Introductory A/N:
Welcome!

In Celebration of 10 Days 'till the DVD hit shelves *fist pump*, I bring to thee my newest story!

Prerequisite to Newcomers: I suggest to read my Seasonal Series starting at Winter [links in my profile] as subjects may be brought up referring to those events in these chapters. Don't want you out of the loop :)

Premise: A compilation focused on life moments of the next decade after 'Seasons' with an emphasis on scene and characterization. Chapters for the most will be rated K - T and if any M appears then I will dully note it at the beginning. Keep in mind there might be minor story arcs but not all if any may be resolved due to the nature of storytelling.

So please enjoy the Slivers and Slices of Viking life!

It wasn't a particular day by any means. Ruffnut had let Fishlegs take her somewhere. He did that—took her out. Especially after she realized she had liked him the way he had liked her. Usually these outings would be an educational experience.

This-and-that about the flora and fauna.

So-and-such regarding why something was or came to be.

Sometimes it was fascinating, other times he bored her to death with the facts.

This unassuming, blustery day, he was fidgety and unfocused—quite out of character unless she had previously lifted her tunic up to her chest in a random act of minor exhibitionism.

He'd always get fidgety and unfocused when she did that and he acted all aghast but she could tell he really liked it.

His eyes gave it away.

She inwardly chuckled.

No, as if she would try that now—the wind was chilly and strong and still he was unfocused—fidgety, the way he played with his fingers absently, but she didn't question it.

Everyone had weird days.

Like one day recently, Ruffnut woke up feeling really happy, a weird day for she usually woke up grumpy and then spent her time with Fishlegs, clinging onto him in a loving manner. It freaked him out and she got half of the pleasure seeing him freak out about it and noted she should do it more often because it was really damn funny.

Also that was the day she fell in love with concept of cuddling, no matter how embarrassingly girly it was. Cuddling was magnificent, and cuddling with Fishlegs was ten times better than any other man because he was so broad and squishy. He was an all- purpose boyfriend—punching bag and body pillow in one.

"So-o, have you heard from Tuffnut?" He finally asked.

They were walking along the shore and Ruff had a long stick of driftwood she was poking into the pebbled beach, splitting the small rocks with a drawn path in it's wake.

Tuffnut. It wasn't quite the same without him around. Her brother been away nearly a month. The water thrashed against the beach sluggishly, bringing in pieces of semi ice. The great freeze was arriving fast.

"Are you kidding? He can't even spell his own name much less write a letter and somehow find a way to send it here."

"You know, Slugwing has been working on a mailing system by way of Terrible Terrors. You see, they really have a remarkable sense of smell so if you have something of your receiver's you can have the Terror remember the scent and it will—" Fishlegs began to ramble with an invigorated interest but Ruff was already mentally checking out, thinking there were better things they could have been doing—like kissing. Yeah, now that was an activity worth participating in, it'd get them warmed up at least.

But that mouth of his just kept moving and moving and saying words about mail she took no interest in.

"—then when the arrive you give them a fish and that's how they are trained to do the job—"

"Shut up Fish," Ruffnut blurted.

"Job—what? Why?" he seemed a little bruised at her annoyed tone.

"Why'd you bring me out here? Is there something cool to look at? Is there a dragon fight or what?

"No I just wanted to—"

"No dragon fights? Oh come on, shouldn't you know by now that it's not worth my interest if it doesn't involve action?"

"All the dragons are gone, you know that."

She should have remembered by the cold temperature, but was getting riled at the stagnant nature of their date—was this really a date? Was every time they went together somewhere with no one else considered a date?

"Ugh, okay but like are you going to keep talking about mail?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," he looked to the ground. They saw a large foaming pool of cold sea water and Fish immediately picked her up and carried her over it before she could protest. He set her down once on the other side and she stared at him with a scowl despite the nice warmth the closeness had provided.

Now she just felt like being difficult as a payback for him going into a ramble about mail and his most recent action.

"You know I'm not delicate, so stop treating me like some pathetic flower."

"But you are like a flower!" Fish insisted which caused Ruff to tighten her fists in offense. She knew it was futile to punch him—it wouldn't hurt him but it would make her feel better at trying. He winced in anticipation but didn't stop talking, "You're beautiful and flowers are beautiful and sometimes they have thorns and you're the kind that has thorns but that doesn't make want to pick someone else."

Her fists dissipated immediately at his sincere expression and his quite flattering metaphor. Hs words were pretty even, enough to cause a blush to rise in her cheeks.

"What? What do you mean? What do you want?" She threw her stick to the ground irately then glared at him, noting his nose and cheeks had become rosy from the wind. Hers probably were too.

"You. We should be married—but will you marry me?" WILL YOU MARRY ME?" he sounded more excited as he said the words repeatedly, desperate even. It was as though those previous words had been replaced by the ones spilling out of his mouth he had no volume or stopping control over.

"Will you marry—"

"Yes."

She might have just answered so he would shut up.

"Me—really?"

"Yes." She repeated. Why not? She pretty much loved him, big doofy smile, unreasonable phobias and all. He amused her—that was what mattered. She didn't want some constant boring ol' husband. She could live with him occasionally treating her like a lady, though she preferred to take challenges head on—crossing sea puddles included.

"Oh neat!"

Oh neat? She shook her head realizing she might just have the dweebiest husband in all of Berk as a consequence.

But one glance at the joy in his face was worth it.

She never usually took pleasure in other's happiness as before she had always been a selfish creature, only concerned with herself and her feelings and how to hide them.

He seemed more excited than she, but it perhaps was because the weight of it hadn't hit her yet.

Marry Fishlegs, become Mrs. Fishlegs, be a wife, run a house, cook, family—children?

Oh. That was why she wasn't as excited.

He was bold enough to step forward and try to kiss her but she inched away.

"Waaaaait."

"What's the matter?"

Instead of voicing her concern, she hid it with a false one.

"Your parents agreed to this proposal?"

Proposal—a few seconds ago it hadbeen awkward and weird but in the realm of normal considering who had done the proposing. And she wasn't sure if this would be a better proposal than him making an offhand remark about being married as they played Dens & Dwarves.

It wasn't anything as grand or romantic as being proposed to in the rain—Astrid had told her of how Hiccup came around and if Ruff still had her silly crush on the newly appointed Chief she would have been green with envy.

"My parents are thrilled a girl even likes me in that way, especially one with a distinguished family."

Distinguished was putting it nicely. True, the Thorstons were a well off family plus Ruff was bred from a long line of warriors—her father had even been one of Stoick's four commanders. Her mother was the most skilled seamstress in the village. Still her family was also very famous for short tempers excluding her mother whose temper rose like hot water—slowly, to a boil.

She had to think about it now that it was settled on her mind.

Missus Ingerman.

She popped an unwarranted giggle. She liked the sound. Still it was marriage—that final thing to a romance. Their 'romance' had lasted a month, though she figured his interest was much longer developed.

"Well—we can't be married anytime soon. Winter will come any day now and Frigg knows you can't have a wedding until there's enough honey for mead."

"Then we'll wait but I just had to know."

Ruff knew she should probably turn around and head home. Her mother would want to know immediately, being the only one who could contract her daughter to the Ingermans. Ruffnut's father was long dead, Tuff was still away—otherwise he'd have done it but she severely doubted he'd be good at it. He'd probably want too high of a price—a thousand pounds of ale bread plus coin. Either that, or he'd do opposite to annoy her—he'd marry me off for cheap, she thought bitterly.

She crossed her arms over her chest with contemplation. Fishlegs must have taken her gesture as her being cold and she didn't expect two large arms to suddenly engulf her from behind—lightly squishing her closer into an even warmer embrace. She glanced up and smiled—it was a delightful cuddle. He knew she'd like it.

"You know, I thought you would be more excited," he noted, "Most girls lose their head over something like this."

She rolled her eyes and removed herself, "I'm not most girls, and I'm excited to be with you—yes."

He grinned with satisfaction.

Yet, she couldn't help but to blurt, "Excited to have your children—no."

"What? Why? Do you hate children?"

Moron, why couldn't he reason it out? He was good at reasoning. If he was so smart she wouldn't have to tell him—he could take a look at her narrow body and conclude children would do her more harm than good.

She had told him about the Spring Raid, about how what she had seen there that had caused a shift in her being from bloodlust to peace—though she did still enjoy a good sparring or challenge, either physical or with words. But that was one thing she had never told him. That fear, that worry embedded in her as soon as she had been old enough to have such thoughts. This looked to be the best opportunity to bring it up.

But she didn't even know how to say it! That she was 'afraid', out lout and to Fishlegs of all people. After all, she was most comfortable with telling him or Astrid things but not this—it would directly affect him and their future. She just was uncomfortable saying aloud her one ultimate worry.

She felt the heat rise to her face, "I—I don't hate them."

His brows rose with mild surprise, urging her to continue. She let out a sigh, and looked toward the freezing waters, it was easier to say thinking no one was there with her.

"I fear that I will not live through childbirth."

It was true she didn't like other people's children. Her own brood she could probably tolerate and she did want one of her own someday, just didn't want to go through the usual process of obtaining it. She would want the chance to see her children grow up.

It wasn't like he could promise that she'd live through it or promise she would never get pregnant. There was nothing he could say to make her feel better about it either. It would always just be there—that inherent risk—because the whole purpose of getting married in society was to add to the next generation.

So now what? Would he still want to marry her? She wanted to marry him—she wanted a good punching-bag-body-pillow-gaming-husband. There wasn't anything much better in her mind than a husband like that. And only Fishlegs fit the bill the last she checked.

She pulled on one of her braids with a frown, also noting she'd have to undo them soon as the Winter was closing in and she needed the extra warmth her bushels of blonde hair could give.

"You're not a person to give up so easily," she heard him say, "and I believe with everything I have you'd be able to successfully handle any sort of challenge thrown at you."

She squinted trying to see if a spec in the distance was a boat or an iceberg or a whale while his words filled her head. She stopped paying mind to the spec it as they sunk in. She had always liked challenges but never applied the term toward her fear. It was true that a fear was a challenge just like everything else and to overcome it—to win out—was the best feeling.

What was the difference between charging in head first to a battle and having a child? Ruff had loved the thrill of risk back then when she had done just that, and she'd do it again if one day Berk found itself being attacked by enemies.

It was a fight, it was a challenge with high stakes and as she wrapped her personal thoughts about challenges around her fear of childbirth—it actually didn't seem as frightening.

She turned on her heel and clasped her arms to Fishlegs's shoulders, burying her face snug into his wooly outer covering. His beard brushed her brow in a tickle. His words had made her feel better, and she'd think twice before claiming that he couldn't because now warm and comfortable and content with herself she knew he would always try his best.

And that was the best quality in a husband a woman could ever ask for.