Nine: Nothing

Astrid registered voices as she prepared for bed, her door barred against any intruder or dragon. In the privacy of her home, her hair was loose and unbraided, brushed out and hanging over her shoulders. She had shed her armour and boots but was still clothed-because it was a cold night and Viking houses didn't keep all the draughts out. She stiffened, hearing the echoes of familiar voices as they walked past her house and she moved silently to the door, listening.

"Did you see his face?" Ruff sneered.

"What was left of it," her twin sniggered.

"Useless won't forget his place now," Snotlout scoffed. "Not that he has anything left to call his own. Did you get everything?"

"Yes, Snotboss," Tuff said cheerily. "It all went in the fire. When he finally gets back-he'll find nothing."

"Great," Snotlout purred. "No one will imagine that wretch in rags is anything other than a worthless thrall. And he'll never sass me again. How could anyone think he could be the Heir? Now come on-I wonder if there's any mutton left?"

Astrid remained silent as they moved away-and then she burst into action, racing to braid her hair and cram her Kransen back on, before stamping into her boots and grabbing a sleeping fur as a cloak. Snatching her axe, she lit a torch and emerged into the freezing night, the air so cold her face felt as if she had been slapped. She closed the door to her home, then headed down the Plaza towards the forge. She could have been mistaken, could have misheard-so she ought to check that Hiccup wasn't safely asleep first. But when she ducked into the forge, there was no sign of the lean shape either in the main forge or in his workshop...but as she looked, she found his belongings had been torn to pieces, his journal ripped up, his sleeping furs fouled and his clothes...missing. She spun on her heel and walked to the fire, a horrible feeling bubbling in her stomach. And as she expected, the remains of his new and old clothes were poking out of the fire, the flames much higher from the material they had already burnt.

Her jaw tightened in rage, knowing how little he had to call his own-and angered beyond reason that even that had been destroyed. But her worry worsened as she wondered where Hiccup was. She emerged and stared at the ground, seeing a line of steps on the frosty grass-until they were suddenly obscured by another two sets of footsteps-that led to the back of the forge. She grasped her axe tighter and raised her torch-but there was no sign of anyone.

She narrowed her eyes. She had been taught tracking skills by her father and she was persistent and stubborn so she swept her gaze and saw the obvious trail on the frosted grass, heading beyond the houses and towards the cliffs. Her eyes widened.

"Dear Odin-please, no..." she breathed, unable to bear the thought that Hiccup-kind, brave, sarcastic Hiccup who loved her without any expectation-had been thrown to his death. But Snotlout's words indicated that he expected Hiccup to return and be broken by what Snotlout had done to him. And she hated herself praying for Snotlout's cowardice and cruelty to spare her friend. But as she advanced, she lifted the torch higher and there, right on the edge of the cliffs was sprawled a pale shape, motionless. Breath freezing in her throat, she dashed forward as the torch lit up tousled auburn hair, two tiny braids poking jauntily up from behind his right ear.

"Hiccup," she breathed, frozen with horror. He had been badly beaten, his face swollen with welts, lips split and mouth bloody. His hair was wild and there was blood clotted in the soft auburn locks. She gently knelt by him, seeing his red tunic torn to shreds and cut apart in places, shallow slices on his skin marking where a careless hand had cut his tunic away with scant concern for the body beneath. His torso was marked with black bruises over his chest and stomach and a hand was swollen from where someone had stamped on it. She gasped and covered her mouth, before whipping her cloak off and wrapping it around his limp, unconscious shape.

It was then she realised he was absolutely freezing, his skin like ice. But she gently rested her head against his bruised chest and listened, hearing the slow thump of his heart and she released a breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. She gently shook him, stroking his battered face.

"Wake up, Hiccup," she hissed. "If you stay here, you'll freeze to death..."

Which is what they were hoping, a treacherous voice reminded her. She glanced around and saw his beautiful leather vest, sliced into pieces in a vicious, destructive act. His belt was cut into pieces and his dagger snapped as well. Then she grabbed his wrecked possessions, bundled them up and wrapped them up with him. But then she had a problem: though he was skinny and lean, Hiccup was over half a head taller than her and he was astonishingly heavy for someone who looked like a fishbone. But she tucked the cloak around him, grabbed the fur and began to painstakingly drag him along the ground back to the village. By the time they were nearly at the houses, she was sweating profusely, her back was aching and she knew she couldn't drag him all the way down the village. So she gently rested him in the shelter of the nearest house and sped up the hill until she reached the Ingerman house. Without hesitating, she hammered on the door until it was finally opened.

She was faced with Marta Ingerman, Fishlegs's mother. Behind her, her sons Fishlegs and Yaklegs appeared, both concerned about the disruption so late. Astrid took a deep breath.

"I need to speak to Fishlegs. Now!" she said firmly and though she looked dubious, Marta gestured for her larger, older son to move forward. Yawning, Fishlegs lumbered forward.

"Hi, Astrid," he said in a sleepy voice. "What brings you here so late?"

"You remember a promise you made this evening?" she asked him sternly.

"Um...yeah?" he said, still disorientated from sleep.

"Well, that friend needs your help-NOW!" she told him aggressively. He started.

"What-right now?" he gabbled. She scowled and folded her arms, her axe slung across her back. "Can I get my heavy cloak? It's cold out there and..."

"Just HURRY!" she snapped. "Our friend is out there and freezing!" Fishlegs's eyes snapped wide open, he grabbed his boots and a cloak and raced after Astrid-though lumber was a more appropriate term. They sped down the slope and raced to where Astrid had left Hiccup. The moment the husky boy saw him, he stilled and his face hardened.

"Thor," he breathed. "I-I never realised..." Astrid looked up, her face a mask of rage and also concern.

"He needs Gothi," she said grimly. Nodding, the husky blond man wrapped his own cloak around the unconscious shape and lifted Hiccup easily in his arms. Swiftly, they headed down to the cliffs and down the stair to the bridge to Gothi's isolated home. Fishlegs stared into the battered face and winced.

"Did they...?" he asked. Astrid nodded.

"Worse," she said grimly. "They have destroyed pretty much everything that he owns as well."

"But why?" he asked as they began to trudge up the final flight to Gothi's house. Astrid shook her head.

"Jealousy," she sighed. "They hated he had been admired for his actions and that people were questioning that he wasn't useless. That they were impressed at the fight. So they were determined to take away everything they could from him." She bit her lip. "It's my fault. Snot wanted me-but I made sure I was promised to Hiccup, not the Heir. Snotlout hates being thwarted."

"And that's his fault, not yours," Fishlegs told her. "Look, they chose to ambush him and half kill him..."

"Then leave him to die of hypothermia," she said. Fishlegs gently adjusted the limp shape in his arms and they reached the door.

"You do realise Gothi will be grumpy as Helheim," he noted. She nodded.

"We can take it-we're Vikings," she noted. "And he needs her. She's the only one who will treat him. She'll tell the Chief and Gobber, the only two other people who may care whether he lives or dies..." There was a grim pause and Astrid rapped on the door. There was a long pause, then the sounds of a staff hitting the floor rhythmically as someone approached the door. It jerked open and Fishlegs found himself hit over the head with a staff.

"OWW!" he protested. Astrid gestured to the warmly swaddled shape and adopted a respectful expression.

"We are sorry to wake you this late, Elder, but Hiccup desperately needs your help..." Gothi peered at the shape, her squinting expression turning to one of shock as she read the damage. She urgently gestured them in and they laid him on a hard wooden bed. She made to shoo them out but Astrid shook her head. "I have to stay," Astrid said sternly. "He is my friend and he has no one else." Fishlegs's eyes widened and he shrugged. "Fish is a good friend but Hiccup is my Promised." The Elder accepted this and though she was directed to a wooden stool in the corner, the husky boy found himself out on the cold platform.

"I'll just head home then," he grumbled and began the long trek back to his house.

oOo

Hiccup slowly became aware, realising he was cold, almost naked with only a rudimentary covering shielding his modesty under the furs and he was in a hut with a very strong old lady smell.

He was at Gothi's.

The moment his brain clicked enough into gear to process that fact, the pain hit him full on and he gasped pitifully, the sound deteriorating into a long whine of pain as he tried to curl up and hug the pain away from his broken body. Every scrap of him was agonising and he just wanted to slide back into sweet unconsciousness. But as he whimpered, a strong arm slid under his shoulders and lifted him, his head dropping against an armoured shoulder as a bowl was carefully lifted to his split lips.

"Drink," Astrid urged him softly. He managed the tiniest nod then swallowed the bitter liquid, the faintest aftertaste of honey easing his throat at the end. She was very close, curled around him with her cheek resting against his hair as he relaxed.

"Th-thanks..." he breathed, curling into her. She rested the bowl aside and stroked his hair gently.

"I was worried," she admitted, feeling his ragged breathing. "I thought they'd killed you."

There was a pause as he sighed and scrambled for what remained of his courage to frame a sassy response-but he had nothing left. "Me too," he sighed, his eyes closed. She nuzzled against him tenderly.

"Gothi is furious," she murmured softly. "She's summoned the Chief." He flinched.

"He won't do anything," he mumbled. "Can't."

"But he has to!" she protested angrily. "He can't allow this to..."

The door slammed open and the Chief stormed in, his eyes flashing with rage.

"Get away from him!" he roared. Immediately, she curled her arms protectively around him. Stoick advanced on her furiously and tore her away, throwing her across the room. She slammed into the wall with a thud and a pained cry, before scrambling to a crouch, staring up in shock. Gothi stomped forward, her eyes furious. She slammed her staff on the floor, challenging the Chief. But Stoick just glared back, his fists bunched.

"Get out of my way, old woman," he snarled. "That slut tried to kill my son!"

Silence fell over the room and Astrid gaped. She shook her head in utter disorientation.

"Sir...I would never hurt Hiccup..." she began.

"LIES!" the Chief shouted. "You were seen-you and that Ingerman boy!"

"Fishlegs?" Astrid gasped. "No, sir-you have got it very wrong..."

"Lying bitch!" Stoick condemned her viciously. "The attack was witnessed..." Astrid rose to her feet, her shoulders back and fists clenched.

"By who?" she asked in a dangerously low voice.

"That's not your business..." he began but she gave a short, bitter laugh.

"If I am being falsely accused of a heinous crime against the man I love, I think I have EVERY right to know my accusers," she said clearly. "But you don't have to tell me their names: I know them. Snotlout and the twins told you, didn't they?" He stared at her. "The same Snotlout and Thorston twins who did this."

"They said you'd say this," Stoick growled at her. Her fists tightened.

"And who do you believe?" she asked him directly. "The stupidest, laziest, most self-serving boy in Berk who is beyond angry that you shuffled him aside to let his so-called 'useless' predecessor perform outstandingly as your Heir or me, who was saved by Hiccup from being married off to Thuggory-and Snotlout as well, by the way-and who has never been anything but loyal and honourable?"

Stoick stared at her coldly.

"There are three witnesses against you," he said. She stared at him with definite disappointment.

"And what about the witness that counts?" she asked, turning to the curled up, beaten shape on the bed. Stoick turned to see his battered former son and his breath hitched.

"Hiccup..." he breathed. He took a shuddering breath. "Oh son-I should have stopped this..." Hiccup swallowed and forced his bruised eyes open, his bleary vision focussing on the huge shape looming over him.

"D-doubt you could," he mumbled, curled up painfully. "Um...and what happened about dis-disowning me anyway?" Then he looked past his father at the furious shape of Astrid. "Did you mean it?" he asked her. She blinked.

"Wh-what?"

"D-did you mean it?" he asked, his soft tone pleading. She reran her words and groaned: the words had been automatic, a statement of fact. She gave a long sigh.

"Yes," she admitted, her cheeks warming with a blush. He managed a choking laugh.

"Even though I currently look like something a herd of yaks has stampeded over. Twice?" he checked roughly.

"Even then," she admitted, though her eyes were warm with affection.

"Hiccup..." his father interrupted and the young man sighed, staring up into the big face.

"Do-do you ever pay any attention?" he asked the Chief wearily. "Astrid has j-just told me she loves me and you interrupt?" Stoick stared at him in shock. "Ruff and Tuff grabbed me outside the forge after I had dropped Astrid at her house. They dragged me away to the cliff side to Snotlout and they all beat me up. A lot. And then they destroyed everything I had."

"I-I can't believe that..." the Chief began and despite his injuries, Hiccup dug an elbow into the bed and hitched his body up. He narrowed his eyes at the Chief.

"So what?" he growled. "I have told you what happened, which three people beat me up and left me to die and you don't believe me. Is there any point talking any more? Or do I not matter enough to know what happened to me? To not be worth justice?" He lifted his left arm, the hand bandaged. "To not recognise the person who stamped on my hand. To not feel two hands on each arm, holding me helpless?" He gestured to the obvious bruises round his upper arms and Stoick's eyes widened. "Two hands per arm, Chief. Because I was fighting for my life. And they thought it was funny."

He looked away, his head dropping and shoulders heaving.

"I d-did what was asked of me," he said thickly. "I-I protected Astrid and f-fought because it had to be d-done. I committed no-no crimes. Thor, you-you even s-said you were p-proud of me. But my only r-reward...was this. No one will t-treat me any b-better than this."

Heart breaking at his broken words, Astrid pushed past the Chief and crouched by him.

"I will," she promised, seeing unshed tears in his eyes. Gently, she stroked his tousled hair and his breath hitched. The Chief stared as his son leaned against her, his breathing ragged.

"You-you don't have to...if you don't want to..." he murmured. "I-I know what people s-say and think and I-I know you really w-want to be the Shield Maiden you always d-dreamed of. Don't give that up..." She leaned forward and gently hugged him, feeling him wrap his long arms around her.

"Mutton-Head," she scolded him. "I told you I loved you. That we're Promised until I want to break it off. It's okay."

Stoick just stared in turmoil. Snotlout had been smug when he had reported the attack, rather than grave and it was clear he and the twins thought it a joke. The Chief hadn't wanted to believe such a crime of Astrid-but all three stories were word perfect. Absolutely word perfect... So Stoick had gone to check his son...former son...and then arrest Astrid...

...who was sitting at his bedside, caring for him. Who unselfconsciously declared her feelings for his sometime son and then, embarrassed, confirmed them. Who was tenderly holding the mess they had made of Hiccup, stroking his hair and murmuring reassurances to him...

...the same Astrid he had protected before and now and who he clearly loved.

He clasped his huge hands and stared at the two young people, both of whom were outsiders and neither for any good reason. His own son had been attacked and he had willingly believed a terrible lie against the most respected warrior in the village when it was obvious he was the last person she would harm.

"I am sorry," he said and Astrid slowly lifted her head.

"Yes," she said ambiguously. "But you have to act, Chief. They have to know its not okay to harm him just for fun-or any other reason. They have to understand that beating him isn't a game. That he did well. That he protected Berk. That you are proud of him. That he isn't useless! He's a skilled smith, he's always helpful and kind, he works his ass off for no thanks and less consideration and he doesn't deserve to be shouted at or abused or picked on or-or made to feel bad just because he was small when he was younger and couldn't kill dragons. He tried-Gods, he tried. I saw. We all saw-but we made him an outcast anyway, even though it wasn't his fault. And he knows as much as anyone else how dangerous they are-because they took his Mom. He has suffered too much. You have to stop it."

"But Snotlout...Gods, this is a disaster," Stoick said slowly.

"Yes it is," she pointed out as Hiccup slowly raised his head, his arms still tightly wrapped around her. "But not of Hiccup's making. Is he a member of this Tribe, Chief? Just answer me that!"

"Yes, yes of course," Stoick answered immediately.

"And is he a thrall or a slave?" she persisted. His face dropped into an angry scowl.

"Of course not!" he snapped.

"So why should the rest of this Tribe get away with treating him like one?" she replied angrily. "He is as much a member of this Tribe as you or Gothi or Gobber or Snotlout or Silent Sven or Fishlegs or Phlegma the Fierce or..."

"I get the point," Stoick admitted wryly.

"Then treat him like a Hooligan!" she insisted. "Protect him-he is one of us. Grant him justice. Be fair."

That stung. Stock the Vast, Chief of Berk, prided himself on being a fair and just Chief, serving his people and never shirking a duty. That this young woman, already almost an outcast for no good reason, was pointing out what was glaringly obvious really wounded him. And-worse-it was true: he was being extremely unfair to the young man who was his son but whom he had disowned for just being small and poor at slaying dragons. But his son was actually brave, smart, stubborn, determined, inventive and sarcastic. And all Hiccup's persistence had earned him was worse treatment. The Chief sighed.

"You're right, lass," he confessed wearily. "But Snotlout is my Heir and the Tribe likes him..." Hiccup sighed.

"K-keep telling yourself that, sir," he murmured, grimacing as he tried to sit up. He cringed as Gothi limped forward and scowled, then slathered a yellowish paste across his battered chest and stomach. He whined in pain and tried to pull away but the old woman hissed and he froze until she was done. Stoick scowled.

"What do you mean, son?" he demanded. Astrid sat on the side of the bed and let him rest against her. Hiccup shifted slightly in the bed.

"They were all keen when you adopted him instead of me-but it wasn't long before they realised he was arrogant, smug, overbearing, lazy, stupid, short-tempered, selfish and unfair to any but his friends," he said. "There are more and more people who realise he's a terrible choice."

"So you're saying I should reinstate you?" the Chief asked. The young man shook his head.

"I'm just the blacksmith's apprentice," he said roughly. "Hiccup the Useless, worth less than many of the yaks in the village. No one cares about me. But they realise that Snotlout will take us to disaster, probably within three days of becoming Chief."

"Just-don't let them get away with this," Astrid added softly. "Because next time, they will kill him." She paused. "And then I will kill them all." There was an edge to her voice that left the Chief in no doubt that the would-be Shield Maiden would slaughter the people who harmed her beloved Hiccup. Stoick nodded.

"I think we ought to see what the boy has to say for himself," he said thoughtfully. "In the meantime-you cannot stay in the workshop..." He frowned. "It's not safe-and far too cold and unsuitable for you in this...state. Have you got anything to wear?" Astrid softly rose and reached for the remains of his tunic and leather vest. Wordlessly, she handed them to the Chief.

"This was deliberate," she said grimly, indicating the deliberate and vicious cuts to rend the garments to pieces beyond any hope of repair. "I have been to his space in the forge. They have destroyed everything and burnt every stitch of clothing he owns. I heard them talking-and Snotlout said 'No one will imagine that wretch in rags is anything other than a worthless thrall. And he'll never sass me again. How could anyone think he could be the Heir?'" She sighed. "There can be no doubt that they were to blame." Hiccup grimaced and lay back on the hard bed, pulling the furs up.

"So I really do have nothing," he sighed, breathing painfully.

"I will get you more clothes, son," the Chief said. "That is the least I should do. Stay here for the moment-once Gothi is happy and you are...um...better equipped...you'll need to move somewhere more appropriate."

"If you can get me a bed, I can look after him," Astrid volunteered softly, seeing his eyes flick over to her in shock.

"Could you not give up your own, lass?" the Chief asked. She lifted her chin.

"I have no bed. I sleep on the floor," she told him proudly. "But he cannot-not now. Maybe Gobber could help...?" Stoick's eyes widened as he stared at the woman. Astrid helped whenever she was asked, she taught Dragon Training and Weapons Training, she fought dragons, she protected Berk-but no one would offer her a roof over her head when her home was destroyed and her family killed-and even when Hiccup had managed to trick them into rebuilding her house, no one had offered to help her build even a chair, bench, table or bed. He stared at the door.

"Why when we have to all pull together to survive, have they decided not to help you?" he breathed. "Either of you?" Hiccup sighed.

"Only you will know that," he said gently. "You're in charge. These are your people-and the village you rule." Stoick met his bleary emerald gaze and nodded, again feeling ashamed of his own fellow Hooligans.

"I will fix this, son," he promised. "It will mean that you are able to be treated like a human being once more." He moved forward and knelt by the low bed. "Please-trust me?" Hiccup grimaced as he braced his arms and gently sat up. His eyes shimmered.

"How-how can I?" he asked brokenly. "You are my f-father. But you cast me aside, replaced me as your son, treated me like a-a stranger...blamed me for everything and anything..." He took a shuddering breath. "You put me in jail...when it wasn't my fault. How-how can I trust you?" The pain in his voice cut Stoick to the quick and he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the beaten shape, hugging him close. For a moment, Hiccup gasped in pain...and then he wound his arms around his father and buried his face in his chest. His bruised shoulders jerked with his sobbing breaths.

"Because I am a fool," the Chief murmured. "But...I love you, Hiccup. You are my son. And I will find a way to make it up to you." He paused and looked up at Astrid. "To you both." She stole a glance at the battered shape of Hiccup and sighed-though her voice was cynical.

"Until Snotlout is dealt with-we have nothing," she said.

A/N: Double update next week