Love will prevail:Hiccstrid one shots

Strength

It was old news by that point. Everyone knew Astrid was tougher than her boyfriend. That had been no big secret, so she did not understand why Snotlout was still amused by the idea. Perhaps it was just because he was Snotlout, and Hiccup was Hiccup, and there was something about their personalities that conflicted on a very fundamental level? It kept them in a perpetual state of rivalry, or else a reluctant and often strained camaraderie. Over the years, Hiccup had built up a sort of tolerance for his cousin's overwhelming idiocy, and he often had to talk Astrid down from wrapping her slender fingers around Snotlout's thick throat on his behalf. On top of Hiccup's seemingly boundless patience, he had also had an inherently self-deprecating sense of humor, which kept criticisms and snide remarks of his physical appearance from bothering him too much.

"I honestly don't care," he told her as they strolled out of the academy together; Fishlegs had just wrapped up another lesson. "And I wish you wouldn't."

"But you're not weak and Snotlout is a moron," she insisted.

"No, you're right. I'm a paragon of unparalleled Viking strength," he replied sarcastically.

"Hiccup," she groaned in exasperation.

"Look, Astrid. I've come a long way, I'll give you that, but we both know I won't be winning any arm-wrestling or hammer-throwing contests around here, anytime soon. And you know what?"

"Hiccup-"

"I'm okay with that. I have other methods of accomplishing things-ones that don't require the abundant use of my fists."

Astrid sighed heavily, linking an arm with his as they made their way back towards the village proper. They were on their way to the Great Hall because Hiccup wanted to discuss with his father some ideas he had on how to better improve the efficiency of their patrols along the archipelago, and Astrid could not think of anywhere else she would rather be if it were not by his side. The two of them, already so close and so hopelessly in love, were becoming inseparable whenever Hiccup's feet were on the ground. It was making it harder to maintain the pretense that they did not already have extensive carnal knowledge of each other-though village certainly had its suspicions.

As they made their way up the stairs towards the Great Hall, Astrid was slightly distracted by the clinking of Hiccup's prosthetic against the stone with every other step that he took. She often forgot he even had the thing, not that it bothered her. He was just so nonchalant about it that it was rarely the topic of conversation, unlike the other Vikings she knew who were missing some of their limbs. They never ceased complain about their aches and pains, but Hiccup had never joined in on the self-pity. He did not see the point in it. That was not to say he was not, or never had been, in a significant amount of pain. Astrid could recall, immediately after the amputation, Hiccup limped around for Berk about a week, adjusting to the new leg Gobber had so generously fitted him with. He would wince or swear under his breath when he thought no one could hear him, but every time Astrid had asked him if he was hurting, he would deny it. It had to have been killing him though, both physically and emotionally, but he never would confess any of that to her-not then, and not in the present, though she knew he suffered a lot less as time had passed, and he had become much better at managing the discomfort. It probably helped that he had finally upgraded his prosthetic to a model that seemed much more ergonomically designed, and better suited to his particular needs.

Astrid admired him for it, she had to admit. Not that she envied any loss of limb, but Hiccup's attitude about the whole experience was inspiring. It all could have been avoided if his father had simply listened to his warning about the Red Death lying in wait on Dragon Island. Perhaps a different solution could have been found-one in which Hiccup could have remained wholly intact. Still, Hiccup did not blame Stoick for anything. Nor did he find it the least bit remarkable that he had suffered such sacrifice and personal injury for a village of people who had shunned and despised him for nearly his entire life. When Astrid had asked him about it, he had simply shrugged and said he was doing what needed to be done, and there was nothing more special about his actions than that. He neither expected nor desired any kind of praise or admiration for what he had done, though people gave it to him freely now that he had nearly been killed for them. If there was anyone who had the right to be bitter and hold a grudge, it was Hiccup, but he chose not to do so. He had long since forgiven their people for the years of mistreatment he had suffered at their hands, and he had since come to deeply love the village of Vikings that had once hated him so fiercely.

Astrid knew his strength went deeper still. As the future chief, people were relying on him, and there had been several instances over the years were Berk had encountered a crisis. Whether it had been Dagur the Deranged, Alvin the Treacherous, or the Screaming Death, Hiccup had risen to the challenge. While everyone went hysterical around him, especially Fishlegs, Hiccup remained calm and collected. The more things fell apart, the more he kept it together for everyone else, regardless if he felt any internal panic. He would always have the answers, and he would always have the solutions. He was keystone that kept Berk standing-more so than the dragons, and more so than even his own father. Stoick the Vast and the elder men on Berk were relics of a bygone era where swords and shields and fists were all one needed to be victorious, but the times were shifting. Berk needed a chief that could adapt to any problem-someone who was well-rounded, with a level head and even temper. Hiccup was all of those things. Gentle in his approach but unshakeable in his resolve, unaffected by petty criticisms and the judgments of others. He may not have been the burliest Viking on Berk, but he was every bit as bold and unyielding in the strength of his spirit.

It took someone with a great deal of mental and emotional fortitude to take on the burden of leadership without cracking under the stress, especially when he was such a reluctant chief. Astrid had the reputation of being the stronger one in the relationship, but that was only taking the two of them at surface value. She could not do what Hiccup had done. She could not be the constant pillar of support for an entire village. The pressure would have crushed her, while Hiccup continued to stand tall in spite of it. She had experienced her share of personal crises, and it had been Hiccup's steady, unwavering support that had kept her grounded and sane. She did not know if it was a choice, or if it was an automatic response, but Hiccup did not hesitate to shoulder her burdens, lifting them both up through the turmoil. She could not have made it so far without him, her inner fire still blazing proudly. It would have been snuffed out years ago had he not been there to protect it and to occasionally stoke the flames. He did not think highly of himself for it however, because it was simply what needed to be done in his eyes.

Perhaps that was why very few people dared to challenge him outright? Snotlout, while unrelenting in his verbal assaults, had long since withheld any kind of physical battery of his cousin. It was not that he, nor anyone else, believed Hiccup to be some secret and untapped well of Viking muscle. Instead, it was the sense of strength he exuded from his very soul that commanded some measure respect. While he was still made of flesh and bone, which could bruise and fracture, he spirit was immutable. Hiccup could not be broken.

That was real strength, muscles be damned.
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I don't feel like writing an A/n so eh. Love y'all

Peace out✌️