Astrid Hofferson, Princess of Berk, stared at the tall skinny shape in front of her through the hatch at the blacksmith's shop. It was not usual for the Heir to the throne to go and take her own weapon to be serviced but she was keen to get on with her morning practice and despite the objections of Mulch, her faithful retainer, she had taken the sword down to the forge herself-to find the hatch shuttered. But there was the sound of soft snores from within and Mulch had shouted and banged on the hatch until the slothful blacksmith's assistant dragged himself out of bed and opened the hatch.

What she had not been expecting was an unexpectedly cute young man, probably of her years with shaggy, tousled auburn hair framing a pale, sharp-jawed face dusted with occasional freckles and dominated by stunning emerald eyes. The apprentice was skinny, self-conscious looking and dressed in patched and very worn clothes. There was a nasty bruise on his left cheek and his eyes widened in sudden shock before he stumbled back a pace and gave a low bow.

"Now then, boy-can I get my sword sharpened some time today?" she asked sharply. Since she had been made the Heir, she wasn't used to waiting for anything and she thrust the sheathed sword forward brusquely. Emerald eyes flicked up and then he lowered his head respectfully.

"Of course. I would be honoured...Princess Astrid," he said. His voice was gentle and slightly nasal, his tone respectful. But he didn't move to take the weapon, frozen in his bow. She stared at him for another moment-and then she sighed.

"You can look up," she said in exasperation. "Gods, I didn't think anyone did that nowadays..." The young blacksmith's assistant looked up warily and blushed.

"Um...I think it's still the law, Highness," he mumbled, warily extending a hand and gently taking the sword from her grasp. He backed away, his face lowered and she inspected him closely. He was skinny, though he moved with confidence in the forge and when he drew the weapon, she was pleasantly surprised as his deft hands inspect the blade. "Highness, I can bring the weapon to you when it has been sharpened. I don't want you to have to stand waiting..." he said warily but she smiled and waved her hand at him.

"I can wait, boy," she said evenly. "I need the sword for my practice." He nodded silently and then took it to the grindstone and expertly honed the edge, then polished and resheathed the blade. He took a breath and then turned back, walking forward and offering the sheathed blade, hilt first to the Princess, his head bowed again. She smiled and took the sword, nodding. "Thank you," she said calmly and he nodded.

"Um, you're welcome, Highness," he said respectfully and she nodded, then turned away, striding away in the direction of the practice ring. Hiccup watched her recede and sagged in relief. She hadn't recognised him-but then why would she? They had last played together when they were ten, before... He sighed. Before the tragedy and Astrid's life had changed. And now he wasn't the son of the Knight Commander but an orphaned, disgraced menial, beneath the notice even of the cooks, let alone the ruling family. He scrubbed his face with his hands and made to pull the shutters closed-as another man walked up, brandishing a bent knife. With a sigh, Hiccup forced a smile onto his face and turned to the customer.

oOo

It was a couple of hours later when Gobber surfaced, thanked the lad for holding the fort and finally resumed working. Hiccup wearily headed back to the kitchens, wondering if maybe he could go into hiding because he was certain Oddvar would make him pay for his truancy...but he was starving and he knew he had to go fetch some food from the midday meal. But the level of noise dropped as he arrived at the kitchen door and he heard a bellow. His head snapped up as he saw Oddvar-a heavyset, middle-aged man with bulbous features and mean eyes-barrelling towards him, his staff raised. Hiccup backed away, arms raised to protect himself...and then he heard the clop of hooves and jungle of tack...and shouts.

His head snapped round and he stared in utter shock as he saw a hunting party heading through the yard, the familiar shapes of the senior knights and the King himself on his huge grey steed...but walking in the way, blue eyes big with fear and shock, was the familiar shape of Nils. As the riders bore down on him, the little boy froze, eyes huge at the enormous mounted shapes closing. Bursting into action, Hiccup snapped round and sprinted towards the lad, eyes locked on him. As the front shape-a visiting Lord from he North, by his colours-raised his staff the batter the young boy aside, Hiccup flung himself down to his knees, wrapping his body around Nils and tucking the boy's head against his chest. Shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around the skinny boy and head bowed, he clutched the boy fiercely as the staff slammed into his shoulder and he yelped.

"OUT THE WAY, DOG!" the stranger shouted and Hiccup lifted his face, eyes blazing and anger bright on his features. The stranger, a buff man with his jet hair pulled back into a ponytail, his chin tattooed and tabard fawn with a strange symbol on, wheeled his roan stallion round and swiped at Hiccup again. He groaned but his defiant gaze remained locked on the man as the rest of the knights circled him and the King stopped directly in front of the young man. Hiccup glared up from his knees for a second, then bowed his head in respect. King Harild glared, his broad, handsome face framed by a full golden beard that was starting to silver and ocean blue eyes that mirrored his daughter's. He wore the intense cobalt blue tabard of House Hofferson over his armour, the crown motif marking his status. His helm was fitted with a golden crown that gleamed as he glared down at the kneeling auburn-haired shape.

"How dare you?" he snapped. "That a menial should delay my party is..."

"Sire...you would have run down a young boy too scared to get out of the way," Hiccup spoke up clearly, his gaze still fiercely locked on the ground. A knight protects the weak and helpless.

"That was not your concern, serf!" Spitelout sneered, recognising his prey. "You have delayed your King and..."

"Sire-this boy is an innocent, a young child who was in the way," Hiccup argued, warily lifting his chin to stare into the remote, cold face of the Monarch. King Harild was loved in the town and countryside as a handsome, brave and strong Monarch-but to Hiccup, he seemed over-proud, cruel and cold. "I rather thought your Highness and his most senior knights would possess the horsemanship to avoid running down a small child."

There was a sub-zero silence broken by the metallic sound of a sword being drawn at the bold criticism. Hiccup could feel Nils shaking against him and he tightened his grip around the boy.

"When I give the word, run," he whispered to the lad, curling more around him and tightening his arms as the black-haired Lord closed on him.

"HOLD!" the King growled and the man froze. "You are very bold for a servant, boy. Too bold, I think." His remote blue gaze swept over the hunched shape as Steward Oddvar oozed forward.

"This one is always a problem, Sire," he offered, bowing. King Harild stared at the bowed shape, still clutching the boy, seeing the lean body of a young man in patched clothes and near-rags. A sensation almost like recognition ran through him but he dismissed it,

"Remind him of his place hard and ensure he doesn't feel tempted to speak out of turn again, Steward!" he snapped and waved his hand. The riders flowed around Hiccup and cantered out of the yard and towards the main gate. As soon as the last one had gone, Hiccup pushed Nils away and nodded.

"Run," he whispered as he scrambled up-but Oddvar already had him and he was jerked back, arms pinned across his back. Two of the more sturdy drudges grabbed Hiccup and hauled him back towards the cellars. "Get off!" he protested, struggling but he was swiftly hauled through the door and down the shallow stair to the cool space.

"Your King commanded you learn a lesson, boy!" Odder sneered and he leaned close as Hiccup fought once more. "And you owe me for slacking off this morning."

"I was in the forge," Hiccup gasped, his shoulders burning as his arms were wrenched across his back once more. He felt something stretch painfully and he wondered if they would break one of both as punishment for his transgressions. "Check...with Gobber..."

"You were missing this morning," Oddvar hissed. "You know all work has to be authorised. You're not a smith, boy, and certainly not that two-limbed lunatic's apprentice-you're a drudge. A menial. A nothing!" Hiccup stared at him and bit his lip. There was nothing he could say because Oddvar was right: technically, he was nobody and nothing, the orphaned son of a disgraced knight and a penniless indentured serf. And Hiccup's dreams and hopes had all been dashed with the declaration. But in his heart, he was still that boy who had listened to tales from his father of his adventures as a Knight-and would have done anything to make him proud.

A knight protects the weak and helpless, no matter the cost.

The stronger drudges hauled him back against the wall, hands greedily hauling up his tunic and pinning him helpless. From the corner of his eye, he saw Oddvar shake out a whip.

And Thor, the cost was going to be high.

oOo

Trudging painfully through one of the back corridors, limping and wondering if he could find somewhere to curl up and sleep for a week, Hiccup wasn't paying anywhere near enough attention and impacted into a tall buff shape, spinning backwards and slamming against a wall with a yelp. The other man glared at the skinny shape, cringing back and he curled his fist.

"Get out the way!" he growled and for a second, emerald eyes glared at him.

"You should watch where you're going!" he retorted and the man raised his fist-and then stared.

"Hicc?" he murmured and the young man stared up at the tall, powerful, buff shape with the dark eyes and hair, the tabard showing the crossed axe and leg of mutton crest of the Meathead House. Hiccup's brow furrowed.

"Thuggory?" he murmured and took a step forward-and then collapsed, caught only by the knight in training. The man closed his arms around the lean shape, feeling him breathing hard.

"Hiccup-how're you?" he said in concern as the menial braced his legs and managed to stand upright, pushing away from the powerful man.

"Been better," Hiccup managed hoarsely as the tall would-be knight inspected him.

"You were the drudge who spoke back to the King?" he guessed and Hiccup lifted his ashen face, managed a thin smile.

"You remember I always had a smart mouth," he  said wearily and the taller man draped an arm over his shoulders, seeing him flinch. "Yeah, that didn't work..."

"You still have your head," Thuggory noted dryly and peered at the pale face. "That's an achievement! Damn-come with me." He half-dragged, half-carried the young man to his room, pausing to halt a young page boy with a bellow. "Meat, bread and ale to my room-on the double!" he ordered and hauled the sagging auburn haired man into his room, tossing him onto the bed. Hiccup rolled onto his side and slowly pushed himself into a sagging sitting position.

"You realise...that boy will think you've brought me here to have me," he noted dryly, running his hands through his wild hair. Thuggory cast off his tabard and armour, leaving his powerful shape in his expensive deep blue tunic and leggings as he sat easily in a comfortable chair.

"Who cares?" he asked lazily. "Not a crime unless I do it in the middle of the yard!" Hiccup sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Matters to me," he muttered. "Not that anyone cares. And you know how much the pages gossip. Gods, we were the worst!" Thuggory opened his mouth-but there was a soft knock on the door and he burst into action, dumping a sword and a cloth on the bed by Hiccup as if the drudge was polishing them. Automatically, he grabbed the cloth and bowed his head.

"Come in!" he called and the boy entered quietly, placing a tray on the table laden with juicy cuts of yak roast, fluffy rolls and a pitcher of ale. He cast a suspicious look at the sagging Hiccup and then left. As soon as the door closed, Thuggory roared with laughter. "I think you may be right," he added, then leaned closer. "Hicc-what did they do to you?"

Emerald eyes flicked up and the pale face tilted into a wary expression.

"You know, I was trained to be a knight from the moment I could walk?" he asked the other man, deflecting the question. Thuggory Tete de Carne, scion of the the Meathead House, was a young man a year older than Hiccup but they were in the Knight Training Programme together as squires and had served as pages before that. His father, Lord of Meathead lands, had been determined that his Heir become a knight. "My father would be ashamed that I have failed in becoming a knight, failed in maintaining the family name and honour, failed him in every way..." he muttered. Thuggory looked at him and sighed.

"You know, you were the leader of us all," he admitted. "You knew far more than us. You knew all your Laws and Codes, all etiquette and warcraft. You were pretty handy with the sword and the lance and were quick and intuitive."

"And none of that mattered because my Dad died," Hiccup said quietly as Thuggory poured out the ale and pressed it into the younger man's hand. "My Dad was huge and powerful. And it would take ten, twenty, fifty men to take him down. He would never surrender. He would never give in. He wouldn't let you down. He would never have let this happen to me. But when he vanished...when he died...those who were jealous of him wasted no time in accusing him of treason and destroying me." He took a long sip of the ale and sighed.

"You know-it's nearly time for us to take the Tests," Thuggory mused. "And I guess Gobber has been keeping up your sword training?" Hiccup nodded, a wry smile tilting his ashen face.

"Such as he can, given my busy diary," he shot back sarcastically. "Scrubbing, cleaning, smithing, looking after kids..." There was a definite flick of the dark eyes as Thuggory inspected him.

"Hiccup, you are lucky to be alive," he said softly, gesturing for the battered man to take some food. "The King could have had you killed for defying him..."

"Defying him?" Hiccup echoed in shock. "He was about to run down a scared and frozen six year old kid! How can he claim to be a King, the head of the knights if he is prepared to mow down a young child?" And then he gasped as he moved. "But...I may have been reckless..." He offered Thuggory a pained smile. "Hey. I've had worse before...though Oddvar gave it his best..."

"Hicc?" Thuggory gave a worried look.

"A knight protects the weak and helpless," Hiccup murmured. "I am not a knight. I'll never be a knight. But I was raised to be one-and it still drives me on. So I threw myself around a young orphaned worthless child to protect him from my King. The whipping was worth it, Thuggery-Because Nils has no one to care for him. I was lucky to have my Dad for fifteen years and I know he loved me until the day he died. So I was that person for Nils when he needed me. But really, I can't do anything..."

"I think you can do more than that," Thuggory mused, grabbing a roll and chewing thoughtfully. "You know all your codes, you are braver, smarter and quicker-thinking than anyone here-and I am sure you know enough weapons craft. You can take the Tests."

"I'm not an apprentice  knight any more," Hiccup mumbled.

"No-but anyone can take the Tests at age 18 or older-if you have had some training and a sponsor. You are brave and determined enough to take them-and pass. Hicc-I know you can do it. You can win back your family honour and clear your father's name!" The auburn haired man grimaced.

"I doubt they'll ever let me pass," he said dryly. "Hel, I wouldn't even be allowed to take them."  Thuggory sighed.

"Your cousin and the Captain aren't half the knight you will be, Hicc," Thuggory told him thoughtfully. "Look-I am truly sorry I didn't help you before...but what you did today-Odin, that took nerve! Look-if you need me-I am here for you. I will sponsor you to take the tests. I swear." Looking up, Hiccup managed a small smile and offered his hand.

"And I am here for you," he promised quietly, finishing the ale and taking another mouthful of food. Thuggory sat back.

"So tell me exactly what happened..." he said.

oOo

Princess Astrid had long finished her practice and had been out riding when her father finally returned and summoned her. She had heard that a drudge or two had gotten in the hunting party's way and one of them had earned a whipping, which she had considered carefully: to her, it was unnecessary. A good rider could easily avoid a careless menial-her mind slid back to the cute boy in the forge-and then she shook her head. It was not her place to question her father: he was he King, after all and as a perfect daughter and Heir, Astrid would keep to her place.

She was announced and curtseyed precisely before being summoned forward. King Harild leaned forward and kissed her cheek lightly, before summoning her to sit at his side. Dutifully, she sat by him and smiled.

"Was your Hunt successful, sir?" she asked softly and he nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"Our guest was extremely efficient in dispatching a wounded, trapped boar," he told her blandly, gesturing to the tall, well-built and handsome northerner. Lord Eret had come with letters of recommendation from his patron, Count Drago, and had made no secret of his desire to woo for Astrid's hand. As the Heir to Berk, Astrid would have preferred to succeed her father as Queen Regnant but the constitution of Berk and the traditional beliefs of her people meant that Berk was required to have a King and commander of her army. A number of the neighbouring lands had sued for Astrid's hand and she had met a parade of prospective suitors, but none had proven satisfactory. Off course, men such as Dagur of Berserk or Alvin of the Outcast Lands were never going to be considered, for both were effectively criminals and definitely enemies of Berk, but others had made no secret of their interest in Astrid...for her title. Not one man had shown the faintest of desire to connect with the woman, just the prize at the end. And while Astrid recognised that her husband would have to rule Berk and protect her, she still wanted a husband who would marry her for herself.

And Lord Eret knew he was effectively interviewing for the position of King of Berk, not Prince Consort and he had been attentive, smooth and appropriate. He had played suitor more to her father than to Astrid and she knew he was arrogant, self-confident to a fault and overbearing. He made a great play of showcasing his prowess as a rider, a fighter and a hunter to encourage Harild to offer his daughter but so far, the King had resisted the suggestion. Astrid saw his blue eyes inspect his daughter.

"He is far and away the best option we have been presented," he told Astrid calmly. "And a wedding to him would forge an alliance to Drago. It may secure our northern border."

"Or hand us to him as a sacrificial lamb," she pointed out. "I do not trust his motives. He has never explained the connection between the two. I would prefer a Berkian who understands our land and our people rather than an outsider. And I am certain our people do not want a foreigner to come in as their King."

"But who is available?" Harild asked her rhetorically. "Thuggory Tete de Carne? Fishlegs Ingerman? Snotlout Jorgensen? Tuffnut Thorston? Bucket? Sven the Silent? Sven the Fat? Sven the Garrulous? Sven the..."

"No Svens," Astrid said firmly, her mouth curling in a small smile.

"Our people are rather unimaginative in terms of naming, aren't they?" the King smirked.

"My Liege has the truth of it," she sighed and for a moment, the father in Harild surfaced.

"I do love you, Astrid," he said in a low voice, leaning close, "and Gods know, I would never have subjected you to this if I had any other option. But after Finn..." He paused. "After...you have to lead the country like a Hofferson. You have to do what is best for us all. And I want you to be happy, as I was in the marriage with your mother-but sometimes, you have to accept that you may marry for political expedience and love will come later."

"Or not at all," she murmured, casting a jaundiced eye at Eret. "Father-please don't make a hasty decision. I don't trust Eret at all. His connection with Drago, who has been profoundly hostile to us for decades, makes him untrustworthy. I know I am eighteen now and should be moving towards a Promise of Engagement but at least let us make sure there are other options." She paused and her expression fell. "We both know negotiating from a perceived position of strength will mean he will make excessive demands. If he wants me, he will jump through the hoops we set and accept our conditions." He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

"I am very proud of you, daughter," he murmured. "And not just because you could probably beat half my knights with a sword and most with the axe! You have your mother's grasp of politics as well as my own diplomatic sense. When the day comes, I will leave the kingdom in safe hands." She squeezed his hand.

"So what do we do with him, Sire?" she asked gently. Harild inspected Eret, who was boasting to the knights in attendance and waving around a full goblet of wine.

"Test him," he said. "I think you should go hunting, daughter. Maybe you will be impressed by Eret's prowess-or prove the man is shallow, vain and cowardly!"

"If only," she murmured and her father smiled, squeezing her hand in amusement.

"I have the Emissaries from Hysteria and Uglithug visiting from tomorrow so I cannot leave them," he sighed. "The trade deals for our wool and mutton and wood are very important to the economy and I should be there to smooth the negotiations. Mother Gothi reports the weather will be poor for the next two days but in three days-I will arrange for a hunting trip. You can take the staghounds and a full compliment of knights and knights-in-training and test out your prospective suitor!"