hiccup, who had been assigned to Sir Dagur DeRange, who was a similar age to Eret, but not nearly as amicable.
Eret became the older brother she had never met but always wanted. He was who she’d want to be for her sisters. He was from up north, and sometimes demonstrated their slightly different attack style from up there. His clan was rather new among Berk’s court, Sir Eret being only the third generation serving the Haddock kings.
Eret had been the last squire to pass the knight initiation test before the practice had been done away with. His father had been the knight he trained under, and had been very hard on him, but it ensured that he passed his initiations with flying colors, while other noble sons had only been able to scrape through due to their parent’s coddling.
“I won’t be too hard on you,” he assured her, “but I won’t go easy on you either. You look like the next great fighter of Berk, but you’ll waste away if you take things easy.” Astrid straightened under his praise.
“I won’t slack,” she promised.
She learned how to pack a knight’s things in the proper manner, and how to help strap armor onto Eret. She was supposed to make sure his armor and weapons were taken proper care of and polished. Eret helped her with such tasks at the end of the day, but she knew that most other knights just left their equipment to their squires while they collapsed onto their cot. She was grateful for Eret's decency.
She met a few more knights her father hadn’t known. They weren’t in the same social circle Father usually conversed with. There was Sir Thuggery and Sir Magnus and Sir Sven, the son of Lord Svenson. They were friendly enough, but clearly didn’t hold squires in the same regard Eret did, and she didn’t find herself getting close with any of them. She didn’t see Hiccup as much anymore, as Sir Dagur and Eret apparently had some slight hostility. Eret would never admit why and Hiccup wouldn’t tell what could have been the reason. She didn’t press too hard, because whatever had happened was between Dagur and Eret; it wasn’t her place to pry, and Hiccup never seemed too happy to hear her talk about Eret.
“You know, his fighting techniques are a little different from what we’ve learned, and he’s offered to teach me,” Astrid disclosed. “Do you want to join?”
Hiccup’s mouth was tight at the corners. “You sure I wouldn’t be intruding?” he asked, a hint of something sharp in his voice. Astrid frowned. He had developed a habit of getting short with her rather quickly lately, but Astrid supposed it could only be expected when having to work with Dagur’s volatile tempers, and they rarely found time to catch up except after the day was done late at night, so he was probably constantly tired.
“You wouldn’t,” she assured him. “Really, I think Eret would like you. I have to follow him around every day anyway; it’d be nice to have someone else put up with him,” she said fondly.
“Astrid,” he sighed. She blinked as she caught her breath. That was a thing now. He seemed to be on a mission to use her actual name as much as possible whenever they were alone, with no consideration for her lungs. “Why are you set on me joining you? Don’t you - don’t you want to spend time with Eret?”
She was confused. Why wouldn’t she want Hiccup to join them? “I want to spend time with you,” she told her friend. “And I think we’d both enjoy - what are you - what are you trying to say?” Why was he being this obstinate? Her confusion was turning into anger and she didn’t want to be angry with Hiccup, dammit.
Hiccup blew out a breath. “I, I just - want to know what your relationship with Eret is,” he said, not meeting her eyes.
“Why? He’s, we - we’re friends. He’s a friend,” Astrid replied slowly, like one of them was being dumb but she wasn’t sure who it was.
“So what am I?” Hiccup asked quietly. That was a dangerous question. She hesitated.
“My best friend,” she answered. “I can have more than one friend, can’t I?” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t like he could say no.
“No! I mean, of course you can that’s not what I’m saying-”
“What are you saying?”
“Do you-” a look of bewildered realization crossed his face. “You don’t - you don’t like him as more than a friend?”
Astrid’s jaw dropped in shock. “ What?!” she exclaimed. Hiccup’s mouth formed an ‘O.’
“You’re not - you two aren’t like that?” he questioned.
“ No. Ew. Why would you think that? He’s like a brother to me.”
“I don’t know,” he retorted defensively. “It’s just - you were constantly talking about him I figured . . . girls I knew could never stop talking about their sweethearts so, um-”
“It was never like that. And did those girls decide to become a knight instead of being a lady? I don’t think your idea of what a girl is fits me.” Would you prefer it if it did? Why did the thought make her feel hurt? “No. He’s just - honestly that would never happen,” she shook her head in bewildered irritation.
“Really?” he smiled slightly. “I don’t know - I’m sorry for being weird.”
“Yeah. It’s - this was weird.”
“You’re right, you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known,” Astrid felt a spark of giddy happiness ignite in her chest and tried to internally tamp it down. “-and just cause I’ve seen ladies fall for handsome Eret before doesn’t mean you would, too-” She blinked, his words processing before an evil grin spread across her face.
“Were you jealous?” Astrid teased. He blushed.
“What? Me? Jea-”
“You were ,” she clapped her hands together and cackled.
“All right, yeah yeah-”
“Aww.”
Hiccup grabbed her face gently to shut her up. Her cheeks squished together. His hands were always so warm, especially on her face, and that was the only reason her cheeks felt hot. She tried to blow out that little spark in her chest, but it only fanned it into a small flame. “I’m new to the whole friend thing,” he rolled his eyes good humouredly. “I’ve only ever had you and Gobber. I guess I don’t want to lose you somehow when you have someone a lot more competent to keep company.”
“Hey,” Astrid squeezed his hand. Their eyes locked on joined hands. She cleared her throat. “You’ll always be the first friend I made,” she said sincerely. “Besides, don’t underestimate yourself: you’re plenty competent and interesting.” He ducked his head and his cheeks warmed.
“I know how you can make it up to me,” she decided.
“What?”
“You have to join me with Eret now. Besides, we were kinda banned from sparring one on one since, y’know,” She wiggled her shoulder, a silvery line sloping along her right shoulder underneath her tunic. The scar wasn’t noticeable; she could wear an off-shoulder dress and no one would be able to tell she had once had that shoulder sliced. She noticed it herself occasionally because she knew it was there, and Hiccup would because he had been there too, but no one else would unless they ran their finger along her shoulder, and there was no possibility of anyone getting close enough to her to touch her intimately there. “I’ll bet you’re rusty,” she taunted.
“C’mon!”
.oOo.
“So, what do the initiation tests usually consist of?” Astrid asked. She was sitting cross legged on the ground. Eret was standing from his practice spar with Hiccup, who was wheezing on the ground. Astrid wasn’t worried about him though; she could tell he was just being overdramatic. Eret cocked his head, considering.
“They usually start after the jousting tournament in the summer,” he told them. “After the first week, squires can become knights and participate in the second week. They wouldn’t if they knew what was good for them,” he snorted. “Many a new knight have started out bankrupt due to fancying themselves better than the seasoned knights in a bid for glory.”
Hiccup sat up and rested his arms on his knees. “When was your first joust?” he asked curiously. He had taken to Eret rather quickly after he joined Eret’s training. Astrid was rather pleased to see her two friends getting along together.
“Three years ago,” Eret replied, voice soft with nostalgia. “Won the first round, and then lost the next two.” Astrid winced while Eret laughed. “It’s what I deserved for trying to challenge my father and uncle. I was eventually able to earn my kit and my horse back, but they never let me forget it. Just because I was family didn’t mean they went any easier on me.” He shook his head to clear it. “But that’s not what you asked, Astor.”
Astrid blinked in startled confusion for a second. She normally went by ‘Hofferson’ with Gobber and her peers, and Hiccup called her Astrid when no one was around, so it took a little adjustment to answer to ‘Astor.’ She mentally scolded herself and made a note to ask Hiccup to start calling her Astor as well.
“Well, they try to change initiations around, but they follow the basics. For one, you’ll probably have your own mock joust,” Eret was saying.
“Oh no,” the prince cringed.. “I’m no good at jousting.” Eret threw him a reassuring smile
“We barely practice with a lance at all, but you’re certainly the best rider,” Astrid said matter-of-factly.
“To tell the truth, jousting is only useful for duels and tournaments, not battles,” he shrugged. “Your instructor, Gobber, seems to care more for practicality than pomp. But the best trick is to stay in your saddle, and practice the back strength to hold a lance straight.”
“Back strength?” Hiccup asked. “Not your arms?”
“Your arms are connected to your back, are they not?” Eret replied, deadpan. A snort escaped Astrid and Hiccup sent her a glare of mock-betrayal.
“Sometimes they have to fight someone like a real joust, either an actual knight or one of your peers. A few times they just have you ride along the tilt and test your aim. Hiccup gulped. Astrid scooted over to him and patted his shoulder.
“You’re stronger than you know; I’m sure you’ll pass easily,” she heartened him.
“Well that makes one of us,” he muttered, but shot her a grateful look that went straight to her chest, warming it as the chilly wind blew against her.
“If they continue with the mock joust with contestants, they usually make the entire initiation a contest between all the squires. Of course, if you haven’t fallen off your horse or after three runs, the next day you’ll fight hand to hand and they’ll test your weapons handling that way,” Eret continued. He paused and took in the nervousness on his friends' faces.
“I wouldn’t worry; you guys will be fine.”
.oOo.
Define fine , Astrid thought sarcastically, remembering Eret’s encouraging words. She was peering through the tent flap, colorful crests and peasant children running around, lords greeting each other or arguing, the blinding sun beating down upon the scene. She heard Hiccup’s shaky breaths behind her and turned around, exchanging anxious grins.
“I brought us some water,” he gestured at a tray with a jug of water and a tin cup. She nodded in gratitude.
“You nervous?” she asked him as she filled her tin cup. She knew he was, just as she knew he knew she was, hence the meaningless smalltalk.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t. We’ve been practicing ever since we got back.” Three months ago they had returned from the battlefield, grimy and hardened, glad to be free from tending to their assigned knights. But no sooner had they shed their armor Astrid had leapt into preparations and their midnight training sessions and free time had become vigorous jousting training.
“Hey,” scolded Astrid gently, handing him the refilled tin of water. “It’s normal to be nervous; you’d be stupid not to be. But I know you’ll be able to do this. We both will. Honestly I'm more nervous about the improbable possibility of someone recognizing me.”
“You’re not recognizable,” Hiccup assured her. She decided to play with him and arched her brow.
“Really?” she asked, pretending to be offended. She saw Hiccup straighten and rub the back of his head as she stuck her nose up in the air and tried to look at him threateningly.
“I - I uh, not like, you’re forgettable ‘cause you’re not, of course.”
“So you think I will be recognized?”
“No! No, how could you be, I mean you’ve changed so much since when you were fifteen.”
“I was attending summer parties last year.”
“Oh. Uh, well, y’know I’m sure you’ve changed plenty this year too.” Astrid said nothing. His eyes widened as he had just realized something.
“F-For the better! I - I’m sure all the-”
“Hiccup, stop,” she giggled. “I’m messing with you.”
“Messing with me - what! Why?” She giggled again at the affronted expression on his face while Hiccup’s expression morphed into fondness.
“Feeling better?” he asked and set the cup back on the tray.
“Are you?” He nodded. “Yeah.” They stood there quietly for a minute, enjoying the silent companionship.
Somehow they were closer than they had been a second ago. She gazed into his fiery emerald orbs and was mesmerized. He took a breath, and she watched the rise and fall of his chest, the part of his lips as he blew the air out. She blinked and leaned closer before catching herself and dragging her eyes back to his, just in time to see him pull his own gaze up from hers. He took a healthy step back and licked his lips.
A trumpet blew and they heard the herald begin his announcements.
“Oh! I uh, I should really get back to my tent,” Hiccup flailed.
“Yeah, you should go,” Astrid agreed. “Umm, careful out there. And good luck.”
“Good luck to you too,” he wished her, and then he was gone.
.oOo.
She flicked an imaginary speck of dust off the hard embroidered leather chestplate, bearing the Hofferson family crest: two battle axes criss crossed in front of a Nadder’s crown of spikes. She checked to make sure her shoulder pads were securely fastened again and took deep breaths as she waited for Gobber to lead her outside.
A few minutes later Gobber poked his head into the tent.
“Ye ready, lad?” he asked kindly. Astrid whipped her head around to face him and nodded jerkily. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Ye’ll do great,” Gobber clapped her on the back, and she absorbed the impact without falter. She squared her shoulders and walked steadily to the line of young men waiting to prove themselves ready for battle.
Berk was different from other kingdoms. Squires could become a knight between ages eighteen to twenty one, so if any of Astrid’s peers managed to fail the initiation tests, they would have second chances. All the people could watch the squires on this day. The king and his queen sat on a raised dais, an advisor and some attendants accompanying them. Nobility occupied the upper seats so as to better see the contestants, but some, mainly young ladies, sat on the seats right next to the edge in hopes of catching a soon-to-be-knight’s eye.
This year the squire’s tests were a small series. First, they would practice jousting, running against the quintain three times, and then they would be tested with their long range missiles, like Eret had predicted. All of them must display an average ability to shoot, or use of another long-range weapon. These tests would take place before noon. Then, after noon they would fight against noble volunteers to test their fighting ability. The king would then bless them upon his dias in front of everyone. Then she would be a knight. She would have honor and a livelihood to use to support her family when they needed it.
The squires stood in an alphabetical line according to surname. Ackson was first, then the Prince Haddock and her, Hofferson. She took her place beside her friend and he greeted her with a glance from the corner of his eye, his face continuing to face forward. She dipped her head to return the greeting and stood straight and tall as Ingerman took his place on her left.
The air was stifling and hot, the sun a ruthless hunter pursuing entrance into her eyes, forcing her to squint. The sounds of the crowd faded away and crashed down upon her ears with an even greater force. A dribble of sweat began to bead on her hairline, but she refused to pay it any attention. She wanted to shut her eyes and block out the nervous fear beginning to coil like a smug poisonous snake in her belly. Her hand flexed at her side, straining against her will to reach for Hiccup’s hand, to ground herself in the comfortable familiarity of his own sweaty palms. She exhaled shortly, scolding herself for even daring to think such a thing. Anyone could spot her treacherous fingers seeking solace in the Prince and that would just complicate things. Such wants were dangerous, and she couldn’t afford them.
She didn’t notice Hiccup’s own hand twitch toward hers before it was dragged back to grip his leg.
The Herald called Ackson’s name and the burly youth stepped forward hesitantly. Astrid watched avidly as the young man was directed, tested on his ability to follow directions. She watched his form and listened closely to the remarks and criticism and praise he received. He wasn’t that good at the riding part, but made up for it with force.
Then the Crown Prince stepped forward to complete his initiation. She nudged him and caught his gaze before nodding resolutely, a reaffirmation of good luck from her. His mouth stretched like it was trying to accomplish a smile but couldn’t quite manage, and strode into the ring. Astrid bit her lip as she watched, concern for him flooding her throat - or maybe she couldn’t breathe because she was holding her breath.
She knew he was worried the kingdom wouldn’t accept him, too stuck on his earlier year’s failures, but she knew better. She watched the tall young man deftly assemble his horse and swing himself into the saddle, Toothless standing obediently and tossing his head majestically as a page scurried forward to hand the Prince a lance. How could anyone be blind to the compassionate budding warrior in front of them? He thanked the page and steadied his lance, the heavy wooden weapon ending in iron not shaking even a little bit. She hoped his hands weren’t sweaty.
His form was impeccable and the speed and force he reached with Toothless made the onlookers gasp in admiration as the lance thudded securely into the middle of the target. The quintain swung around fast, and everyone sat up in anticipation, no one daring to call out a warning. The sandbag swung with gusto, seemingly faster than ever but Hiccup and Toothless avoided it and made it to the end of the tilt. The second and third try were no less perfect, and he dropped the remains of his lance into the arms of the waiting page - the lance had shattered on his third round as he gracefully descended.
Lords turned to their neighbor to talk animatedly, and Astrid allowed a smile to break through at the sight of the kingdom being as taken with their prince as she was. The King nodded approvingly at Hiccup, and though his face was concealed Astrid could picture the beaming smile he was surely wearing. Mothers examined him appraisingly, calculating all the benefits a son in law like him would reap, and the young ladies sat up straighter as he rode past, some simpering and batting their eyelashes, others staring outright without breaking eye contact in an attempt to catch his attention. Astrid’s hackles raised.
He doesn’t like those kinds of girls , Astrid chanted in her head. He wouldn’t give them the time of day .
Oh, and who would he prefer? A silly girl pretending to be a boy with short hair and rough tunics? A treacherous voice whispered back. She clenched her jaw, pride gone, and as she stepped up as her name was called, she charged toward the target with ferocious single-mindedness.
She didn’t even remember what happened after she inevitably completed the task with flying colors. The long range missiles went equally well, her and Hiccup being the most accurate, of course. She inclined her head toward her parents and the one sister who had come to watch her before finding herself back in her tent and collapsing on the cot. She didn’t care about food; that could wait.
Gustav, a page in his last year, entered the tent with a tray laden with food and cold water, as Astrid came to some time later.
“Haddock told me to bring you this,” he announced. Astrid opened her mouth and closed it again at the thoughtful gesture.
“Thank you,” she said, touched. “And - tell him thank you too.”
“When I become a squire, he says I can wait on him,” Gustav proudly proclaimed. She raised her eyebrow. Poor Hiccup. Gustav would be far better suited to Jorgenson, who would soak up the attention Gustav lavished on his idols.
“Is that so?” she asked absently, waving him out of the tent so she could enjoy the food in peace. God, cold chicken had never tasted this good. She gobbled the meal down as the bell began to clang, announcing the next round for the graduating squires. Astrid cursed and hastily wiped her fingers on her tunic - oh, if Mother could see her now. Thank Thor Hiccup had sent Gustav or she might have entirely slept through the test! She fastened her armor on and grabbed her ax along with a sword before practically running toward the dirt arena, praying her tardiness wouldn’t be noted.
She wove her way through the crowd who quickly parted as they recognized her time to squeeze herself between Hiccup and Ingerman. The Prince was standing stiffly but noticeably relaxed when he spied her. She shot him a grateful smile and then turned forward as the herald announced the names and clans of the squires present.
“Gustav said you were asleep,” her friend whispered out the side of his mouth.
“I was. Thanks for the food, by the way. I might have never woken up if you hadn’t sent it.”
“Figured you’d be hungry since I didn’t see you at lunch. I would have gone myself, but Dad insisted on formally introducing me to everyone .” Astrid stifled a snicker too late. He shot her an annoyed look.
“He’s proud of you,” she nudged him.
Thorston was called up first, for the squires were being called up in reverse alphabetical order. Ingerman whimpered nervously beside her. On the other side of Hiccup, Ackson gave an exasperated huff.
“While I’ll agree his Proud-of-Me look is a nice change from his Disappointed-in-Me face, it is extremely unnerving,” Hiccup snarked. Astrid smiled dryly.
“You’ll get over it.”
“Will you two be quiet!” Ackson hissed. Hiccup opened his mouth to snap back some sarcastic comment but Astrid elbowed him viciously and all that came out was a soft oof. He shot her an irritated look of betrayal and she rolled her eyes at him expressively; Ackson wasn’t worth starting a fight with ever, especially not here.
Gobber had taught all his pupils well, and she could sense his satisfaction radiating off him next to the King as he watched all the young men fight avidly. Clearly the new program had been a success. Even all the boys who Astrid had rolled her eyes at their incompetence did surprisingly well. Thorston was still crazy, but was able to direct his craziness at the targets with impressive precision. Jorgenson, for once, wasn’t slacking off and displayed surprising agility as he fought against Sir Bucket and held his own against the older man. Even Ingerman who had been whimpering next to her the whole time stepped up and the normally gentle teen displayed his dramatic strength and even managed to disarm his own opponent.
And then it was her turn. She was going up against some Sir Magnus - she forgot which surname he had. She walked into the pit, the thin layer of sand scuffing under her meticulously polished boots. She had a sturdy dirk at her hip and her trusty ax strapped to her back. She kept her body loose but alert as she studied the opponent walking towards her. Sir Magnus was heavyset, with clunky iron armor on instead of the lighter leather she had. She marked the best targets: under the arms, the cracks where the breastplate ended.
She unstrapped the ax from her back and held it in front of her in a defensive position, the heavy weight of the weapon familiar and comforting in her hands. She kept her breathing even as she watched Sir Magnus ready himself across from her.
“Ready?” the herald called. Astrid gave a curt nod, baring her teeth in a smile. The horn carved into an elaborate bronze dragon was blasted shortly and the two fighters began to circle each other. Astrid matched his footwork carefully as she studied Sir Magnus, looking for a point of weakness to get past his guard. Gobber always instructed her to never attack first when facing a new opponent, so she waited for his patience to break first.
He stepped forward and Astrid, anticipating his strike, blocked it before he had even completed the movement. The crowd murmured in appreciation and Sir Magnus drew back, assessing her with calculating eyes.
She waited for him to strike a second time and blocked it before launching her own attack. He was stronger and heavier and bigger than her but she was quick and her hits were painful and effective. Sir Magnus unleashed his full force and landed a blow, causing her to stumble back to catch her breath. (The Prince started forward impulsively before reigning himself in to stand ramrod straight as he watched his friend, but Astrid was too preoccupied to notice.)
She grit her teeth against her temper. There was no shame in losing to an older, more experienced knight. But Astrid was the best in her class; she wanted to be exceptional. She wanted to be a warrior so great that even when her identity was found out, her heroics could not be disputed. She saw her opponent getting ready to strike again, and just as he raised his sword to prepare an attack Astrid lunged forward at the right moment - although her timing was only half skill and the other half luck - and hooked her ax around the blade by the hilt, tugging it out of his hands and off to the side. Distantly, she was aware of the crowd around her cheering or clapping, but she paid it no mind. The fight was not over yet.
Just because Sir Magnus was currently weaponless did not mean he wasn’t still a threat. Astrid had the upper hand, but wasn’t going to let her guard down one bit.
Her adversary charged her and swung at her. She opted to duck instead of trying to chop off his arm, after all, he wasn’t a true enemy. It was a feint. He pivoted on one foot as his leg swept around to knock her off her feet. She threw her ax out of the way so it wouldn’t land on her and locked her legs around his to bring him down with her. They tumbled onto the ground with a thump . She flung the heavy body off of her and practically leapt onto his chest, pinning him down with her weight. She reached for her dirk and unsheathed part of her blade, pressing the sharp naked steel to Sir Magnus’ neck.
“Yield,” she ordered in her deepest voice.
“I yield,” the knight rasped. She exhaled in relief and stood carefully before offering her hand to the older man. The crowd was roaring its approval and she turned to see Hiccup pumping his fist delightedly in the air, a toothy grin on his beautiful face. Her heart pounded in her ears as she made her way out the pit to accept her parents’ congratulations and her sister’s embrace.
“You must be exhausted, my boy,” Mother insisted. “Why, we didn’t even see you at luncheon.”
Astrid opened her mouth to protest, feebly trying to explain how she wished to watch Hiccup pass his own initiation but her youngest sister, Cami, the most vivacious and unruly thirteen year old Astrid had ever known, including herself, announced how hungry she was as well and Father placed a hand on each of his daughter’s shoulders and led them to the Hofferson chambers. Astrid cast a glance behind her, but made no more protests. She could always see her friend at the official knighting ceremony before the ball being held in their favor that night.
.oOo.
As it turned out, the actual knighting ceremony was a quiet, intimate affair mainly limited to her family (Mother, Father, Cami) and the King and Queen. The Crown Prince was nowhere to be seen, so after Astrid finished dressing for the ball early she set off to find her friend.
She found him twisting and turning in front of a full length mirror, attempting to tie his cravat. He heard her soft laugh and turn around, his face brightening. It fell as he took in her own impeccably tied cravat.
“Tell me you had trouble with that too,” he grumbled pleadingly, gesturing at her neck.
“Oh yeah, it took me forever,” Astrid said brightly. Hiccup scowled at her and shook his head.
“So I got it on my first try,” she admitted, fighting against the mirth in her tone. “But I didn’t like the way it looked, so this is actually my second attempt.”
“I’m on my eighth.” His shoulders sagged. Astrid gently turned his shoulders to face her and slid her hands down his neck to his collar.
“Father can’t tie his own cravats either,” she disclosed, focusing on her hands as they worked the expensive cloth. “Mother always ties them for him. Maybe it’s a woman thing.”
His chest rose and fell under her hands as he took a deep breath. She lingered at the white lacy neckline, unwilling to move away and not daring to tilt her face up to look him in the eye.
“I’ll bet all the other knights won’t even be wearing one of these hanged things,” he groused. “Fashions change, you know, so I’ll be stuffy and dated looking.” Astrid rolled her eyes. He looked the very opposite of stuffy and dated. He looked rather appealing, not that she'd tell him that, with his shaggy hair brushed back, his russet and gold brocade vest tight along his broadened shoulders and those damned black breeches over his hose, not too tight to be scandalous, but trimmed in a rather flattering way that made Astrid rather hope she’d be standing next to him for most of the night so as not to be tempted to look. He had not yet donned his wine red waistcoat, but she knew intuitively that it would be tailored to his lean frame, accentuating the contrast between the manly width of his shoulders before tapering down to his slim waist.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, realizing she was supposed to say something. “You look . . . really nice.” Her stormy blue eyes flicked up to meet his forest green ones. Lighting crackled as their gazes collided. She refused to blush as neither one looked away.
“You um, You look great too,” he told her, his hand rising to take hers, his thumb caressing her knuckles. Her lips parted of their own accord as she sucked in a breath. “ Sir Hofferson,” his smile turned roguish.
She saw the opportunity to retreat to safe, familiar ground and took it. “ Sir Hiccup,” she teased, pulling her hand reluctantly from his. “We should probably arrive at the ball. It wouldn’t do to shirk our knightly duties mere hours after being blessed.”
He didn’t move, continuing to stare intensely at her, as if searching for an answer to a question she hadn’t heard. She took the moment to study his face, all of it, the angles and expressions, imprinting it in her mind and memory.
“You’re right,” he finally agreed. “Come on.” And he walked out of the room without her, leaving her feeling like something important had happened and she had failed.
.oOo.
She had avoided social events throughout the years as Hofferson, but hadn’t been able to escape this one. She could dance like a young man easily, and talk like one too, but the hardest thing was watching all the pretty sophisticated young ladies flutter their eyelashes and cast coy smiles toward the stupidly attractive prince. He hadn’t said much to her that night, and immediately took off dancing with the many ladies who approached him, leaving Astrid bothered and angry - her default emotion whenever she felt confused. The dolled up girls who had been eyeing him at the initiation tried their hand at flirting, with coquettish tosses of their hair and too-wide smiles. He brushed off all of them, except one; Lady Heather. Out of all the ladies he had to choose, it would be her, Astrid thought bitterly.
Astrid and Heather were around the same age, Heather a bit older, and the two had always rivaled the other. When Astrid had long blonde hair before she cut it, bright blue eyes, and a pretty round face, Heather had longer black hair, a sharp chin and jade green eyes. And she was much better at charming people. Astrid had never been good at smiling and playing witty but not smart, dumb yet desirable. She was always more for a direct approach, without any of the mind games. Heather could fool most people into thinking she was a sweet maiden, but she was a cunning schemer underneath, and Astrid knew it. And seeing her say clever things to make the prince laugh as they danced sparked a burning hot ember of jealousy.
And it was irrationally unfair that the beautiful deep green velvet dress Lady Heather wore only seemed to compliment the Prince’s own attire. They danced around the room, looking into each other’s eyes, smiling and enjoying themselves. She made him laugh as they passed Sir Eret, watching them with raised eyebrows.
Passerbys saw her expression and it was assumed that for the first time, Hofferson and the Prince would have to fight each other for Lady Heather. What they didn’t know was that ‘Sir Hofferson’ wanted to fight Lady Heather for the Prince. She was fuming the longer their hands were touching. He didn’t need to hold her so close to him. Hiccup wasn’t allowed to share a moment like he had with Astrid and go and look at Heather like that. So Astrid did the stupidest thing she could have done: she claimed Heather for the next dance.
On second thought, that had been a terrible idea. Heather knew the Hoffersons well. What if she saw through Hofferson and realized it was Astrid? She was close enough to the family to know that Astor Hofferson did not exist, and then she would call Astrid out, and what would happen then? Hiccup would stand up for her, perhaps, but if she was ostracized and brought dishonor to her family, it would defeat her purpose of acting like a boy these past three years. She had always prided herself on being a mostly rational person, but her - these - stupid emotions could ruin her.
Heather was making small talk while they swept around the room agonizingly slowly. Astrid did her best to answer coherently while debating how soon she could break off the dance with Heather without being overly rude. A voice that sounded dangerously close to Mother silently berated her every second of the dance. They had taken so much care to avoid anyone who could recognize her and now Astrid was stuck face to face with the lady she had shared her tutor with as a young teenager.
After what seemed like a lifetime of stiff small talk, Astrid had danced across the room and loosened her grip on Heather’s hand, preparing her excuses. But before she could speak, Lady Heather spoke first.
“The night certainly is beautiful tonight, Sir Hofferson,” she commented. Astrid nodded her assent weakly. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me outside?” A wicked gleam in her eye dared Astrid to refuse.
At least Heather wanted to confront her in private, Astrid tried to comfort herself. Heather probably only wanted to keep her secret so she could use it against her, the other part of her reasoned miserably. Knowing she had no choice, Astrid reluctantly followed her. The Prince’s eyes followed her worriedly as he spied her pale face, Lady Heather on her arm. She flashed a weak smile in an attempt to reassure him, or at least tell him not to follow.
They walked through the beautiful gardens and courtyards the hosts had on display, managing to look suitably engaged with each other whenever there was anyone close enough to notice them but otherwise distracted by their own thoughts when no one was watching. Astrid allowed herself to be led, uneasiness growing along with the distance between them and the party. At last Lady Heather turned around and spoke.
“How’s your sister Astrid?” she asked almost innocently.
Astrid was caught off guard for a second. “O-Oh, yes, Astrid.” She internally cursed herself for being caught off guard. “She’s well, thank you. She decided to keep Astoria and her husband company this season.”
“What a pity. No one’s hardly seen her for three years.”
“She has been attending a good deal of the garden parties during the summer, but doesn’t like the intricacies of court much,” Astrid informed her primly.
“Is it not strange that your sister Astrid, a person I recall seemed determined to leave an impression on everyone she met, suddenly retreats into solitude at the same time you miraculously recover from whatever ailments you suffered from just in time to join squire training? The entire kingdom was surprised by your very existence - surely someone would have known or suspected a possible heir hiding away in House Hofferson? After all, servants do talk.” Heather batted her eyes in mock confusion, long lashes sweeping along her white cheek and framing her sharp, pretty jade eyes. Personally, Astrid preferred green eyes that looked more like emeralds.
Astrid froze and endeavored to conceal the vinegar panic boiling in her stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
Heather sighed, her lady facade finally broken. “I know it’s you, Astrid,” she said irritably, but with a hint of triumph. Astrid glared at her until her shoulders sagged.
“I know,” she said resignedly. “What do you want of me?” Lady Heather batted smug green eyes.
“What makes you think you have something I want?”
“Quit the mind games; you knew me well enough to recognize me, but I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t let me know you know unless you thought you could use it to get something from me.” Heather rolled her eyes.
“Alright, fine,” she admitted. “There is something you could help me with.”
“Of course,” Astrid replied mockingly.
“Tell me, is it true you waited on Sir Eret?”
“‘Twas only for six months, but I know him well enough. Why?”
“You two are close?” she asked, ignoring Astrid’s question. “Does he know of your identity as well?” Her eyes were tight with an unfathomable emotion.
“No, he doesn’t,” Astrid answered. “No one but - no one knows.” Heather didn’t need to know the Prince knew too, she decided.
“Hmm,” Heather hummed noncommittally. “Well, then. I need to talk to Sir Eret urgently, on a private matter.”
“You want me to fetch Sir Eret for you?” Astrid felt outraged at the simplicity of the request, for a small favor meant she would be forced to continue to have to complete small tasks to keep Heather quiet, rather than one big, riskier task.
Aside from her exasperation, Astrid’s curiosity was piqued. Sir Eret had never mentioned Lady Heather or even the DeRange clan. Hiccup had waited on Sir Dagur DeRange, and though neither of the knights Hiccup or Astrid had served never spoke of each other, Hiccup had told her they harbored some slight animosity towards each other, though never disclosed what. Did Heather want a chance to one-up the Eretson clan as part of their feud?
“I’ll speak with him,” Astrid told her grudgingly.
.oOo.
Getting a hold of Eret was trickier than Astrid anticipated. The Hoffersons and Eretsons conversed in different circles, and every time Astrid would try to catch him to convince him to talk to Heather in private, he always made excuses and quickly left. Astrid’s temper was flaring. For some reason, Eret’s behaviors were reminding her of a similar time Hiccup had done the same thing to her, assuming she, of all things, had a crush on Eret .
She finally managed to corner him one night after he exited a pleasure house. It was a rather reputable one, being well known for the humane treatment of its workers and strict rules customers had to adhere to in order to be served. Nonetheless, Astrid felt uncomfortable at such places, which meant that Eret would not be on the receiving end of her patience.
The knight swung open the door of the pleasure house, a wave of noise crashing onto the street. His face was ruddy, but not flushed from alcohol. Astrid wrinkled her nose in disdain and followed him down the street, seething the whole time. She didn’t want to confront him too close to the lively street where others could hear them.
At last he passed by a suitable dark alley and Astrid shoved him into it. Eret was instantly on the alert, hand instantly on his concealed knife up his sleeve.
“It’s just me,” Astrid snapped.
“Astor? What in the holy Helheim-” Eret began irately.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” Astrid demanded.
Eret huffed. “I-”
“Never mind that; I need to speak to you.” She had decided to not mention it was Heather who wanted to see him - if it was hard enough for Hofferson to talk to him, it would be even harder to get him to agree to meet up with Lady Heather DeRange.
“Are we not doing that now?” Astrid grit her teeth. Sardonic quips were only funny with Hiccup; she had no patience for them otherwise.
“Not here,” she hissed. “You know that deserted corridor - the one that connects to the scullery, but not a servant’s hallway either?” Being friends with the Prince, who had grown up in the palace and was intimately acquainted with its nooks and crannies was certainly helpful.
“Yes?”
“Good. Be there tomorrow an hour after the night bell.”
“What-?” Eret tried to ask, but Astrid was already gone.
The next night Astrid situated herself in a concealed alcove, a tapestry hanging from the ceiling to the floor, though it wasn’t a very grand tapestry, despite its size. Low light from a nearby torch flickered and Astrid took a deep breath as she waited for Heather and Eret to appear. She hadn’t told Hiccup where she was going, muttering some excuse about wanting to go to bed. He scrunched his face up in adorable confusion but had bid her goodnight before retreating to his own chambers - probably to sketch up more contraptions or think up more experiments to try.
Patience is a virtue, Mother’s voice reminded her as she shifted impatiently from one foot to another. She didn’t even have to be here. What if Eret didn’t decide to show? Or worse, Heather? She leaned her head against the stone wall, peering through the sliver of space between the woven fabric and granite, careful not to allow a foot or hair to protrude. She counted seconds along with the drip of wax from a candle across the hall from the tapestry.
The torch at the end of the corridor flickered and bowed at the same moment Astrid’s ears caught the whisper of light steps. Eret stepped into view and then passed the alcove, stopping not too far away from the hanging, but Astrid couldn’t see him at that angle.
She heard the heavy sigh from the knight as he fought against the urge to pace - a sound she knew well after standing at attention beside him on the battlefield.
A few minutes passed, and then - the rustling of silk skirts along the tiles. Eret took a hesitant step, as if debating with himself to flee - of course, he was expecting to meet with Sir Hofferson the Knight, and as far as he knew, Astor Hofferson didn’t wear skirts.
(‘Astor’ Hofferson could wear skirts very well, thank you very much, not that Eret needed to know that.)
She saw Lady Heather turn the corner, the torchlight illuminating her coiffure in a fiery halo. Heather’s eyes swept the corridor and fell on Eret.
“Oh good,” she said. “You’re here.” Astrid cursed Eret heavily for not having the decency to stand in a position where she could spy on him easier. How inconsiderate of him.
“Lady Heather,” he greeted her smoothly. “Whatever brings you here, alone, at this late hour?”
“Oh, nothing, really,” she shrugged. “I planned to meet someone here an hour after the night bell, and now I’ve found them, so I wouldn’t say I’m alone, exactly.”
“Wha- you-” Eret spluttered.
“I take it Sir Hofferson was kind enough to pass the message along, seeing as you’re here.” He muttered an oath under his breath that Astrid couldn’t clearly make out.
“What do you want with me, Heather?” he asked defeatedly. Behind the drapery Astrid’s eyebrow rose at the familiarity in his voice. Gentlemen didn’t call ladies by their first name until they were extremely close, familially or intimately. Heather took a step forward to Eret, though Astrid could still see her from behind the curtain.
“I want a very good explanation from you,” she replied, voice steely. Eret sighed in front of the tapestry.
“What can I say? I-”
“Had no right to leave like that,” Heather hissed. Astrid frowned. What on Earth was Heather referring to.
“You’re clearly doing fine - seeing as you’re so close with Astor to get him to fetch me.”
“We have an agreement,” Heather rebutted calmly. “He was doing me a favor - but trust me, there’s nothing between us.”
“Oh I see. A Hofferson isn’t good enough, why not aim for the Crown Prince instead.” Heather walked past Astrid’s vantage point, but the lady knight heard a sharp slap.
“How dare you,” Heather seethed. Astrid silently agreed with feminist indignation. She heard steps and peered out the crack on the other side of the drapery to spot the two raven-haired nobles had moved a few steps down the corridor back into her line of sight. “I am not interested in either of those two - I have plenty of wealth on my own. I see no need to expand it.” Eret fumed quietly and averted his eyes, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.
“They’d be good for you,” he said morosely.
“You have absolutely no right to be jealous, Eret,” Heather snapped. Astrid cast her mind back into her interactions with Heather or Eret. she had never seen any indication in which they were involved.
“I know,” he admitted tightly. “But you didn’t have to wait until I was near before you accepted any of your dances, did you? You’re trying to bait me on purpose.”
“Perhaps I am!” Heather exploded in a whisper. “God, Eret, you - I fell for you and gave you everything. You can’t take a lady’s maidenhood and then leave without a promise or any assurance to return!” Astrid barely managed to stifle a gasp behind her hand. A lady’s chastity being compromised would ruin her, from consequences ranging from being shunned forevermore by society or being entirely disowned. Such things were usually overlooked if the couple was securely betrothed, then a lady would be warned off with a wink, but this . . .
Astrid’s foot slightly scuffed the floor but no one noticed.
“I don’t even know if I can marry anyone else!” Heather was saying vehemently. Eret shuffled his feet.
“I - no one knows, as far as everyone is concerned, you’re still a virgin,” he reassured her. “I’m - I’m sorry. I just - you deserve better than a poor Knight. You know people will talk. They’ll say I seduced you for your dowry, and I wouldn’t want to subject you to their criticisms. We shouldn’t have-”
“I don’t care,” Heather interrupted. “I’m not sorry.”
“Pardon?” Eret asked incredulously. “Heather, I ruined you.”
“No you didn’t, you ruined everyone else for me,” she smiled at him half playfully, half pleadingly. Eret shook his head.
“You know your father would never agree,” he protested. “And if he somehow did, your brother certainly wouldn’t. He already hates me because he suspects . . .” Well, that explained the conflict no one would tell her.
“We can figure that all out,” Heather promised. “But I came here tonight to get a promise from you, and I intend to get it. Are you going to fix this or not? I have other methods, Eret,”
Eret gazed into her eyes for a moment. "Of course you do," he laughed weakly before cupping Heather’s face and kissing her passionately. Astrid blushed and looked away, giving them a bit of privacy.
“I won’t make you promises I don’t know I can keep,” Eret said when they had finally finished. “But I will promise to do my utmost to marry you,” he vowed.
“Better go fulfill that promise then,” Heather told him, before shoving him gently away. She waited for his footsteps to fade away before walking over and pulling the tapestry aside to reveal Astrid, petrified with embarrassment.
Only Astrid’s enormous willpower kept her from shrieking with surprise. “I - um, h-hey Heather! Wh-what a, uh . . .” she stuttered. A part of her deliriously noted how similar to Hiccup she sounded. She cleared her throat. “Your - your secret’s safe with me.”
Heather nodded solemnly. And yours is too, Astrid understood. They both had a secret in their possession to ruin the other.
.oOo.
The Prince was now more occupied with his Royal duties at the behest of the King, so Astrid didn’t see him as often. But one day he happened upon her in the stables, preparing Stormfly for her daily ride.
“Oh thank goodness,” he said, relieved. “I was afraid I’d missed you.”
“Hiccup!” Astrid greeted him warmly. “I’ll be honest - I wasn’t waiting for you, but I’m glad you could make it all the same.” She led her beautiful mare outside and waited for Hiccup to finish saddling Toothless, a stable attendant arriving to help at the end. They swung onto their horses and set off at a brisk trot through the palace grounds.
They didn’t speak at first: their friendship was one of quiet understanding and companionship, but eventually Hiccup probed her for any updates to share.
“Well, I’ve been thinking it is probably time to head home and learn to manage the estate,” Astrid told him.
“Ah, retire to paperwork behind a desk, how delightful,” the Heir commented wryly. “Sounds rather similar to what my own father has me do all day.”
“Unfortunately, paperwork is an important part of running the land and people. It’s not fun, but I’ll do it. Besides, I’ve always known this was coming - I’m rather good at running the place - after being a knight of course.”
“Right - for the inheriting,” Hiccup remembered.
“I’ll miss here, though,” Astrid admitted. “The palace, the court . . . this place has grown on me. The countryside just isn’t the same. I’ll be sad to see it go.”
“As will we,” Hiccup replied solemnly. She rolled her eyes at the gallant sentiment. Hiccup had always been a gentleman, but with his added diplomacy lessons, the young man was far too charmingly charismatic for his own good - or at least, for Astrid’s own good.
“And what about you?” she turned the conversation to him. “How goes being the revered Crown Prince?”
“Worrisome and stressful with each additional responsibility,” he said immediately. She smiled in sympathy. “And full of ridiculous political subterfuge. You know, you’re on good terms with this lord outwardly, but then you find out he hasn’t paid taxes for a dangerous amount of time and so every cordial greeting is an act. Or you find out a common truth you thought you knew was utter dragon dung this whole time.”
“Oh, that sounds foreboding,” Astrid teased. “Do you have a specific instance in mind?”
“Yes. Get this. Apparently, a few nights ago some of our spies snuck into Bludvist’s camp.” Astrid’s eyes widened.
“How close?” she asked eagerly.
“To his tent,” he told her. “In fact, they were commissioned to see if they could just carry out a quick assassination and end the war prematurely.” He paused dramatically.
“And?” she prompted impatiently.
“It was empty!” he proclaimed. “Bludvist hasn’t been there the whole time!”
“What?” Astrid exclaimed, outraged. The prince nodded emphatically. Her mind whirled with the new information.
In Strategy classes, she had learned about the different subtleties in decorum of the rulers at war, one of which was how engaged the monarch was. Berk, for instance, sent out an army to fight, but King Stoick himself was still at his castle, handling other kingdom affairs. Bludvist, supposedly invading, would be with his armies in a tent, trying to fight with them. But with the discovery of his absence, he clearly didn’t put as much stock in the fighting as they believed. Or at least, not all of his troops were out fighting, and he must be in company of his withheld army.
“We’ve been played for fools,” Astrid uttered disgustedly. “What does your father think?”
“He wasn’t happy,” Hiccup blew out a breath. “I didn’t really hear his actual response, though. His voice got pretty quiet.” Astrid arched her eyebrows and gave him a sidelong glance.
“Of course I was eavesdropping!” he rolled his eyes. “Dad never tells me anything that important.” Well, Astrid had to agree with that. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done the exact same thing herself.
They rode out a little longer before Hiccup glanced up at the sun. “Aw, I should be going back,” he groaned reluctantly. “Dad’s have my head if I’m late for more boring etiquette.”
“I’ll race you back,” she challenged. Hiccup’s head snapped towards her as he grinned toothily.
“You’re gonna lose,” he taunted. Astrid nudged Stormfly to take off and gain a head start, and Hiccup yelled, affronted.
A head start was not enough to beat the prince that time, but it was pretty close. Astrid was smiling widely as she brushed down Stormfly, pleased at the exercise. Hiccup was taking longer with Toothless, for he kept turning away from his horse’s coat to look at her and tell some joke in an effort to make her laugh. At last the black stallion had had enough, and when Hiccup eventually turned back to Toothless, he found the stallion had stepped closer and his face met his steed’s sweaty flank. Astrid burst into laughter as Hiccup grumbled and continued to brush the smug horse.
“Excuse me, my lord,” a middle aged servant, Bucket, entered the stables and walked up to Astrid. “But a message has just arrived for you, from home.”
“Thank you, Bucket,” Astrid said, taking the letter from him. He bowed slightly and left, before saluting to the Prince. She opened the epistle and read it, eyes growing steadily wider. The Prince led Toothless into his stables and turned to her.
“Hofferson? Hey, are you okay?” he asked her unmoving figure.
Astrid silently shook her head.
“What!? Why?”
Astrid shook her head again. “Astoria . . . she’s had a baby boy.”
“Oh, well then, congratulations?” He looked at her questioningly. Astrid continued to stare at the letter.
“Why is it always her,” she muttered despondently.
“Talk to me, Astrid,” the Prince commanded. She finally met his eyes.
“Astoria has given birth to a baby boy," she repeated. "Don’t you see?” She shook the letter angrily. “We have a proper, legitimate male heir!”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes,” Astrid said heavily. “And no. No, it is a good thing it’s just -” she trailed off, frustrated at her lack of words to describe what she was feeling. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Hiccup was at her side, rubbing comforting circles where her neck sloped into her shoulder. “With the baby, there’s no need for me,” she whispered, her eyes shut.
“What? No-”
“The whole reason I did this was so that I could be there to inherit in case Father died. And now . . .” she let out a bitter huff.
“Do you want to inherit?” Hiccup asked. She frowned at him.
“What do you mean do I want to inherit?”
“I mean, um, do you want to inherit the estate and all?” Astrid’s face relaxed into comprehension. Such a question had never truly been asked of her.
“I wish that girls could inherit instead of, say, all their belongings going to a distant cousin if there is no immediate heir. Which is why I’ve done all this - to become an heir who could keep the estate in the family. But I haven’t . . . the family estate doesn’t feel like home so much anymore,” she shrugged.
“You know, maybe this is a chance for you to stay here, at court,” Hiccup suggested.
“I need . . . I need to think,” she said faintly. She needed to throw her ax at some trees and scream her frustration up at the sky. Hiccup studied her for a moment.
“Okay,” he relented. “But I’d like to invite you tonight for dinner. We are dining privately, and I’d like to make sure you eat.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Fine. I'll see you there.” She left Stormfly’s stall to make her way to an axe. She made her way down familiar halls, a haze of anger settling over her vision as she quickened her pace, her view narrowing. Of course it had been Astoria. The perfect oldest daughter who married whoever her parent’s wanted and gave them a real heir. Astrid’s nails dug into her palms. She nearly bumped into another knight turning the corner.
“Woah!” he exclaimed, catching her by her shoulders. “Careful where you’re going, lad.” Astrid blinked and looked up at Throk, the Captain of the Berk Guard.
“Where’re you off to in such a hurry?” he asked kindly.
“I - my apologies, Sir. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I um - I was heading to my ax in an effort to let off steam, Sir,” she babbled contritely. “Again, my sincere apologies for not watching where I was going.” Throk removed his hands from her shoulders and nodded solemnly.
“I, too, have been in a similar state,” he shared. “But I would advise you to retain awareness of your surroundings; you never know when someone could strike at you. Good day to you, Sir Hofferson”
“And you, sir,” she replied. They bowed and Throk continued down the passage, but Astrid turned to watch him for a little while. The Berk Guard was an honorable occupation, she thought. Many of the best warriors of the country had been a part of the Guard at one point or another - anyone could sign up, but it was hard to maintain a position. she continued walking, but not towards the weaponry.
She didn’t end up using her axe that afternoon.
.oOo.
Dinner with the King had been unnerving the first time, but she was used to it after nearly a year. Hiccup had flooded her with praises in front of his parents, making sure they knew she had been the one to really help him during knight training. The Queen had thanked her, Astrid had blushed, and the King had jovially welcomed her to the family.
Tonight’s dinner was delectably roasted duck, with a small side of onions, carrots, potatoes, and suchlike. She ate politely as Queen Valka recounted tales of her pet owl, Cloudjumper.
After they had finished laughing about the bird’s antics, King Stoick turned to Astrid.
“What about you, Astor?” he inquired kindly. “Anything new on your end?”
Astrid hesitated. “Actually, yes. My sister Astoria has just sent word of a new member of the clan. She’s given birth to a baby boy.” The King whooped and clapped her on the back in congratulations. Her back protested at the force, but her smiles did not falter.
(Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hiccup looking at her with admiration, impressed with her strength.)
“Congratulations, my dear Hofferson,” the Queen said. “Might I ask if they have chosen a name yet?”
“Yes,” answered Astrid promptly. “He is to be christened Gunnar this week.”
“Ah, a good name, Gunnar,” King Stoick approved, nodding sagely.
“Do you have any plans to return, then?” the Prince interjected. “To your home, I mean.” He sent her an apologetic glance for putting her on the spot, but Astrid waved away his concerns.
“Well, seeing you work so hard every day has put me to shame,” Astrid teased. The King looked mildly chagrined as his wife shot him a sharp look. “Of course, I could always return home, help with my nephew and running the estate, but I’m sure I’d only get in the way with the baby - what do I know of children?” Gentle laughter flitted around the table. “But I confess the countryside seems rather dull compared to the capital at the moment.”
“Aye, that it can,” the King agreed proudly.
“So does that mean you’ll be staying here?” Hiccup asked hopefully. Astrid felt a pang in her chest at her answer.
“No,” she admitted. “I’ve decided to join the Berk Guard.”
.oOo.
Hiccup caught up to her after she left the Royal’s private dining chambers.
“You didn’t tell me you were joining the Berk Guard,” he accused her, a glimmer of betrayal shining in his expressie green eyes.
“I just decided,” Astrid defended. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you beforehand.”
Hiccup bit his lip and looked down at his feet before nodding. “Okay. I mean, I’m surprised, but I shouldn’t be. And I’m happy for you, you know.” He met her eyes and the stiffness in her shoulders eased.
“Well, I can’t just leave Berk undefended, now can I? We’ll be leaving early two days from now.” Her voice softened into a tentative question. “Will you be there?”
“Of course,” he promised easily. He opened his arms and Astrid hugged him tightly.
Two days later Astrid groaned as she rose before dawn. She had grown complacent, lounging around the palace. Where had all the training gone? She scolded herself.
A guilty part of her felt better after seeing plenty of other knight’s equally grumpy faces. Throk was as clear eyed and unerringly steady as she had ever seen him, but that wasn’t surprising.
She joined the others in packing her supplies, having her gear checked by a supervisor to make sure she didn’t need a tent or other essentials. An hour passed, and Throk had finished dividing rations and other equipment for his team to gather. A small pile of the gear lay in a corner - apparently they had another new recruit, and he was late.
Astrid cast her gaze about, looking for a certain slim figure in hopes he didn’t wake too late to miss saying goodbye. She focussed on securing her pack onto Stormfly, patting her mare as she stoically adjusted to all the weight. Throk announced they would be setting off in a quarter of an hour. Astrid focused on her boots, not willing to admit her disappointment to herself.
“Hey,” a nasally voice beside her said. She swung around wide eyed to face her friend.
“Hiccup!” she sounded far too happy to see him, and that would not do. How dare he let her think he wasn’t about to come. She swung a fist into his gut - not enough to truly hurt him, but with enough strength to make him oof.
“Ow,” he managed.
“I was afraid -” no, no, not afraid - “I thought you weren’t coming,” she amended.
“Of course I was!” he wheezed indignantly. “In fact, I did one better.”
She cocked her head. “How so?”
“I’m joining the Berk Guard with you.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “No.”
“Yes,” he corrected her gleefully. “As I said to Dad last night, ‘it would give me great experience both in combat and ability to see firsthand what the Kingdom needs; what better way to really know my subjects and land if not to meet them personally?’”
“You’re an idiot,” Astrid said blandly, but she was smiling widely. Hiccup left to fetch his gear and secure it to Toothless, who was watching the whole affair with a bored look on his face.
Throk ordered his knights to their saddles, and as Astrid swung into hers, she felt giddier than she ever had. Two dozen horses and their riders marched slowly out the castle gates. The sun was starting to peak over the mountains to the northeast, and Astrid snuck a look at the Prince. The sun cast his normally brown mop of hair into a light reddish-gold halo around his face. He caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and sent her a toothy grin.
Astrid had always thought her friend attractive, but surely not everyone thought their friend looked as beautiful as an angel with a crown of light from the sun and the light breeze blowing through their hair, making it look softer than chick feathers? It wasn't a normal occurrence for one's heart to pound and flutter but also settle like never before around him, was it? If she hadn't known better, she might have thought of the romance novels she caught her little sister - Agatha, the third sister of the Hoffersons - reading, where the silly girls in the story had very similar symptoms. Luckily, she did know better, but it didn't dispel the feeling that maybe something was wrong with her.
.oOo.
The Berk Guard was less exciting than her few months at the back of the battlefield, but it also required a little more action. Throk was a great captain, patient and intelligent. Strategy classes were all very well in theory, but having to decide on the best move in a split second while under attack was far more difficult in reality.
Hiccup, it turned out, had a gift for ingenious, crazy strategies that somehow ended up successful, and Astrid was always the first to adopt his ideals. Despite being the two newest recruits in the Guard, whenever the two fought side by side, they ended up more formidable than many of their older comrades.
“You two are a great team,” Throk complimented them. “You are a great leader, Haddock, full of new ideas, and you, Hofferson - you’re one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen. Your trust in each other is truly a terrific sight to behold. I am honored to fight by your side.” Astrid had swelled in pride at that high praise from one of Berk’s best warriors himself, as she assured him that truly, the honor was all hers.
The Berk Guard was constantly in motion, trying to cover as much ground as possible, for they were the main protectors of the kingdom while nearly all the regular fighters were at the battlefield.
As such, Astrid had found a great excuse to avoid returning home. Her parents had been tolerant of Astrid’s unprecedented approach to serve her family, but with the Hofferson line properly secured, there was no more need for a fake son when they had a real grandson.
The truth was, she didn’t want to go back to being Astrid Hofferson - No, that wasn’t true either. It wasn’t that she wanted the world to know her as a boy so much as she enjoyed what the world allowed her to do as a man. That didn’t mean she didn’t sometimes wish she could enjoy the more ladylike things without suspicion.
She liked the way Hiccup handled it. To him, she was every bit his equal in fighting, but he knew she was a girl in boy’s clothing, and never belittled her for her more feminine thoughts, like when she reminisced on her favorite dress when she was thirteen, or the family’s jewelry. She supposed it was because she was the only one who listened to him, about philosophy or contraption ideas or simple rants about the burden of growing up to take the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he listened to her share random thoughts, talk about her letters, or the things she’d noticed about their day’s adventures.
One time she had spied a hair comb hidden in the bun of a maiden they had just rescued from a nasty pack of bandits. It was simply carved of wood, but beautifully done, the smooth lines blending closely with the tearful maiden’s own locks. Astrid had offered the lady a ride back to her village. (She figured the damsel would have appreciated riding with a woman rather than another man after the near ordeal she had been put through - not that the lady in question realized.)
She suspected it had probably been gifted to the curvaceous young lass by the young man who met them by the village’s entry, and greeted her with as much relief as the rest of the maiden’s family. He stood awkwardly to the side, holding his lantern as the sisters and parents embraced her, and then tentatively offered to guide them back home. Astrid found herself smothering a laugh at the tense exchange while the Prince shot the young man a grimace of sympathy.
“He must have carved it himself,” Astrid described the comb later that night to Hiccup. It was their shift for scrubbing the supper dishes, and most everyone had gone to bed except for the three other men on sentry duty.
“Impressive,” Hiccup hummed as he rubbed the dishes dry with a rag. “D’you think he spent many tries trying to make it perfect?”
“Probably,” Astrid snickered. “It was quite a sweet gesture, although ‘tisn’t really worth anything monetarily, so those awful bandits didn’t even take it.”
“A blessing in disguise,” Hiccup mused.
“Mother has a pair,” Astrid shared after a moment. “They’re made of delicate silver, inlaid with pearls. Father gave them to her on her first birthday after they were married. She still wears them every year.”
“My Dad gave my Mom a necklace,” Hiccup said quietly. “It’s really old. It’s a medallion, actually, not like most necklaces. He gave it to her as a gift upon their engagement. Apparently it was a really old tradition to give the lady’s betrothal gifts like that, and Dad loves bringing up old heritage. Mom doesn’t wear it, but it hangs at the very front of her enormous jewelry box, and she smiles at it all the time.”
"That's really sweet," Astrid hummed. And that had been the end of that conversation, or so Astrid had thought.
A few months later, Hiccup crept into her tent. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence: Hiccup often had trouble sleeping and frequently stopped by to talk to her about anything until she told him to go to sleep. He insisted on not disturbing her if she was already asleep, but Astrid found herself attuned to him somehow, and had never turned down his company when he sought her out.
“Hofferson?” he whispered after performing the customary scuffing of his foot along the ground before he reached her tent, his way of asking permission to enter.
“Yeah?” Astrid turned to look at him as he crawled carefully through the tent flap. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a candle burning on the ground beside her, parchment strewn across her lap and a quill lying nearby. She had been trying to write a letter to her family; as much as she tried to avoid them in person, she couldn’t actually ignore them, but found herself short of words that night, a rare occurrence that was steadily becoming more regular.
“Hey,” Hiccup grinned at her. His eyes fell upon the scattered parchment and her inkside by her candle. “Oh. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh no, I’d run out of things to say, anyway,” she reassured him. “What brings you here tonight?” she teased. Hiccup chuckled nervously.
“Haha, well, funny you should say that.” He scratched the back of his neck. Astrid’s brow rose in interest; he only did that when he felt nervous or awkward, she had learned. “I actually, um. I brought something for you.” His hand flitted down from his neck to reach inside his coat. (He was wearing only a thin nightshirt underneath. It was practically see-through, not that Astrid was looking)
Astrid found herself leaning forward as he brought out a small package wrapped in rough brown paper.
“It’s um - I know you’re not normally for these sorts of things, but I thought you’d maybe appreciate it anyway. And it wouldn’t be too conspicuous if, you know, someone else found it, because - Yeah.”
“You didn’t have to,” Astrid chided him incredulously, looking up at him earnestly.
“You haven’t even opened it,” he bobbed his shoulders. “What if you hate it?” Astrid scoffed as she turned her attention towards unwrapping his gift. As if.
She couldn’t help but let out a small gasp as she beheld it. There, belying the rough packaging lay a single hair comb.
It was burnished gold, nearly the same shade as her own golden hair. The teeth - three of them - looked delicate at a first glance, but as she reached out to touch them, she found them strong and firm, ready to hold thick locks in place. The carved shaft was not overly ornate, it was mostly plain, but it had been carved into an ax head, with slight engraving on the blades. It was perfect, and Astrid swallowed hard against a peculiar lump in her throat.
Where’s the other one? She almost wanted to ask. She didn’t know if he knew what one hairpin usually symbolized. It wasn’t a commonly used ornament in Berk, but Astrid had an aunt, Lady Bertha of Bog, who had been raised by an uneducated and unconventional governess, who had taught Aunt Bertha many things normal ladies didn’t know, and it was easy enough to pry those stories from her after enough wine.
A hairpin, Aunt Bertha had told her wistfully, eyes glassy with memories and drink, was the symbol for a secret or forbidden romance. The maiden (or at least, the richer of two lovers) would give their secret suitor one of the pair of hairpins. Sometimes elaborately engraved, sometimes merely a simple token. The symbolism had originated in one of the lands far east, so it was quite possible Hiccup didn’t know his gift’s meaning. He was also a Prince, however, and probably more acquainted with foreign customs than she.
“You hate it,” he said resignedly. Astrid’s head snapped up to meet his gaze.
“What? No!” she cried defensively.
“You’re just too nice to refuse it,” Hiccup insisted.
“Since when did I care about tact over honesty?” she demanded. “I love it!” I love - no. “It’s just -” She looked down at the comb. “I can’t wear it.” She was surprised at the amount of melancholy that escaped her voice. “My hair’s too short.”
“Doesn’t matter if you like it,” Hiccup said quietly. “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” she replied stoutly. “It’s - it’s perfect. I’ve never seen this design before. Usually it’s flowers or a coat of arms.”
“Oh that,” Hiccup faltered, wide eyed. “Well, um, anybody will change a design around for the right amount of coin.”
“Pff,” Astrid wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m sure anyone would think it was for a sweetheart. Wouldn’t anyone want to know about who had captured the Prince’s heart?”
Hiccup wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You made it yourself, didn’t you?” she confronted him, trying to keep the fluttering in her stomach at bay.
“I had help,” he muttered. “But yeah.”
“That makes me like it even more,” Astrid told him sincerely.
.oOo.
A warrior could never think themself infallible, Throk cautioned them all the time, but Astrid found herself disregarding that advice, reasoning that of course she didn’t. She was in the midst of a fight with some more outlaws trying to overtake a small caravan of goods. Some of the Guards had surrounded the actual caravan, and she and Hiccup and a few others were rounding up the criminals. She and the Prince fought back to back as they always did. They had even started to build a bit of a legacy: the Prince with his crazy luck and his best friend Hofferson who always had his back.
She felt Hiccup at her back step forward and instead of immediately stepping back to protect him, she stayed where she was, continuing to engage with the particular outlaw she was fighting at the moment - after all, she was a trained warrior and he and his companions were not, surely she could easily take out anyone before they struck Hiccup. She was wrong.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone trying to approach them by her left. Hiccup had him. Wait, no he didn’t. She tried to swing to meet the opponent just as Hiccup caught sight of him. He rounded to meet them, caught sight of her, and tried to turn around again to give her room to take the assailant on. She had also assumed that Hiccup was going to fight him, giving the person a chance to lash out and land a strike on Hiccup’s side. He hissed, and the grip on his sword slacked for a fraction of a second. Astrid whirled around in a near panic, slicing the man who had hurt her friend ferociously.
She was unnecessarily aggressive for the rest of the fight, and gagged and fastened the bandit’s left alive from the skirmish hands' overly tight.
“Good job,” Throk congratulated them as they turned the outlaws into the local sheriff. “Nearly no casualties on their side, and no serious injuries on ours.” Astrid could have sworn the Captain’s eyes lingered on her for a few seconds but he said nothing.
She turned to Hiccup. “I am so sorry,” she said remorsefully. “I thought you had him but you didn’t and-”
“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed. “I’m okay.” Her relief was so strong it threatened to weaken her knees.
“Let me see it,” she insisted skeptically. Hiccup had an annoying habit of not acknowledging pain like he should. She put his left arm over her shoulder and hobbled with him to his tent.
“C’mon,” she dragged him down onto the mat on the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up; take off your shirt.”
“Oh so you get to take my shirt off to clean my wounds, I see how it is,” Hiccup snarked good naturedly. One of his gesticulating arms flew too far and pulled at the blood scabbing over his chest. He hissed.
“Be still,” Astrid ordered, refusing to blush. She helped him out of his shirt, suddenly finding it hard to make eye contact with him. She had seen plenty of boys’ chests over the years. Especially Eret’s, the few times he had needed tending to, and she had never blushed, not when taking his clothes to the scullery to be washed and knowing his was fully naked behind the divider in the tub - not even that time she woke him up while he had been dreaming, with wet results. (She had been mildly horrified and disgusted and glad she wasn’t a boy.) But her reactions with Hiccup had always been different from her reactions to other boys, but she had never realized how blatantly obvious it was until now. And now her thoughts were spiraling into places she really didn't want to go.
“You know the reason why you can’t help me anyways,” she said quickly to avoid thinking about Hiccup like . . . that.
“I - Yeah, I know, I was just - just teasing,” Hiccup hastily reassured her, an uneasy laugh falling from his lips. Astrid tore her eyes away from his mouth down to below his pectorals. “It’s just a scratch,” he insisted.
God he was such an idiot. Leave it to the stupid prince to insist the shallow gash along the side of his torso was ‘just a scratch.’ She shook her head and reached for the mug of alcohol she had stolen from a keg. It was unsweetened, so she figured it’d be the best for cleaning. She dipped a rag in it pointedly and rang it out. He eyed it warily.
“This is probably gonna hurt,” she warned him before pressing the damp cloth to his side.
“Wha-” Hiccup inhaled sharply but grit his teeth against other protests. She reached for another rag and wet it with water to clean away the crusted blood.
“It’s not deep,” she noted. “You won’t have to keep it bandaged for long. You might not even scar.”
“But it’s only fun if you get a scar out of it,” he teased gently. Her breath caught in her throat and she huffed a laugh to clear it.
“That was before I had scars,” she said ironically. She finished cleaning and was pleased to note he wasn’t bleeding anymore. She wrapped him securely so that he wouldn’t accidentally undo it in his sleep and fastened the bandages.
“There,” she pulled away, horrified to realize her voice came out breathier than it should’ve. She cleared her throat subtly. “All finished. Make sure to clean it in the morning, or so help me Thor...”
Hiccup caught her hand before she could draw totally back. His hands felt warm and calloused, but the very tips of his fingertips were colder than the rest of him. It made her want to shiver, but not from the cold. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. His voice was low and rich and Astrid felt herself riveted in his gaze. He needed to shave. Stubble had no right being that attractive on him. His eyes seemed to glow like bright green embers - not from a dying fire, but the embers seen in a lull of the flame, before bursting again into hot, untamed, wild glory. There was another emotion other than sincerity in those eyes, but Astrid refused to answer it.
“I-” she didn’t know what to say. She felt them tilting on the cusp of something new and dangerous. She held herself back, if only in self preservation - she knew whatever this was could never last - yet a part of her fought to jump and fall into the exhilarating unknown. “Of course,” she said, like a promise. A promise of devotion between friends, she told herself, like they had always been.
But that night, after she was relieved of her night watch shift (it had technically been Hiccup’s turn, but she had claimed it for herself to let him rest) she dug out the looking glass she used to apply extra contours to make her round face more masculine. Nowadays she usually just rubbed dirt on her face. Everyone was too tired to wash their face every day. She reached for the hair comb she kept under her pillow and for the first time, instead of just running her fingers along the metal, she shakily pulled her hair from the crown of her head and twisted it into an almost-do and secured it with the the comb, the ax head laying prettily against her tresses as she twisted the mirror into the best position to look at it.
That night, she looked at the gift, not as a hopeful token of friendship, but as a longing lover might, pretending it was a symbol of the same kind of affection she felt for the giver.
She startled at the realization, dropping the mirror. She ran her hands down her face and groaned softly.
You gave her a free pass just ‘cause you like the way she looks at you.
At first she looks at you in wonder, with slight awe, a country bumpkin in wonder of the big city, and you admit to being flattered. That shine fades away the more she gets to know you, George, the more all of you get to know each other, but it doesn’t disappear entirely.
Instead, it’s tinged with exasperation, a slight roll of the eye here and there, a gobsmacked expression at your nerve (she calls it recklessness, you call it daring), and most times she looks at you like she wants to wring your neck. You admit you are amused. You throw her a roguish smirk and part of you can admit you want to rile her up (-but mostly, mostly you just want to make her laugh, the same way you can’t help but laugh, smile, because of her from that first defiant “I’ll wait”, eyes dark and feral). She looks at you with challenge, demanding if you’re good enough for her, and you admit it’s irresistible.
You’ve always been drawn to dangerous things, and the more you get to know her, you realize Lucy Carlyle is far more dangerous than any Visitor.
Later, under a spell, a ghost’s hold, she looks at you like she loves you - ‘You love me, don’t you?’ It’s not her words, it’s not her actions, it’s not her, just Annabel speaking through her, but - her face, her smile, her eyes as she looks at you are sweet. You don’t know who’s really under a spell between the both of you. ‘You love me, don’t you?’ - the ghost asks through her. It should be an easy enough question to answer, so why can’t you?
She looks at you in pain - I am drowning - and you want so much to save her, even if you are the cause of it. Her tears make you feel as if you’re suffocating along with her, and you’re back to being a little boy again, helpless to save anyone who’s ever mattered. The moment those words leave her mouth, fear grips your heart. Better off dead? Her of all people? You didn’t matter, but she was Lucy Carlyle and that was not the way it was going to be.
She looks at you with eyes full of understanding, absent of the blame you so richly deserve. With apologies falling from your lips and your hand in hers, you can’t help but draw the comfort that you hardly deserve.
You’re still the cause of her tears, and though you don’t deserve it, deserve anything from her, after what you just put her and George through, she looks at you as if she wants you to live - just live.
You’re tired, so very tired - of Kipps, Barnes, of everything. But you come home - to her, and though you admit to feeling a bit off-balance (even if Kipps does deserve it, the pompous prick), she just looks at you, bemused, and you can’t help but sigh. It’s not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, just a slight lift in the corner of her mouth that you are endlessly fascinated by. She promises you tea, and you would promise her anything and everything.
Later on, you don’t know how it could have gone so wrong so fast but she looks at you like she hates you. And you feel like you could almost hate her too. There is bitterness, so much bitterness, that you wonder if you have another Annabel Ward at home, but this is all you - your insecurities, your vulnerabilities. You can admit that you only got that mad because she poked at the exposed heart of you, at open wounds that haven’t even scabbed over.
No matter how you feel though - how she makes you feel - she is still your responsibility. She may prod at open wounds, but you’ll make sure hers are closed and have a chance to heal. She looks at you - she looks at you like she wants so badly for you to believe her. She looks at you like you could break her (which fair enough because you’re pretty sure she can break you too). She looks at you like what you think matters, like you - Anthony Lockwood, not just Lockwood - matter, to her. For the first time, your gaze isn’t fixed on her eyes. Giving in to instinct, it drops.
We can’t let you go.
Who are you fooling?
You trade toast for a smile. Hardly a fair exchange in your opinion. Lucy frowns more often than not, and she keeps her smiles like a secret treasure stuck close to her heart. It is during quiet moments like these in the wee hours of the morning that you feel like an ungainly relic man who would do anything to claim it for your own. Rather than Lockwood’s dazzling acts of courage, it is Anthony who can coax those rare and precious smiles out of her. Pity that you find it so hard to be the boy you once were.
You’re afraid, so very afraid. Once again you feel like that helpless boy, never good enough, never enough. What on earth could you have to offer against Fittes, when that had been her dream and you were just a last resort. You know you sound pathetic, close to pleading, hell you will plead if that’s what it takes, sod your pride - to get her to stay, just don’t leave, don’t leave (me). (Not again). But Lucy never does what you expect, does she? Because she looks at you, she looks at you like you are enough. She looks at you like home. You can’t help if your breath catches and the half-sob that rises along with it. But luckily, for all her Talent, she doesn’t hear.
You were naive. That earlier fear doesn’t even compare to what you feel now. That was juvenile, this is paralyzing. You don’t fear death, not anymore when you fight it on a daily basis for a living. Being ghost locked doesn’t compare to this - fear, paralysis, desperation. For Lucy’s life to be snuffed out and for you to be the cause - your fault, always your fault - sucks all the air out of you. You can’t breathe.
You could almost hate how she looks at you because she looks at you like she’s willing to give you a second chance. You want to so badly - to unburden yourself, to her. But she doesn’t deserve the ghosts you carry (-is what you say to yourself because you’ve always been a narcissistic bastard who wants to look good. Kipps’ voice echoes, in the end she’ll leave and you’ll be the one to make her). Her disappointment is an easy enough pill to swallow because nothing else matters besides the fact that she’s - alive, alive, alive.
She looks at you like you disgust her, as if you were worse than any Visitor. You’re worse because you’re a living corpse who’s already lost your heart. You’ve fallen far from that pedestal, but in a strange way it comforts you because you’re finally being looked at the way you deserve to be looked at. And yet, with tears in her eyes (of which you are once again the cause, it’s always you), she looks at you like she still cares about you. And oh, what a right and proper bastard you are for letting this happen. Because you’ve vowed that you were never going to leave anyone behind the same way you were left behind, but you don’t want her to leave you behind either. (You’ve always been a walking contradiction.)
You’re shaking, you can’t (-breathe, you can’t breathe), but you grip her hair like a lifeline, and she grounds you like a lightning rod, hands cradling your cheeks. You lean in to that warmth (it’s cold, so cold). Her voice calls to you and while you’ve always been a shit Listener, somehow you manage to open your eyes. She looks at you, frantic and half-crazed, but somehow you can finally breathe.
After your unexpected swim, you just want to draw her close, to cradle her as proof of life, but she pushes you away with everything she’s got. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. You swallow your words. For all that you thought that you couldn’t handle the way she looks at you, at the way it rearranges everything inside of you, the absence of her gaze pierces worse than any rapier. The silence worse.
You would take her biting words over this, relish it even, the chance to parry or to let it land and litter her marks all over your skin. You’d wear those scars proudly.
But then she turns and looks at you, with rage. And even through the haze of exhaustion, you cannot help but think she looks glorious, fiery even as she trails water from the Thames. But with that rage is something that wasn’t there before - fear. She looks at you like she doesn’t know you and that’s worse than anything you’ve experienced tonight. You tell yourself that you can live with her disappointment, but for you to be the reason why this defiant girl cowers and curls into herself is the most unforgivable sin.
You realize you are selfish because even though you’ve sinned against her so much already, you still crave her forgiveness. Even though to remain with you is to risk being dragged down to the depths, you still don’t want her to let you go.
You’ve always known it, Lockwood. You’re a hazard to yourself and the people you love. This is proof.
You apologize, and you await her judgment. She gives you salvation. She makes your heart pound and your blood boil. She makes you remember what it’s like to be alive. And yet, she also quiets your mind and lets you breathe like nothing else. You can’t quite remember what it was like to live before her. She’s the adrenaline in your veins. She’s the great big gulp of air you greedily take in after drowning for who knows how long. She’s quite the walking contradiction too, his Lucy.
With a bland look and a quip, she saves you anew, again and again she keeps saving you, and oh you finally get it. You speak softly because you don’t want to shatter this precious, tender moment. It’s not about how she looks at you, but it’s about how you look at her - how you’ve always looked at her. Her eyes are mirrors which reflect your own, and as you heave in a great ragged sigh, you realize you look at her like you love her - with ache, and tenderness, and gratitude, and awe.
You love her.
Later you fight like you have a lot to live for - and you do - you fight for Lucy and George, and you fight for yourself, for the chance to see them again, for the chance to - just live.
And in the dawning light, though she doesn’t quite smile that smile you adore, her relieved gasp is worth more than front-page news, all the tea in London, and chocolate biscuits combined, because it means that she - they are alive.
Just reckless enough.
And she finally looks at you like she’s proud of you.
HTTYD fandom, I am excited to announce my contribution to our fanfic archives! This is my first fic that I've ever posted, so comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!
Special thanks to @borrassofi, @bi-bi-want-dragon, @triumphantfury, and @macheriemila for all their support and inspiration and letting me tag them!
You can read my fic on AO3 here
Summary: Astrid Hofferson never cared about being a girl, much. But when she overhears her parents' discussion, she decides to become the son they don't have, and train as a knight. After all, how hard could it be?
At Training she overcomes grueling exercises, carefully avoids suspicion, and grudgingly makes a friend - the Prince himself. But as she grows and matures, so do her feelings, both guilt and - something else.
She never wanted to be a boy, even though she had wished for it a few times. But a whimsical wish was quite different than devoting oneself to years of careful deception. She had been born into a long and proud lineage of Hoffersons, but this generation, there was no boy. No male to inherit the land and titles and follow in his father’s footsteps to become a legendary knight. To say that her father was disappointed was an understatement, but she took the fact she was female harder than the rest.
She supposed she could qualify as the tomboy of the family. All of the Hofferson girls were beautiful and strong. Their house was one of the most noble in the kingdom, and with only girls, more prone to kidnappings and ransoms; so her father had ensured that all of his daughters knew how to handle a sword when needed. But Astrid’s favorite weapon was her prize axe. She could ride straddle and sidesaddle, and her voice, while still feminine, was rougher than her sisters’.
She had never truly cared much about being a girl, except for the fact that boys got to wear more comfortable clothes and could go to war. She never understood a girl’s limitations until she listened to her father talking to Mother behind the door and realized that being a girl meant you could not inherit the estate, so when Father died, they would be homeless - and her father was nearly eight years older than Mother.
She was creeping down the corridor in her soft cotton nightgown to eavesdrop on her parents. Her fifteenth birthday was coming up soon, and she had caught Mother and Father speaking in hushed voices that would abruptly skid to a stop whenever she entered a room. She had made it a personal goal to find out her party plans or presents before she got them every year; her sisters and sometimes the servants were easy enough to pry the answers from, but it was her parents who she had never been able to best, and this year was her year.
The thick carpet muffled her careful steps and the aged wool scratched between her toes as she made her way to the flickering bar of light creeping out from under Father’s office door. Mother must be pacing inside. She slowly lowered her ear to the crack and closed her eyes to make out the voices better, for Father’s door was thick enough to obscure the words to any spy trying to gather important information. Astrid breathed evenly and ignored the rough pressure of the carpet against her cheek as she carefully tried to shift herself in a better angle. She prided herself on her stealth, knowing not to move too quickly or to try to run if she thought she was found out; those actions only created noise, but Valhalla help her if she was ever found in this embarrassing position!
“. . . what on Midgard are we going to do?” her mother’s voice filtered through - but with a shrill note of panic? Astrid frowned. Was Mother running out of ideas for her party? Surely she wasn’t so spoiled she wouldn’t understand if the celebrations weren't very extravagant? In fact, she was perfectly fine with it just being a quiet affair among the family. And she’d always thought the party ideas were Father’s.
“. . . no need to worry, my dear. I’m in great health; I’m not going anytime soon.” Father’s deep voice soothed Mother’s worry like a balm. What? Was Father not going to be there? He never missed any of his children’s celebrations! Except for that time a couple years back where he had to go help the King in the war, but while it wasn’t won it had calmed, and Berk was well on its way to winning - eventually. But that had nothing to do with his health. Were they even talking about her party?
“There’s no guarantee.” The click of Mother’s heeled shoes was replaced by a thunk and rustling of fabric as she presumably collapsed gracefully onto a chair. “And of course, in a few years we’ll have to find suitable husbands for our daughters while we still have the position to receive good offers-”
“Darling-”
“If only they could inherit! Or if Agor hadn’t-” her voice seemed to crumble at the mention of Astrid’s deceased brother’s name and even the light through the door crack seemed to dim in remembrance. He had passed away when she was very young, so she did not remember him, but he had been the closest to her age and the darling of her parents.
Her mother’s shadow grew bigger as Father joined her on the chair. Astrid could no longer hear what he was saying as he comforted his beloved wife. There was no need to; they clearly weren’t talking about her birthday party. She began to carefully raise herself to make her way back down the hall.
Laying in her soft bed, it was then that she cursed her gender; she hadn’t cared much about it before as she still learned to fight and read and figure like any boy. She enjoyed soft dresses and while her etiquette lessons were boring, she was good at them and had to admit she looked much more graceful from them. But now she wished she could have been a boy. She knew that she could take over her father’s lands easily. She was smart, decisive and strong. If she had been a boy she would have been perfect. But no one other than her servants and family took her orders and ideas seriously. If only she was Agor.
She was the second born of the Hofferson ladies. Her older sister, Astoria, was better accustomed to being a lady than she was; if one compared poise or smiles, they were the same, but her sister had a comfortable ease that Astrid did not possess, but maybe it was just because she was the eldest. She steeled herself and resolutely married into a good family to help the rest of her younger sisters. Astrid was more impressed at her sister’s bravery than she wanted to admit, as it forced her to recognize that she was selfish enough to have not done the same. So, she decided as the next oldest to become the son her father had always wished for, and become a knight. What could go wrong?
A few months after Astoria’s wedding she approached her parents with her brilliant idea. It did not go as well as she hoped. Her mother’s voice reached an ungodly pitch of indignation and disbelief, and her father looked terribly affronted, as if her suggestion had somehow invalidated all of their hard work, but Astrid was nothing if not tenacious and her father rued the day he enrolled her with the debate tutors. She argued that she was the least social of Lord Hofferson’s daughters, so she would raise the least suspicion. Plus, she was the closest in age to the deceased brother she was pretending to be, she continued as she elaborated upon her plan. She was already more skilled at fighting than most other noble boys her age - fifteen - and was confident enough to finally convince a gruff father to give her his honor and her mother to offer to cut her hair. She would be shipped off to training and become a squire that very week, as the annual training that was mandatory for all young aspiring knights was about to begin. The normal practice of squires assisting a knight until they turned eighteen had been done away after none of the said squires were able to pass the test to become a fully fledged knight, and now all squires would be trained together by the same instructor. Father had been very pleased with this announcement when it first came out, but now his enthusiasm for the program had been significantly dimmed.
Her story was that she (meaning Astrid) had a secret twin, Astor. Astor had always been sickly, and after the terrible death of their older brother Agor, Astor had been kept secret from society, as Mother would not be able to bear society’s pity if she lost her other son. She thought the entire idea rather brilliant, and Father sighed and began to mention this secret son of his who had miraculously recovered enough to go to training to anyone whenever business took him outside his castle. A new hair of Mother’s bleached wheat locks shimmered into silver with every passing day, but ultimately Astrid was sure Mother would see that Astrid was doing the best she could for her family. She was sacrificing her whole identity in an effort to create another one to better protect her family. No, it wasn’t marrying a well off lord, but Astrid could only do so much.
.oOo.
The first day of training was terrifying. She had never been so surrounded by warriors, and it thrilled her. All the noble’s sons were staying in the Great Hall, the ancient courtroom Kings used to sit in. Now, the old throne room was a banquet hall, the biggest guest rooms had been converted to classrooms; the smaller ones into separate rooms for noblemen who could afford to pay for their son’s privacy. Father had indulged her and rented one of those rooms so as to not compromise her identity. For if she was ever found out, her virtue and her sister’s by default would be put in terrible jeopardy.
She jumped at anything closer to her than three feet. She was pretty, she knew, what if her face wasn’t masculine enough? She didn’t talk, she was too afraid she wouldn’t sound right. Who on Midgard had said this would be a good idea? Father had left immediately after seeing her trunks deposited in her room, as he did not wish to make it seem he coddled her; fitting in would be hard enough as it was, but now she thought she would have given anything to have him take her back home. She barely slept, certain someone was going to burst through the door and expose her. She nearly cried, something she hadn’t done since she was ten. But if she didn’t cry as a girl, she wouldn’t cry as a boy.
Dawn came with an unbearable clanging. She groaned loudly and sat up as something metal hammered against her door.
“Rise an’ shine, lad!” called a cheerful Scottish voice through the door. Gobber, the retired knight with a peg leg and interchangeable hands. She had been introduced to him the night before, and he’d informed her he’d be in charge of the physical training. She recalled his accent being heavier and more slurred, due to the keg of beer attached to his left stump. How was he so clear headed so early in the morning after that? She emerged from her room a few minutes later, tunic rumpled, short hair mussed, glaring through tired eyes above dark circles. Gobber beamed good-naturedly.
“‘Attaboy,” he grinned. He clapped her on the back, hard, and Astrid stumbled forward a step.
Apparently, Gobber believed that waking up at dawn to learn how to manage heavy wooden practice swords before breakfast was the way to go. “If ye ever haf tuh fight fer yer life, ar’ they gon’ wait til ye finish yer beauty sleep?” He mocked the tired teenagers.
“My manly beauty would be too great for them to handle,” a short, stocky teenager boasted. He wobbled and barely managed to hold his position. The wooden sword shook. “Can’t we have had breakfast, at least?” he whined. Astrid, who had been staring stoically ahead, cast a glance at him. Square face, choppy black hair, whiny, privileged voice; Jorgenson, the Duke’s son.
After a week, Astrid was used to getting up before dawn. After a month, she was waiting outside for Gobber to come get her. He gave her an approving smile and that day he announced that everyone would have to meet him in the Armory on their own, and if anyone was late it would be noted. A chorus of groans followed this declaration, and Astrid resolved to be the first one there every morning.
The Armory was a large room off the side of the Great Hall, and led into the training Arena. The stone walls were rough with hooks and weapons, but the far wall was painted in tar and had a stand for chalk on it. At first Astrid hated how confined the room was, with dangerously sharp or dull weapons crowding everyone (although it did ensure no one cheated and leaned on the walls to catch their breath) and a dozen grumpy boys sweating and stinking up the place. As the days became colder, she was relieved they didn’t have to train outside, but was careful not to show it. If Gobber suspected they were grateful for the Armory, she was sure he’d drag them outside.
There weren’t too many noble boys her age but she managed to play arrogant and aloof well, so no one got close to her and found out her secret. She didn’t want to be friends with the boys, anyway. Did they not take their duty of bringing honor to their families? Her father received letters of glowing praise about his ‘son’ as she quickly rose to the top of the class, being the best at hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, tracking, climbing, everything - well, except riding. That was the only class she was second best in, and it irritated her more than she wanted to confess.
Trying to be a teenage boy was harder than she thought. She had never thought of herself as dainty before, but almost all the boys were tight knit, clapping each other’s backs, roaring loudly with laughter, having food fights, and public baths. She shuddered at the thought. She bathed herself after everyone had gone, and the water was always freezing. She couldn’t wait until she could return home on her yearly visit and soak in a nice, hot, private bath for hours and wear silk robes under no constant fear of what would happen if they found she was a girl - well, young woman.
She had never been very attracted to boys in a romantic sense; she had always been too busy planning and working and practicing, but she feared she would never get married after living with a bunch of male adolescents. They were gross and hairy and sweaty and smelly and vomited after they drank too much. Occasionally one would make a disgusting comment about a lady servant and it was all she could do not to beat them senseless right then and there. The only boy she found herself mildly interested in was a quiet, skinny boy her age.
Everyone in training went by their surnames. She had become Hofferson, the prodigal son. Jorgenson had learned that he only went by ‘Hofferson’ the hard way: she had beat him when he tried to clap her on the back and called her ‘Hoff.’ For some reason, though, this other boy only went by ‘Hiccup.’
She hadn’t even noticed Hiccup in the beginning. At first she had been shocked - was there a noble family by the surname of Hiccup? Then she figured it must be a nickname, as Jorgenson had called him ‘Hiccup’ first. Perhaps he wanted someone with a name just as awful as his (with a name like Snotlout, she could hardly blame him).
Hiccup was scrawny and weak. He could barely hold a sword, much less swing an axe or a mace- which they were going to learn how to use in a few months. Astrid secretly crept out of her rooms every other night with her new axe, made heavier and more masculine looking, to practice. She was frustrated she didn’t see him at night either. She even went every night for a while to see if perhaps they were just missing each other, but no. He didn’t even try to get any extra practice. She didn’t know why the fact irritated her, why she wanted to see him try. It was just because he was exactly what she had been afraid of becoming, she told herself.
Despite his abysmal performance with weapons of any sort, Hiccup made up for it with other things. He was the best rider, and she hated that he just had a natural instinct with the beasts. He was . . . different from everyone else. They made fun of him because of his size, but she noticed that he was quick witted and diplomatic despite being shy. They had vied for the top spot in History and Strategic classes more than once. She knew it wasn’t wise, but she was drawn to him, and knew he was too afraid of her to dare pry or try to make conversation. She knew he was smart, and would have to be on her guard in front of him so he didn’t figure out her secret. Because if anyone was smart enough to find out, it was him. Still, she found herself sitting next to him during Strategy, or standing next to him before they rode their horses.
Winter was reaching its end, and the white, regal snow had turned to muddy slush that was somehow colder and infinitely wetter. Gobber, the wonderful, considerate instructor he was, had them training in the Arena now. Keeping one’s balance was even harder in the slippery sludge, and they were still practicing with wooden weapons, but they had moved on from swords. They were to learn how to handle every weapon, and by the end of the year, they’d be allowed to choose one or two weapons to continue in. Astrid already knew she’d choose her axe, but was enjoying learning to handle all the other weapons as well.
Hiccup was dismally trying to handle a mace. No one really liked the weapon except Thorston, who had declared his weapon’s name ‘Macey.’ Astrid was the nearest to him, executing the eight positions and enjoying the swish of wind the heavy wind made as it swung through the air. He fell, some of the slush splattering on her face. She sputtered, then rounded on him with a glower.
“Watch it!” she growled. Hiccup scrambled up, apologizing profusely. Astrid rolled her eyes.
“What are you even doing with that thing?” she asked sharply. “It’s just like a club, use the momentum and the same eight points of fighting we already know. Did your father teach you nothing?”
Hiccup scowled fiercely at her and picked up his too-heavy mace, gritting his teeth. She frowned. She must have said something wrong. Did he get sullen after she corrected him? Maybe he was just a spoiled noble boy, but no, that didn’t fit him. She resolved to keep an eye on him. She normally didn’t bother apologizing if she accidentally offended someone who wasn’t an instructor, but she felt like maybe this boy could use one.
After the session had finished, she hung up her practice weapon next to him. They were both the shortest of the class, and she had to stretch a little to reach the hook for her wooden mace. Her arms protested but she paid no mind to the ache. She was used to it after five months. Hiccup attempted to do the same, but his footing wasn’t stable and he stumbled, off balance, into the entire wall of practice weapons, the haphazard tumble of metal and wood ringing throughout the stone Armory as they jumped out of the way. Gobber whirled around and groaned in exasperation.
“Hiccup! What’re ye-”
“It was my fault, Sir,” Astrid interrupted quickly. Everyone’s eyes swung to her incredulously. “I lost my balance and knocked into him.” Hiccup blinked his eyes like an idiot. She shot him a look. Play along, it ordered. He blinked again before he caught on and then quickly nodded. Gobber raised one side of his dirty, blonde unibrow.
“Well, Hofferson, seeing as you are so keen to share Hiccup’s punishment, fifteen laps around the Arena. You’ll miss dinner but get a slice of bread before bed.” Astrid nodded stoutly, her stomach tightening in protest. Would word of this reach her parents? Hiccup shot her a glance; he thought she was crazy. That was fine. She thought she might be crazy too. She followed him out the Armory door back into the cold, keeping pace with him as he jogged painfully and slowly around. Her legs and arms were numb and her cheeks chapped red when they finally finished and headed toward the kitchens. Gobber eyed them and handed them a slice of bread each with a slab of butter. They accepted them gratefully and sat by a bench near a stove.
Hiccup frowned at her contemplatively. She didn’t meet his eye as she took a hefty bite of the bread, sighing in relief. He took a shaky breath.
“Thanks for that,” he said quietly. “It did absolutely nothing, taking the blame, but thanks anyway.” A cross between a grimace and a smile crossed her face.
“Don’t mention it,” she replied. She met his gaze and he gave her a small, grateful smile.
After that they kept each other company more often than not. They didn’t speak often; she wasn’t inclined to talk much, always wary of her voice, and he didn’t try to pull her into conversation, which she was thankful for. But there was something - comradery, maybe - that was developing as they worked side by side in silence. She wouldn’t say they were friends; it wouldn’t be wise to get close to him. To get close to anyone. You couldn’t make friends if you were keeping things from them, but they cold be friendly, she reasoned with herself.
What she hadn’t known was that he was also keeping things from her.
Training drew to a close. She grew more adept at faking her voice cracking. She learned to laugh in a way that would have made Mother faint. She still refused the alcohol other boys tried to sneak into their barracks, but had figured out plausible excuses. Then the yearly visit to their families came round, and their parents came to collect them. Astrid was curious to see who her ‘friend’s’ parents were. He seemed more nervous and fidgety than normal whenever she mentioned parents. She had guessed he probably didn’t get on too well with them. That was understandable. Her own relationship with her parents had been strained at best throughout the year, as they made it clear they were uneasy with her choice, and Astrid being the stubborn lass she was, never shared her hardships she had to conquer with them, or mentioned how much she dearly missed the rest of her sisters, or the nights she wondered if maybe being a wife was really so awful; surely it wasn’t so bad as her day had been. She’d share only her triumphs with them until they admired the choice she had made.
But despite all this, Astrid was excited to see her parents again. She had never been so close with them before, her interactions and love for them more dutiful than anything, but in her absence, she had received a letter every week and she couldn’t wait to reunite with them again and spend a month in silk gowns and practicing her poise. She would have never thought she would be so excited to be a girl.
The promise of going home soon made her more talkative than usual. Gobber seemed to be glad too, and gave them more time off of practicing weapons handling. After over ten months of handling them, he told them, there wasn’t as much need to practice. Astrid disagreed; she was of the opinion Gobber was tired of stupid boys and desperate for a drink, but she was grateful for the extra time all the same. The days were hot, and most of the boys went swimming, but she couldn’t join them, careful of her female body underneath her boyish clothes. She had stopped wearing long sleeves under her tunic and wrapped her forearms, admiring the toned muscles in her upper arms.
Hiccup still wore long sleeves and didn’t go swimming with the other boys either, so they had sort of mutually agreed to ride together during their free time. She found him in the stables, stroking his black stallion’s glossy coat. “He’s beautiful,” she greeted them, nodding at the horse.
Hiccup acknowledged her with a nod. He patted his horse again - Toothless - before leading him out of his stall. She crossed over to Stormfly, her horse, and led her gently out of her stall so she could begin brushing.
“Toothless?” she had asked incredulously when he had introduced her to his horse.
“Yep,” Hiccup replied, popping the ‘p.’
“Toothless,” she repeated, gesturing at the stallion who was contentedly eating the apple HIccup had just given him - with all his teeth.
“So he won’t bite me,” Hiccup said dryly. Astrid couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“I trained him myself,” Hiccup broke the silence as they began to saddle the animals. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye; she hadn't expected him to elaborate further.
“Where’d you find him?” she asked as she finished brushing out Stormfly’s coat. “I’ve never seen a stallion this fine.”
“He was wild,” Hiccup told her proudly. “We stumbled across each other one day. I was fascinated. He didn’t trust me at first, but I visited him everyday - and, more importantly, brought him snacks.” They snickered and Astrid could’ve sworn the horse rolled its eyes. “Eventually, we became friends, and . . . then I got on his back for the first time.”
“What was it like?” Astrid asked, entranced. She’d never heard Hiccup talk this long, and never so passionately. She realized she had stopped working to look at him, and hastily grabbed her saddle, fastening the straps securely, testing to make sure they were tight enough, but not uncomfortable for her beloved mare.
“He threw me off the first few times,” Hiccup admitted with a small laugh. “But after that . . . it’s like flying.”
“I know the feeling,” Astrid told him quietly. Their gaze caught, the boy’s bright eyes looking at her in understanding and - she felt a weird warm feeling settle in her chest. The hot summer air suddenly made itself known in her flushed cheeks. Had it been this warm a minute ago?
“That sounds amazing,” she said abruptly, wanting to change the subject. “I bet if he hadn’t been wild he would have been fit for royalty,” she joked, part serious. For some reason, Hiccup’s smile seemed to fade at that.
“Haha, yeah. Well, guess it was a good thing he was wild, right,” he scratched the back of his head with a strained smile. Astrid mentally berated herself. She had done something wrong, but she had no idea what.
“My girl’s pretty fast, too,” she challenged him, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Want to race?” She finished with Stormfly’s bridle and swung up easily into the saddle. That brought Hiccup’s smile back.
“Sure,” he agreed enthusiastically. He pulled himself into the saddle with enviable grace and winked at her, before breaking into a lighting-fast gallop. Astrid blamed the foreign fluttery feeling that arose on the thrill of a challenging race as she grinned and followed him.
.oOo.
The day to leave arrived, and she met her parents by the entrance with her luggage. For a second they said nothing, taking in the other’s appearance with wide eyes. Had her father’s hair always had so much gray? She had grown taller, and it was strange for her gaze to settle above her mother’s eyes. She set the luggage down and they embraced.
She pushed down the sudden tears that threatened and tried her best to keep her personality as ‘Hofferson’ rather than reverting to ‘Astrid’. Time for that later. Her parents chatted amiably with Gobber, the Head trainer, who was ranting about Astrid’ spectacular prowess, and Astrid excused herself to say goodbye to Hiccup. She hadn’t seen him at all that day, which was strange, because she was sure she knew all the spaces he retreated to. Where was he? Did he think they were going to leave before saying goodbye? Why did the thought of that make her feel upset?
She found him surrounded by guards trying to take his baggage for him despite his protests. She frowned as she recognized the livery colors; black and red. And the royal Haddock crest.
“There you are, your Highness,” one of the guards said cheerfully as he secured the last trunk to the back of the carriage and held the door open for Hic - no, Prince Henry. Because of course Astrid was so focussed on maintaining her identity that she forgot the Crown Prince was her age and named Henry. Prince Henry, with the extraordinary green eyes. The Prince who had managed to tame a wild horse. The Prince who looked almost entirely like his slim mother, not the broad king. Her mouth dropped open as everything clicked into place with a rush of confusion, disbelief, and anger. The prince turned to catch sight of her and paled.
“Hofferson-”
Astrid spun on her heel and rushed to her parents, suddenly anxious to be home.
Two months was too long to think, Astrid decided. She would come to a conclusion after hours of pondering in her delightfully hot bath (she had had one every day since she arrived home) but would change her mind in the next one. And she was furious; now she couldn’t even enjoy her hot baths, and it was entirely his fault.
She knew she was being unfair; how could she be mad at him for not mentioning he was the Crown Prince? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything, and he didn’t even know she wasn’t a boy. So why did a part of her feel betrayed?
Her options were to deem he was untrustworthy and avoid him, or to confront him about his identity. But he was the Prince; she shouldn't ostracize her future king. But then, none of the other boys in training seemed to have much respect for him. Did they not know who he was either? Why would he not tell anyone? Why hadn’t she ever realized? She was confused and her head was messed up, so after a delightful week of relaxing and regaling tales to her younger sisters, her father had her continue to train to stay in shape and she resumed lady etiquette lessons, trying to learn as much as possible in two months; after all, who knew how long she would stay a squire? Being so busy helped keep her mind off other things, and she decided to forget about Hic - Prince Henry and concentrate on her family. She would deal with him when they saw each other again.
She would never admit it, but he occupied her thoughts far too often. It was because she had nothing better to focus on while at Training, and boring poise made her mind wander. She didn't really find him that interesting.
When she arrived back Gobber allowed one day to settle back in before they went straight into classes. Most people were rusty after a month of lazing about and she silently thanked her father for keeping her in shape. She spied Hic - PrinceHenry making his way over to her a few times, but she always turned around and headed in the opposite direction to avoid him. She wore a fierce scowl, and the boys who had gotten a little more friendly before she left wisely gave her space.
She hadn’t reached a conclusion about what to do with Hiccup - with The Prince, but she couldn’t let him be the one to confront her. No. That would be cowardly, which was something she refused to be. So, one day after breakfast when they were on their way to another Training session, she walked up behind and punched him. Hard.
Hiccup yelped and jumped to face her, clutching his shoulder. “Wha-? What wa-”
“That’s for lying,” she said sternly as an explanation. He shook his head disbelievingly and glared right back at her, but their sort-of friendship was now closer to a real one. No, they were friends, she realized with a shock. Hiccup was her friend. She hadn't meant for it to happen, but she had a friend now. And her friend should be able to defend himself, she resolved.
She had been back in Training three weeks so far. She was top of the class like last year, but this year she had a different focus than doing well in class. She was looking for Hiccup. Everyone had gone to sleep, even the servants were gone and the kitchens dark and empty. She doubted Hiccup was situated in the barracks with the other boys, since Jorgenson - or Snotlout, as the boy had smarmily insisted - had his own room, surely the Prince would? She crept quietly down the dark corridor, listening through the doors. The door closest to her had no sounds or light coming from it. She knelt down to the door crack to examine further, but had to plug her nose to hold back the sneeze from all that dust. She doubted anyone slept in there.
She turned the corner of the corridor - the corridors were rather small, honestly. Father had at least five sets of rooms per corridor at home, but this was an old building. The next door she listened had a heavy snoring, an awful mix of snorting, choking, and grunting noises. She hoped that wasn’t Hiccup. A small boy like him wouldn’t make sounds like that, would he? Her fingers lightly traced the wood along the door. Ah. Someone had hung an elaborate carved ‘S’ on the door. It was Snotlout’s room.
She noticed a flicker of light down the corridor, and made her way over to the last door at the end of the hall. A slight glow could be seen if she crouched down and peered under the door, like there was a candle in the next room. She studied the dark wood for a minute. Did the Prince have a set of rooms? She tried the handle. It jangled softly. She let out a huff and cast a look around the shadowy corridor in hopes of finding something to help her. Snotlout’s snores were loud, would he wake up if she knocked on Hiccup’s door? What if Hiccup didn’t hear? She knocked firmly on the door and held her breath to listen. Snotlout’s noise didn’t stutter, but she thought she could make out a shift of a body on sheets.
She knocked again. Then again. She pressed her door against the door and heard a sigh accompanied by a thump. She debated knocking as the flicker of light under the door grew brighter. A key clinked and the door opened a crack. She quickly took a step back.
Hiccup, his brown-red hair longish and a bit tangled, peered out through a crack, a candle’s light illuminating his head’s silhouette.
“Hey,” whispered Astrid. He gave a terrified squeak and jumped back behind the door, another thump sounding and a muffled “ouch.” She pressed her lips together to keep from snorting. He must have tripped.
“You alright?” She asked, not bothering to hide her amusement. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Yep, the Prince had a set of two rooms. The one they were standing in - well, one standing, the other scrambling to get up - was small, with a tapestry hanging on the wall across the doorway where Astrid guessed his bed and wardrobe lay. There were two comfortable chairs and a desk in this room. The desk was covered in parchment of different sizes and quality and various amounts of ink. She turned her attention away from them despite her curiosity. She had a point being here.
“Hofferson,” Hiccup laughed nervously. “What are- uh, what are you . . . doing here?”
“You weren’t sleeping anyway,” she began. Hiccup looked confused.
“How’d you know I wasn’t sleeping?” Astrid’s eyes widened.
“What? I - no, I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping until I came here and saw the light! But it’s good you’re not sleeping. This would be harder if you were tired.”
“What are we doing?” Hiccup asked. Get to the point, Astrid, she told herself. Quit messing around.
“Since you can’t sleep anyway, why don’t you train,” Astrid suggested. He stared at her, nonplussed.
“Yeah, okay, maybe this is just a crazy dream.” He turned towards the doorway, scratching his head. She scowled, and pinched his arm.
“Ow!” he recoiled. “Okay, not asleep. Unfortunately,” he muttered. Astrid raised her eyebrows at him and he rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not good at Training, or anything fighting at all,” he explained patiently.
“Exactly,” Astrid responded with equal patience. “That’s why you would practice, so you’d get better.” Hiccup sighed dramatically.
“C’mon, how’d you think I got so good at fighting?” She prompted.
“I dunno, you were born perfect?” Astrid fought the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“No,” she smirked. “I snuck out every other night to practice.” She saw his jaw drop out of the corner of her eye, impressed. “And that’s what you’re going to do, now.”
“Who says it’ll even work,” he argued, although she didn’t sound as discouraged as he had a moment ago.
“It’ll be worth it,” she promised. “We’ll start with the basics.”
She had noticed during their training that Hiccup struggled with the basic eight positions, causing him to hesitate and lose momentum and focus.
“Did . . . did your father never teach you this?” she asked quietly after Hiccup flung down his sword upon the Armoury floor in despair for the second time.
“The King is a busy man,” he responded bitterly, “and it’s not like I’m built for fighting anyway.”
“I’m built the same way and I do fine,” Astrid argued, gesturing at her own slim figure. Liar. There were things growing on her in places that were becoming harder to conceal that boys didn’t have, but that was irrelevant. “Now pick up your sword, Your Highness.”
Hiccup scowled and picked up the sword. “No need to call me that,” he said, and struck at her instead of getting back into position two. Astrid’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she blocked his strike easily. He really didn’t like his honorifics.
“Watch your footwork, Your Highness,” Astrid continued, curious as to how he’d react. He adjusted his stance.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I should get to call you something too.”
“Call me what?”
“Something that annoys you . . . like, Hoffy.”
Astrid stopped still. “Hoffy?”
He snickered. “Hoffy it is.”
“Alright, Haddock, I shan’t call you your highness any longer.”
“But I still get to call you Hoffy?”
“No.” She went on the attack, and swiftly disarmed him. His mouth twisted into a displeased grimace.
“Tell you what,” she amended, “If you train with me every day, and every other night, you get to call me Hoffy once a day. And if you miss a day of training, that privilege is revoked, so use each time wisely.” Hiccup sighed dramatically.
“You drive a hard bargain, sir,” he said gravely, “But I accept your terms.” He held out his hand in an over-formal manner. She took it and they shook with straight faces before collapsing into laughter.
Astrid wasn’t the only one to rope her friend into her schemes. It turned out Hiccup enjoyed spending time at the smithy to the point where the blacksmith grudgingly accepted him as his sort-of apprentice. Astrid knew how to sharpen her ax or sword, but enjoyed hearing Hiccup explaining the finer art of smithing. He had his own little back room full of scrap metal and hasty diagrams. It was cramped and humid, and quickly became one of Astrid’ favorite places.
He had many ideas and contraptions he wanted to try out, most of which were unsuccessful, but she cheered her friend on despite the disasters and took to creating elaborate alibis to cover him so they wouldn’t get caught. Later, after narrowly escaping the ire of Gobber or Mildew the head servant or whatever poor soul had been affected, they laughed off their ridiculous cover stories, each one more impossible than the last.
They couldn’t always avoid getting into trouble though. Hiccup’s latest contraption, the Mangler, he called it, had been brought outside for testing. Hiccup wanted to see if it could take down the miniature catapult they had built. If the endeavor was successful, he explained, their army could use it to take out the enemy’s long range missiles. But the testing process was dangerous.
Astrid stood beside him, excitedly watching as he readied the launcher, checked the calibration, and enthused about everyone’s future reactions; he was sure this contraption would work, and they would be hailed geniuses. Personally, Astrid wasn’t so sure. They had never been this naughty before, but she relished it, and figured it would make her posing as a boy more believable; boys did do stupid, dangerous things after all.
“Ready?” he called out.
“Ready,” she confirmed. He bent over the Mangler and took careful aim. He took a breath once, twice. Then on the third exhale he pulled the trigger and the enormous weighted net-slash-bola went flying. She straightened up with a whoop as they watched it soar and plummet.
“Oh no,” cried Hiccup, panicked. She whipped her head toward him in alarm.
“What?”
“I, uh . . . The angle isn’t right; I overshot.”
“What? You’re kidding.”
“It’s heading toward the calves.”
She let out a healthy curse and grabbed him, running toward the calves and hollering. The calves scattered at the net came crashing down, wrapping around the fence posts and toppling them with its heavy iron weights. The cows and teenagers stood stock still for a moment, then the animals stampeded over the splintered fence.
"Well . . . I mean, at least it works."
"We're going to be in so much trouble if someone finds this mess."
Gobber discovered them desperately trying to clear the scene of the Mangler’s evidence, and they were given menial duties and extra exercises for two weeks. It was worth it.
.oOo.
After Snoggletog, Astrid came to a realization. Hiccup was growing.
First he shot upwards, and the developing muscles he was gaining were hard to recognize, as he still looked the same. But then, as they were sparring hand-to-hand one night, she became aware of the fact that he was taller than she remembered, and when he knocked her over, the weight of his body on hers was . . . heavier. And that was all she noticed when she was in that position. She still managed to throw him off and pin him down, but her victories were steadily becoming harder to reach, and their fights were lasting longer.
Hiccup went from being the shortest of the squires in Training to being the tallest. Thankfully, Astrid wasn’t too far behind in terms of height. The roundness of his face dropped off to reveal a razor sharp jaw and pronounced cheekbones. He was still lean, but you could tell he had muscles and shoulders underneath the fabric of his tunics. His pants got tighter (though Astrid would never acknowledge noticing the fact), and with the development of his body the Prince was suddenly more enthusiastic about swimming or sparring with his shirt off. He now looked like a young man, and the only one who called him ‘boy’ was Gobber, and that was just in jest. He was attractive, too, and even the boys who had made fun of him last year were a lot more interested in being friendly with him.
Unfortunately, Astrid was much less happy about her own body’s growth. She was relieved to find she had inherited Father’s height. She was the third tallest among her peers; the only two taller than her were Hiccup and Ingerman. She was not as pleased to discover the growth of her womanly curves, which she had undoubtedly inherited from her mother. She couldn’t allow herself to wear short tunics or too-tight pants (like Hiccup), or her decidedly not masculine hips might be noticed. She had to wrap her chest securely and wore layers to conceal the shapes, but it meant she was often hot. And she couldn’t utilize the baths nearly as often as she’d like. Although she had never put much stock on being pretty, she had always appreciated her fine features. But she had to be careful with how she did her hair and what length she allowed it to grow to. Mother had facial paints to enhance contours and such; Astrid would have to learn how to use them when she returned for the summer.
When summer rolled around and Astrid returned to her family, she found herself writing letters more often to Hiccup than she did to her parents over the entire year. She was the only one who called him Hiccup now. The other boys had taken to calling him ‘Haddock’ when they addressed him - except Snotlout who thought he was entitled to call his second cousin ‘Henry.’
“Why would you like to be called Hiccup if it is the nickname they used to make fun of you?” she had asked him.
“You never called me Hiccup to mock me,” he told her sincerely. His smile turned roguish. “You honestly thought that was my name; you couldn’t recognize your future king.”
She rolled her eyes in chagrin while he laughed. “I was busy with other things!” she defended herself. “And I’m not the only one who can be blind; I bet you couldn’t even recognize a girl if she was under your nose.”
He walked over to her to enhance the height difference between them, looking down at her over his nose. Astrid tamped down the hysterical laugh building in her throat. If only he knew.
“I don’t see you with many girls,” he challenged.
“I don’t bother myself with the ones here; but back at my estate, I’m surrounded by them every day,” she boasted, trying to remember Snotlout’s demeanor when regaling his exploits. What she was saying was true, just not in the way she was portraying it.
“Yes, well, girls have never been interested in me for anything but my position,” he said scathingly. “And I don’t care for simpering maids.”
She had no idea why his answer made her smile.
Back at home, Mother instructed her in the art of makeup, and Astrid practiced diligently until she was satisfied with the almost male face looking back at her in the mirror. She continued her weapons practice in her free time, but Mother insisted on dragging her out to garden parties along with her two unmarried sisters to remind the world that Astrid Hofferson still existed. A wig had been crafted for her to wear over her short hair, and the seamstress had to redo all the sleeves on her dresses, muttering about unladylike muscles. But her parents were pleased to find that Astrid could still conduct herself perfectly among ladies, even if she was a little behind on the latest gossip and scandals. Her curves and pretty features finally came in handy again, and Astrid couldn’t deny the thrill of wearing nice dresses instead of durable tunics, but she quickly grew to miss the freedom of fighting and running off with her friend. She barely knew no one at these parties; they couldn’t risk any of Astrid’s peers recognizing her and blowing her cover, but she felt lonely and out of place.
It was a relief to finally be back in Training. This year, their curriculum would be different; they were old enough to help out in the war - no actual fighting, but helping keep the camp guarded and the odd job that no one had done. Their fighting techniques were good, what they needed now was experience, Gobber had told them when he received his instructions to bring them there. And what better place to gain such experience than the battlefield where everything they had trained for was happening first hand?
They weren’t allowed to participate in the fighting. They were situated right behind the front lines, on recently conquered land. Injured men were carried on stretchers to the healer’s tent. One of the healers showed them how to bandage and clean a wound. Astrid was a lot better at wrapping than the others, what with her secret monthly bloods and chest bindings.
After they’d been on the battlefield for a week they watched a soldier die. His comrades carried him in, his left arm a stump and his abdomen caked in blood. They watched as his groans faded and the nurses tried to staunch his bleeding, one of his companions sobbing at his bedside. Astrid felt a sense of purpose as she observed the scene; this was what she was fighting for. This was what she was preparing to do for her family. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Hiccup quickly exiting the tent and followed him.
He was bent over, heaving. Once he was finished, she knelt beside him, careful to avoid the watery vomit. He didn’t acknowledge her, just closed his eyes and panted. She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to break the silence.
“He- he died,” Hiccup said at last, stunned. “He’s dead.”
“He is.”
He turned pleading eyes to his friend. “But what if - what if there could have been another way? What if he didn’t have to die? Can’t there be another option?”
“People die every day,” she replied carefully. “Maybe, in another world, he would have died today anyway, despite not fighting in a war. Maybe he wouldn’t have. But that man who died today, died for a cause. He fought for something until his last breath; isn’t that the best way to die?”
Hiccup said nothing and raked his hands through his hair.
“You’re going to be King someday,” Astrid continued. She wasn’t sure now was the time for him to hear this, but she wanted to explain her conviction to him, wanted him to understand. “You’re going to be forced to make decisions that get people killed.” Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut. “What's important is that you won’t let those decisions be in vain.”
But despite some of the sobering instances, everything was exciting. Even the tedious waiting behind the lines, doing the dirty jobs the fighters would order them to do and sneaking off to watch the seasoned warriors drink around the campfires and sing songs that made Astrid’s cheeks burn. They had never been to a battlefield before. The cold was biting, the soldiers grim, the landscape gray, and yet, to naive, blood-thirsty teenagers, everything seemed worthy of an epic ballad.
The battle moved further North, yet the knights-in-training stayed, so Astrid and the prince snuck out to practice sparring on an actual battlefield.
“We haven’t picked up a sword to use it in ages,” she coaxed. “Besides, we don’t want you getting rusty and back to fighting like last year.”
“Ha, ha,” Hiccup said dryly. “I won’t deteriorate that far. I almost beat you last time, remember?”
“Key word being ‘almost’,” Astrid taunted.
Hiccup checked his sword in his scabbard; it was perfectly polished and sharpened. “I’ll beat you one day, Hofferson, just you wait,” he promised.
Their sparring location had been conquered easily and the bodies had been cleaned up and buried or burned for a while, but the echoes of the swords clashing brought to life the recent ghosts of the battle that had just taken place. Before they had taken more than two steps, Astrid struck. Hiccup met her blade with his own with ease as they retreated and met again.
She lost herself in her battle cries and the ringing of the blades. She hit and rolled and twisted and jumped and flicked her blade, but Hiccup’s defense was nigh impenetrable. He struck at her legs and she danced out of the way, unable to get close enough to him to land a blow. Their dirks met again, the hilts so close together their hands were almost touching.
“Call it a draw,” Astrid suggested through a strained grin. Hiccup’s height and weight were an advantage when it was strength against strength.
“Not on your life,” he teased, out of breath, “I got you right where- oh!”
Astrid caught a flash of movement in the darkness off to the side. Without thinking, she leapt forward to knock Hiccup out of the way, taking him by surprise. She gritted her teeth against the sudden slice of fire along her right shoulder.
Henry swiftly rolled on top of her and rose to meet their attacker, gripping the hilt of his sword fiercely. He circled the figure, matching their footwork. They threw a dagger at him, and he moved out of the way at the last second. The blade embedded itself next to Astrid, who flinched but kept quiet. She didn’t need to remind their opponent there was a second person to watch besides the prince. The person drew a sword, and Hiccup attacked.
They were evenly matched, it seemed, and Astrid felt a glimmer of pride until the assailant pushed through Hiccup’s guard. Her friend was driven back, barely able to block each swing. She sat up carefully, breathing through the flare of pain along her shoulder, and grabbed the knife. Hiccup saw her out of the corner of his eye, and his retreats angled until the person’s back was to her. She leapt up and slammed the knife’s hilt upon their head and they crumpled.
She stood across the Prince, panting heavily as he stared down on their aggressor’s form with a savage expression. He blinked and shook his head as if clearing it. His face, usually so cheerful, was grave.
“Are you okay, Hofferson?” he asked, concerned.
“I’m fine,” she waved him off and walked over to her outer tunic she had shed before the spar, donning it quickly to cover her back. “We should turn him in to Gobber.” Hiccup nodded and they both grabbed an arm, Astrid holding back her wince as her shoulder strained.
Gobber was sitting in his tent when they entered. He shot up in alarm as he took in the figure strung between them. “Holy - are ye okay, lads?”
“We are. He might not be,” Astrid said as she and the prince dropped the body on the floor. “Caught him trying to sneak into the camp. Tried to kill us.” Gobber’s mouth formed an incredulous O.
“We think he’s from the other side,” Hiccup added.
“Thor’s soiled underpants on his spanked ass,” exhaled Gobber. “Ye could’ve - ye almost got yersel’s killed!!! What were ye thinking, ye daft bams!” He knelt to inspect the intruder’s face and inhaled. “Aye, yer lucky yer still alive.”
“Hiccup fought him,” Astrid said.
“Hofferson knocked him out,” Hiccup added. Gobber cuffed him on his head. He yelped, rubbing his tender scalp with a glare.
“What were ye two even doing outside?” Gobber asked in exasperation. They shuffled their feet and examined the specs on dirt on the tarp floor, dragged in by their boots. When neither of them said anything, Astrid spoke up.
“We were sparring,” she admitted quietly. She didn’t dare look up. Gobber sighed.
“I dinnae ken why ah’m still surprised anymore,” he said, shaking his head. “Ye did good, bringing him in.” Hiccup shifted, a small smile on his face. “But ye fools will be on chamber pot duty for a week!” The smiles fell at record speed. “Were any of ye hurt?” He questioned.
“No, we’re fine,” she interjected quickly. Hiccup shot her a confused glance, but she ignored it.
“Good. Yer dismissed; go! Sneaking off in the middle of the night . . .” Gobber muttered, waving them out of his tent.
Hiccup could clearly see his friend was in pain, but could also tell they didn’t want Gobber to know.
“Hey,” he tugged on Hofferson’s arm. “Let’s go to my tent and get that shoulder cleaned up."
“No need; I’m fine,” they assured him, but he could see the furrow between their brows indicating they were in pain.
“I’m not going to leave you alone until I know you’re okay,” Hiccup threatened. They paused, and rolled their eyes.
“You worrisome idiot,” they huffed. He grinned and pulled them along as they walked to his tent to clean his friend up (it was marginally bigger than everyone else’s).
Astrid was hesitant to let him treat her. No, she knew she should have just said no; but it had warmed her heart to see him so concerned about her. She was taken with a sudden urge to tell him the truth. She had been feeling these urges for a while, usually after the Prince had told her something personal or after a particularly close escape from trouble, but never as cripplingly strong as now.
She struggled with herself as Hiccup sat her down on the floor (his tent’s fabric was also thicker than hers) and procured water and some rags. He knelt by her with the supplies, ready for her to take off her shirt. She should tell him. She should do absolutely nothing of the sort. No, she was going to do this; he deserved to know if only to explain why she couldn’t let him treat her. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, the words abandoning her at the last second.
The Prince simply sat there, waiting. He trusted his best friend Hofferson, but he had had his own suspicions that something wasn’t entirely right about him. With his armor off and hair grown longish from their trip, the Prince couldn’t help but think he was remarkably pretty, for a boy. And Hofferson consistently got sick around the same time of month, and he always bathed apart from the rest of them. Hofferson always wore looser clothes than the rest, but no one was immune to sweat, and he had noticed that the tunics never stuck to him quite the same way it did to other boys. Or even sometimes Hofferson’s voice would go high without sounding like it was about to crack. He had a hunch, but had never dared confront him with it; what if his friend were offended?
Astrid braced herself for the plunge. “Hiccup,” she couldn’t meet his eyes. “There's something I need to tell you - Or, well, confess, more like . . .” This was hard. Her nerves built up, screaming for her to abort. There was still time to take it all back. But that would still leave her with an uncomfortable dilemma. She didn’t like lying to her friend - her best friend. She wouldn’t hesitate to throw herself in front of him to protect him, and she didn’t doubt he felt the same. So why should she hold back an important secret? Would he be mad at her for lying and ruin their friendship? Would he order her to be executed? No, that was ridiculous, but she had no idea what to expect. She swallowed and spit it out. “Hiccup. I’m not - I’m not like you guys. Like you boys. I’m a-”
“-girl,” the Prince finished for her. Her mouth dropped open in shock and horror. They were quiet for a moment, the world holding its breath as if waiting to see what happened next. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the edge of her tunic. She wished he would just say something so she could stop wondering how in the world he had known that.
“It makes sense,” he said carefully, earnestly. Astrid gawked at him in disbelief.
“You knew?” she accused, outraged. After all that worry, the struggles, the guilt, he had known?
“No, no,” he assured her. “I mean I - I had a hunch - I suspected. B-but it wasn’t obvious. I was too afraid to bring it up for fear you’d kill me for the offense!” he chuckled thinly. "But it - it explains a lot of things."
“Are - Aren’t you going to tell anyone?” she asked shakily. He shook his head vehemently.
“Why would I? You’ve kept all of my secrets; I can keep yours.” She observed him through narrowed eyes, but she had every reason to trust him. And he was, after all, the Prince. If, or maybe she should say when, she was found out, it would only help her case if the Crown Prince supported her, she reasoned. But maybe her parents shouldn’t know she’d told him. That detail could stay between them. She held her hand out, and they firmly shook hands.
“So,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and gestured to her shoulder, suddenly shy in front of a girl. “Do you, um, do you want help or-or should I leave? Since. You know, um, yeah.” Astrid couldn’t contain the girlish giggle at his discomfort and reddening face.
“So eager to get my shirt off without even asking my name; where are your manners?” she teased him. Hiccup’s eyes widened in shocked realization and, if possible, flushed harder.
“N-No!” he stuttered desperately. “I - I would nev- I - not what - so what is your name?” he fumbled as he scrambled to catch his dignity like one fumbled at a falling vase. Astrid was greatly amused; he hadn’t stuttered around her for almost a whole year, and hearing him stutter again made her nostalgic and happy.
“Astrid,” she said quietly, suddenly overcome by shyness. Would he like it? Did he think it suited her? Why did trusting him with such a simple fact feel so . . . intimate?
“Astrid,” he repeated to himself, as if savoring it.
She found herself swallowing hard and trying to calm her heart as it stumbled, unaware of the prince’s guilty stare as she unconsciously wet her lips.
The httyd franchise has been such a big part of my life. Though I’ve only been active in the fandom for around a yearish, I’ve loved httyd since I saw the first one in theatres. It has taught me so much and I’ve made amazing friendships because of it. This fandom is truly special and it makes me so sad that the httyd era is coming to a close. Fangirling over new content, making countdowns for the upcoming seasons of rtte, reading and making fanfiction, adoring fanart, and having the best crazy/weird conversations with people in the fandom will be memories I will forever hold close to my heart. This series is incredible and inspiring, big props to Dean and the dream team for making this franchise possible. I love you all so much. Forever and always httyd. Long live the httyd fandom! ♥️
about jesper spelling ‘forgive me’ on dirix’s chest in bullet holes: “Compromise”, Kaz said. “I’m sorry does the trick and uses fewer bullets.”
“If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” - “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”
“I had a question,”, said Kaz. “About your mother and whether the rumours are true.” (he says that to a guard in hellgate 💀)
when he tells wylan to watch jesper so he doesn’t go gambling: “I don’t need a nursemaid”, Jesper snapped. “More like a chaperone, but if you want him to wash your nappies and tuck you in at night, that’s your business.” (captain of the wesper ship from day one)
Kaz replied with a time-saving gesture that relied heavily on his middle finger and disappeared belowdecks. (i know, technically not a line, but still great)
“I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” (iconic 👏🏻)
when jesper doesn’t know what to do with the backless book: “Hold it up so we don’t have to look at your ugly face.”
“What is he doing?” asked Matthias. “Performing an ancient Zemeni ritual,” Kaz said. “Really?” - “No.”
“How do we cross? I don’t see anything.” - “Because you are not worthy.” - “I’m also not nearsighted. There’s nothing there.”
followed by: “This is only one part of Hringkälla.” - “Yes, I know, then a tree tells you the secret handshake.”
“You can explain why our illustrious Shu scientist looks like one of Wylan’s school pals along the way.”
about van eck’s replacement for the ruby (that HE STOLE): “Nice pin,” Kaz said with a glance at the ruby stuck to Van Eck’s tie, “Not as nice as the other one, though.”
“Let’s go.” - “Me?” - “No, the idiot behind you.”
“How is-” - “Nina is fine. Jesper is fine. Everyone is fine except for me because I’m stuck with a gang of hand-wringing nursemaids. Keep a watch.” (actually it’s because of inej, but sure, kaz)
while petting a dog: “Now why can’t people be this easily trained?”
“I helped as well,” added Kuwei, looking sulky. “He did help,” Wylan said. “We’ll make him a plaque,” said Kaz.
“I need to do this. I’ve never been to my mother’s grave. I’m not leaving Kerch without saying goodbye.” - “Trust me, you care more than she does.” (i mean he’s right but jesus christ 💀)
“Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch. “If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.” - “Take your time.”
when he breaks that dreg member’s leg: “My leg! My leg!” - “I recommend a cane.” (he’s a bad bitch and he knows it. 10/10)
Jellen Radmakker had fallen to the stage and was bellowing, “I’ve been shot!” He had not been shot.
when zoya tries to reanimate kuwei: “I really hope she gets this right,” murmured Nina. “Not as much as Kuwei does,” said Kaz.
Inej laughing in Van Eck's face, breaking his nose, and threatening him after he literally kidnapped and tortured her is, to this day, the most metal thing a book character has ever done and i stand by that
Because I’m on my percy Jackson shit again, I’d love for the demigod’s mortal friends from school to be fully convinced the demigods parents are in, like, the mafia.
Think about it. Their parents are often in a war no one knows about, they have shit tons of trauma, all their parents are related except when you point out some of the demigods are dating they get all huffy and saying they aren’t “blood” related. They don’t share DNA. Their parents are just… uncles or something. But not literally.
