Disclaimer: I don't own How to Train Your Dragon. The rights remain with Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

A/N: Another AU-this time Medieval, which is probably the era I'm most comfortable writing since most of my pre-fanfiction writing was grounded there. Swords, knights, chivalry, intrigue between nobles, treachery...love it! Of course, things have to be anything other than a straightforward for our hero in this fiction (when are they ever?).

I am fully aware and acknowledge there are similarities with BlueberryToasterTart's Underneath (love that story and all your work, by the way!) but hopefully enough differences (and harrypanther angst) to pique the interest!

This story is largely pre-written so weekly updates. Yes, I am continuing my other stories!

Chapter One:

As soon as he heard the bellow from the guard captain, Hiccup Haddock knew he was in trouble.

His head snapped up from the hunched position he had been working in for the last couple of hours and he frantically tried to tidy up the polish and cloths from where he had been cleaning the mountain of swords, axes, daggers, halberds, helmets and breastplates that had been dumped on him only two hours earlier. There hadn't been a hope in Helheim he could complete the task though he had made an impressive dent in the pile. But for Spitelout, that was never going to be enough.

He grabbed his polish and rose-just as a hand swung round and impacted his cheek. Off balance, he stumbled sideways and slammed to the stone floor, instinctively curling to protect himself as a heavy boot hit his side. He gave a strangled yelp but chewed his lip to prevent any other sound. Spitelout liked to know he was hurting his victims and Hiccup had learned the hard way that beating or kicking a silent menial grew boring for him quite quickly. But he still fielded another four kicks before the man stood back, unsatisfied by the lack of response.

"Clear up this mess, serf!" he sneered. "You won't be permitted food until you finish this work. Maybe that will teach your lazy carcass to move faster!" Trembling, the young man looked up, his emerald eyes wary and he nodded.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled and gritted his teeth as Spitelout kicked him again.

"Skip to it!" he shouted and Hiccup wearily picked his battered shape up, wincing as he pulled his new bruises. Tall and skinny, topping the other menials and most of the knights in training, Hiccup was unusual with his dark auburn hair and bright emerald eyes, his pale, slightly freckled face wary. But he was definitely nobody: that was obvious from his patched and slightly ragged tunic and the fact he was treated like dirt.

It hadn't always been that way: until three years earlier, he was the son of the famous and trusted knight, Commander Stoick Haddock, a legend in the Kingdom. But Stoick had vanished, never returning from a vital mission and presumed dead and a failure. His name was shamed for his disappearance with gold and vital letters from the King had imperilled the Kingdom and the Royal family. Orphaned and dishonoured, Hiccup had been thrown out of his place in Knight training and with no home, family, money or prospects, he had been sent to serve among the menials, performing the back-breaking and mindless labour that the lowest and least regarded were forced to do. And though it was grossly unfair, he had attended to his new duties with the diligence that had characterised his time as a Knight in training. There was no job so small or grim that he would not attack it with good heart and do the best possible he could, no length he would go to so he could do what he was ordered-even when the orders were unfair and impossible.

No one had really spoken up for him when the news of his father's disappearance and dishonouring had come through and the fifteen year old runt of a boy that Hiccup had been found himself isolated and scorned by his fellow knights-in-training rather than supported. He had kin, a cousin and Uncle, who disowned him instantly rather than risk their own precious honour in giving a home to the suddenly friendless boy. And the disdain in the faces of young men who had an hour earlier been his close friends and allies had hurt him beyond words. But he had appealed to the King as was his right-and he had been flatly and harshly rejected. Stripped of everything except his name, Hiccup had been devastated and had silently gone to the kitchens as directed to face his fate.

The intervening three years had seen him grow taller, skinnier and more wary-but his innate optimism and sarcasm had kept him going. And he did have one real friend: the blacksmith, Gobber Belch, who had been an old friend of Stoick until wounds in the wars had retired Gobber from the soldiery to the comparative safety of the forge. And he alone had offered friendship and support to the disowned and distraught boy, training him in smithing as well as honing his weapons skills. Of course, Hiccup had hardly any time to work on his weapons skills, slaving from dawn to dusk and beyond, frequently shorted food and abused for fun by anyone who wanted to. But he never argued, though he tended to back-sass when he was being shouted at unjustly and more than once, he had been beaten for his pains. But he was kind and generous to the younger serfs, protecting them from the crueller masters at his own cost. But Gustav, Ella, little Nils and Synnoeve all trusted him to protect them and they usually warned him if someone-usually Spitelout-was after his hide.

Painfully, he had gathered the items still needing polishing and had returned those already completed before settling down and turning back to his tasks. His back was aching from the kicks and he felt parched and starving as he continued to work, deftly erasing the dirt, polishing out the marks and buffing to a high shine before moving on. His bruised face looked up briefly, rolling his cramped shoulders and then putting his head down and turning to the next sword. There had been no point in protesting, no point in arguing at the unfairness or the unjust punishment he had earned-but he had needed to bit his lip hard because just for once, he had almost shouted at Spitelout. And he knew that would earn him the whip.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured to himself, picturing his father as he had last seen him: an enormous mountain of a man, six feet ten and four hundred pounds of muscle and sinew, his massive braided red beard and cool grey-green eyes topped by his utilitarian helm bearing the speared dragon shield of his House. Stoick had reached down to his only child and patted Hiccup on the shoulder. His eyes had twinkled.

"See you in a week, son," he had said and then he had ridden off.

And Hiccup had never seen him again.

"I'm sorry I let you down, Dad," he murmured, stopping polishing as the misery tightened his chest and thickened his throat. "I'm sorry I couldn't become a knight like you wanted, I'm sorry I couldn't retain our family honour, I'm sorry I couldn't stop them declaring you disgraced. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be the son your deserved. I'm sorry."

The sword slid from his hand and he covered his face with his grimy hands, breathing raggedly. He had never cried for his father, never shed a tear over his cruel and harsh treatment but sometimes-often when he was alone and exhausted and feeling especially put upon-he allowed himself to drop his brave and cheerful facade and take a few moments to pray to Thor and Odin that one day, his lot would get better.

"Hey, Hiccup!"

The young voice snapped him from the spasm and he looked up, his face colourless and his eyes shining. But he smiled as he saw Gustav poke his head round the door. The boy was probably four or five years younger than Hiccup-he was too poor to know exactly when he was born-and he made up for his lack of family with cheek and overconfidence. His scruffy black hair framed a face smudged with dirt and a pair of bright grey eyes. The lad was skinny as well and he entered the room boldly.

"Gustav-should you be here?" Hiccup asked dryly, taking a deep breath. The boy shook his head.

"Uh huh," he admitted and looked around. "Wow. Did they get you to polish every single weapon in the barracks?" Hiccup gave a lopsided smile.

"Almost-and it certainly felt like it," he smiled, grateful for the sympathy.

"Can I help?" Gustav asked brightly and Hiccup sighed. He knew getting Gustav involved could get him in trouble-but there were a few things the willing lad could do that would be of help and probably wouldn't anger Spitelout too much. He handed the boy a couple of sets of polished armour.

"If you could take these back to Fishlegs and Thuggory, I would be grateful," he said. "I'll have to do Snotlout myself-because he knows I am supposed to be doing this." His father set the the job, after all. Gustav nodded and grabbed the items, nodding.

"No sweat, Hicc," he said cheerfully. "I've asked Nils and Synnoeve to grab you some food before they clear dinner away completely." Hiccup nodded absently. He had lost count of the meals he had missed doing duties far more suited for half a dozen rather than one skinny drudge.

"Make sure Captain Spitelout doesn't see you," he warned the boy in a low voice. "I'll see you back in the kitchens. And look out for the little ones: I know. Steward Oddvar has been pretty hard on them." There was a pause and Gustav stared at him then nodded.

"You can rely on me, Hicc!" he said confidently and scampered away. Sighing, Hiccup turned back and finished the last few swords, then wearily levered himself to his feet and began to rerack the weapons, too tired to even take pride in the shiny weapons he had cleaned. After clearing his tools away, he quietly lifted the last sets of armour and tiredly took them to the owner's berths. The twins shared a room-they always had-and he swiftly stowed their armour and then he stared at the last breastplate...then headed for the last room. He knocked-and cringed inwardly as he heard a cocky voice invite him in.

Snotlout was already lying back on his bed, hands laced behind his head. His stocky and buff shape was poised but he cracked open a blue eye and his dark brows dipped as he saw the skinny shape slink into the room.

"Well, if it isn't our little failed would-be knight," he sneered, sitting up. Hiccup gritted his teeth and offered the armour.

"I've cleaned your armour," he said tightly.

"Call me sir," the young would-be knight said sharply. Hiccup's eyes flicked over the jet-haired man and he sighed.

"I've cleaned your armour-sir," he said sarcastically. In a second, Snotlout was on his feet, advancing on the taller shape and causing the menial to back away. There was an especially unpleasant expression on his otherwise handsome face.

"You know, if I tell the Captain about your disrespect, he'll whip the hide off you-serf!" he threatened. Hiccup put the armour down on the man's little wooden table and stared into the uncompromising face.

"Do what you feel you have to, Snot," he said wearily, forgetting to dodge as the other young man punched him hard in the face. He stumbled back and hit the wall, breathing hard. Fists balled, Snotlout advanced on him rapidly.

"You know, no one would raise a finger if I beat you to a pulp!" he growled and Hiccup groaned, pressing his hand to his lip, which was bleeding.

"You'd have to polish your own armour though," he reminded the other boy urgently. Snotlout drew back his arm and Hiccup flinched away-but the stocky young man merely shoved him hard against the wall.

"You know you'll never be a knight," Snotlout sneered. "Shame. And when I am knighted, I'm going to enjoy making you slave on my armour and weapons, muck out my horses and slave for me because that's all you're worth!" Emerald eyes flicked up and Hiccup took a reckless pace forward.

"Really?" he snapped, scowling. "Everyone knows you're the most lazy, stupid and arrogant guy in the training programme and the only reason why you haven't been thrown out is because your father is the Captain!"

"While you were thrown out three years ago!" Snotlout shouted in his face.

"And I was kicking your ass, Snot!" Hiccup replied angrily. "I'm not worthless. My father was lost and my Gods-damned Uncle and cousin were such cowards they never honoured the ties of blood and took me in. I was expelled from the Training Programme because he was lost, not because I wasn't good."

"You know Dad and I don't care?" Snotlout sneered into his face. "Never liked Uncle Stoick anyway-and you needed taking down so many pegs! So how does it feel, being the great Commander's son-and slaving in rags in the castle? Even the King told you that you were completely dishonoured and that it was only his generosity that allowed you to stay as a menial-otherwise, he would have cast you out completely!" Hiccup glared at him, biting back the answer he wanted to scream at his cousin-because shouting that the King was wrong and unfair would earn him a whipping at best and the block at worst. He took a hard breath and then turned to the door.

"Odin sees all," he said through his teeth, trying to calm his anger. "And one day you and Spitelout will have to answer for your actions. There will be consequences!" Snotlout scowled as he saw the tall hunch-shouldered shape stride out of the door.

"Of course there will," he sneered maliciously. "And my Dad will make sure you pay them!"

oOo

Hiccup headed for the kitchen and found Gustav and the others, sitting curled by the small fire in the preparation kitchen. Gustav acted as an older brother to the other three young kids but the boy had been utterly relieved when Hiccup was banished to the drudges and had adopted the youngsters, stepping in when they were unfairly shouted at or abused. All three younger kids looked up as he arrived and three small grimy faces lit with smiles as they saw his familiar shape. Ella was about eleven, a slender white-blonde girl with big blue eyes and a shy demeanour. Synnoeve was about eight with dark eyes and chestnut hair in straggly braids, her wicked sense of humour and unfailing optimism reminding Hiccup of himself while Nils was a small boy with tow hair and grey eyes who looked on the others as his older siblings. Grinning, Hiccup sat down by them and found Nils scrambling into his lap, small arms winding around him in an eager hug.

"Hiya, buddy," Hiccup said, pushing back his exhaustion and aches and pains. "Hey, guys! How is everyone?"

"It's so tiring!" Synnoeve huffed, her eyes sparkling. "Ella was cleaning pans all afternoon and I had to chop about a million cabbages and..." Ella swatted her shoulder affectionately.

"Don't exaggerate," she scolded the younger girl gently. Though shy, she always acted like a big sister and Synnoeve rolled her eyes.

"Fine, it was only fifty," she admitted and then grinned. "But Gustav said that you were having to clean all the knights-in-training's swords and weapons. Was that more than fifty?" Hiccup shrugged and sighed with a weary nod.

"All done now," he said, picking himself up as the girls produced a coupled of thick slabs of rye bread with meat trimmings pressed between and handed them to the ravenous Hiccup. He froze and gave a genuine smile of thanks before falling on the food like the starving man he was. Gustav gave a knowing nod as he finished and thanked them all profusely. The younger ones were all yawning, clearly tired but they had all waited up for him. Carefully, he took the kids to the little corner where they all slept and wrapped the smaller ones in his patched blanket as Gustav looked at him in confusion.

"Where are you sleeping, Hicc?" he asked "You want me to move over and make some room...?"

But the lean auburn-haired man tucked his blanket tighter around the smaller kids and smiled reassuringly as the girls snuggled up together, making sure Nils was included in their warm huddle.

"I need to see Gobber," he said easily. "Guys-get some rest. I'll be fine. I may stay over at the forge tonight." He smiled and nodded to Gustav to get some rest and then slowly levered himself up as the boy curled up and closed his eyes. Walking wearily to the door, the young man glanced back at his friends and then slid out into the chilly night, heading across the dark yard to the forge and the familiar warmth. When he could manage, he got himself assigned to the blacksmith...or, to be more precise, when Gobber got up in time to demand his services and he was ordered to help the blacksmith because he did possess some smithing skills. He ducked into the space, seeing the reddish glow from the forge fire and from the three lamps hung around the space.

"I thought yer weren't coming, laddie," a voice growled from the shadows and Hiccup started, his head snapping round and eyes widening before he calmed his breathing again.

"Are you trying to kill me, Gobber?" he said in a breathless voice, rolling his eyes in relief.

"Nah-though I guess that that Spitelout is," the blacksmith commented from his seat at the back of the forge, waving the hook that replaced his missing left hand and pointing at the obvious bruise on Hiccup's cheek. Eyes widening, Hiccup gave a shrug.

"Well, you know my loving Uncle," he commented sarcastically. "He just adores our little chats..."

Gobber leaned forward, his bulky shape-tending to fat, especially round his middle-topped by a bald head with long braided blonde moustache, piercing blue eyes and massive chin, his wooden right peg leg shifting as he lumbered to his feet. Gobber frowned.

"That spineless mutton-head," he growled. "If his brother was alive,, he'd be running for the hills! Stoick would never have abandoned your cousin, nae matter what his father was alleged to have done. And we both know yer father was nae coward or traitor. He will have fought tae the last moment and died a hero: what they've done ter yer is nothing short of a disgrace!" Shoulders slumping, Hiccup nodded.

"Yeah...but what can I do?" he sighed. "The King himself declared Dad a traitor and dishonoured so I was instantly expelled from the knights in training and made a drudge. I mean, he must be so shamed by me, looking down from Valhalla and seeing me a failure as a would-be knight and a Haddock. I have let our family be dishonoured and disgraced and I haven't been able to do a thing about it!"

The big blacksmith kindly patted him on his shoulder and saw him flinch.

"Hiccup-all things happen for a reason," he said gruffly, moved by the sight of his best friend's son-his godson-so despondent. "Look-no matter what that fatheaded Spitelout and his lazy son say, you were head and shoulders above the rest of the knights in training when you were expelled, no matter that you were the slightest among them."

"Hiccup by name..." the young man muttered.

"And yer know all the Laws of Chivalry and the codes of the Kingdom by heart, laddie," Gobber reassured him. "Have yer time tae show me yer moves with the sword?" Hiccup nodded.

"To be honest, I was kind of hoping you would spar," he admitted. "Gods, I needed something to make me feel less worthless..." Gobber grinned.

"Stoick would kill me if I didnae keep up yer training!" he admitted, grabbing a sword and handing it to the younger man. Sighing, Hiccup tightened his left hand around the hilt and back up into the little yard behind the forge as the big blacksmith lumbered out, instantly slamming a blow at his head. Hiccup parried, yelping and spun round, adopting his stance and resting his blade against Gobber's.

"Never drop yer guard, laddie!" Gobber grinned and launched a savage attack, putting all his strength and skill in. Hiccup leapt back, blocking swiftly, his swordplay steady and accurate, ducking under a wild swipe then slapping his sword up and twisting. The sword skittered away and Gobber found the point jabbing at his chest.

"Good enough, old man?" Hiccup asked with a wry grin and the old blacksmith nodded, then moved swiftly, slapping the blade aside with his hook and grabbing the young man by the throat. Hiccup's emerald eyes snapped wide in shock and he clawed at the ferocious grip. "Can't..." he choked.

"Never get cocky, lad!" the big two limbed man scolded him and released him. Hiccup took a huge gasping breath and tenderly fingered his throat, frowning.

"I'll remember," he rasped and gave a grim smile. "Gods, I'll remember." Grinning, Gobber retrieved his sword.

"I know it seems harsh, Hiccup, but an enemy wouldn't care and would try to kill you by whatever means," he reminded his protege. "You're a decent young man and a worthy son for my old friend...but remember someone else may just care about ending your life. You have to be prepared to break the Laws of Chivalry and be underhand, dishonourable and downright sneaky of you want to survive." Hiccup nodded.

"But Dad..." he protested and Gobber paused, a shadow briefly passing over his big face.

"Yer father was a canny warrior and would do whatever was necessary to complete the mission," he said heavily. "He knew his laws and in Court, he was the finest knight-but he was a dedicated servant of his King and he would do whatever it takes to serve his master." He patted Hiccup's shoulder gently. "Don't let the idea of chivalric ideals prevent you from fighting properly. Don't let the image of being a perfect knight turn you into a dead perfect knight! Use yer wits, fight canny and make yer Dad proud."

Hiccup bowed his head and passed his hand over his face.

"He wouldn't be proud of me, would he?" he sighed. Gobber gave a kindly smile.

"Laddie, he was always proud of you!" he assured the young man and raised his sword. "Now-en garde!"

oOo

The voice snapped him from his slumber, blinking in disorientation and trying to work out where he was. And as his blurred vision focussed on the familiar shapes of the back of the forge, he sat up with a gasp and cracked his head on the low shelf running above the small cot that Gobber kept at the back just for Hiccup when he needed a bolthole. Giving a pained whine, he pressed his hands urgently to the point of impact, wincing and scrambling out of the cramped space.

"I say! I can hear you in there!"

Hiccup chewed his lip against the pain and bowed forward, rocking in pain at the impact. After a few seconds, the surge of pain and spinning in his vision settled and he slowly straightened up-and reality hit him. He has slept at the forge-not an uncommon occurrence-but this time, exhausted by a day of cleaning every weapon and piece of armour and then a very vigorous training session with Gobber, he had slept into the morning, missing the dawn, breakfast and the early allocation of tasks. His absence would have been missed and he knew Steward Oddvar would after his blood. If he got away with just a whipping, he would be lucky.

"I'm getting very impatient! Come out!"

Oh Thor, he was in trouble. How long had Gobber kept him sparring? He had heard the bells for the first hour and...

"I'll speak to your master and I'm afraid you're not going to like the outcome!"

And now he had to deal with this person who was starting to annoy him. The shutters were down and the forge clearly wasn't open. What kind of person kept shouting into a closed forge until someone got up...and Hiccup knew that person wouldn't be Gobber. The big smith could sleep through a thunderstorm, battle and riot all at once. Oh well...he could pretend he was working in the forge today and maybe that would keep him away from the stewards...at least for a few hours.

Wearily, he stumbled through the forge and through to the hatch, running his fingers through his tousled auburn hair and taking a deep breath before pulling the shutters back and glaring at the person persistently demanding his attention.

What he had not expected was a slender, beautiful shape with sun bright blonde hair braided over her left shoulder, her brilliant ocean blue eyes determined and beautiful face set in an impatient frown. Her slender shape was sheathed in an elegant gown on sky blue, a surcoat of dove grey belted around her slim waist. The effect was only slightly ruined by her folded arms, the fingers drumming with her impatience. A small, hairy man with a wild beard and friendly eyes was leaning against the hatch, listening.

"I think he's..." he began and then stumbled back as the shutters were wrenched back and Hiccup glared at him.

"We're not open yet!" the young man told him irritably, recognising the voice.

"You are now," the young woman said firmly, her eyes glittering. "Now then, boy-can I get my sword sharpened some time today?" Frowning, Hiccup stared into her face and gaped, then backed up and offered a very respectful bow. He was doomed for sure because he recognised the woman now: they had played as children, though he hadn't met her for years and she certainly didn't seem to recognise him at all.

"Of course. I would be honoured...Princess Astrid," he said.