Usually a Viking wouldn't want to wake up on a winter morning. Usually, they would prefer to stay in bed, bundled up in their layers of quilts and fur hides and not touch any skin against the cool air that had lost its warmth hours after the hearth had burned out.

However, on this morning a young statuesque Viking could be heard merrily belting out shouts to his favorite ode as he washed his face of sleep, and it was so very odd since usually, he would prefer to be warm in bed on such a morning.

"We come from the land of the ice and snow of the midnight sun and the hot springs blow," he chanted in song and then paused, standing straight and mighty to deliver the next line with a swoop of his hand, "Amber of the Gods."

Anyone would wonder what had made this lad so chipper during a season that depressed most. There was coldness, snow, ice, but yet the Viking smiled broadly going about his lodge basement and singing while he woke up and prepared himself for the day. He wished that he smelled better as few bathed in the winter and a stale smell settled on the village during the long season.

"Hammer of the Gods will drive our ships to new land, to fight the horde, sing and cry: Valhalla I am coming!"

Why was this young man so merry? Why was he so animated at a time that most would be carefully waking to the nips of chill if not still completely submerged in their dreams?

He brushed his fingers through his messy, pointed, dark locks of hair—trying to make them to not stick out so haphazardly. He brushed any crumbs of breakfast from his goateed beard. Once seeing his reflection in that of his sword, he nodded with a satisfied smirk. He checked his pocket to make sure an important item was still safe within it. Should he leave so early? He was impatient to complete the task he had set for himself that day and so had woken earlier than usual. It was an important day for him, and he didn't want to get off-track or screw it up in anyway.

He pulled on his heavy boots and tucked the legs of his trousers into the tops to keep the snow from melting down and dampening his socks. He climbed the stairs to the main floor from the basement, wondering if he should wear his Viking helmet. It was made of polished metal which would take on the temperature of deep freeze if he wore it outside but he thought it made him look cool—especially with the black ram horns protruding from the sides.

While he was deciding whether to sacrifice comfort for awesomeness, there was an unexpected knock on the front door. His parents weren't awake yet so he shrugged and decided to answer it, curious as to who would be paying a visit on a crisp winter morning.

He flung the door open and saw exactly who he wanted to see, noting that he must have had conjuring powers of some sort. Thank you, Odin. She stood, slightly shivering while backlit by the rising dawn—but still drenched in the dark of a winter morning.

"Are you going to let me in? It's freezing."

"Well, I guess so," he smiled and raised his eyebrows playfully. She was not amused but that didn't daunt him any. "You got something on your cheek."

He licked his thumb and tried wiping at what seemed to be a spot of ash or soot off her face but she dodged him and rubbed at it herself.

She briskly passed him, the hair of her yak cloak brushing his arm as she did so. She waited for him in the main room. Her eyes darted around nervously but he knew those would be her jitters starting in. Her parents must have told her already, and in her excitement could contain herself no more than he.

"I have something to tell you," she let out a breath and said urgently at the exact time he told her the same words.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, "You go first," he offered generously.

"No, you go first," she waved her hand, knowing he was impatient to tell her of something—and she obviously wanted to hear it since she asked him to go first.

He took a breath, and shook out his hands. She regarded him curiously, seeming as impatient as he. He told himself there was no need to be impatient; they had their whole lives ahead of them.

"Astrid," he let her name out in a breath and then held out his arms to her, "We're gonna get married!"

Instead of joy—which was what he had anticipated from her—panic immediately twisted into her expression. Her pale blue eyes were wide, seeming displeased and in shock.

"I should have gone first," she held her hands to her face and looked away, trying to collect her thoughts.

"What's wrong babe, aren't you happy? It's us! We're gonna be together, live in a cozy lodge, fight enemies together, eventually have us some sons to be proud of, you know?"

Her hands lowered partially and her eyes were staring to the side at him as if he were mad. She must have been overwhelmed, which didn't surprise him for it was big news. Astrid was always the type of girl that didn't like to be tied down or surprised so suddenly. She always tried to be in control. How could she be surprised though? She knew it would happen eventually.

She shook her head, "Sit down."

"What, so you can kiss me and accept?"

She shook her head again, and when he didn't sit down she pushed slightly on his chest so he got the hint. He sat.

She took a seat across from him with a deep frown and seemed at a loss for words. Perhaps they were just coming slow. He hadn't had much experience with future brides before but figured all their words would take some time to say.

"We've been friends a long time, 'Lout—"

"Tell me about it, it seems like yesterday you and I were wrestling in the mud to see who was the strongest. I won of course but you gave it your best shot."

"—so you can understand when I say that I cannot be your wife."

"You've always been the best, and I've always been the best and that's why we should be tog—" he stopped, feeling he had missed something. "Wait, what? Run that by me again?"

She bit her lip as her eyes tried to apologize but he already knew the truth before she had to repeat anything.

"I cannot marry you."

He stared at her for a moment trying to discern if she was jesting but her face was serious as stone as she stared back at him.

"But—but—I got your Dad's permission last night!"

"Still, you don't have mine," she stated coldly.

"Well then excuuuuse me for assuming all those months of courtship qualified as your consent. What's your deal Ast? You're acting weird."

She shook her head, and just repeated those infuriating words, refusing him, "I cannot marry you."

He slammed his fist against the side of the chair, unintentionally loosening the wood that made up its structure. This was not what he wanted to hear. He stood quickly and forced her up as well by the shoulders, leaning close to her "Why can't you marry me?"

He had always gotten what he desired, and if not he had always fought for it. It didn't make a lick of sense to him why she would have let him court her for so long if this wasn't what she wanted. He was handsome, strong, and overall a prime example of a male warrior—what on Earth, Hel, or Valhalla couldn't she love about him? Why was he not good enough for her? He glared at her, his joy of that morning all but dissipated in his chest. He let go of her shoulders still angrily bewildered at what she was saying, how she was denying him. He thought of himself to be her perfect mate—but her eyes told him otherwise.

"I'm sorry but I've changed my mind," she looked him in the eye, and then sincerely added, "I'm so sorry."

Reflecting on their courtship, he remembered that her actions spoke louder than her eyes. Whenever they went out together she would hardly let him get near enough to touch her, and she only ever kissed him goodnight by standing on her tip-toes and pecking the spot on his chin right below his lips as he had grown to tower over her. He had only gotten to kiss her fully once, but that was a rare time when she had been drinking ale and just unleashed one on him from nowhere. She didn't cuddle, or hold his hand—and he thought that was just how she was and it would change once they were united.

Astrid stood before him, holding her shoulders as if she was cold but it was more to comfort herself. Why? He was the one who needed comfort, after all he had just been denied a bride that he thought would surely be his. They had gone on so many dates together—but the quantity was what he had focused on and not the quality. Now realizing this he had to wonder why did she lead him on? How could she have?

"Sit down," she said, once again. There was a waver in her voice.

"Stop telling me what to do!" he shouted, causing her to step back with a startled stare. Great, now he was losing his head—but he was just so angry and confused by her.

She straightened herself out before stepping forward with determination and reaching up to hold the sides of his face within her hands. She stared at him in the eyes, with a genuine sadness—sympathy at their predicament.

"If you're not going to sit then listen," she requested.

He managed to nod weakly.

"I'm not in love with you 'Lout, and I cannot be joined with someone I don't have those feelings for. You have always been a dear friend and that is why I let you court me, and I thank you for doing so but I'm sorry—I've realized that I will never feel for you more than that of friendship."

She let her hands drop and he caught them, wrapping his fingers around hers—relishing the soft texture of her skin, of which he hardly ever was allowed to touch and now, was never going to get the chance to again.

"Please, can we just try once more?" he requested softly, brushing the side of her face tenderly.

She sighed and pulled away, "I'm afraid not." Then she gathered composure before throwing a farewell embrace around him, her arms nearly not long enough to wrap around his muscled back the whole way, "I'll see you around, 'Lout."

He wanted to grab her and hug her tightly, and not let her leave—what he wanted had been close enough to touch his finger tips to but it was yanked away like a dream lingering on the eyelids of waking. He inhaled deeply into her hair and noticed she smelled like embers and sweat, which caused him to see that she was wearing the same clothes he had last seen her in the evening before, and also how disheveled her hair was, long and loose about her shoulders. He wasn't the best at logical thinking but logic dictated that she had not returned home last night—explaining her appearance and her legitimate surprise at his news. He had waited for her to return a little while after obtaining her dad's approval to marry her, but then figured he would just tell her in the morning.

She let him go and turned to leave but his grip stayed firm on her upper arm, "Where were you last night?" He wondered in a low, possessive tone. His fingers tightened around her arm, but he would never have ever hurt her. He just wanted to know to be sure—a suspicious feeling had dawned on him at her noticing her appearance.

She finally did face him, eyes hard and repeated with a finalizing tone, "I will see you around."

She exited through the front door without looking back. He was at a loss, and fell into a chair pulling that special thing out of his pocket—a silver ring that he had intended to give to her. He ran it across his fingers and then let it drop onto the floor. It rolled on its side across the wood and then fell with a metallic 'clink' right at the front door she had gone through moments before.

He was still sitting in the same place when his father had woken and noticed his son staring at nothing in particular in the front room.

"Son! Snotlout!" Spitelout called until Snotlout was shaken out of his reverie.

"What?"

"Weren't you going over to Astrid's this morning?"

Snotlout stared at his father, trying to comprehend how long ago the early morning seemed. It seemed like days. Astrid had broken up with him only a few hours ago but the sting of a fresh wound was still felt.

Spitelout raised his eyebrows in urging, "To propose?"

His father's words were like salt in that wound—but his father had to be pardoned because did not yet know of his son's misfortune. Snotlout had joyfully told his father the night before that Astrid's father had given him the permission he needed to pursue the lass to the next level. They had celebrated over cups of wine because it was such a monumental occasion.

"Uh, yeah," Snotlout nodded absently and picked himself up, and tying his scarf on. He wasn't going to Astrid's but felt as if though the cold would bring him out of his dwelling misery. He squatted down and picked up the ring intended for her before pushing outside. He was momentarily amazed that the winter could go from a day of solid icy, wind to a sunny day that reflected off the snow banks with a near-blinding white.

He blinked rapidly to clear the glare of sun away. The morning had melted from an ice block to a rare, sunlit day, which had brought many citizens out of their homes and into the slight caress of warmth. He looked around at the joy of those people and felt as bitter as the wind from the day before.

He spotted his cousin Hiccup, leaning on a battleaxe as he locked up the blacksmith's stall. He hadn't seen Hiccup in awhile but something was peculiar about him—the overwhelming happiness that seemed to radiate off the lad. Hiccup had seemed broody all year, but Snotlout figured it was because Stoick had forbid his son from attending the spring battle raid. Hiccup couldn't move as well as he used to due to his leg, and so decided to retire before the end of the final training. You had to pass training to join battle though—those were the rules.

Things weren't all bad for his cousin though, he was regarded as the village sweetheart for what he had done three years ago, and Snotlout had to agree he was a hero of sorts. Although Snotlout was never recognized for helping out in fighting the Green Death—he had risked his life atop that monster, and had even bravely dared to beat it in it's many eyes. He thought perhaps a little more credit was due to him. Yes, things weren't so bad for Hiccup, especially something on this day as evident by the leaner Viking's smiling expression.

Snotlout sniffled away the cold on his nose and marched forward toward his cousin curiously—about three-quarters the way there he froze in his tracks. Hiccup was happy, he was whistling, he was grinning, and that battleaxe he was leaning on for support wasn't just any old weapon—it was Astrid's. He knew by the twisted rope she wrapped the long handle in, so what in Hel was he doing with it? He had seen Astrid with it last night, so the only way Hiccup could possess it now was…

A dark, angry feeling rose within him, remembering his suspicions from earlier. The smell of embers, the ash on her face, her mussed hair all made startling sense. He knew Hiccup had always carried feelings for his girl—but thought Hiccup would never act on them, ever. Snotlout could have accepted that Astrid didn't love him, but the fact that she loved Hiccup over him was unfathomable. That scrawny, freckled whelp that still lacked the upper-body strength to throw a bola or wield a broadsword was good enough for her and he was not?

He continued forth in a dangerous fury, Hiccup looked up and his eyes widened in startlement at his broad cousin's swift approach. He immediately brought a hand to his neck and tried acting casual—which was not casual at all.

"Hey—ey 'Lout," he swallowed nervously, which proved he had knowingly committed treachery. As far as Snotlout was concerned Hiccup had stolen what was rightfully his. Snotlout didn't say anything, just gave an infuriated scowl before grabbing Hiccup by the front of his vest and then punching him across the face. Hiccup would have fallen, but 'Lout kept a hard grip on the vest and repeated the blow to the other side as he held Hiccup up.

"I'm sorry!"

He noticed a dark mark on Hiccup's neck that the lad had initially tried hiding. Knowing what it was, and who gave it to him only fueled Snotlout's anger further and greater. His fist met Hiccup's gut and knocked the breath out of the boy but still didn't keep Hiccup from gasping, "I'm sorry! Snotlout—I'm sorry!"

"You always ruin everything!" Snotlout bellowed, finally letting Hiccup fall after another blow to the jaw. Hiccup didn't have the heart to even fight; he just sadly stared up at Snotlout while his eye began to bruise and a spot of blood fell from his lip and tainted the purity of the white snow beneath them.

Hiccup shook his head, "I'm sorry."

"Is that all you can say? You're sorry?" Snotlout shouted, grabbed him up roughly and shook him, "I was going to marry her. She was supposed to be mine!"

He shoved him hard back into the ground, and then threw the silver ring at Hiccup violently since he had no reason to possess it any longer. Hiccup shielded himself with his hands but then stared at the ring that had landed in the snow and shined in the sunlight. He took a few shaky breaths, "I'm sorry she doesn't love you but you can't blame me for it."

"Why not? You were alone with her the whole night."

Hiccup suddenly frowned, "She's in love with me, Snotlout and I'm sure it has less to do with her spending the night and more to do with fact I never considered her a possession that I had rights to."

If Hiccup thought he had gotten away at a clever backhanded insult that devalued the quality of Snotlout's love, he was gravely mistaken. Snotlout shouted with anger and made a move to strike the lad a hard one but everything was a sudden blur as he was knocked backward after hearing an air piercing noise. He felt snow start to melt through his layers while on the flat of his back, and opened his eyes gingerly to face two bright green-yellow eyes that were slivered threateningly.

Of course the only dragon left in Berk had to be the one that protected Hiccup. It wasn't because Hiccup was the only way and means for that dragon to fly, it was also so because they shared a bond that was so close they were nearly part of each other. The Night Fury made sure no harm came to the young Viking, even willing to set foot into the winter to aid him—because a blow to Hiccup was like taking a hit at the dragon itself.

"Get off of me, Toothless," Snotlout scowled at the Night Fury. Apparently the fire beast didn't understand or care what treacherous betrayal his human had committed, only that Snotlout had tried to hurt him. Toothless replied by with a deep growl that vibrated through Snotlout's body. People had been gathering around to see their commotion and his anger calmed slightly, realizing this incident wouldn't be looked upon in his favor.

Hiccup was the golden Viking, cherished for his wit and fast thinking and who had saved the entire village which had cost him a limb at a young age when Vikings shouldn't even have to worry about such things. Snotlout had everything, and causing Berk's sweetheart to bleed was a bad social decision on his part—something he did not think of until now because he was so blinded by rage. Still, he was angry—angry at the unfairness of it all.

"Hey, thanks a lot bud, but you can go back where it is warm. Let Snotlout go," Hiccup had pulled himself up and patted the black scales of his dragon's shoulder. Toothless regarded him and did as was suggested. With a last growl of warning, his talons lifted off of Snotlout's shoulders and then the Viking was free. The night fury leapt through the snow banks back to his warm shelter. Snotlout stood abruptly and Hiccup grimaced while taking a step away to be safe but not without staggering a little off balance and falling back into the deep snow.

He turned to see a good portion of village staring at them, all his friends, and the shopkeepers that had heard the clamor. They were shocked he had done such a thing, especially to Hiccup. His eyes landed on Astrid in the crowd, finally noticing her and he sighed with the whole of his body wishing to Odin she hadn't seen him in such a state. Astrid stepped forward with a cold expression and he looked at the ground.

"I did this," she said, "This is my fault, I should have told you the other reason I couldn't marry you."

"That you're in love with him?" Snotlout pointed accusingly behind him, not even wanting to lay eyes on his cousin.

"I didn't think you would go all Thor on him, I didn't even think you would find out so quickly. I didn't tell you to spare your pride, Odin knows how proud you are—but a fat lot it did." She reached down and picked up her fallen battleaxe and stared at the two men in the snow. Her decision had been made, and now everyone knew it—they knew that she had chosen Hiccup over Snotlout and it was utterly embarrassing for him. They knew he had lost his temper and had beaten on Hiccup out of a raging jealousy. Snotlout could never recall a day worse than this. Odin, he hated the winter.

Astrid came closer and lifted herself on her tip toes, bringing his head down so she could whisper in his ear and not have the whole village hear, "This is no one's fault—not mine, not yours, and not his—sometimes life happens, but 'Lout, you have to let me go."

It was even more salt in the wound but as she withdrew herself to go pick up Hiccup from the snow he realized this was just as hard for her as it was for him and was reminded of a fable they were told as children.

There was a boy with a butterfly and he loved it. Though the butterfly yearned to return to the wild, the boy couldn't bear for it to leave him. So he sought out the advice of a wise woman and she told him 'If you love something, let it free. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn't, it never was.'

Looking at Astrid, he knew she was the butterfly and he was letting her go—although he also knew that she was never his, he had just convinced himself otherwise to the point it was a lie so he didn't have to face the truth. She never loved him, never could love him in the way she loved Hiccup. He swallowed his pride and leaned over to offer his hand to help Hiccup out of the snow. Hiccup was apprehensive but accepted it nonetheless.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Snotlout grumbled, knowing it was true.

Hiccup only nodded, accepting of it, forgiving his cousin. Hiccup was a good man, kind of a twerp but still a good man who could love and provide for Astrid just as well as he.

The people scattered, back to their business or inside to warmer places. Tuffnut, who had been one standing in the crowd emerged and patted his friend on the shoulder before they made their way to the tavern for some early drinking after such a volatile morning.

They entered the smoky structure and the few Vikings there had not seen the display outside, they were busy chanting the last line of the ode that 'Lout had been reciting that morning, which profoundly described what he should be soon doing to remedy his actions.

'So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins, for peace and trust can win the day despite all your losing.'

The long winter haul had revealed much about them all. It was the last season—that calm point just before adulthood when they had to figure out who they were. In this season of slow movement, tedium, and cold, they had learned a great deal about themselves and each other and maybe that was how winters in Berk were supposed to be spent, after all.

A/N: Well, that's the end of this series. This was all a look into those character's lives during one week in their winter season, and what they learned, and how they changed or grew up just a little because the season was calm enough to take time to notice. Thanks for reading, thanks to all those who reviewed- it was such a delight to hear from you all! And to those who have yet not stumbled upon this story, I'm always open to more thoughts about it though it is finished, so always feel free to contact me :)

P.S- If you hadn't realized, I blatantly lifted the 'ode' in this chapter from Led Zeppelin's 'Immigrant Song'. This is me giving it credit. You could see someone like Snotlout rocking out to Zeppelin for sure :D