Review Replies:
Jesusfreak (Guest): That would be telling, wouldn't it?
Quarter (Guest): While it's hard to see your favorite characters suffer, there is no drama without conflict. Besides, suffering makes the resolution sweeter. And I'm glad you like this story.
Jo (Guest): I don't know where Dagur gets all of his soldiers, but he always has lots of them around. Do keep reading, because this is not over quickly.
Chapter 7:
When Astrid opened her eyes, she was disoriented and confused, her vision blurry and entire body aching. She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as the action sent crashing waves of pain through her head. She lay still, breathing until the pain and nausea passed, then tried again more slowly, with better success.
She took stock of her surroundings: she was lying next to a round, wooden pillar in a small space crowded with barrels, boxes, and coils of rope, all of it dimly lit by a single lantern swinging from a beam above. The hold of a ship, she deduced, and then the realization struck: she was no longer in Berk, therefore she was a prisoner. Instinctively, she reached for her axe, but it was long gone.
Frowning, she felt herself gingerly for injuries. Her side was bruised and sore from her fall, but it would heal. She was more concerned for her left wrist; it was wrapped tightly and braced with something stiff and straight, and it throbbed dully. Sprained or broken, she decided. That would make escaping difficult.
She stood carefully, breathing with each movement and feeling her legs adjust to the rolling of the sea. Footsteps and muffled voices drifted down through the ceiling, and she moved cautiously, wary of making a sound. As she quietly stepped around the mast that dominated the hold, she nearly tripped on something soft, stifling a cry. Leaning down, she examined the obstacle in the dim light.
It was a booted foot, or rather a pair of them, attached to legs, a torso, and a head that she recognized.
"Eret," she whispered, kneeling to shake him gently. He groaned and his eyelids fluttered. Astrid noted the blood in his dark hair, her fingers brushing gently over a long cut just above his ear. Slowly he opened his eyes, looking up at her with a bewildered expression on his face. She put a finger to her lips.
"Don't move too much yet," she murmured. "I think we're prisoners, and you're injured."
"Wha- how- the battle? Did we win?" His brow furrowed in pained confusion.
"I don't know," she replied, "I fell off of Toothless, and I think I blacked out after that. Can you sit up?"
He nodded slowly, and she put her uninjured wrist behind his shoulder, helping him rise. He slumped forward a little, head on his chest, breathing raggedly, and she steadied him. When he was upright, she examined the wound on his head. It was long but not deep, and his skull felt firm beneath the ragged skin. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that it wasn't fractured. They sat in companionable silence then, Eret leaning his head back on a barrel, until the lantern went out and plunged them into murky half-light. There was a small porthole, little more than a hole in the wood, just under the ceiling; through it, Astrid could see a patch of dismal grey cloud and nothing else.
The rocking of the ship and muffled splash of the waves was beginning to lull her to sleep when a hatch opened above them and a Berserker stuck his head into the hold. Seeing them both sitting up, he withdrew, and within seconds Dagur himself descended to their prison, holding a lantern above his head.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" he asked lightly. "It's...Astrid, isn't it? Hiccup's woman?"
She lifted her chin defiantly. "I am his wife, and if you lay so much as a finger on me, Hiccup will make you eat it," she threatened.
He chuckled in response. "Hiccup is in no position to do any such thing," he warned, "and you are in no position to make threats."
"You have no quarrel with her," Eret spoke up. "Leave her alone."
Dagur turned to him, his face darkening. "And you...traitor. Do you have any idea what's in store for you?" He went on, his voice menacing. "There isn't a punishment painful enough for the likes of you."
"You could kill me now and save yourself some trouble," Eret muttered.
Quick as lightning, Dagur's sword was in his hand, the point at Eret's neck. He glared back up at his aggressor, tired eyes blazing with challenge. Dagur responded in kind, leering in Eret's face and inching the blade forward until a tiny spurt of blood trickled down his neck. Eret held his ground, unblinking, until Dagur seemed to think better of killing him and drew back, wiping the blood from his sword-point and sheathing it with a very nasty smile.
"Not today," he drawled, as if nothing had passed between them. "But I'll let you think about it." He turned and climbed back up the steps to the deck, glancing over his shoulder to fire a parting shot. "Sit tight, my friends. Dagur's got you safe and sound."
When he was gone, Astrid turned to her companion. "What was that all about?" she asked, concerned. "And why did he call you traitor?"
"It doesn't matter," Eret answered wearily, leaning his head back again. "It's just words; they don't mean anything."
Astrid sat next to him, puzzling it over in her mind until she did fall asleep, exhaustion finally overcoming her curiosity.
Regret is a bitter dish, Hiccup reflected sorrowfully as he walked the village, Toothless by his side. They had won the battle, saved at the last moment by a fearless and utterly reckless charge on the part of Fishlegs and his students: Dagur and his men had been forced to retreat to the boats and take to the sea, Changewings following in the air. But the celebration would be slow in coming. The cost of the battle - in men, dragons, and property - had been high, too high. Around him, the villagers worked quickly, tending the wounded, bringing food and water, fighting fires until they died to smoldering ash and embers. All spoke quietly, words of comfort, solace, and shared sorrow passing between them. Hiccup listened, trying to gauge the emotions of his people, finding sorrow, regret, bitterness, and anger to match his own. Astrid's voice was not among them.
Toothless lowed softly as they walked, attuned to the depths of human feeling, his wings raised as if to protect his rider. Hiccup stroked him gently, comforting and consoling.
"I know, bud. I know," he murmured, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation and exhaustion. He'd lost his helmet at some point during the battle, and he ran a hand through his uneven hair, sightless eyes watering against the stinging smoke that lingered in the air.
They flew to the stables together, numbed and exhausted by recent events but mindful of their responsibilities. Hiccup still felt unsure of himself, alone and in the dark - quite literally, he reflected - and suddenly reliant on hearing, touch, and smell. Toothless guided him as well as he could, communicating with his voice and body. But deep as their bond was, there were some things that could not be communicated without words. It would take time to learn, time they apparently didn't have.
Fishlegs, Gobber, and Valka were already in the stable tending the injured dragons, their voices harried as they worked. But there were others as well, Tuffnut and Snotlout arguing in raised voices, younger riders calling to each other across the wide space, and above all else, dragons lowing, yowling, trilling, growling, and shrieking until the whole space was a cacophony of sounds.
Toothless raised himself on his back legs, opening his jaws and roaring. The noise died down momentarily, humans and dragons looking up as chief and alpha strode into the arena. Hiccup, unseeing, ignored most of them, allowing Toothless to lead him to his mother and her helpers.
Valka stood, tossing her long braids behind her shoulders and wiping her hands on the canvas apron she wore. She watched as her son approached, his short hair standing up in unruly tufts, his scarred face tired and streaked with soot. She reached out her hand, touching his arm when he reached her, and he spoke, his face and voice apprehensive.
"What's the damage, Mom?" he asked.
She kept her voice even when she answered. "Torn wings, broken limbs, gashes, damaged eyes... They hit us hard, Hiccup. It will be a long time before most of these dragons recover. And there are a few who won't see dawn tomorrow."
Toothless growled, smelling blood and hurt and sickness, and Hiccup tensed. The dragon stepped away, carefully approaching a young Nadder that lay on its side, breathing shallowly, badly injured. Toothless nuzzled the Nadder's horn, earning a faint trill in response, and then moved on, approaching each dragon in turn to offer whatever form of comfort or reassurance a dragon could. He stopped on the far side of the arena and crouched before a Zippleback, one of its twin heads alert and upright, the other lying immobile on the stone, its neck wrapped in bandages and eyes closed. A Terrible Terror waddled over to sniff inquisitively at the bandage, but Toothless shooed it away with a growl and went back to sniffing the Zippleback's head.
It was Barf. Ruffnut sat next to her dragon, her face blank, not even listening as Tuffnut and Snotlout carried on the interrupted argument. Valka led Hiccup to where they stood, and he raised his voice, silencing them both mid-sentence.
"Guys, what is going on here?" he asked, his voice sharp with authority.
Snotlout spoke first. "Hey, me and Hookfang stayed in formation this time, so it is not my fault his stupid dragon got hurt, and no, we are not going out to look for that guy on our own!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tuffnut cut him off. "First of all, it's not my dragon. Secondly, I can't go on search and rescue: Barf's grounded, and if Barf's grounded, Ruffnut's grounded, and if Ruffnut's grounded, I'm grounded, and if I'm grounded-"
"Wait, what's wrong with Barf, and what is all this about search and rescue?"
Snotlout opened his mouth to respond, but Ruffnut spoke up from the ground.
"Barf's hurt," she said quietly. "A Berserker got him... And Eret's gone."
"Eret? I thought he was helping down at the docks."
"Nobody's seen him since last night," Fishlegs commented, joining the little group. "He might have been captured."
"Well then, Fishlegs, we'll organize a search party," Hiccup responded. "If he's on the island we'll find him, and if he's been captured, we'll probably hear from Dagur about it."
"Hiccup, there's something else you should know," Ruffnut said, anxiety and exhaustion uncharacteristically clouding her voice. "Astrid's gone too: the Berserkers took her."
Hiccup didn't respond; he simply stood as the world crashed down around him. There had been so many demands on him after the battle that he hadn't had time to search for her, merely trusting that she was helping somewhere in the village and would find him when she could. That was how Astrid always did things.
Gone?
He sank to the ground and ran a hand through his hair again. When he spoke, his voice rang hard as iron.
"We send off our dead, tend our wounded, rebuild what we can, and fortify ourselves against further attacks." He took a deep breath before continuing. "But I need able-bodied dragon riders with me. We're going after them, and we're not coming back until she's safe. Understood?"
"Fine," Snotlout muttered darkly, "just as long as everybody knows it wasn't my fault."
It was brighter when Astrid woke. She stood slowly and made her way to the small porthole, climbing up to look through it. The sky had cleared somewhat and she could see the sun going down, its last rays shining into the hold. They were sailing south, she realized, storing the information away to be used later. She climbed back down, nearly falling over when she tripped on a small box on the floor. It held biscuits, fish, and water; clearly Dagur was smart enough to treat his prisoners well.
She lifted the box awkwardly with one hand and carried it over to where Eret sat, still sleeping, and woke him, frowning slightly when she had to shake him more than once. He woke slowly, groaning. Astrid's eyes narrowed but she said nothing, handing him food and convincing him to eat by doing so herself.
They ate slowly, sharing the jug and conversing quietly. Astrid used a bit of water to clean Eret's cuts, escaping droplets sliding down his jaw and neck. They were neither of them in any condition to escape, but Astrid shared what she'd learned from her glance through the porthole and they speculated as to how far they were from Berk and what islands might be closest. There was no doubt in Astrid's mind as to their destination, but she had no intention of getting there.
"What changed your mind about Ruffnut?" she asked out of the blue, changing the subject.
"What do you mean?"
"Two years ago, you couldn't stand her, then for a while you ignored her; now all of a sudden, you say you're going to marry her. What brought that about?"
His eyes were dark. "I've seen animals suffer at the hands of men, but I won't see her suffer with a husband she doesn't want."
"So you'd put yourself forward as the alternative?" she asked. "Don't you think that's a bit risky?"
He shrugged. "Ruffnut doesn't ask me to be anything other than what I am, a farmer. And she respects me, I think."
Astrid wasn't sure about that, but she held her peace. "Well, if you do marry her," she cautioned, "you'd better have a thick skin, 'cause she's not one to mince around with her opinions."
"I noticed," he replied. "She made her opinion of Snotlout quite clear."
She looked up, confused. "Snotlout?"
"Yes." He seemed surprised. "I thought you knew: it's the Jorgensons who have a claim on her."
That complicated things; no wonder Hiccup had been so frustrated with the whole situation. His uncle Spitelout was a vocal and influential member of the village council and as chief, Hiccup had to avoid stepping on toes. And Spitelout had probably paid the Thorstons a very high bride price. Astrid's heart suddenly went out to both Eret and Ruffnut, pitying the impossible situation in which they found themselves.
"Your tribe has a history with Dagur and his Berserkers," Eret observed quietly, unwilling to dwell further on the previous topic.
"That's putting it mildly," she replied. "But we used to be at peace."
"What happened?"
"You heard what he said to Hiccup? He's been saying that ever since he found out we train dragons instead of killing them; he won't rest until he's turned Toothless' skull into a helmet."
Eret raised an eyebrow. "That figures," he said.
Astrid cocked her head. "What do you mean?"
"Should be obvious," he replied. "Night Furies are rare: any sane chief would avoid them, but anybody who calls himself Deranged would pursue them. They're a symbol of prowess."
"Hmm." Astrid pondered his answer; Eret's prior occupation gave him a knowledge of people and dragons that differed significantly from her own.
"So, when do we go begin planning our escape?" he asked, changing the subject.
"As soon as you can stand upright without wobbling," she replied. "You're concussed, did you know?"
"Is that why my head still hurts?" he asked with a grimace.
She nodded, and a contemplative silence fell between them, the fish and biscuits gone, the light fading as the sun went down.
A sudden knocking and flood of lantern light heralded an arrival. It was Dagur, as smug as before but with an indefinable edge, resentment or anger darkening his face. Small as he was, he filled the space, menace rolling off his presence. Astrid had to give him credit: he knew how to make an entrance, and he put that skill to good use.
"Good evening, jail-birds," he greeted. "I trust that your accomodations are adequate?"
Astrid rolled her eyes. "I've heard that one before, Dagur."
"Still feisty, are we? You should thank me, Astrid: I could have you and your... friend...bound for the duration."
Astrid noticed the pause, but ignored it. "So why don't you?"
"What would be the point? I have you here, injured, unarmed, with myself and Captain Vorg for company, and several days sailing with nothing but Berserk ships for miles around."
Several days could mean anything. She filed the information away as Dagur continued to pontificate.
"You have nowhere to go, no way to call for help, and no means of escape. Isn't that right, Eret?"
Startled, Astrid turned toward her companion. He was avoiding eye contact with both of them, his face carefully blank. He gave no answer and Astrid paused, suddenly unsure of herself. Dagur grinned wickedly, a look that would've made Astrid squirm...if she wasn't Astrid.
"So, now that we've established the way things are," Dagur continued, "let's talk about the way things are going to be. You, Astrid, are going to train my Changewings for me."
"No I won't," Astrid snapped.
"Oh, come on, it's not as if I asked you to kiss my boots or anything, although you could. No, all you have to do is train a few Changewings, and then I'll let you go back to your little island paradise."
"And what makes you think I even know how to train a Changewing?" Astrid asked. "I'm just a dragon rider; Hiccup's the one who trains all the dragons."
"Oh, if I know Hiccup, and I do," he countered, "I wouldn't be surprised if every last stupid Viking in Berk knows how to train dragons."
"I've heard that one before too, Dagur. Didn't Alvin tell you how many times he tried to get Hiccup to train dragons for him?"
"Alvin was an idiot," Dagur almost shrieked. "Don't you ever compare me to Alvin! Alvin's ideas didn't work and mine do!"
But Astrid's temper was rising too. She jumped up, fearless, and shoved her nose as close to Dagur as she could get. It wasn't hard, as they were of a similar height. "Not as well as you think, Dagur!" she yelled in his face. "Now listen, and listen good: I am not going to train dragons for you, now or ever, and you'd better start thinking about what you're gonna' do when Hiccup comes to rescue us, because I promise you, he will."
Dagur almost backed away in the face of her wrath; almost. But he'd stood down chieftains, barbarians, and pirates who vastly dwarfed him, and he wasn't about to show weakness before a captive woman.
"We'll see about that!" he snapped, then stormed out of the hold.
Astrid sat down, breathing hard, then turned to her companion. "How does he know your name?" she asked without preamble.
A flush crept up his neck, then onto his cheeks, and he avoided her gaze. She was dangerous when roused, and he knew it. "I sold dragons to a lot of people, Astrid," he said finally.
"Even Berserkers?" she questioned.
"Maybe," he replied, clearly reluctant to discuss the subject further. "Look, you should get some sleep while you can. Dagur's gonna' be pressuring you until you give in or he gives up, both of which could take a while. You need all your strength."
She didn't answer, but stared at him for a moment before moving away to make herself comfortable on a pile of folded canvas, lips pressed together. Eret was holding out on her, she knew it, but she couldn't pressure him for the answer. He'd tell her sooner or later. And he was right: Dagur would be relentless until she caved to his whim.