A/N: Why does this fic exist, you ask? Because my irritating imagination won't give me a break. In the midst of working on a much longer AU fic, this popped into my head and refuses to go away. I blame it on having too much free time.

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. Bummer.

One for the Money:

Astrid crouches in the tall grass, balancing lightly on the balls of her feet and holding completely still. She grasps her axe loosely in one hand, the wooden handle smooth after years of daily use. From across the clearing, she eyes her target carefully, gauging every possible variable with a practiced eye. Finally, in one smooth motion, she stands and casts her axe with a perfect throw. The shining blade sinks deep into the target with a satisfying thunk.

Then a shriek rings out across the clearing and Astrid's heart jumps into her throat.

She's up and running across the clearing in the next second, fearing the worst. Just as she reaches the far side, a familiar face pops out from behind the tree wearing a very disapproving scowl.

"Astrid!" Ruffnut yelps. "You could've killed me!"

Astrid slows her stride to a walk, trying to look as if her rush was only to retrieve her axe. "What are you doing sneaking around here? And where's Tuffnut?"

"Eh, I left him at home," Ruffnut replies, shrugging and stomping around the tree with her arms crossed. "And I was looking for you."

Astrid grabs her axe haft and pulls, tugging until it pops out of the tree's trunk and checking the blade for possible dents or nicks; there are none, so she sets the axe down and studies her friend a bit more closely.

Ruffnut's facial expression generally varies between evil grin—which has its own shades of variation, from schemer's smirk to willing accomplice—and tough scowl. The latter is designed to frighten off monsters of every description, from wild dragons to unwary suitors. And when Tuffnut is around, Ruffnut's face drops into an only half-intentional disclosure of mutton-headedness.

Today, Ruffnut wears the scowl, the one subconsciously tuned to suitors. And that means trouble. Astrid is used to her friend's moods by now, so she finishes her rapid assessment and dives into the inevitable conversation. "You're looking for advice," she volunteers. "About men."

Ruffnut grimaces in distaste. "Are they all idiots? I know Tuff's a moron, but Snotlout's head is bigger than his backside and Fishlegs can't stop spouting useless information at me like a walking cyclop- . . . enclopcy- . . . whatever that word is."

"Encyclopedia?" Astrid offers, and Ruffnut nods in affirmation.

"How in Thor's name did you and Hiccup ever figure yourselves out?"

Astrid hesitates. "Um, we . . . I dunno' . . . I guess we started with kissing and it . . . progressed . . . from there."

Ruffnut sniggers, a most unladylike sound. "I'll bet it did."

Astrid hefts her axe again, eyes glinting dangerously. "Not what you're imagining," she warns, looking Ruffnut straight in the eye.

But her friend only shrugs again and kicks at the dirt with her boot. "At least you both know what you want."

"Don't you?"

Silence. Ruffnut huffs impatiently, as if she was looking for an obvious answer. But Astrid is used to this too, and she's not one to waste time. She takes the direct approach.

"Men are like weapons," she states matter-of-factly, much to Ruffnut's confusion.

"Oh, really?"

Astrid ignores the sarcasm in her friend's voice and keeps going. "Their longevity is dependent on their quality, and their usefulness on their purpose."

Ruffnut cocks her head quizzically and blinks several times. "Nope, not getting' it," she finally states.

Undeterred, Astrid lifts her axe again, examining it minutely while she continues to speak. "For example, an axe is great for throwing and chopping, but you wouldn't use it to skin a wild boar."

"What do wild boars have to do with this?" Ruffnut protests, her voice echoing in the clearing.

"Or," Astrid continues, "a mace is great for crushing, but terrible if you need to stab something."

"You know," Ruffnut interrupts, her voice now dangerously quiet, "I have yet to meet a mace that made a good boyfriend."

Astrid pauses at that: they both remember all too well what happened when Tuffnut started to fancy Macey. They both shudder at the memory.

"Okay then." Astrid resumes her discourse, waxing eloquent. "Broadswords are good, because you can stab and chop with them. But they're terrible for defending yourself from flying projectiles."

"Well this is all very nice," Ruffnut says, scratching her head, "but what do weapons have to do with men?"

Astrid rolls her eyes in frustration, but decides to answer the question. "You can only choose one, so you pick the one that's most compatible with your style: axe, mace, or broadsword."

They stand quietly for a few moments, Ruffnut with a look of dawning comprehension on her face. Astrid smiles, pleased that something's gotten through.

"Tuffnut's a moron," Ruffnut finally says.

That has Astrid confused. "You've said that before," she points out.

"Yeah? He said I should pick the guy who'll eat my cooking and can beat me at arm-wrestling. Stupid advice."

A nearby bush rustles, though the clearing is windless, and Astrid throws her axe without a moment's hesitation. A high-pitched yelp rings through the air and heavy footfalls patter away rapidly.

"Axe, mace, or broadsword, you said?" Ruffnut asks, then dashes away in pursuit.

Astrid watches her friend go, and shakes her head knowingly. There was absolutely no accounting for taste, especially in Ruffnut's case.

Hiccup is unusually talkative during their evening flight around the island; he tells her about the plans for the final dragon race of the autumn, describes the diagrams for rebuilding the granary and dairy houses, asks her opinion about starting an upcoming group of youngsters at the academy, and proposes a quick scouting trip to some outlying islands. Astrid smiles at that, not needing any further persuasion. It would be perfect, just the two of them with Toothless and Stormfly, no interruptions, no irritating questions or arguments about rebuilding or the harvest, no impromptu visits from neighboring tribes. And definitely no awkward conversations about Ruffnut's complicated love life.

She is abruptly pulled from her idyllic daydream by a wry comment from Hiccup, something about 'Fishlegs came down to the forge today'.

She perks up her ears. "What for?" she asks, afraid she might already know the answer.

"He was asking about building a new saddle for Meatlug," Hiccup answers with a small grimace, "as if he hasn't already built a new one three times in the last two years. His excuse before was that he's finally growing his 'man-height,' as he puts it. Whatever that means." Hiccup lifts his hands and gestures expressively with his fingers. "But today, he said that he needs a new one that includes a weapon rack, one that can hold an axe, a mace, and a broadsword. I mean, since when has Fishlegs worried about carrying a weapon, let alone three of them?"

Astrid sits for a moment in shocked disbelief, then bursts out laughing.

Hiccup stares at her in astonishment. "What's so funny?" he finally asks; Stormfly and Toothless have sensed Astrid's mood and are threatening to start playing, an activity that involves barrel rolls, playful nips, and other uncomfortable aerial moves.

"I'll tell you later," she answers, getting her laughter under control just in time to keep Stormfly from wiggling in mid-air.

To be continued . . .