Summary: In a strange turn of events, and a gods need for amusement, Tina Evans dies and waked up as the daughter of Berk's most hated resident. She never even thought of changing how events played out in her new world, content with what she remembered, but every flap of a butterfly's wing creates change, and it is not long before she realizes that she does not have much of a choice.

Disclaimer: I do not own the HTTYD series.

Pairing: Hiccup/OC Stoick/Valka Mildew/Unnamed Viking lass

Chapter 1: Tyra

The man known to the people of Berk as Mildew had not always been the dour, scowling man that the Hairy Hooligan tribe had come to know him as. For a time, when he was younger, before the brevity of his situation, with his thinner arms and weaker body had become known, become an issue that became abundantly clear in his life, he was happy. He was not the most cheerful of people, or particularly charismatic, and he had no friends that would stand by him, but when he was younger, he had been content. He had his mother, a strong Viking lass with the tribes typical dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, his father an equally strong warrior, the head of Berk's guard with sun kissed blond hair and atypical grey eyes, throwing his war hammer at the Hooligan's enemies, i.e., dragons and warring tribes.

What a disappointment he must have been to his parents, where after multiple attempts at having children, multiple miscarriages, they finally birthed a child, and it was a hiccup.

His name had not always been Mildew, as it was the Viking way to name the runt of the lot Hiccup, so to had it been his name. Hiccup's known for their thin, stick like arms, thin and frail body, and the utter incompetence when it came to being a Viking. And Mildew, known then as Hiccup, had checked off every checklist in regards to being the runt of the litter.

There had, per chance, been a hope for him in the eyes of his tribe. Hiccup Haddock I had been a great and distinguished leader despite his 'faults', and surely the son of two of Berks finest warriors would produce something equally spectacular?

It was not so.

And so Mildew spent his childhood mocked and scorned, only finding refuge in the home of his parents, and even that was taken away. His mother, having grown frail from the multiple failed pregnancies, died in a dragon attack when he was but four; fell to a monstrous nightmare and its equally monstrous flame. His father had not lasted long after that. Oh, he tried, Mildew would acknowledge that, but there was a fire -as much as he hated to use the term- that had gone out with the passing of his wife. And not even a month after her passing he too fell in an attack, this one due to the Berserker tribe and their chief's lust for power and greed; Tyron the Mad, known for his madness.

Things just went downhill from there. While the adults mourned for their fallen comrades, the children-well, children can be especially cruel. The heir apparent of the tribe, Stavik, had made a crass comment about Mildews parent, about how bold Fira had been so disappointed in birthing a hiccup of a son that she had offed herself, how fierce Boris had been too much of a coward to live without his wife and allowed the Berserker men to strike him down instead of staying to help defend his people. And Mildew, still mourning the loss of his parents, still hurting in a way that no child ever should, and with no one to talk to, to comfort him in his time of loss, had snapped.

It had been a foolish thing to do, but he was a child, and the situation was understandable, had it been anyone but the two boys. Stavik was the son of the chief, the tribe's next leader, bold and fierce and brave, everything that was wanted in a Viking chief to be, and Mildew, he was weak, a disappointment, a Hiccup, and thus a blight on the tribe.

In light of Staviks words, he was not banished from the tribe, but for daring to attack the heir, he was effectively banished from the tribe, while still being a part of it. And so at five years old, orphaned, and no clue as to how to care for himself, he was pushed from the village, losing his family's home, their name, and everything that connected him to them, to a secluded hut newly built at the top of the mountain, nothing but wild boars and dragons for company, forests, and dry, dead dirt that he was ordered to farm for more food during the winter.

And it was isolation at its finest. It took a day, if not more on a good day to make it to the village proper and get supplies that he sorely needed for he had not the skill to create them on his own, and more if it was on a bad weather day, for Berk snowed nine months of the year and hailed the other three. So more often than not he had no one but himself to talk to.

When devastating winter hit the island, he was always the last to get the news, if he did get it, often forgotten as a bad memory in the minds of the tribe and Stavik (who would become leader and held a grudge against him for the slight from when they were kids and the lost tooth he suffered from Mildews punch). So he was often up in his little hut, the wooden walls doing nothing to keep the biting cold out or stop the fire from flickering out.

It was in that isolation, that cut off from his village, that Mildew grew from a slightly inquisitive, if shy child to a bitter old man, taking his vices against anyone that he could when he could, and even then sometimes not. And so the years passed. Stavik sired a son just as Viking worthy as he himself had been, Stoick, who became leader of the tribe with his father passing, all the while Mildew stayed on the outskirts, farming his cabbage - the only vegetable that he found could reasonably grow in the dry caked soil of his mountain top - and watching as everyone went about their lives with a sense of happiness that darkened whenever he came about.

The only upside of the moment was when, in a drunken moment of luck towards the end of the years devastating winter he managed to bed a younger lass who was equally as sloshed as he was - though for different things. He was thrilled that he had finally managed to save enough money to buy his own sheep. He had not a clue as to what got the maiden (not that she was at the end) off her rockers.

Then, irony of ironies, Stoick and his shield maiden but dragon mad of a wife gave birth to their very own Hiccup, a runt born early in the beginning fall season, and instead of drowning the boy as he known, and in some cases witnessed other members of the tribe do, the chief kept the brat.

When he hears that, Mildew, still known as Hiccup at the time, felt a smidgen, small mind you, of respect for the heavily built man, for doing something that only his parents had done.

Of course, then the giant red haired man had to go and name his son Hiccup - as it was a tradition - and suddenly he was stripped of a name. And then he was 'christened' with the name Mildew - thanks to that fat oaf of a blacksmith that was the chief's best friend. And suddenly the name Hiccup did not seem so bad even if it denoted his status in the eyes of the tribe. For a Hiccup was just the runt, Mildew was the disease ridden goop that grew on the buckets where men and women relieved themselves, a stain, a blight that everyone was more than happy to get rid of, and Mildew had never ever felt as small and hated as he did in that moment, where the village embraced his new name with a vigor that tore the small, tattered pieces of his heart and pride that he thought could go no lower.

And then, that winter, the lass that he had bedded in a fit of drunken jubilation showed up at his door, haggard looking and eyes spitting out hatred as they looked at him, cradling a bundle of cloth to her chest.

He was a father. That drunken winter night he had gotten her pregnant, and no manner of concoction would tear the child from her womb, and so she birthed it, but wanted nothing to do with it. And in less than five minutes Mildew was holding that bundle of dirty cloth and rags to his chest, to shell shocked to do nothing but stare stupidly at the women as she walked away in a huff.

Which brought him to where he was now.

A slight movement of the rags in his arms broke him from his stupor, and with shaking fingers he moved the dirty cloth that shielded the babes face from the cold wind.

Pink skin of a recently birthed baby greeted him, telling him that the little brat was somewhere between a day or two old, and gummy baby blues blinked up at him from slightly wide eyes, fine colored downy hair covering its head.

Mildew never thought he would become a father. Never wanted to be a father, knowing that any child of his would suffer from their association to him, and become just as bitter as he was.

"Now what am I going to do with you?" his voice was hoarse and gravelly from disuse, having only been used throughout the years in the few time he's been in the village and more recently when he spoke to his beloved sheep Fergus, though even that was slow going, so use was he to the quiet of his mountain top.

The baby - girl (a quick lift of the cloth revealed) blinked up at him with those same eyes, the blue orbs focusing on his face with only a few moments of wandering.

Mildew never wanted to be a father, and looking at the baby, he's still not sure if he wants to even try.

Babies are demanding things from the few he's seen in the village, and they get much much worse in the future. They also need food, clothing, attention, and while he is somewhat certain he can give the girl the latter, the former two are just about out of reach.

He may naturally be stick thin, but it's not from a lack of trying. He barely has enough goods to trade and food to fill himself up as it is. A growing child will be impossible to feed.

The hiccup could already imagine what life would be like if he kept the girl. Harsher winters, with less food. Cast down clothes, if any. Nappy changing and other unpleasant things. Those were some of what he had to look forward to if he kept her.

He also thought of her death, for it was almost certain. Of getting attached and feeling his heart (which though he was stubbornly refusing, was already warming up to the little weed) shatter even further as he watched her pass due to either hunger or disease or the bone shilling cold that was his residence.

But...

The elderly man watched as the newborn closed her eyes and slept, lashes brushing against skin far softer then the wool his Fergus gave him come shearing time.

Would it really be all that bad to keep her? To try?

If she manages to survive (and he would do his darnest to make sure that she did), then food may not be so sparse. He would have another hand in managing his cabbage, and she could learn how to spool wool -somehow- and create clothes from Fergus wool, so he would not have trade so much of his edibles for clothing.

If she survived...

"Looks like you are going to be sticking with me for a while" he told the infant in a whisper as she slept soundly on.

If the little lass could survive the winter with what he had at the moment, then Mildew would keep her, raise her in the way that no one had since his parents had passed into the halls of Valhalla. He would ensure that she became the best that she could be.

He owed it to the memory of his parents, who decided to keep their runt of a son, to take a chance instead of drowning it.

He owed it to the girl for being stubborn and holding on in her mother's womb while said mother tried to kill her with abortion concoctions.

And most importantly, Mildew owed it to the last remnants of his humanity that he stubbornly clung to, not wanting to become what the tribe expected him to be.

"Next!"

Stoick barely held back a sigh as the Viking man in front of him left, grumbling about the answer his chief had given to him in regards to his problem.

Devastating winter had just ended, and requests for the chief had skyrocketed as they always did when the first bud of springs began to peek through. He had been at this for hours, and his feet were starting to sore from standing in his boots without rest, and his voice had the slightest bit of a rasp from all the talking and smoothing over he had to do.

Being chief was not easy, and he usually wouldn't regret taking over from his father as he did in that moment if it hadn't been for a couple of things.

His son, his first born, and perhaps only born if the multiple failures in previous pregnancies were any indication, was a hiccup, and instead of drowning him Stoick kept him alive, if only to see that spark in Valka's eyes. He could see the pity in the eyes of his people as they offered him their sorrows in regards to his 'mistake'.

While Stoick may have thought that in the beginning in regards to his son, he certainly did not now. Not after spending winter with the boy, who while small, was fiercely curious and who's eyes had turned from their typical baby blue to Stoicks own green, and his auburn hair the perfect mix of his red and Valka's brown.

Hiccup, as he had named the boy as tradition stated, was a delight, even if a bit heart attack inducing. The child was so curious, and already at a few months old was grabbing at things that he shouldn't. Stoick could already tell he was going to be a terror when he stared to move around on his own. Not that he minded much, it just went to show how misjudged his son was in the eyes of the Hairy Hooligan tribe since he could already cause Stoick of all people to feel terror.

He desperately wanted to be with his wife and son at the moment. He had not realized how much his duties would cut into their family time now that it was spring.

A slight clearing of the throat pulled him from his thoughts and he saw the last person he had to meet before he was done with all the requests today and could finally get around to doing the more physical aspects of Cheifing.

"Mildew?" red bushy brows drew up in surprise, and a slight tinge of guilt wormed its way into his stomach.

The man looked horrible, well, more than usually, his body skinnier and frailer then last he saw him. Winter had not been easy on the man, and Stoick remembered guiltily that he had forgotten to give his elder the call to come down to the Great hall when the winds of another horrible storm was upon them.

"Chief" the frail man said in his croaky voice, his sheep, Fergy or something 'baa-ing' beside him. "I would like your blessing"

"Blessing?" It was then that Stoick noticed the grey and brown bundle to the man's chest. Why, the way that it was wrapped, it was almost as if he-

"You have a child?" he asked in surprise.

Mildew nodded. "Yes, got her a little before the first storm hit." he handed the infant to the chief, arms shaking at the infants weight, and Stoick quickly grabbed the child before she fell. Removing the fabric that covered her he was met with a little girl the same size as his son, only born healthy from what he could see and around two months old. Grey -blue eyes, the grey more dominant as the blue receded looked up at him, a small little thumb smaller than his own fingers nail being suckled on in her mouth.

"And the mother" Stoick asked quietly so as not to startle the girl, knowing from his own little one that his booming voice could and would frighten them.

"Not here"

Stoick knew he should press for answers, but his desire to get this over with so that he could get back to his own family that much faster, and the guilt that his negligence could have caused this little lass to perish stilled his tongue.

"Very well, what is her name?"

"Tyra"

Stoick's brows raised at the feminine version of the war god's name but said nothing of it. "Very well. Child born and baptized in the fury of winter, I name you Tyra, a member of the Hairy Hooligan tribe. May your might break through your enemies and your womb bring glory to your clan and tribe" and Stoick grabbed the dragons blood in the bowl next to him, the thickly dark red liquid barely rippling as his thumb pierced its surface before coming bath out bathed in the same color, and Stoick circled the child's fore head with it.

The blessing done, he handed the child to Mildew, who tucked in the child's flaying hands as she reached for her forehead where the blood was.

"Thank you chief Stoick" the words sounded strange to the chief, never before has he heard Mildew speak in a tone so respectful, as the man was more spiteful than anything else.

Watching the man head back out the door, more than likely heading home, a queer urge came over the red haired man and he called out before his brain caught up with his mouth.

"Mildew, wait" The elder stopped, piercing grey eyes turning back to him. "If you ever need any help or-or advice, my doors are always welcome"

Mildew paused, eyes sharpening as they looked at Stoick and the chief wondered if he was being judged. After a few moments Mildew nodded, and left.

Stoick stood there for a few more moments, the fire in the hall, crackling and hissing as it ate the wood that fueled it, thinking about this strange meeting with the village's outcast.

For the rest of the day he thought about it, and finally that night, curled with Valka on the bed, little Hiccup nursing in her arms, he brought up the meeting.

Valka listened with open ears, quietly burping their son when he was done and rocking him to sleep.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Stoick huffed. "Do? Why would I have to do anything?"

Valka nestled further into his arms. "You wouldn't have brought this up to me if you didn't want to do anything about it Stoick. Besides..." he tone turned considering as he clutched her little son closer to her bosom. "He is only one man, and he is old, older then you. I would not be surprised if he was the oldest man in the entire tribe. And now he has a child. Being a parent, it's a two person job. And Stoick, I've seen the land he lives on, you've seen it to. There is no way that that man can keep him and a growing child fed, not enough to survive. So the question is my Chief" she looked up at him through brown eyes that Stoick loved, "what are you going to do about it?"

And so, the time passed. Little Tyra proved to be an unexpected delight to Mildew. The little lass was very curious, and the man would swear that she was walking and talking long before any of her peers were. Her eyes had finally settled, her grandfathers and Mildew's own grey orbs staring at any and everything, with flecks of her grandmothers cobalt blue scattered throughout.

There had been a bit of a hiccup, excuse the pun, when it came to her learning. She was quick to talk, but learning how to speak was a different matter. Her words, strangely enough, were spoken with a bit of an accent though how she came about such a curious tilt to her voice Mildew would never know. Her sentences would end up coming out wrong, and it took more patience then Mildew thought he had possessed to coach her through the language. The elderly man knew it was mainly his fault. While he had become better at talking now that he had people - or animals in Fergus case - to talk to, it still was not nearly enough in order to help a growing child learn.

Of course, as much as Mildew hates to admit it, he never would have seen Tyra grow if it wasn't for the generosity of the chief. A week after he had went down to the mountains the chief, his wife, and little son had come up to check up on him, bringing with them a pail of milk to feed the babies. Valka had given him some advice on how to deal with infants, little tidbits of wisdom she had learned from the village mothers, along with clothes small enough to fit an infant, but still big enough to let them grow.

In that visit, while Valka watched her son and his daughter, cooing over how adorable they were in there matching green clothes, Stoick pulled him to the side and told him that he would have food provided until the girl was old enough to help out.

When Mildew protested, sputtering about how he could provide for his daughter Stoick just gave him a look and told him that it was the chief's job to make sure that all his people were provided and cared for.

In a smart show of tact Mildew did not point out that the man's father and grandfather had failed utterly then, or how Stoick had already failed. Instead he just accepted the silent offering, knowing that it was as close to an apology as he would get from the proud leader.

And without fail, every week, fish and milk were delivered to his home. They were not always the freshest, but it more than surpluses his food to where he didn't have to starve himself so that Tyra could eat.

It wasn't much, but to Mildew, who had been shunned his entire life, that small peace offering meant the world to him.

Life, as five year old Trya had come to realize, always threw you through unexpected loops. It took very little for something to change irrevocably.

Her name had not always been Tyra, and she had not always been a Viking. Until five years ago, when she was born, her name had been Tina Evens, a sixteen year old high school student. Of course, then she died - somehow, she was still iffy on the details - and woke up as a newborn in a Viking village. The blonde didn't remember much of her time as a baby, the times blurry, for which she was thankful for as there are some things that you just don't want to even think about, much less remember.

Then of course, came the biggest surprise. She recognized where she was, it took a while, and it wasn't until food was brought up from the village that she learned where she was. And it was all thanks to the blond blacksmith, with a braided long moustache, a metal hook for an arm and a peg leg grumbling about while he pulled a wagon full of food behind him.

That man's name was Gobber. She knew the name not because she was introduced to the man, she had never met him, but because she had watched him on a TV screen training teenagers on how to kill a dragon.

She was in the How to Train Your Dragon World, and hadn't that been such a wakeup call. Tyra knew that the dragons were not the friendly beasts she had seen at the end of the movie, Gobber was more than happy to complain to any one that was willing - or unwilling in the case of her father - about those 'vile beasts' that constantly destroyed the village.

Which also brought her to her next revelation. Her father was 'Mildew'. While she knew that the man was her father, it never quite hit her as to who he was, or rather who he would be. Mildew the traitor.

As Tina, she had been an avid fan of the entire HTTYD series, which included the animated series. She recognized Mildew as the man that would constantly try to get the dragons banished, then man who betrayed his own tribe to the outcasts for no other conceivable gain other than to reign hell on the Hairy Hooligan tribe. She had hated the man.

Tyra did not hate her father. How could she hate the man and his dry sense of humor when he decided to use it? How could she hate the man who tucked her in at night, who gave up his food to her so that she wouldn't go hungry when their supplies were a little low? Who told her that he loved her in his own awkward way?

The answer was that she couldn't. She couldn't hate him. So instead she would do whatever was in her power to stop him from doing something stupid later on.

Her chores done for the day, and after getting permission from Mildew, she wandered off into the forest that surrounded there house.

Everything was so different from her time as Tina. Instead of cement pathways, roads, and modern housing and cars, there were gravel roads and completely wooden houses. She had no idea as to how they moved the heavier equipment around as they had yet to have dragons help them do it, and she does not recall any horses from the series. Plus, there were the trees. Everywhere she looked on Berk there were trees. The island was surrounded by trees. As Tina it was mostly the trees on sidewalks or in the backyard that you would see them as she lived in an urban areas mostly full of houses. Then there was the lack of plumbing - there was a bit of humiliation when she had to squat over it to relieve herself in the morning. Potty training was something she had hesitated over until the indignity of having someone clean after her won her over. Plus bath time...yeah, buckets were a bit of a thing. And then there was the lack of AC and heater capabilities. The AC she could live without, it was always cold in Berk (which she loved) but when it got too cold there were times when she desperately wanted a heater as animal fur blankets could only do so much to keep the chill out.

Her inattention to her surrounding caught up to her and a low hanging branch got a hold of her.

"Ouch" she rubbed her forehead, the place where the branch had struck. The skin felt hot to the touch, and was a little tender, enough so that it caused her eyes to sting. Sitting on the ground she looked around her. Tyra never had to fear getting lost as long as there was a slope that went up and she didn't leave the mountain that she was on.

Now that some of the energy that was pent up had now been spent she walked at a more leisurely pace. There really was not a lot that she could do. There were no other kids that lived close enough for her to play with, the ones nearest her physical age were in the village and that was too far away to visit. She didn't mind playing with children. Her main goal in her previous life was actually to become a pre-school teacher. So she did not think that she would have a hard time getting to know the kids in the village, even if mentally they were leagues apart. It would just be nice to have someone to talk to other then her father.

A flash of red caught her attention and she practically teleported to the plant as she realized what it was. Wild berries, red, plump, juicy, and most importantly not poisonous. The last part was the most important thing. When she first started to explore the forest Mildew made sure that she knew what she could eat and what she could not eat. It was a learning experience.

Storm colored eyes closed in pleasure as the sweet fruit burst into her mouth with just the slightest hint of tartness; the perfect combination in Tyra's opinion.

"Dad might want some' she thought after gobbling a few handfuls of berries. Unfortunately there was nothing that she had on her that she could use to gather them all in. She left her helmet back at the house, and she was not in the habit of bringing bowls or buckets with her when she went out unless she was getting fresh water from the river nearby.

A quick glance around showed nothing but stray rocks and branches. One in particular caught her eye. It was somewhat long, about the size or her arms spread out, but attached to it were leaf filled branches that curved around the edges. It would have to do.

It did not take her long to fill makeshift branch bowl with berries, carefully plucking the sweet fruit from its home and avoiding the thorns. They were not very long but those pointy edges hurt!

Tyra froze. She looked up from her position, one of the berries still in her hand and glanced around with storm eyes. 'Was that a- There it is again!' and she was off, berries forgotten as she chased after the sound of someone crying in the distance. It was high pitched and faint, but now that she knew what she was looking for she was able to track it.

Branches and foliage passed her by as she ran, some nicking her in her arms but thankfully not her face before she found the source of the cries.

It was a child. A boy around her age, with auburn colored hair dressed in green. She had no idea what his eyes were and that was because he was crying into his hands while he sat at the base of a tree, his legs pulled in.

"Are you alight?" Tyra made her way over to him, her steps slow and steady as if she was approaching a wild animal rather than another person.

She was greeted by red rimmed green eyes and a startled but frightened expression. Snot and tears decorated the boy's face, and she was startled by how familiar she found the other boy.

He sniffled again, his nose twitching. "Who are you?" there was a slight nasal quality to the boys voice, and it struck her again how familiar this boy seemed. Maybe he was one of the characters from the show? She pushed that thought away. There were more important things to figure out then why this boy seemed so familiar.

"My name is Tyra" she introduced. She was close enough now that she could see the freckles that decorated the bridge of the boy's nose.

He gave her a strange look, and caution started to appear in his eyes. Still he answered her. "I'm Hiccup"

And she felt her world come crashing down as she froze. This was Hiccup? Hiccup, the one that would end the war with the dragons. Rider of the night fury. Main character of the entire How to train your dragon series. That Hiccup?

Hiccup glanced at the girl in front of him. She looked around his age, with light blonde hair and storm grey eyes, and wore a brown and white ensemble; a white shirt with brown pants and a vest and boots made out of fur. With her coloring she looked a lot like Astrid.

The chief's son sniffled again. He didn't like this. He had no idea as to who this girl was, and he knew practically everybody in the village!

A stray breeze passed through the trees and he shivered. It was getting late and it had been a while since he had been separated from his father. Stoick had decided to take him on a fishing slash hunting trip so that they could bond more as father and son.

Hiccup had not wanted to come. Even though he was only five years old he had begun to realize the way things were in the village. He was small, much smaller than his cousin Snotlout who was only a few months older then he was and the other Viking children his age, even some of the ones that were just a year younger then he was. He bruised easily, and when devastating winter came around every year he was always bedridden and in the tender care of Gothi. And he was weak. Astrid and the twins were already lifting their parent's axes and swords, beginning their training to become warriors of the village. The chief's son had tried to follow in their footsteps, tried to lift his father's axe but only succeeded in spraining his wrist. He can still remember the mocking jeers his cousin sent at him when he learned about what happened.

He could already tell that he was going to be mocked again if - when - he gets back to the village. After all, what sort of self-respecting son of a Viking chief got lost in the woods when with his impressive father?

But Hiccup could not help it. There was only so much he could of his father's talk of the thrill that came with spilling a nadder's guts. Plus they were in the woods! Wild dragons lived here, and Gobber would tell him all about the trolls that roamed the hills for unsuspecting Viking children to bring back to their home and cook for dinner. He didn't mean to run when the tree he was by started rattling ominously and away from his father. It was just instinct after being told so many times to run and hide when dragons attacked the village.

And that brought him to where he was at, lost in the troll and dragon infested forest, no idea as to where he was supposed to head to get back home, and with a strange girl that did not know that him or that his father was Stoick the vast.

She even had a scary name, so unlike the names that he as used to hearing in the village. She was named after the god or war! Didn't she know that she needed a name like his or Fishlegs or the other member of the village so that the trolls would not come after her? A name like that was practically inviting them to come after her! And she was so little! Like him! There was no way that she would be able to defend herself.

"Hiccup huh? I've never met anyone named that before. What are you doing out here?"

Tears started to sting at the corner of his eyes but Hiccup stubbornly pushed them away. Now was not the time to cry. He desperately wished that his father was here. For all of his father's brashness and how he never listened to a word Hiccup said, his father always protected him and knew exactly what to do. It was all part of cheifing, he would tell him, and that someday Hiccup would have to do it to. Learn how to protect the members of their tribe and stop disputes. Hiccup was not sure how he was going to do it, being as little as he was, but he was sure going to try.

"Hiccup?"

That's right. He was going to be the chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe one day. He was the son of Stoick the Vast! He was going to protect the people of the village! He may be small, and not the chief yet, but that does not mean that he can't protect anybody. With a decisive nod he set a plan of action - only without the plan. He would protect this girl as obviously she did not know the importance of names. He was-

"Gahh" he shrieked when he felt something poke him in the ribs. He held his chest over his heart as he glared at the deadpan expression the girl wore, a stick still pointed at him from where she poked him. "Don't do that!"

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have to have done that if you were not ignoring me"

Immediately he felt bad. He did not mean to ignore her. Hiccup just got lost in his thoughts. He knew what it was like to be ignored, and he never wanted to be the cause of someone felling like that. It was not a pleasant feeling, being ignored. There was always a hollow feeling whenever that happened to him, deep in his chest.

"You are doing it again"

A blush bloomed on his cheeks. He really was not making a good first impression was he?

"I'm sorry" he apologized.

He could hear her sigh and his chest was beginning to ache when he realized that he had disappointed her just like he did everyone else in the village.

"You never did answer though. What are you doing out here? The only people that some out here are my father and I and sometimes Gobber whenever he brings supplies" Hiccup peeked up at her.

While insanely curious as to who she was and why his mentor was bringing supplies to her and her father Hiccup held off on the questioning. He should probably answer her question. "I was hunting with my father. We were going to bring back boar for the rest of the village to enjoy"

She offered him her hand and after a startled moment, he took it. "Boar huh, those things are pretty hard to catch. Did you manage to get any?"

Hiccup bushed the back of his pants, shivering as he felt the unpleasant sensation of something crawling on him, a souvenir from sitting on the ground for so long. "I didn't. I don't know about my dad though as we got separated" he admitted sheepishly.

"Well that's no good" the girl, Tyra looked up in the sky and Hiccup mirrored her action. His heart sank as he saw the darkened sky. It was already so late? How was he going to find his father and go back home now?

"It's getting pretty late" storm blue eyes met green. "I don't think that you will manage to get back to the village now, so if you want you can stay with me and my father for the night and we will bring you back tomorrow" she offered with a smile.

Hiccup hesitated. The offer was nice, but he did not know this girl or her father. On the other hand he did not want to stay at here all night and potentially get eaten.

"I'll go with you"

Her smile became larger and the five year old could not help but smile back. She grabbed his hand.

"Great! We just have to make a pit stop first" and she started to drag him after her, and Hiccup would have to re-evaluate his opinion of her not being strong because she was pulling him along no problem and her grip was tight. He didn't think that he could pry her fingers off if he tried.

They made it back to a berry bush and he was offered some the plump fruit when his stomach grumbled, having not eaten since that morning when his father first told him of their plans for the day. Tyra laughed at him when she heard, and Hiccup knew his face had flushed red, but strangely enough her laugh did not make him feel self-conscious, it isn't cause his stomach to drop and have the need to flee. Instead it was nice, teasing almost. Hiccup decided that he liked that feeling.

Hiccup decided that he liked her, for all her strangeness.

And for a boy as shunned and bullied as was in a Viking village that prized strength, it was perhaps the best feeling of all that he has felt in his few years of life.

The past few years had been the happiest of Mildew's life, if also not the hardest with the exception of when he was first moved onto the mountain.

His little house had been lit up with a voice not his own or the rambling "baa's" of his sheep, but instead with the sweet lilt of his child. More than once throughout these past few years the old hiccup had thanked Odin, thanked Thor, thanked any deity that he knew by name and then some that allowed his little miracle into his life.

He remembered his initial reluctance to care for her, bring her into his home and heart, but every day she proved that he was right to let her live, to care for her. Whether it was to bring a smile to his face every day - an expression that pulled at his mouth awkwardly at the beginning but had become easier with time - or her strange ideas that mostly panned out.

Before Tyra came into his life his day consisted of plowing through his field, harvesting cabbage, taking care of Fergus and cooking his dinner. Now, while he still did all of those things, he didn't do it alone. Now he had someone to talk to, to laugh and rant and scream and make merry with, and to Mildew, formally Hiccup, who never expected that he would get this in his life, it meant more than he ever wanted his daughter to know.

Well, Mildew amended, he did almost everything, Tyra had quickly taken over the cooking, little nose scrunched up one too many times after eating one of his meals. And after eating one of her meals, Mildew admitted that maybe she was on to something. Of course this was after he watched her like a hawk to make sure that she didn't burn the house down by not watching the fire, or worse hurt herself doing the deed. He had watched as she carefully gutted the fish, her first cut sloppy and her second one getting the job done before she split the fish in half, from head to fin and then wrapped each half in one of the cabbage leafs before placing it into his unused oven. What came out of it was a fish so tender his teeth did not ache with each bite, of a meaty morsel that did not carry the overwhelming stench of fish from the sea, but kept the salt of the ocean as its seasoning. In the cabbage that it was wrapped in was a broth that when sipped warmed his insides and a leaf so soft that it melted in his mouth.

Mildew had her cooking every day after that. Not that she complained all that much. And after that she was able to try a variety of different dishes, some successes, and other glaring failures. Tyra never failed to bring back something from her foraging into the forest - and that was a pit of dragon dung that took weeks for him to work through - and using it in her cooking. (He was pretty fond of her berry juice and was eagerly awaiting what that beverage that she had stewing in that air tight pot he fought tooth and nail for a few years before she was born).

Mildew looked up from where he was at in his home, the gutted fish loosely held in his hands when he heard Fergus give off his warning "baa" that signified that Tyra was back. He stood up, groaning as his back popped as he straightened from his bent over position and grabbing his walking stick as he made his way out, dragon teeth smacking and hitting the stick with each step he took. A quick glance up showed that it was nearly night, the sky in that stage between black and red as the sun set and the stars reveling themselves to lesser sight. His eyes were quickly drawn to the movement coming out of the forest.

Tyra was walking out of the woods holding a bundle of something that Mildew was positive was going to be something to eat. But it was the person that she was talking to that grabbed his attention. Auburn colored hair, green eyes the same shade as the father who sired him, freckle covered face all dressed up in green and brown already gave him a clue as to who it was. But it was the thin, stick like arms that wobbled over holding a smaller bundle then his daughter, or a wariness that was hidden behind those eyes, of the boys small stature when compared to what mildew knew was normal for the youth the boy's age in the village that really gave away the child's identity.

Now, the elder hiccup thought, what was his daughter doing with the son of their tribe's chief, and why was she bringing him here?

AN: Updates for this are going to be exceedingly slow.

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