Mother of Dragons

It was clear to Astrid that a great civilization had once been here.

Of course, what counted as a "great civilization" could vary, but from the civilizations she'd known, she didn't have any compunction against looping this in with them. A great civilization had existed to the south, centuries before her time, their empire covering the known world before it collapsed. A great civilization existed to the east, it was said, which was said to be the oldest in the world. To the southeast was a realm that was called the crossroads of civilization, where East and West met. And legends too spoke of great civilizations even further south, past desert and jungle, covering savanna as far as the eye could see. Things she had not seen herself, any more than she had the likes of other "great civilizations," but what her eyes beheld now…she knew she was in the ruins of a great civilization.

She also had an ever growing suspicion she was no longer on her own world. One morn, she had passed through the mists north of Berk, and come the time of night, the stars in the sky were completely different. The moon had changed from full to crescent. In her boat, she had looked around in fear. She had prayed to Thor for salvation, and cursed Loki in his deception. She had, much to her shame, even wept, for fear of never returning to the ones she'd left behind. Husband, son, and daughter. Only with the rising of the sun did salvation present itself – a patch of mist upon the sea, unnatural in its presence given the warmth of this place (clearly summer, and warmer than any summer she could recall). Her first instinct had been to take her boat through the mist, return home, and tell a tale of her deeds, with enough elaboration to make it exciting. Her second instinct however, had been to linger. For opposite the mists was an island, where ruins stretched towards a cloudless sky. Warm was the sun, and drenched in sweat was her skin, as she'd brought her boat to the shore, discarded her bear-skin cloak, and begun climbing the rocks and cliffs. How could she return home to her family with the story of how she'd seen an island, with ruins greater than even the largest great hall, and not at least taken a look?

Still, she reflected, as she walked ever upwards, climbing and jumping when necessary, it wasn't as if "taking a look" was easy. The mists were rising, cutting of her sight of sun, sky, and stone. Perhaps she should go back – she'd gone high enough already, and she doubted she'd have the time to ascertain what had caused the people here to meet their end. Because whatever it was, it must have been dramatic – from this high up, overlooking the island, she could see giant fissures, where structures had tumbled in. Black rock had made its way through other structures, the white being subsumed by the black to the point that it was grey. By her reckoning, it must have been a volcanic eruption, but at a scale she could scarce comprehend. Standing there, on one of the outcroppings, wishing she'd taken her cloak with her because it was getting damn cold, she began to wonder if-

By Hel, what is that?

She stopped wondering if she should go back to her boat. Because there, in the sky, high and far, was a shape she had not seen in ten years. A shape that made her heart race with joy, before slowing in fear. For there, in the mists, was the unmistakable sign of a dragon. And to her, as one who had fought dragons, as one who had ridden dragons, as one who had told stories to her children of the times that dragons called the world home…how could she see one of their kind again and feel only one emotion? How could she not will herself to stay in place, while gripping the hilt of her axe? How could she not stare in fear and wonder, as its fire tore through the mists, giving her a quick view of its black scales, instilling within her a black dread.

I should go.

She'd known a black dragon once. That dragon was even less than a child compared to that one, from what she'd seen.

I should go.

She reminded herself that this wasn't her world. That years' worth of friendship with Stormfly, and all of her kind, would amount to nothing here.

I should really go.

If she pursued this dragon, chances were she'd never see her family again. Just seeing this creature would be enough to round out her story. She'd spent over fifteen years preparing to fight dragons, there'd never been a clause that retreat was never an option.

I should really, really, really…

With a groan, she headed upward and onward, to where she'd seen the dragon last.

Hours of hiking later, hours of wondering if this had been a terrible mistake, hours of everything from prayers to curses, Astrid reached the top of the island. Or at least, as far as the people here had climbed.

The word "pantheon" came to mind – a word from Greek sailors who had once visited the lands of Berk, talking of their civilization, and the one that had conquered it. She could tell that this place once had a roof, but it was gone, along with the walls. All that was left were marble columns, and silent figures of stone spaced around them. For a moment, Astrid glanced at them – time had taken its toll, but she could make out the basics. Men and women, all of them tall and stern. Proud even. But even if it just be a whisper from her heart, Astrid felt a chill in their presence. Proud, yes. Stern, yes. But in their eyes, eroded by time, she could feel something else. Cruelty. The cruelty that came from pride built on the backs of others. Stern, as one might hold the whip. It was but a shadow and a thought, but it was enough to give her a sense of dread as she walked through the ruins of these forgotten people. As she walked under the shadow of great lords and ladies, and to the end of this pantheon, to a stone table at the end of the marble, built on an outcrop that overlooked the sea. As wide as an arena, if not as tall. But not an arena, Astrid reflected. More of a graveyard.

There was a body on the table after all. And it was the one that caused her to pass by the statues of those long dead to the body of the one more recently dead. One that Astrid stood over and stared at.

Who are you? She wondered. And what brought you here?

The woman was clad in black, the only ornamentation being a silver chain with a dragon head. Looking at the hole in the cloak, as well as the red stain around it, Astrid could tell that she'd been stabbed – right through the heart by the looks of it. The body itself was showing no signs of decomposition, so she could assume it was recent death, but then, in this place, in this world, she couldn't assume anything. Gingerly, she took off one of her gloves and put it on the woman's forehead.

Still warm. She put her glove back on and looked over the woman's body. She seemed peaceful in death, but then, what ruler didn't? Who hadn't looked peaceful before being set out to sea in a burning boat?

She didn't have time to answer the question, as a roar shattered the heavens, as well as her soul.

No.

There, in the sky. Black wings, carrying a black dragon. One that was coming down to land near her.

No. No no no no!

She had to get out of here. She had to run. It took her a full second for her body to catch up with her mind, and a second after that to start running. Back to the pantheon, past the statues of great lords and ladies who were but ants compared to the terror in the sky. The terror that let out a roar, as it came descending from above, like a valkyrie of myth.

No. A dragon.

Dragons were real. A dragon was here now. A dragon slammed into the ground, shattering pillar and statue, and causing Astrid to stumble back, falling down upon the cold stone. Causing her to stare at the creature.

Oh gods…

It was huge. So gigantic that her mind could scarce describe it. She'd only ever seen one dragon larger than this creature, and that tyrant was long dead. This one, with scales of coal and eyes of fire, lacked its size, but not its dread. For there was a difference in this dragon from the ones she had known, Astrid reflected. It looked different. It moved different. And above all, in its eyes, she saw nothing. No humanity. Yet animal it was not. It was, she realized, completely, utterly, alien.

It was also opening its mouth, and behind its fangs, she could see a fire growing.

Oh Sif preserve me.

Astrid scrambled up and began to run back. She had to dive to the ground a few moments later as a stream of fire cut through the air. Sweat drenched the back of her neck as she crawled away. Getting to her feet again, not so far away from the body of the dead woman, she clenched her axe and watched as the monster steadily made its way to her. For some reason, it wasn't breathing fire, but looking at its claws, its teeth, its wings, Astrid knew it had a dozen ways to kill her, all of which would be very painful. And all of which would make any close-up attack useless.

With a yell, she threw her axe at its forehead. The dragon didn't flinch as it hit its head with a thunk, nor did it glance at the weapon as it hit the ground with a clang. All its attention was focused on the human who stumbled back, trembling. The one who drew a knife from her belt, intended for gutting fish. However, the dragon kept advancing, and Astrid, trembling, kept retreating. Right to the point where she turned and ran, looking for any way down from the outcrop.

None were forthcoming. There was no easy way down, no apparent way to even climb, so smooth was the cliff face. Turning, trembling, she looked back at the dragon advancing upon her, and for the first time in forever, felt terror.

Terror was not fear. She'd felt fear more times than she could count. Even after the dragons of Berk entered the Hidden World, she had felt fear. Fear for herself. Her husband. Her children. Fear was natural, fear she had known since before she could walk, but terror was crippling. Terror, from the knowledge that she had absolutely no way to save herself. She was going to die here, by fire or fang. No saga would be made in her name. Her family would know not where she fell. Trembling, shaking, feeling a tear mix with her sweat, she extended an arm and looked away as the dragon cornered her – on one side the dragon, on the other the dead woman. Fire and darkness, she awaited them with all the dignity she could muster.

Neither of them came. Darkness, fire, fang, they never reached her. And slowly, as slow as Jörmungandr ate its tail, she opened her eyes, looking up into those of the dragon. The creature, looming over her, looking down at her with intent she could not fathom.

"Well?" Astrid whispered. "What are you waiting for?"

The dragon remained silent. Its eyes darted to Astrid, to something else, to back again.

"What are you waiting for?!" She drew out her knife and pointed it at the creature. "Must I try to draw blood before you shed mine?"

The dragon was still silent.

"What are you…" Astrid trailed off. Still as slow as an age of the world, she looked back to the woman on the table. Peaceful in death, if not in life. "Are you…" Astrid looked at the dragon, whose eyes were narrowing. "Are you protecting her?"

The dragon made no movement. No sound. No sign. Smiling grimly, Astrid took a few steps back so that the woman's body was between the two creatures still living.

"I wonder," Astrid murmured. She brought her knife down towards the corpse's neck. "If I did-"

The dragon roared and fire extended from its mouth. It didn't hit Astrid (even if its heat did, which caused her to shield herself from it as best she could), but she realized that it wasn't aimed for her. When the fire and fury ceased, she returned her eyes to the dragon.

"You love her, don't you?" Astrid whispered. She looked down at the corpse. "You bring her to the isle of the dead, so that no living may sully her memory." She looked up at the dragon. "Was she your rider?"

The dragon gave no hint it understood her words. But Astrid didn't expect it to. But as she sheathed her blade, there was a glint in the dragon's eyes that it understood that.

"I've ridden dragons," she whispered. She slowly extended a hand out to the dragon's scales. "None as magnificent as you…"

Astrid trembled as she reached outward, and trembled all the more as her hand finally touched the dragon's scales. She glanced at the dragon's right eye, nearly closed.

"None with your grief…"

She could feel something, in this creature. Emotions human, yet not. She glanced back at the body on the table.

"You brought her here," she whispered. She looked back at the dragon. "Your rider, your mother…you brought her here."

The dragon let out a snort.

"And now…" Taking a breath, Astrid leant her body against the dragon's cheek, feeling ice and fire both behind its scales. Fire, from its power. Ice, from the grief of loss, and knowledge that its time had passed. Both sung their song, and the song reached her heart. She, who had ridden dragons. She, who had raised children. She, called the Mother of Dragons, for it was she, alongside Hiccup, that had ushered in the new world for her people. When she withdrew, when she met the dragon's eyes, her terror was gone. Her fear was gone. All that was left was the two of them. The mother and the son, one forever separated from family, the other only temporarily so.

"So, what now?" Astrid whispered.

The dragon made no sound.

"I know a place," Astrid said. "I think you'd fit in." She smiled. "Maybe a bit bigger than everything else, but still…I think you'd enjoy the company of the living more than the dead."

The dragon made no sound, but in its eyes, Astrid saw understanding. It was why, when she went to retrieve her axe, that she felt no fear that it would take her life. The axe was useless, and gone was the intent of using it. As she turned however, her heart sank – the dragon's nose was against the body of its mother. She walked over as she watched it nudge it. The body shifted, but no life returned. No opened eye, no beating heart. Just a body – one of many in this place.

"She's not coming back," Astrid said. She walked up to the dragon, who through its left eye, met both of Astrid's. "We're not like you. We're…fragile." She glanced at the woman who lay on the stone table. "We're all…so fragile."

Thoughts and memories raced through her mind, of blade and fang tearing through flesh, and fire taking bone. She'd seen death throughout her life, and knew she would see it again before her life's end. The talons of Hela were long, and they were embedded in every corner of the world, even if the peoples of the world called her by different names. She watched as the dragon gave the woman one last nudge before giving a snort and a moan.

"We should go," Astrid said, as the dragon turned its body to face her. "I have a boat, but it'll take awhile to climb down and…what are you doing?"

The dragon was kneeling down, its head as close to the ground as possible. It didn't take long for Astrid to understand what it intended, and only slightly longer to speak.

"You wish me to ride you?"

The dragon made no sound, no movement. It just knelt before her.

"Been awhile since I…" Astrid took a breath, then grabbed one of the spikes that jutted out of the dragon's head. "Like riding a horse," she murmured, as she climbed on top. "No different. No different at all…"

She climbed on top of its neck and let out a yelp as it took off, revealing her words as the lies they were.

"Okay, easy easy," Astrid said.

The dragon gave no sign it understood. And as Astrid took its scales, as she tried to guide it as she'd once guided Stormfly, she wasn't completely sure that she was guiding the dragon back down to the mist, or if it already knew where to go. But since the destination was the same either way, she supposed it didn't matter.

She was Astrid, Chieftess of Berk. She was the Mother of Dragons. And be this the last dragon of this world or no, she would find it a new home. Out of the eyes of Men, if not their minds.

As they flew, the mists closed around Old Valyria.

No fire now to keep them at bay.

No child left to mourn the Mother of Dragons.