A/N: The following takes place about a year after Defenders of Berk concludes, and features some references to it and to RoB, but knowledge of the series is far from necessary. The one thing I would let you know is that Dagur the Deranged is a central villain from the show; you can look him up on the wikia if you'd like to know more. Also, my version of Phlegma is distant from the Phlegma of slightly obscure canon, but I liked the fanon name so much…

Lastly, any anachronisms you might notice are just a part of that HTTYD charm!

Astrid had this Problem.

Now additionally, she had quite a few issues, quandaries, and small inconveniences, etc. Tasks and people and ideas that kept her days long and caused her grief; broken saddles, fears of adulthood. Distance between her and what was left of her family.

But this wasn't like that. This was a Problem, capital P, with all the bells and whistles and death-defying stunts, the making of a bard's best tale.

Through some off-base slander and gossip the entire archipelago had got it in their heads that she, Astrid Hofferson, held the key to controlling Berk.

This wasn't so bad at first. Sure, it became surreptitiously trendy among the less savory types to kidnap and ransom her against whatever ridiculous demand they had: the last Night Fury, Berk's territory, even the chiefdom of the Hooligan tribe itself. Why they thought any Hooligan would bow to an antagonistic outsider was beyond Astrid, but Vikings, you may have noticed, occasionally develop unrealistic expectations of themselves. But Astrid took strife in stride; she was herself a Viking.

That November morning, like most November mornings in their neck of the woods, started off cold and only grew colder once you were airborne. But they'd had a long week of training, trying to do what they could before winter's full wrath was on Berk. She was ready to be alone, so she'd headed to a spot on an unnamed island where she liked to clear her head when the Academy was out for a few hours. Yet the place seemed quiet that day: no animals, even the wild dragons were hiding. The hair on the back of her neck had prickled, enough to make her reach for her axe, and when someone clubbed her over the head she wished the reflex had arrived a half-second sooner.

Astrid woke in chains on that same island, head pounding and throat arid, with Dagur the Deranged's voice ringing in her ears. She spent the next two days bound and gagged, listening to him prattle on about crushing Hiccup's heart in his fist, though after several hours she suspected their favorite Berserk might be more interested in winning said heart than breaking it. So that was weird.

When you're being held captive as the target of a premeditated attack by your tribe's greatest human threat to date, it might seem easy to get a big head. To think, hey, I must be pretty special, if they've cornered me ten to one! And as easy as you think that might seem, Astrid found it easier. Of course, she wanted to kill them all, too. But it was kind of nice, to be considered essential to Berk. They'd targeted her because they knew that in combined dragon riding and melee skill, she was the Hooligans' best asset, instrumental to their military success, and the Berserks were right! Where enemies were concerned, it was always Hiccup-this and Hiccup-that. Astrid—and the rest of the riders, she supposed—might as well have been invisible. Lately, that sentiment had even circled back to the source. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been alone with Hiccup, not that it mattered.

So there was Astrid, prisoner of the Berserks, feeling rather self-important, while she cooled her heels planning an escape and caught snippets of Dagur's speeches along the way. If she'd listened closely from the start she might've saved herself some time.

Because Dagur kept saying how he was going to hit his nemesis where it really counted, how he was going to use Hiccup's soft heart against him, to find the chink in his armor and exploit his weakness. And how that un-Viking little man would sing for mercy when he heard Dagur had his ladylove all up in chains, how he would swoon pathetically into Dagur's arms and coo, ooooo, Dagur, I'm so sorry I was mean, I'm a terrible freckled slender thing (you see how Astrid come to her conclusion about Dagur's unwitting motives), and on and on and on. For two days. He had referred to her as Hiccup's "ladylove" three times before she really heard it, and her pride imploded.

Normally, she didn't begrudge the opinions of strangers (or she at least preferred to seem as though she didn't), but when the whole archipelago is hunting you down because they're mistakenly convinced you're dating the Pride of Berk, Hope and Heir of the Hooligan Tribe, Dragon Master et al—that's annoying. And mortifying. Mainly mortifying.

About twenty minutes after she realized this, a surge of embarrassed adrenaline helped her take out three Berserk guards, retrieve her beloved axe, incapacitate another two oafs, and free Stormfly in time for Dagur to arrive back from his supper with reinforcements. Stormfly helpfully nailed them to the side of a cliff, and as Astrid departed, she made sure to let Dagur know he shouldn't get his hopes up about Hiccup. He blushed through his face tattoo, and her dragon climbed. The island shrunk beneath them.

As she approached Berk on dragonback she fell in behind what looked her very own search party, returning empty-handed and grim-faced. They'd already touched down and dismounted in the village square by the time Tuffnut (of all people) turned around and shouted, "WAIT, I FOUND HER."

And then there was the inevitable mob of Hooligans with burning questions and concern. Stormfly got bombarded by a friendly Toothless so Astrid stood alone, surrounded on all sides by what felt like every human being on the island, a veritable mob patting her and telling her it was going to be okay, and she wanted to scream, it won't be if you keep touching me!, but somehow she doubted that'd go over well. There was her mother and the twins with Snotlout and Fishlegs; even Silent Sven, who'd come all the way from his farm to help search, nodded his happiness. Stoick roared of relief, Gothi stood off to the side giving silent thanks to Odin. It took a mop of auburn hair with freckles emerging from the crowd to ask, finally, "What happened to you?"

She looked at Hiccup and her stomach dropped.

The villagers fell silent. They never used to do that when he spoke, but things had changed, they were still changing. She and Hiccup, for example, had once been combative acquaintances, then nearly enemies, then good friends. Then, whatever they were right now. Chief's son and subject, maybe. He looked different. Even after only two days, it seemed like his face had shifted—thinned, perhaps. Was his jaw more pronounced, or was it some new upward tilt in his chin that radiated leadership?

Her mother's eyes bored down at Astrid, the reassuring hand on her arm about the most physical contact they'd shared since her infancy. She gulped. Gods help her—she couldn't say it. Not here, not in front of everyone.

She kicked at the ground. "Just, you know. Berserks held me captive for two days. Dagur says hi."

The Hooligans stirred at that name. Their history with Dagur was storied and unpleasant.

"Dagur?" Hiccup repeated, color rising in his face. "What's he want?" So the Berserks hadn't gotten around to sending the ransom demand before she escaped. (Probably stumbling over how to make "we have your ladylove, do our bidding" sound sufficiently threatening.) Well, good. She didn't notice the weight on her shoulders until she felt it lift.

But there was a definite how-dare-he-lay-a-finger-on-someone-so-important edge to Hiccup's voice when he asked after Dagur's intentions. There's your problem, she grumbled inwardly.

"Uh, the usual. Defensive plans. Gimme that Night Fury or I'll bring out the armada. You know, typical Dagur stuff."

"And why'd he come after you? Just you?"

"Why not me?" she asked sharply. Hiccup frowned, as if to say, you know it doesn't work that way, and she shrugged in concession. "Crime of opportunity, I guess?" She didn't meet his eye, but he was too busy exchanging meaningful chiefly glances with his dad to notice.

"Everyone should be on high alert from here on out," Hiccup announced, and then he regarded her carefully. "I'm glad you're okay, Astrid."

"Thanks," she managed. Hiccup, Stoick and Gobber strode off importantly, and the rest of the villagers scattered in their wake. Thor's thundering balls. Stormfly reappeared at her side and she nearly collapsed against her dragon right there on the village green. She was no natural-born liar: she could've taken down Dagur's men six times over with the energy she'd expended concealing the truth from Hiccup and the villagers. The part of her mature beyond embarrassment screamed in protest, but if Hiccup could pretend Astrid wasn't special, she could too.

Hiccup made some rule about no solo flights for a week, but it was difficult for Astrid to take the whole "high alert" thing seriously when she knew what was actually going on. In an ironic and humiliating twist of events, she ran into a pirate fleet prepared with nets only fifteen minutes into her first solo outing since the new security measures. She'd have assumed they only wanted to rob her or sell her into slavery or something, except they kept pointing and shouting "the dragon boy's girlfriend!" as they launched their attack.

Honestly. It had been one celebratory, public kiss per year since he took down the Red Death. Two kisses in total. Two kisses and she was Mrs. Haddock to the entire Viking world. This was the exact sort of predictable behavior that had kept her from initiating anything more private in the first place—

No. Scratch that. She touted the party line and the party line was: Not Interested. Haddock was at its most attractive battered and fried with mushy peas, not shot up two heads since last summer and starting to fill out.

The pirates downed her and Stormfly briefly but got no further. Whoever had tipped them off about her likely hadn't warned that the Dragon Boy's Girlfriend came heavily armed. Astrid burned their sails and left them adrift, hoping they'd reach the shores of Berserker Island and cure Dagur's boredom.

None of this phases me, she told herself. Swallowing some residual skittishness after having been assaulted there not a week ago, she stopped off at her island on the way home and practiced burying her axe in a tree. A meek voice in her head suggested telling Hiccup what was going on, but the force of her resistance to this idea was such that she muttered "No" out loud, standing there by herself in the forest. Stormfly gave her a critical look, but she was not having it. She could handle this. And after she'd deftly fended off two attempts, word should spread of her competence and everyone would realize they were barking up the wrong sea stack.

That did not happen.

In fact, her capability under attack seemed to have the opposite effect on the archipelago's villains.

For every story of defeat, a new cluster of baddies decided capturing her was the best way to prove their own super-Viking-ness. There were Outcasts in ships off Berk's northern coast and Uglithugs on Dragon Island and more damn pirates. Typically she got a kick out of beating up random assailants, but this was a lot of random assailants, and she couldn't leave the village without her axe drawn. And then there was the lying—more lying than ever. The lying was the real liability, she knew, not the new dents in her armor, or the gash on her arm from a slow dodge. She was native to tangible aggression, but lying fit her like another person's armor—too tight in the chest, the weight of it exhausting. It wasn't like her and also, she sucked at it. People were going to notice.

Thankfully her mother had planned a raiding party for that month and, like a true Hofferson, refused to cancel it in the wake of Astrid's brief disappearance. Her mom responded to slights from the gods by bravely acting like everything was just A-Okay, which might give you some idea of how Astrid had developed her special means of problem solving. As long as her mom was gone, she had the house to herself, and had only to worry about the face she put on for the rest of the village. Which was fine, because the rest of the village was pretty stupid when it came to these kinds of things.

Except Hiccup.

It was truly remarkable how, after months and months of barely laying eyes on Hiccup, she seemed to see him everywhere. When she thought she might want more of him in her life, he went away; when she was determined to live without him, he appeared in new seriousness—every room dimpled to the gravity of his presence, like the universe finally understood his place in it. Or maybe only she felt that, but she was sure something fundamental had changed in him. He was unpredictable. Well, he was always a little unpredictable, what with the whole dragon-befriending thing. But now, really, for the first time, it scared her.

(He didn't know it, but she'd seen him, one of those rare times, late at night. She'd been bringing Stormfly's saddle back after an evening flight, and there was Hiccup alone, drilling with his sword and shield in the torch-lit arena. No mistaking that leg. The droop in his shoulders suggested he'd been at it for an hour or more: leave it to Hiccup to know everything about dragons and nothing about weight training. She'd wondered why he even needed that when he had a bloody Night Fury, but that was Hiccup for you—a skinny enigma. If less skinny than he used to be.)

Imagine: her, Astrid Hofferson, scared of Hiccup Haddock. So much change.

She did her best to avoid him. Planned her visits to the forge when she knew he'd be on Academy business. Lurked outside the Great Hall at meal times to ensure her coming coincided with his going, so she could pop past him with nothing more than a nod and a smile. And it shouldn't have been hard, the avoidance. He'd been practically inviting her to do it. He had no right to be mad, and she had no reason to feel guilty, or miss him at all.

But then there she was returning to the village, a little rattled after an encounter with some Outcasts who'd called her "Dragon Princess," and she got into a full-body collision with the man—boy—himself.

Initially she just grunted the apology she'd give any stranger, but recognition washed over her.

"Sorry," she said again, this time sort of weirdly, though she hoped he wouldn't pick up on that.

Except that he picked up on everything. "Excuse me, Astrid." The platitude sounded cheerful but the look he gave her was all inquiry.

She thought, run, and was turning to do just that when he piped up again.

"Do you have any extra spines?"

She glanced back, the question's strangeness squashing her discomfort.

"What?"

"Er, spines. Stormfly's." He mimed spikes coming out of his head and maybe, just barely, the corners of her mouth ticked up. "That might've fallen off, during the night, or…"

Her eyes narrowed instinctively, as they always did with unprefaced demands. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I'm working on something."

Oh, oh ho ho ho. He wanted her to ask what it was! What a classic—stupid, obvious—grinning was all she could to keep from mouthing wow.

Well no bully for him, because if there was one thing she couldn't abide, it was losing a verbal match to Hiccup. Never.

"Okay. I'll bring some by the forge later," she said brightly and, having sidestepped his trap, she waited for his face to fall. Which it did, but—there was something disingenuous about it. Which meant…

"Great!" Hiccup grinned and sauntered off, whistling like an idiot.

Double tricked.

How could… she should not show up at the forge! That'd show him. Or would it? Did he expect her to get angry and bail? Or did he expect her to expect he'd expect her to get angry and bail, so she would show up anyway? Gods, she just wanted to know what he wanted so she could do the opposite. It didn't seem like much to ask, really, Hiccup. The skinny enigma had struck again.

She was still debating what to do when she found herself collecting the spines littered around Stormfly's stall. The dragon, curled up there, made a low guttural sound. "Just the ones you don't need anymore, girl," she muttered, half to herself. It was hard to tell to what extent Stormfly always understood her—on a level, sure, but Hiccup conversed with Toothless. He was the best with the dragons, she could admit. She could also admit that she wasn't so bad herself, but sometimes above average wasn't good enough, particularly when it came to compensating for her upbringing. Fourteen years of kill dragons, kill dragons. One had taken her father. Two years ago, in Hiccup's shoes… If Gothi had chosen her as the top training student, Berk would be now exactly as it was then. That thought had afforded her more than a few sleepless nights.

Something rustled outside the stall and she looked up: Toothless, tongue lolling eagerly at Stormfly. Her dragon perked up and eyed her, wanting permission. She glanced at the two creatures around the armful of spines. "Oh. Yeah, go play, I guess." As they flapped off together, it occurred to her that this might be yet another ploy on Hiccup's part to get her to the forge, and the idea was so exasperating that she conceded right then and there and started across the village, spines in tow.

She could hear him talking, but it was past dinner, so she doubted Gobber or any customers had hung around. Astrid slipped in the front, and saw Hiccup hunched over a workbench, back to her.

"… how to rotate to the next payload, bud, that's the challenge," he muttered.

It hit her what he was doing, and she laughed.

"Do you always talk to Toothless when he's not here?"

Hiccup nearly fell off his stool swinging around to see her, his face a red blur. She dropped the spines unceremoniously on the floor between them.

"Astrid! You came. I mean—I knew you would come," he added, lowering his voice in a blatant and ill-conceived cover-up. She stared at him for a long beat. He appeared to be puffing out his chest. It was hard to remember what she'd been scared of.

"You… are dumb."

He nodded once, and then again. "Yes. Very much so."

They looked at each other for a moment. It felt like the first time in a long time. He smiled, a gesture that fit his face better than it once had. She couldn't help it, her reflexes betrayed her: she smiled back.

And then stopped, clearing her throat. "Here are your spines."

"Yeah. They seem great. Nice and sharp. Circumference, five inches at the widest point, maybe." He retrieved one from the floor and started examining it.

"Well. I'll thank Stormfly for you." She leaned toward the exit, and Hiccup noticed, concern flashing across his ruddy features.

"It's a catapult that shoots spines," he said, stepping forward. "Sort of like a crossbow, but bigger, and the payload rotates so—so you don't have to reload each time, you can have multiple shots. It'll be like a mechanical Nadder except without wings or…. Or anything like that. It's for defending the town."

"That…" Astrid shifted in place: he wanted her to stay for some reason, and it was hard not to feel violated by the interest. "Sounds neat, actually."

He nodded, and then switched gears, asking with contrived nonchalance, "So what's up with you?"

She raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Nothing much."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you get that cut on your arm?"

That cut. The slow dodge from a few days ago. She glanced down at it, having nearly forgotten. It was bandaged with a scrap of cloth, and she'd been applying a poultice nightly, but the healing was a journey. She'd have a scar.

"I fell," she replied automatically.

Hiccup barely registered her answer. "You've brought your axe in three times in two weeks." He said that plainly, like he just knew, which aggravated her. She didn't like to be watched.

"So?"

"You haven't been skirmishing with anyone lately—"

"I haven't, you're right."

"—but you're using your axe more—"

"It's a good axe."

Hiccup took a large step toward her, drawing her eye up to meet his new height.

"Who are you fighting?"

A bunch of louts laboring under the grand delusion that I'd ever date you.

"Trees," she simpered.

Hiccup, whose confidence had been growing throughout this encounter, seemed thrown by her answer. It came easy because it wasn't exactly a lie, not when they both knew she had bigger enemies than the pines.

"Astrid," he said, for the first time reading desperate. "I am just trying—"

"Fine!" She didn't want to know what it was he was trying to do with this line of inquiry; and besides, there was a way around her dilemma. "There have been attacks since Dagur."

Hiccup had guessed this, so he didn't look terribly surprised, but his chin lifted. She could see New Hiccup emerging again. "How many?"

"Four. Five all together." He exhaled sharply and turned away from her. "A couple of other tribes and some pirates. I'm fine," she added, like it made the omission acceptable. Like she wasn't omitting still.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're not chief yet, Hiccup." He glanced at her, visibly hurt, but she held fast. He needed to hear it from someone. "Anyway, I thought I could handle it."

And then, he did a very Hiccup thing—he surprised her: "Well, obviously, that's… completely true." He sounded fed up, so it took her a second to process what he actually meant.

She didn't blush. Okay, she blushed a little. She'd known it was true, of course, but—well. Whatever.

"And you've got no idea what they want from you? Like you, specifically?"

Time to lie. She took a breath in preparation, and then shook her head. "No clue."

"Huh." He moved back to his workbench, falling on to the stool. Astrid exhaled. "I'd say try to get it out of them, next time, but there's not going to be a next time."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, instantly overwrought. "You can't make me stay in the village, Hiccup, you don't have that power, and neither does your dad. I'm going on flights—"

"Not that, relax," he laughed. She deflated slightly. "We'll just get my dad to put a guard on you." He grabbed a scrap of paper and a charcoal pen, ready to plan.

Her stomach convulsed. "I don't need that."

"It's no problem. Everyone can do shifts, a couple of hours, and someone can stay in the house with you at night since your mom is away," he continued happily, oblivious to her expression.

"No, no, I don't want a guard, Hiccup." Her voice cracked and he looked up, noticing finally her seriousness and distress. She didn't need to be babysat, and a guard would only reinforce these people's notion of her as some trophy. The idea of needing someone to watch over her tapped a deep-seated fear of helplessness, one bred a long time ago, under the cloud of her father's death. "No guard, you said yourself that I can handle it."

"Yeah, but this isn't like that, we'd do this for anybody—"

"No guard." She folded her arms across her chest. The look on her face must've been pretty terrifying, because he gulped. "And you won't tell Stoick, or anyone. You're sworn to secrecy. I don't want to look out my window tomorrow morning and see you, or your dad, or Gobber or—or anyone sitting on my front stoop with a sword. None of that."

His gulping turned to gaping. "That's insane, you're joking!"

"Yes," she said stonily. "I seem hilarious right now, don't I?"

After a second of reading her, he stared off into the fire, blustering. "Well… then how am I—what, then?"

Full protection worried her, but a little help didn't sound so bad. It took effort to bury that and say what she said. "If it happens again, I'll let you know."

"If it happens again," he repeated. "So you're just gonna…"

"Keep doing what I'm doing. Yeah. I'll try to figure out what they want from me," she lied.

"Well, this is… not… completely crazy?"

She had been glaring at him for sometime now, but the only improvement she could manage was downgrading to a scowl. "It's seriously fine, Hiccup. Stop worrying about me." Hopefully that didn't come off as pleading. She tagged on brusquely, "And mind your own business. No more spying."

Hiccup's mouth popped open in preparation to speak, but he seemed to reconsider his words, and raised his hands in surrender. "Understood, milady."

She headed back to the house, leaving Hiccup hunched over his contraption. The cocktail of nervous excitement, dread, and a mystery feeling that made her cheeks run hot left Astrid buzzing, wide awake in the late evening hour. It would be light out for another forty-five minutes, still, so she could train, or go for a flight, assuming Stormfly was back. She took the front steps two at a time, her head boiling, but stopped dead in the doorway.

"Mom. You're home early."

Phlegma stood at the hearth, still armored but for her helmet, which she held under her arm. In her other hand was a flagon of mead. She loomed taller than her daughter but not much broader, with square features and an air of implacable nobility. As a girl she would listen to stories of the goddess Freya and picture her mother's unflappable face.

"I am," she said in her soft low brogue. "I've come home to see my daughter."

Instantly, Astrid was nervous. "Oh?" In another household, this might've passed for a random act of familial generosity, but the Hoffersons worked differently. Phlegma wouldn't have come home for her daughter unless that daughter had done something. More specifically, something very wrong.

"My dear," her mother began. "There is a sort of unregulated bounty out on a young warrior maid from our isle of Berk. From what I've gathered, several tribes believe there's a prize for her capture, and though they know not where to bring this girl or what they'll receive in return for her, it matters not. Our people sometimes lack the gift of forward-thinking." Phlegma lowered herself into a chair, pausing to sip her mead. "They say this maid has long fair hair and blue eyes, and rides a blue and orange Deadly Nadder. They also say she is lover to the Hooligan Heir, and maybe not be such a maid after all."

Here was a nightmare scenario. Astrid briefly imagined herself melting down between the floorboards, but something about her mom's strength made her feel strong, too. It made her want to be just as good. She wrung her hands behind her back.

"I think they slander that maid, then."

"You think?" Phlegma asked her mead.

"They could have the whole wrong idea about her. She could just be any old Hooligan warrior."

Phlegma smiled a knowing smile. "I doubt that." But the mirth fell away from her face, and she gazed at her daughter. "You are not safe, Astrid."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"Even the heroes who defeat the odds do so with armies at their backs." This was the sort of packaged wisdom Astrid had been receiving in place of parental guidance her entire life—Phlegma's personal brand of empathy was a bit impersonal.

She gritted her teeth. "Good thing I'm not a hero."

Phlegma dropped her head, eyes fluttering shut. "We'll let the chief look after you while I spread word of the bounty's lies." This again. Anger surged in her chest.

"I don't need to be looked after, Mom, just tell the stupid pirates to leave me alone and I'll be fine."

"I don't think so, dear."

"It's ridiculous, you know, the way you always tell us to fight our own battles and show individual valor, to be all brave and bold and without weakness, but the second that actually means something, you're so—" She couldn't finish the rant. The 'you' and 'us' she referred to were universal monikers, though she doubted Snotlout and the twins ever felt this misguided by the Viking way. Hiccup would have understood.

Her mother remained infuriatingly soft-tongued. "You're young, Astrid. Perhaps we have taught you too well in certain ways, but you don't understand the threat you're facing. You can't do this alone."

"I can," she said, full of desperate rage. She had heard this one too many times, now, and the stress of the situation had begun to take its toll. She'd spent two weeks being cornered, netted, bound and pinned; the last thing she needed was to feel trapped here at home. Her eyes welled with frustrated tears.

Phlegma sat silently for a moment and then shook her head. This struck Astrid violently—it was as though she weren't even worth a verbal explanation.

Snapping, she made a dash for the front door and went storming out from the village, where the dying sun lit her path. Her mother didn't call after her.

She marched through the woods for a good twenty minutes, until she had to catch her breath. The last of the orange daylight glinted through the trees. Night would be on her soon, and the way back was a long one. The ground would likely freeze over. The awareness of this danger mounted onto her existing anger made Astrid's eyes run blurry with tears, and she drew her axe. Taxed and spent beyond vexation, she needed to destroy something.

She got most of the way through chopping down a pine in half the time it would normally take her, and as the tree fell she screamed at the top of her lungs, unable to keep hitting but far from satisfied. Her hands shook on the hilt of her weapon and she collapsed on to the new flat tree stump. The heat of exercised warmed her, at least. The clearing didn't seem familiar, and in the twilight she couldn't even recognize from which direction she'd come. Great. She sighed: this night could very well be the one to prove her mother right. Alone but for the gods.

A very practical line in her held was going on about the common sense nature of her mother's requests, reminding her that she was only a girl and need not be invincible, and that she must not misunderstand the true nature of strength, but if she couldn't hold her own in this fight, could she ever save the village? Could she defeat a Red Death and shift the tide of her people's history? Would she ever be that kind of hero? No, said a smaller, meaner voice. And it was right, probably. She knew that of herself, she had never wanted to change the world. But she still could be a different kind of hero. She could see her future clearly, if only the Hooligan Tribe would get out of her way, or assure her that the constraint was temporary. Astrid knew herself, and she knew she would find her place in Berk's story, even if she hadn't quite pinned down the exact location yet.

And sitting there in the forest, knowing herself so well, she was able to quietly concede that she had been maybe a smidge stubborn about this whole thing.

A twig snapped somewhere behind her. Astrid froze. She might not have panicked right away, but she didn't have time to gauge her own fear, because immediately seven figures emerged from the shadowy tree line, six hulking men and one thinner frame. Berserks. On Berk, Hooligan territory.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the blonde terror," crooned Dagur from the center of the pack. "Weeping over the boy, huh?" This guy was full on strutting toward her, for Thor's sake.

"If you're going to 'well, well, well' me, you could at least attempt something a little more creative," she said, irritated rather than frightened. Dagur had that effect on her.

"I don't need to be creative!" His cool evaporated, as it tended to do with Dagur. "I'm very creative! Shut up! Tie her up," he called to the men, and they stepped toward her.

Astrid raised her axe. Her distress of minutes ago melted away—this was the sort of moment she lived for. Already she could feel her blood run quicker with the rush of battle. "Okay, let's go."

"Wait, stop!" cried a new voice, one that Astrid knew before she even saw the accompanying stick-person.

Hiccup appeared from the forest behind her, bearing a rusted sword and his Gronkle Iron shield.

"Hiccup!" Dagur sounded incensed but somehow thrilled, which might've made Astrid laugh if she weren't busy.

"Get back, now," Hiccup shouted to Dagur's men. The authority in his tone was such that they actually seemed puzzled about who was their leader for a moment, looking back and forth between Dagur and Hiccup in confusion.

Of course, Astrid did not notice this. She also didn't notice the new confidence with which he held his weapon, or the dramatic improvements in his stance, or the strategically correct fashion in which he brandished his shield. She was busy.

"Hiccup," she said finally, through clenched teeth.

"Hi, Astrid!"

"You're here. Where I am."

"Yep, that is correct."

Dagur waved his arms stupidly. "Hello? I'm kidnapping someone over here?"

Astrid raised a hand to silence him. "Yeah, we'll get to you in a minute, weirdo. Hiccup, what was the one thing I asked you not to do?"

"Follow you," he replied blithely, assessing their enemy.

"And how did you get here?"

"I followed you." He glanced at her, since the force of the glare she was giving him demanded it. "I wasn't going to let you see me!"

"That is unbelievably condescending, you little—"

"Lover's spat," chortled one of the beefier Berserks.

She turned on him. "I WILL MURDER YOU."

"Lover's spat?" repeated Hiccup. Dagur, struck by Hiccup's disbelief, eyed him curiously and advanced on the pair.

"Take them both!"

Two Berserks were on her at once, and Astrid flung herself into high gear. The swings of their axes packed a lot of force, but she had the advantage of a lighter weapon and a larger target. The difficulty was parrying two sets of blows—it ate up much of her concentration, but not all of it. Not by a long shot. She could only just see Hiccup out the corner of her eye.

"You know, you really have trouble with overstepping your bounds sometimes, Hiccup!"

A mace rattled loudly off his shield. "You really have trouble admitting when you need help, so I guess we're well-matched."

"This is very romantic," roared a red-faced Dagur. "But we need to hurry, the Night Fury will catch up with him soon. I am taking you both prisoner now. With separate cells!"

"Real torture," laughed a big guy stupidly.

"What does that mean?" Hiccup shouted. "Am I missing something? Why are you harassing—" He dodged the particularly nasty swing of a broadsword. "—Astrid? I am feeling very uninformed, here." Astrid let out a shriek of annoyance and swung around to face him, forgetting the fight.

"They think we are dating, Hiccup!"

He dropped his weapon as well. "They what?"

"They think we're dating and they're trying to use me as a way to get to you. It's wrong but it's pretty simple as an idea, so I hope you're not going to struggle with it or anything, because that would be really annoying and I'm already dealing with this." She gestured to the Berserks, who were all standing around with their weapons raised, not knowing what to do, exactly. Dagur looked aghast.

"Dating?" Hiccup squeaked.

"Yeah, dating."

"You and—and me?"

"Thor, give me strength," she yelled upwards.

"Why… would they… think that," he managed, unsuccessfully disguising his embarrassment. His cheeks were bright red.

"You know, I have no idea, because if it were me looking at us, I'd probably have said we weren't even friends." She did nothing to soften her words and he went from blushing to pale in an instant, embarrassment deepening into shame. She felt a grim satisfaction at the look on his face.

Less satisfying was the net that surrounded her in the next second, and she let loose surprised holler. Hiccup, to her right, made very much the same sound as he too found himself netted. She fought to get out, but it was difficult to hack at a net from beneath it, and one of the Berserks tugged the cords by her feet, sending her sprawling.

"Astrid!" Hiccup cried, but she couldn't see him from the ground. Someone trod on her wrist and then her axe was gone; she had lost the fight, for the time being, and the rest of her kicks and scratches at Dagur's men were more misdemeanor than assault.

They'd pulled the same trick to disarm Hiccup—especially nasty, considering his prosthesis—and after binding their hands, the Berserks wound the nets around them as further restriction, which provided humiliation in addition to constriction.

"Told you not to struggle with it," she called to Hiccup, who was looking even less pleased with his net than she.

Her back was to him so she had only a disjointed conception of where he stood, and his disembodied voice drifted to her over the rumblings of their captors. "I'm sorry, it was a lot to handle. I mean, why was it exactly that you decided not to tell me this earlier? Like, when I asked if you knew why they were attacking you, and you said you had no clue? Was that just… just because it slipped your mind, huh, Astrid? Or is it maybe, kind of a big deal to you too?"

It was a good thing he couldn't see her face, because he might've had an idea how much this question cowed her. She stood silent for a moment, and then tried, "It's a medium-sized deal."

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on what you considered to be the real danger of this situation), Dagur chose this moment to move out. "We march to back to the fleet," he ordered. The group of Berserk oafs started nudging them along single file down a narrow path to the shore, with plenty of stalling when Astrid or Hiccup tripped over a bit of net. Dagur, who led the line, started to prattle.

"I won't make the same mistake again," he told the dark woods. "There's no escaping this time!"

"OR IS THERE?" shouted Hiccup from behind him.

"No, there isn't!" Dagur shrieked back. "Gods, shut up, Hiccup. You ruin everything, I lov—hate it! I hate it."

Astrid met the eye of the Berserk shoving her along; the ice in her gaze and the venom in her voice were enough to make him shiver. "Boys," she said, "are dumb."

A/N: So this is my first story in this fandom. I originally designed it to be a one-shot and then realized I had a lot more to say, and I could see this going all the way up to HTTYD2 and beyond. But I don't really know if the interest is there, so PLEASE, if you like the fic let me know, through favoriting/reviewing/following or however, and that way I can feel confident about bringing you more.