These are a bit longer, but I didn't want to post them as their own chapters either here or in "Compendium."

"Run."

She shook her head stubbornly. Stubbornness was all she had now, when fear was sliding slick through her veins and his voice behind her was reedy, his breathing labored. Her fingers tightened on her bow.

"Please," he said, and she imagined—desperately prayed—that she could almost hear a familiar exasperation in his tone. There was no trace of it as he said, "You have to warn the others."

"No." How was her voice so steady when the tip of her nocked arrow trembled?

He cursed under his breath and then let out a too-long hiss. She fought the urge to turn; they could be found at any moment. She'd a strong desire to make their attackers into pincushions. "Eyes on the target," she reminded them both in a voice barely a whisper.

"You have to—"

"I'm not leaving you." She was cracking inside, coming to pieces. He coughed, the sound sudden and wet and somehow deafening in her ears, and she struggled to breathe through a throat shrunk too small.

"Merida." When she turned he was smiling. Ashen, blood-soaked, and smiling. Tears streaked down her cheeks; he wiped them away, and she couldn't miss the way his fingers shook against her cheek. "Go, please. You don't need to protect me." He glanced down at the hand clutched over his midsection, and his smile turned rueful. "Not for long, anyway."

All she could do was shake her head, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "I won't," she whispered. "I won't."

He blinked, his eyes opening again so slowly that she felt her heart freeze, and sighed. "Always so pig-headed," he muttered. "If you won't go, then sit. Make yourself comfortable."

So she settled beside him, close enough that he could coil her hair around his finger, close enough to feel his chest shudder with every breath. And she told him all the ways he'd made her happy, and all the things she loved about him, and the next time he said he name she kissed him and felt his smile beneath her lips.

She didn't think he'd blame her for what she did when their attackers finally arrived.

A bit of Renaissance faire AU

Toothless had climbed atop a stack of hay bales and lay just above Angus' eye level. The Clydesdale didn't seem to object to having visitors in the lean-to, where it was cooler and quieter and better-smelling than their tent was; so Hiccup pushed his hair back from his forehead and propped his elbows on the rail and relaxed for a moment.

That is, until a greeting brought him out of his slouch. "Good day, um, lady," he returned awkwardly. "Or should it be princess?"

She waved all titles away. "Merida is fine, really. Though, for the record, my dad's King Fergus of DunBroch, and Mum's Her Majesty Elinor, Queen of Everything." Her eyes rolled as only a teenage daughter's can. "But you're lucky. Since you're a Viking, no one expects you to be polite." Her tone was wistful, and maybe a little envious. He watched as she checked the water level in the trough and then gave Angus a scratch.

"Care to defect?" he offered.

She snorted. "That doesn't sound like your style. I thought you were more into enlarging your ranks through raiding. Y'know, carrying off gold and sheep and foreign women." Over her shoulder she looked him up and down, smiling slyly.

"We're more civilized than you give us credit for. That is," he added, thinking of last night's belching contest, "historically speaking."

She joined him at the rail and leaned against it as he'd been doing before her arrival. A quiver bumped at her hip, the arrows in it tied together loosely. He, too, bent at the waist and rested his weight on his crossed arms. From here they could see people on their way to and from the bathrooms, though guests weren't likely to see them. As he watched a pigtailed girl about their age passed by; she was liberally sprinkled with glitter, wearing a fluttery, gauzy dress, and had a pair of children's costume wings attached to her back. Beside him Merida sighed.

He stole a glance at her, then looked back at the girl and said, "I don't recall hearing anything about fairies when we studied the Renaissance in school."

"You wouldn't. You lot have elves up there, not fairies. Entirely different species," she explained, as if he really ought to know better. Her fingers twitched around her arrows. "Think I could shoot the wings off from here?"

He'd seen her archery demonstration; he had no doubt. "Could you? Sure. Should you?" He paused, then waggled a hand side to side. "Eh…"

That earned him a smirk. His own lips twitched in accord, and they lapsed again into silence, listening to the faire: vendors hawking their goods, cheers and laughter from a crowd, children shrieking in glee, the thumping rhythm of a drum accompanying someone's singing.

Then, above it all, he heard his name, once at a normal shout and then in a bellow of "HICCUP!" Had that much time passed? "Duty calls," he said, ducking under the rail.

Her eyes were wide, her rosy lips parted in amazement. "Duty?" she echoed. "Sounds more like a bear."

He shrugged. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"

When their eyes met he felt a jolt, hot and low and marrow-deep; but he also saw that she understood, and that warmed him in a completely different way. He smiled, slowly, and then pursed his lips and whistled. Merida's quizzical expression at the noise turned to startlement as Toothless bounded from his perch onto Angus' back, making the horse shy, and then to the dirt at Merida's feet. The two exchanged a look before Toothless joined his grinning master.

She looked at him, speculative. "Until we meet again, milady," Hiccup said with a bow; then he turned and jogged off, Toothless at his side and her eyes on him.

Everywhere they walked villagers hailed him with fond greetings that he answered in kind. More than a few younger girls giggled as they called, eyes raking sharply over her and lingering rather warmly on him. A mad impulse urged her to step closer to him, to show those girls that, for the moment at least, she had what they wanted, and she nearly obeyed. But from further away it was easier to admire the line of his jaw and the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, his quick grins and quicker wit, his glance gentle when it lit on her.

Though Stoick did his best to appear interested in the queen's garden, so unlike anything on Berk, his son was having a harder time; no flowers could hold his attention while the princess walked alongside him. Next to her he felt gangly and graceless, envious of her loose-limbed ease and despairing of the way she seemed unaffected by his presence, contrary to her effect on him. Or so he thought, until a wild swing of her arm caused their hands to brush each other. As a shock coursed through his body she stumbled, face scarlet, and he let hope rise.

Her dad's singing cut him off midsentence, and he looked so boyishly lost and confused at the interruption that she laughed quietly. His expression changed as he watched her chuckle, something just short of a smile on his lips. Then, with a squeak and a scrape unnoticed above the din, he pushed his chair closer to hers and picked up where he'd left off; his voice was low enough that she had to lean in to hear, though she found herself distracted by the mesmerizing progress of his fingertip tracing whorls on the tabletop, movement and murmur making her shiver.

Gobber had demanded they share a drink, but he couldn't seem to keep his attention on anything the smith said; it kept wandering away across the hall, to where her head was thrown back in a laugh, curls dancing, cheeks rosy with firelight and drink. He was lost in the sight until she looked straight at him and he felt it like a blow to his gut, knocking the wind from him. Her face dropped to the mug cupped in her hands; then her eyes flicked up, meeting his again, and she bit her lower lip against a shy smile.

His fingers, light against the soft skin of the underside of her wrist, made her pulse fly. She couldn't bear the waiting anymore, the unanswered expectation, and nearly wrested her arm free and snapped at him; but the look on his face, the admiration and desperation and determination there, stopped her short. A gentle tug brought her closer, finally close enough to feel the steady, dizzying warmth of him. Her breath caught in her throat, and eyes that had widened now shut slowly, and she sighed against his lips, and twisted her hand in his to twine their fingers together.