The sun rose slowly above a scene that it had risen over many times before, though not so often as of late. An ax slammed into a wooden training dummy with perfect accuracy, lodging deeply in the wood where it struck. Astrid smiled grimly.
All was not well, but here at least was one thing that was unerringly positive. Not only had she mastered the new spin this ax tended to fall into, she was throwing with the strength she remembered having prior to her debilitating trip to the nest and subsequent journey home.
Not in her injured arm, though. It was a good thing Toothless had latched onto her left arm, not her right; she was right-handed, and her left arm still quivered whenever she put too much weight on it. She had to assume that time and exercise would fix that too, but at least it was already her non-dominant side.
"Astrid, are you out there?"
"Yes, right here!" Astrid understood why her father hadn't so much as opened the back door to look; it was bone-chillingly cold outside, and he probably wasn't dressed to withstand the weather yet. He would have to go out and help load the ships soon, but not this early in the morning.
"Come inside!"
"Just a second," she responded, jogging over to the training dummy and retrieving her ax, being sure to twist it in the 'wound' in the process. That wasn't strictly necessary, but she was annoyed. Usually, Sighvat gave a reason when he told her to do things, but lately it seemed he had forgotten that courtesy. Once might be excused, but twice was a new pattern forming.
Still, unless she wanted to openly defy him and suffer the consequences, all she could do was grit her teeth, bare it, and wonder what he wanted.
Upon entering the hut, she immediately noticed that both Helga and Asa were seated around the fire. Helga seemed relaxed, but Asa had a look Astrid recognized. She wanted something and intended to get it.
"We were just talking to Helga about the Windy Isle, and I know you wanted to learn more about it," Sighvat explained, giving her a significant look and an almost comically obvious raised eyebrow.
"Yes, I did," she agreed, playing along. It was true anyway, at least in a sense. The more she knew, the better she could plan, and she needed all the help she could get with that.
"Well, it's windy," Helga began. "We have huge tracts of fields and not much in the way of trees, so the wind doesn't stop for much, either."
"Where do you get your wood, if you do not have many trees?" Asa asked curiously.
"There's an island only two days from us that is nothing but untamed forests, so we're fine on that front. Some wild dragons, but that's more of an aid than anything. Young men go out there looking for glory and almost always come back with plenty more wood, if nothing else."
"What kinds of dragons?" Astrid asked, absently sitting on the floor close to the fire to warm herself. She had not thought dragons lived anywhere but the nest, but Helga spoke as if they occupied that island continuously.
"Oh, nothing interesting," Helga quickly clarified. "Just a few Terrors and a Timberjack or two. Nothing like what you have here."
"I'd be more than surprised if you did have anything like this," Sighvat said with a smile. "What is the village like?"
"Flat and simple," Helga said neutrally. "We raise sheep and yak, fish, and make do with what we have. Fortune has been kind to us for the last few years… For the most part."
"Yes, we heard you'd been raided in our stead recently," Asa jumped in, filling the silence. "I trust you all gave as good as you got?"
"Always. The ballistae are a huge help," Helga said enthusiastically. "We always bring the livestock to shelter in the same place, and the ballistae are all aimed at the sky above them. We're sure to kill a few every raid, no matter what happens, and dead livestock brought down in a dragon's clutches can still be eaten, so we lose less too."
Astrid didn't say anything in response to that, but she thought she could see the underlying logic that filled in the parts Helga didn't notice. Of course, the dragons would avoid an island that always killed some of them and got some of the taken prey back from the bodies, and was further away from the nest too. Windy Isle wasn't raided as regularly because it wasn't as good a target.
That, of course, led her to thinking about Berk, and for the most part ignoring the unimportant questions her mother and father were asking, and Helga answering. If all it took was having a reputation for always killing some of the raiders, why was Berk so consistently targeted?
Her first thought was that Berk did consistently kill dragons, but far less consistently got anything back from the raiders, so there was more prey taken anyway. Her second guess would be that since Berkians killed dragons more personally, face to face and often ax to face, the dragons kept coming back partially in hopes of getting vengeance. It would be hard to be mad at a random ballistae if one didn't know enough to know that there was a person operating it.
Then a third, more complicated theory came to mind. Toothless had led raids before encountering Hiccup; everyone knew the Night Fury struck from a distance, was never seen, and never missed. He was also, well, a Night Fury. Maybe raids usually centered on Berk because they didn't have anything capable of shooting back at him. If that was so, it would make sense that they hadn't come back since that raid months ago.
Of course, that was all conjecture, and she knew she'd never get a real answer. Hand signals were well and good, and she thought Toothless understood her very well, but what they had wasn't anywhere close to comprehensive enough for her to ask and get a meaningful, complete answer.
But if it was Toothless who had focused the dragons on her home…
Maybe it was better there was no way to know for sure. His days of raiding were over, so it was not a current issue, and as long as she couldn't be sure, there was no reason to blame seven generations of raiding on him, or however many he had been alive for. She didn't want to hate him for that, so even if it was his fault, she'd probably blame the monstrosity forcing the raids to happen in the first place, anyway.
"Astrid, are you still with us?"
Astrid looked up at her mother. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. Could you repeat that?" She could have tried to come up with an excuse for not hearing, but her family didn't really do excuses for things like that, so just admitting her lack of attention was both easier and less likely to get her in trouble.
"Don't be rude to our guest," Asa said firmly. "Helga was just talking about the younger people on Windy Isle, and I would think you would be interested."
"Yes, interested," Astrid agreed, not really putting much effort into making herself sound enthusiastic. "What about them?"
"I was just saying there is a tribal tradition the young men practice," Helga said hesitantly, perhaps catching on that there was more not being said between Astrid and Asa. "In order to be considered eligible for marriage in the tribe, they have to go out and kill a dragon either on another island or in a raid. It's a point of pride for them to come back with the biggest dragon head they can manage. Just this last raid, a boy named Speedifist brought back a Nadder head bigger than his torso."
Astrid nodded politely, wondering whether Helga was at all considering who she was telling about her tribe's dragon-killing practices. Sure, there was no way to know how Astrid felt about dragons other than hers, but even the most foolhardy of Vikings might think twice about possibly antagonizing her while staying in the same hut.
"How does marriage work past that?" Asa inquired thoughtfully. "That raid was recent. Does he have a wife lined up yet?"
"As far as I know, no, though he does have a girlfriend," Helga said doubtfully. "I think. I pay attention to the children so I know who Vanna is playing with and who their siblings are, but beyond that I don't know much."
"Well, it sounds to me like he is spoken for, even if it is not official yet," Astrid suggested, hoping that her parents would get the hint. Having a husband at all was bad enough; they had better not even try to get her roped in with a boy who had his heart set on someone else already. She didn't want anyone, but if they tried, it had better not be that one.
"It really depends on what his parents want," Helga replied, "but yes, probably. It may just be the Chief holding back on officially recognizing the union for one reason or another."
"Your Chief has a say in that?" Astrid asked, genuinely curious now. The way Berk did it, unless the union was off-island or between someone in line for the throne, Stoick had little to no say. The most he could do if he disapproved of a marriage was not bless it, and that would be a grave insult to both families.
"Chief Thunderguts has a very hands-on approach," Helga explained. "He has a hand in everything, from marriage to innovation and blacksmithing. He likes to do things differently if they're more effective that way."
Astrid noticed the way Helga was nervously rubbing her hands together; she didn't think her parents did, but she couldn't help it after so much time spent training herself to recognize gestures with Toothless. This one didn't mean anything specific, of course, but she was pretty sure something was making Helga nervous, or at least wary.
"Different ways like your island's ballistae?" Sighvat asked.
"Like those. My husband was one of his advisors, and he always told me Thunderguts liked any idea that would help the tribe…" She shrugged her shoulders. "I think he would be happy to have something like what your daughter does, if it was possible, but I suppose that is a carefully guarded secret. He always looks for every advantage."
"It's a secret from me, too," Astrid reminded Helga, sure she had said as much the day before. "Hiccup knew what he did, but he was the only one who knew." She was going to have to avoid Thunderguts from now on; he could easily put her in a bad spot by pressuring her for answers she genuinely didn't have. Most Vikings didn't like being told no, and he had a lot of power.
"So, I remember you saying," Helga agreed. "We've spoken much of my home, but what of yours? What does your island pride itself on? I take it this thing with a tame dragon is new."
"We're at the forefront of raids and take most of the attacks," Sighvat said proudly, rising from the table. "Though I suppose we'll need a new specialty once this trip is over. Who knows what the future will bring?"
"I do," Asa said, standing with him. "A lot of loading ships and cursing, if I remember the last nest hunt. Astrid, your help will be needed."
"On it," Astrid sighed, standing and heading for the door. Something was bothering her about Helga, something unimportant and small, but she wasn't going to figure it out now. Maybe if she spent some time lifting boxes it would come to her.
Astrid found something unexpected in the next few hours, rolling barrels, lifting crates, and pushing carts, pitching in around the docks and the fleet frantically loading up and preparing.
"Thanks lass," one of the men in charge of coordinating it all said as she rolled a barrel of salted Herring up the gangplank. "There're three more like tha' one on the far side o' the village. Go get 'em."
It wasn't until she was already jogging through the crowded streets that she thought about that. He had sent her to bring heavy barrels of fish and saltwater through the entire village, and he had sent her alone. Because no Viking ever admitted weakness, the ones in charge were supposed to send enough men to handle the job, thus preventing failure via overconfidence or refusal to admit weakness.
Of course, he had no way of knowing she wouldn't really care anymore, and would ask for help, but that was kind of the point. He didn't know, and he had sent her alone anyway, meaning some random Viking she barely knew in passing thought she could handle it.
Three barrels weren't a small task; she would have to grab a cart and push it all the way back, mostly downhill, which was harder because if it got away from her she would cause a lot of trouble. He trusted her to be able to handle it.
That, in turn, got her thinking about it. She could handle it, if how she felt was any indication. She wasn't weak.
She wasn't weak. She stopped in the middle of the street and pulled back the wrappings on her good arm, taking a long, close look at the wiry, firm muscles there. There were a few small marks across her otherwise pale and unblemished skin, small cuts and scrapes, already scabbing over, from the last few days from running in the forest with Toothless. From her daily routine, the extensive workout she had gotten down to habit so thoroughly as to not think about it. From rebuilding her strength. From all the hours spent accustoming herself to her new ax and its unique weight.
She broke into a run once more, covering her arm back up as she went, a smile across her face. Sometime in the last few weeks, she had recovered. It had been a gradual thing, but if today's work was any indication, she was almost done. She was back to the shape she had been in before, aside from her bad arm.
And in some ways, she thought to herself as she dodged around the many obstructions moving in the opposite direction to her, she was better than before. She was faster, for sure, and better at moving stealthily, thanks to hunting with Toothless. One did not often hunt with a Night Fury without being shamed into developing adequate skill at moving unheard. She thought her reflexes might be better now too, though that was not something she could really prove. Tiny, almost insignificant changes, but changes nonetheless.
She turned a corner and saw what looked to be a moving wall approaching her, and slowed to a walk once more. It was actually four women carrying a log as long as the street was wide, walking side by side without a care in the world. They weren't blocking much; everyone was moving at the same speed, and almost nobody was trying to go the other way. There were a few teens walking behind the log too, acting busy while not helping at all, something she might have corrected in the past. Now, she didn't really care. Someone else would catch them, and she had no authority to set them straight.
The fact remained that she didn't want to try passing them, not with them carrying the log at a very inconvenient height and going down a hill. If she tried to jump it and failed, the recovered body she was currently feeling so proud of would have another pointless injury to cope with, and right before the trip to what would be the fight of her life. Jumping the log was something one of the twins would have done back before they split up, stupid and pointlessly risky, almost begging bad fortune to strike.
There were more paths to where she was going than just this one, so she wasn't too bothered, simply slipping into a narrow corridor between buildings and considering her revised route. There were not so many easy paths up to the other side of the village, and she could really only go one way, currently close to the cliffs…
A thought struck her, and she looked around. Of course, she didn't recognize the alley, it was one of scores throughout the village, and not at all interesting on its own, a quiet corridor of wood, like a hallway without a roof. But if she was right about where she was…
A quick walk down to the suspiciously open end of the alleyway gave her an answer to her unspoken question. This was one of the huts on the edge of one of Berk's many cliffs. The alley terminated in a steep, rocky slope that promised to break one's neck if one tried to climb it, and then a narrow beach far below. In event of an invasion by sea by another tribe, this ledge would be stocked with logs, ready to be dropped on the shore below at the right moment. She could see the ships being readied at the docks, and if she squinted, she could make out a tiny thread of blue on one of the decks, the place she had staked out the day before.
This was a nice view. Not as nice as seeing it all from Toothless's back would be, but she had not seen the docks like that yet, and until then this was the best way to get a dragon's-eye view.
Well, a bird's-eye view. They didn't really use dragons in their sayings unless it was with the connotation of evil or otherwise bad qualities. Hungry as a dragon was out, but greedy as a dragon was not, for instance. Such oddly specific ways of doing things. It was almost laughable, how eager Vikings, or at least the Vikings of Berk, were to distance themselves from their mortal foes, like they were eager to prove they didn't admire their enemies in the slightest. No insignias involving dragons unless said dragons were dying, no sayings unless they were negative, and so on.
She laughed to herself, looking out at the fleet. They were going to have to rethink that eventually, if only because it looked ridiculous once one thought about it. Almost like an entire tribe of Snotlouts posturing and trying to convince everyone, including himself.
Snotlout. Wasn't there something she was supposed to be doing in regards to him?
Getting Ruffnut to follow her.
Not going into empty areas.
Not being alone, outside where anyone could find her.
Listening to Tuffnut's warning.
She had not been thinking of danger here, despite the very real danger Snotlout presented. She had not been paying attention to her surroundings, wrapped up in her own thoughts. Those teens behind the log had not looked familiar, but they had all seen her, and they had all been of a certain age, from the Windy Isle tribe.
She had been careless, and she knew that her luck had finally run out. This was one mistake too many. Snotlout would be looking for her, knowing as well as she did that this was the last day he had on Berk with his cronies. He would be ignoring the consequences of his actions, for many different reasons. They might all die in a week, he was heir, he was in the better position to be believed if it came down to words.
He was angry, frustrated, and out of control. She had let his cronies see her, and then gone into a dead end and lingered there.
She began to turn, hoping that she was wrong, or that she could at least leave the dead end before she could be trapped. But the corner of her eye caught several presences darkening the previously light mouth of the alley, and she knew she was right. Her luck had run out.
Hit first, ask questions later. Tuffnut had advised that, and she was willing to go as far as necessary to get out of this dead end. But while that was the way of the Viking, it might not be the best way. Another had occurred to her.
She drew her ax, looking back out at the docks as if unaware of their presence. Then she put her helmet on, flipping the facemask down. Peripheral vision would be useless here anyway; to her sides were only wooden walls. No attack would come from the sides. She valued head protection more than seeing irrelevant things.
She turned, seeing them directly. Snotlout, and four burly young men from the Windy Isle tribe. Tuffnut wasn't there. Maybe he had gotten unlucky in his timing, or maybe Snotlout didn't want any witnesses from his own tribe. The latter was more likely, now that she thought about it. The Windy Isle teens would be out of Stoick's jurisdiction, and unlikely to be charged by their own Chief without proof from their own tribe.
In short, she was on her own. No witnesses who would be listened to, against the most influential teen on the island, with her own tattered reputation to boot.
She smiled coldly, entirely unamused. They would not see it under the facemask anyway. "One chance. Turn around and leave. I will not hold this against you if you do. Now." The other answer was to bluff, to try and scare them. Vikings weren't supposed to be afraid of anything, but she thought she knew a few cracks in that façade, now. Cracks that she could strike at before it all really came to blows.
One of the teens faltered, his neutral expression dropping into something a little less confident.
Snotlout flicked his sword in that teen's direction without even looking. "Don't even think about it."
"Think about it," Astrid countered, flipping her ax in her hand, meeting the teen's eyes. "I know your face, now. I know all of your faces. There will be no hiding in a crowd, and I might even follow you home. I don't need a dragon to travel, and I don't need a dragon to kill. He just makes things easier." Much easier. She was ignoring Tuffnut's advice, because intimidation was a weapon in and of itself, one she could not use once things got violent. If she could tip the odds even a little more away from Snotlout's side, she would without hesitation.
"As if you would-" Snotlout sneered.
She cut him off by taking a step forward. "Kill? Stab someone in their sleep, or just in broad daylight, or maybe make it last a little longer than that?" She could be as vicious as she wanted with these threats, because nobody involved except her would want to reveal them and by association the context. "I've left customs behind before, and my reputation is already ashes. Give me a reason, and I'll drop everything else, too. You won't even be able to catch me afterward." She pointed her ax at Snotlout. "But I don't have a reason yet. The offer goes for you too. Leave now, and I'll do my best to forget this moment."
"Your stupid dragon isn't here now," Snotlout gritted. "And I still think you're full of hot air." He was too far gone to listen to reason, or even self-preservation. Or maybe he just didn't think she could follow through.
"Anyone else? Last chance." She moved her ax to point at each in turn, slowly threatening each personally. The teen who had faltered before was last to be threatened. He broke, turning and running before anyone could stop him.
One less to fight. Now it was four on one.
She nodded. "One of you wants to live. No other takers?" Her heart was cold. She did not plan to kill them here, but if they succeeded in what they intended...
She was not really bluffing if it came to that. She would hunt them down, one by one, no matter how long it took. That was not honor, or reputation, or duty, that was justice and revenge, plain and simple. If the law would not punish them out of lack of evidence or will, she would, and she would make it permanent in order to stop them from doing it again to someone else in the future. She was uniquely positioned to do so and survive, meaning she could get them all in time.
They had to know this. That it was feasible, if not whether or not she was willing to do it. But only one had chosen the smart way out. The rest hefted their weapons and began to advance behind Snotlout, blocking the only way out.
Two swords, a mace, and a pair of short knives. Her armor would not entirely protect her. Gobber's warning made that clear. She was cornered and outnumbered.
That made her dangerous. She spared one more moment for planning. The swords were the worst danger at range, but the knives would be bad close up. Snotlout was leading the attack with a sword, and the rest were behind him. Knives to the left, sword to the right, and mace in the center.
They didn't want her dead. They just wanted her defeated, ideally restrained or knocked unconscious. She was going to have to be wary of the mace wielder; he likely had orders to aim exclusively for the latter.
Those were the win conditions. Snotlout won if he could disarm and pin her, or have her knocked out. She won if she was the last one standing, or if she could somehow get past them and out into the open.
Her anger simmered below the surface, and pushed her towards the former option. They attacked, so they would pay the price. But her practicality pushed for her to hit a weak point and get out before they had a chance to get at her.
Weak point. Which one was the weakest? Snotlout and the mace wielder were out, because the latter was behind the former. No quick strikes would take both out before anyone else could react. The sword wielder, on the other hand, could be easily overwhelmed close up, while the knife wielder was the opposite, assuming he did not know how to throw his weapons. She knew how and could respond in kind or strike preemptively, but that was a strike with the intent of killing the target, and throwing her weapon away besides.
And then she was out of time for planning. She had to break through, or break them all. Either would work.
She charged them, her ax ready to strike and if need be to kill. No holds barred here. She could not afford to hold back.
First came Snotlout, with a slash aimed at her ax. She sidestepped and lashed out with her free hand, scoring a hit on his face. She continued forward, having chosen to take on the one with the sword.
He seemed less inclined to aim for disarming and swung at her head as she neared. She rolled forward and sprang up, ramming her head into his midsection, ideally knocking the wind out of him. It was a move she hadn't practiced in weeks, and she almost messed it up, but didn't actually falter.
He did not fall, which was her first miscalculation. He screamed out, shoving her away. She was not ready for such a nonsensical reaction, having been prepared for an attempted downward stab, and stumbled back, quickly regaining her feet.
The one she had rammed was bleeding, two narrow punctures dripping red from his stomach. The horns. She had forgotten about the metal horns on her helmet. There was no time to regret that, and she had little inclination to anyway. She sprung at the injured teen again, swinging her ax sideways, blunt side first.
A mace blocked her from her intended knockout blow even as the teen brought up his sword and gritted his teeth. Snotlout was behind her, reaching for her. She could not see him, but she could feel the flow of the fight, and she knew him.
No hesitation. She jabbed back with the butt of her ax before slamming her other elbow back, both connecting with sickening crunches. She did not even have the time to turn around and see the damage, thrusting her ax up to block another swipe from the mace-
And in a split-second reaction, to cut at the hand reaching past the mace wielder in an attempt to stab her. Blood coated the edge of her ax as the elongated tips of the weapon cut the top of his hand, a glancing blow. It was enough to make him drop the knife and fall back.
Two down for the moment. She kicked the sword wielder between the legs and quickly pulled her foot back to slam it down at an angle onto the knee of the mace wielder as he swung at her, forcing him down in a strangled scream of agony. A backhand to the throat put him out of commission for the moment, and an ax handle to the forehead did the same for the one who had been using a sword.
Those two were down for good. She spun just in time to block a straight stab from Snotlout, one that would have gone through her back if it had been aimed well enough to slip between the leather of her armor. His eyes were wild and his nose crooked, bleeding heavily.
She could not entirely focus on him. The knife wielder was to her side, probably preparing to strike again. She feinted a slash to the side, and when Snotlout moved to block it, slammed forward, using her clenched fist to disrupt his vision, jabbing at an eye.
He swung his sword around in a weak arc, cutting at the leather of her armguard, and she took the opportunity to attack his other eye, hitting it in turn. Then she jabbed at his throat, and he collapsed like a felled tree.
No time. She spun to face the last teen, who was-
No longer attacking, clutching desperately at his heavily bleeding hand. He was too worried about bleeding out to be an issue, more focused on tearing his own tunic for a makeshift bandage.
She did not strike him, not wanting to doom him to death by bleeding out while unconscious. The others were too lightly injured to be in that kind of danger.
Except for Snotlout, who was rasping on the ground, temporarily blinded, bloodied, and having trouble breathing. He managed a show of stubbornness by swinging his sword in her direction, missing by several feet.
Then he jabbed forward from his sitting position, catching her off-guard, and stabbing right into her chestpiece, the tip of his sword digging into her armor but not piercing it.
She reacted instinctively, pushing forward a little to pin the sword hand and then swinging at the sword's middle, her ax snapping the rigid blade in half, and following up by slamming the same ax's hilt on Snotlout's forehead, sending him down for the count.
It was over; her heart sounded as if it was in her ears, thumping rapidly and drowning everything else out. Her body quivered with restrained urgency, pain and sudden stress. All was still, except for the one teen still frantically tending his hand. She turned to glare at him, knowing he was the only one still conscious.
Should she say something? Well, he had failed to actually do anything worse than attack her, and she had not a single cut or bruise to show for this entire thing...
"Next time I treat you like I treated him," she threatened, pointing to Snotlout. "Make sure nobody dies here, because I won't be helping them." She had no desire to tend to the people who had assisted Snotlout in his vile ambitions.
She left them in that unimportant side corridor, bruised, bleeding, and broken. Some small part of her was inwardly celebrating.
She may not be the same woman who was kidnapped by Hiccup and Toothless, but she was still a warrior, and she was still capable of defending herself. It had been enough, if only barely.
Author's Note: As I was writing this confrontation, the outcome changed twice. I cannot tell you (yet) what the first two outcomes were, because that would mean I have to tell you exactly how they differed from what happened, and by extension a few things that have yet to come. But for those who guessed Toothless would intervene, I should say that such a thing was never in the cards for this fight for a variety of reasons, not the least of which that he now lives on the far end of the island, and thus would be unlikely to be anywhere close enough to hear a call for help.
