RAGNAROK IS COMING

— One Misstep Your Mine —

Her back ached to lean against the tree with an alarmingly light tankard clutched in hand. She shuffled a little, to the right, and – there, better. Astrid had left that little space a while ago, the clearing and statue now blurred from memory. Frode was… nice. But nice meant she might end up liking him and to escape this island, a feat that seemed less and less probable as the night wore on, the last thing she needed was to like her captures.

She had been watching the guards that lined the edge of the hedges. Though they dressed simply, with no shoulder pads or metal to cover their limbs, each one was heavily armed. The sliver of a blade between their waist or peek of an arrow's tip under a shirt - they were hidden - but not well.

Twenty behind her, where the entrance back into the mansion was left open but unreachable through the belt of guards. Not an option; unless she could slip through unnoticed, which might have been accomplishable if she was not wearing this ridiculous dress. Beyond the fountain, in fact, standing just behind, stood another statue-straight twenty of them. They, however, were not concealing any weapons. It was nothing she had seen before.

How strange, she had thought, how they stood, unmoving. No stark colours to stain their cheeks to strike fear or intimidate. Then there were those ridiculous weapons, small hilt, barely long enough for two hands and a blade that stretched all the way to the floor. How could anyone fight in battle with such an absurd thing? An axe was a weapon enough, none of the shiny, delicateness as if it was designed to be artwork rather than an object to protect oneself with. But they were undeniably sharp and so bounding over the hedges to whatever fate would leave her wasn't an option either.

Then again, if she did make it past the guards what then? Swim to whatever shore might be even less hospitable than the one she was on? And not having a notion how to actually swim wasn't going to get her anywhere either. So, Astrid settled for drowning her frustration in whatever alcohol was on offer.

If she was honest, everything was blurry and if someone was to ask, she wouldn't be able to recall her name. Her head spun so painfully she could feel the earth beneath rocking, her mind drifting in and out like the tide. Though her vision wavered, there was one thing she could see with utmost clarity.

It had been easy to find him amongst the sweep of men and women. Easy to see but impossible to get to. Guards monitored her every breath, Peaton, personally, watched when she blinked and chastised her with the slap of a wrist when she picked up her fifth tankard. But who wasn't preening at her, was watching him with a hand on blade or pike. Not to attack, but to defend.

She had debated how hard it might be to steal one of those finely polished weapons that reflected the glowing candles caged inboxes. How difficult the challenge might be to thrust her elbow into a guard's nose and snatch the axe at his side before he could catch a breath. To weave her way past the man on her left so she could gain ground and whip the flat of the blade into the upcoming stomach. She would have to slide then, under the swipe of another guard and flip herself back onto her feet in time to dodge and parry an attack from her left. It would leave her right open to Peaton, who would waste no time in cutting her down but she would see him coming and flop to the ground again in time to dodge both blades. She would have to run then because people would start to scream and it wouldn't be long before a barricade of men would block her path.

She would fit in with the crowd and mould into a panicked courtesan until it led her right to him.

Astrid would relish every second of her swing, of the heavy blade, carving the air and taking her right to Drago's chest. Momentum and strength would let the blade find a home in his massive chest where blood would awake from the gash and leave until Drago's eyes would begin to settle. His mangled face would go slack and pale, lifeless and dead as he deserved. She wouldn't be able to hear the screams of panic, only her own thundering heart soaring in vengeance.

But she had no strength, she could barely stand and not because of the ale. She couldn't dodge, swipe, slash or run. She was a walking skeleton. So, instead, Astrid sighed through her nose and threw back the last mouthful of ale. She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and began her fictitious attack from the top.

"If you plan on murdering someone, you should know, I'm a great cook and you would be annihilating an unmatchable talent."

Astrid rolled her head to look at the man that spoke. He had a kind face, all-round features and a cute bubble nose. His jaw, however, was cut sharp and accentuated dark brown eyes.

"But, I suppose my Lamb Mutton Stew could do with some improvements, or so I've been told." His lips pulled back to reveal shining perfect teeth.

He wasn't dressed in Drago's black, gold and white tunic but instead wore a long, rich purple velvet cloak that fell to his ankles. The shirt beneath was a dazzling white she didn't know was possible to wear. It reminded her of Berk's snow-capped mountains in the dead middle of winter when the air could snap your fingers and the cold froze all chance of warmth. Its V dipped lower than her own and broadcasted a sculpted chest.

Astrid averted herself to those huge, brown eyes. "Don't worry, I have someone else in mind." Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. Drunk and slurry, yes, but there was no doubt he could hear the scratch of a parched throat that all the water in the Archipelago couldn't soothe. For a second, he looked her up and down. She followed those doe eyes that flickered from the ribs at her side to the bones of her collarbone, then, up to her blazing eyes.

"Good, because the Chick wrapped Eel are delightful and I wouldn't want you to ruin a perfectly preposterous party." He held out a wonderfully full tankard to her. As she took it, her fingers brushed against something hard and metal, a ring. An heirloom ring.

"Royalty, are we? I thought all the kingdoms ruled outside the Archipelago." She raised an eyebrow at him before chugging back half the entire beaker.

He glanced down and twirled the amethyst jewel, a strange turn on his lips. "Royalty is a fine word for it, but I prefer Charles." He said, holding out that hand. She stared at him, wondering what on Thor's Hammer he wanted her to do with it. He chuckled, dropped it and leaned on the trunk beside her.

"I've come far and wide for fine ladies and this thing you barbarians call ale," he said, smiling.

She huffed, "No you haven't."

His head dipped as he snorted. "I have a feeling," he said elbowing her lightly, "that you don't particularly care for all of this." he waved a hand at the chattering crowd.

She flipped on a darling smile. "Go away."

He scrunched his nose at her, "I have a better idea." Before she could object, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the nearest table. Smiling, he ducked below the table cloth and sat under. Astrid crossed her arms at him.

"Don't be such a shrew, get in here." she bit her lip but followed in after him, taking up space his hand patted for her. As the cloth dropped back down and encased them in the soft darkness, everything became quieter. Her headache eased and the burning behind her eyes vanished.

"Come here." Charles reached over and pulled her head down, she let him lean her onto his lap.

Astrid looked up and smiled at him, "how am I supposed to drink lying down?"

He winked and flicked her nose. "So what do I call you?"

They talked for a while, he told her about his home and siblings. How different kingdoms were then the savagery of Vikings. He told her about his herd of sisters and the constant headaches to be the only son in a family of twelve. She'd mocked and laughed at him when he had mentioned how marriage was "consummated" as he put it.

When Charles had asked about her own family, for once she felt no shame or embarrassment to say how poor she was. She told him about her mother's forgetfulness of her children's presence, how she was willing to let Astrid's brothers starve out of her depression. How Astrid had been nine when she'd taught herself to haunt and then trade in the market for things like candles to keep them warm. And when that candle whittled out they had huddled together in the corner of a hay bed to keep death from taking them in the night. He hadn't looked at her with pity but a quiet pride.

It was strange, how easy it was to laugh and joke with him. It might have been the liquor but she knew Charles as she knew herself, he didn't care that she was paraded to be nothing but a whore or that she was, in fact, one of the Vikings that he talked of like they were savages. He didn't seem to want anything from her and Astrid was selfish enough that she didn't care what he did want, only that he made her forget. He made her forget the hell hole she was in, the mess she was and the village of people she lost. With him, to not laugh was as hard as to not breathe.

When they had finished talking, Charles declared they 'resume previous occupations'. He had lifted the lip of the cloth and stared blankly until his other hand went out and grabbed the ankle of a woman. She had shrieked as if the God of Thunder himself had appeared in front of her, but kicked away the hand of the prince and walked on when he asked her to pass him whatever alcohol was in the current vicinity. Apparently, she'd thought them peasants tagging along because minutes later, black, knee-length boots, peaked at them from outside their cosy den.

Astrid pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her giggling but instead, ended up making the sound of some wounded animal. Charles' face lit up wickedly and he reached over and tried to cover her mouth himself but that seemed to make her cackle even more.

A hand reached down, gripped the edge of the cloth and swung.

A second later, Peaton's dark eyes stared viciously at her, gleaming like an animal in the forest and for a moment the giggle faded from her throat. Her smile flattened but something else arose. A memory, a dream? Piercing green - no, red eyes, no more than two pinpoint dots between a fledging of trees. A gasp, snap and scream, her mother's face.

"What do you think you are doing?" Peaton's gritted voice snapped her back to the present.

Beneath the shade of his hair, his sun-kissed skin glistened as if he had been running, sweating. A hand reached out before Astrid could react and dragged her out harshly; she'd have hit her head had she not ducked just in time. The lack of fabric on her knees let stone blades rake down her skin and the pain pulled her slightly from that blissful blur she'd fallen into.

Peaton yanked her up and she had time to stand before something was rammed down her throat. Some sort of ghastly liquid, that tasted awfully similar to when Astrid attempted to make Yaknog, forced itself down her throat. She coughed and spluttered, eyeing Peaton through tears that welled up her vision.

Charles had scrambled out from the table and stood, dusting moss and sandstones from his hair.

He saw Astrid and frowned at Peaton. "Might I question which squire let their gentry snatch women from the company of another man, a prince?" He said distastefully, running an acidic gaze down the guard.

Peaton's face changed slightly from anger to something like embarrassment, his cheeks bloomed a pale pink. Astrid wanted to punch him in the ribs. Whatever in Hela he gave her made all that drinking for not and instead of that delightful stupor Astrid had sunken to, now her head felt as clear as day.

"I apologise," Peaton bowed, slightly, he seemed honestly sorry. "But Drago has laid claim on Miss Astrid. He saved her from rotting cells to bestow kindness and mercy upon her countenance if only she complied with his intentions."

Astrid scoffed. "Saved, kindness, mercy." She muttered under her breath. "And tell, what intentions exactly are those? Purely pure of course."

Charles glanced between the two. "Well, being a guest I have no desire to pry in matters that fall not under my name. But, I, being crowned King of West Umbria, ask for Lord Drago's fair maiden as the only company, no more." Astrid's heart stuttered a tad at the mention of 'King'.

"Should you feel I become attached, I give your master full permission to handle the matter with me, if not, my father, who sits right there." Charles pointed at a large table, full of men dressed similar to himself with dark robes that spelt fortune. Peaton seemed to visibly shrink and Astrid smiled.

"Of course, your highness." Peaton backed away, taking one last glance at her before stalking off in, what could only be described, as a huff.

Astrid whipped her head to Charles. "King? Should I be expected to bow?"

The corner of his lips tuckered. "Honestly I am most displeased you have not done so already." Astrid poked his arm, which actually hurt her finger more than it did his rather hard bicep.

"Such eloquent speech you use."

"Oh," he hissed through his teeth. "Eloquent, that's a big word; for you. Are you sure you know what it means?"

Charles barely had time to duck before she threw her shoe at him.

...oOo…

"Sit for a tale,

A'warned I preached, to no avail

Pits of fire to fall,

and then unto thee, I did drawl.

She was curs'd and split

but alas! Done was I, none to quit.

Parched years, men tend.

Commanded, loved, without need for bend.

But, then.

A love wasted to a beast. How tragic, men

who loved

who hath been betrayed.

He did,

Plummet,

pummel and

Perish.

And yet! Her Hells like fire

A vow he made, to a cunning kingdom and angered wife. And she will come, for him, one would suppose,

Till then he walks on a shattered heart of glass

When he calls, the end? Perhaps."

Avrid sang the lullaby in the rolling tongue that created the Ode. He had always found the melody calming and yet bittersweet, like the breeze before a storm. He sang it now to the wind that snatched up his words and found comfort in its foreignness. Toothless sailed steadily above the sheen of clouds, the heavy thump of his heart like a different lullaby for Avrid.

The moon had risen, hidden but peeking behind a transparent cloud. It was smaller in this realm, diluted like everything was. The essence that seemed to trickle from every breath, thump and shake of his body was gone. Ripped away and it left Avrid stumbling. Of course, he had gone without it before, smothering that part of Avrid's power was Urfan's favourite training method but this was different. This made him antsy, pulled like a cord to the breaking point. It felt like one bounce and that cord might snap.

He had been trying since they landed, trying to sum up at least a flame to his fingertips and when nothing would surface he tried again and again. But nothing.

He sighed.

"Do you intend on going anywhere tonight or shall I circle the Archipelago again?" Toothless grumbled. They hadn't really flown the whole way around but Toothless had been in an, even more, grouchier mood than Avrid was; which was a feat in itself.

Avrid sat up. He had draped himself sideways across Toothless, just the tips of his boots dipping in the misty clouds.

"Frebole, I suppose that may very well be our biggest clue at the moment."

Toothless huffed. "Trust humans to find a plant like Freabole and use it for harm."

"Feeling touchy are we?"

Toothless only rumbled in response.

Freabole was indeed a harmful plant, at least in Midgard it was. In Alfheim Freabole was the bright purple substance that one would use to sweeten their breakfast, a sort of sugar substance. It affected the elves in the same way sugar did, the dwarves found it to be less sweet but more bitter. Ironic then, that the plant was native to Nidavillir. The other realms didn't have much use for it beyond baking but in Midgard, the round plant was absolutely banned.

For the humans, to ingest meant absolute fatality in the worst way. It was hard to pinpoint exactly why or how, but Freabole erased the ability to control a human's ability to coordinate. To think by themselves. They became brain dead, mindless as they were named. It was easy then to control them, to fiddle with their minds until the humans became slaves. The Asgardians then banned such use of the plant on humans. A crime punishable by Radox.

Radox was normally enough to make any idiot stay clear of Freabole and Midgard but not this idiot. Whoever thought they could get away with this was obviously dimwitted on some level.

It made sense now, why he had been 'the only one'. He was, of course, the only Kohuru from Midgard and with a crime such as Freabole, action would be best dealt with immediately. He only wished he hadn't brought either of the sirens. No matter how stupid, they had to know what they were doing if the use of Freabole was kept hidden by Urfan for he would have said when telling Avrid the mission's details. Liogoo would make the process slower to deal with and twice as much bother came with trailing and tracking Tannis.

Avrid pulled out the small bottle of liquid and shook it. He watched it gleam in the moonlight like liquid gold, swirling around. Pulling the cap off he sniffed. There was no chance it could be a fake.

"Can you track the perfume vendor? I caught a whiff of her when I passed the stall earlier." Avrid said, passing on the memory of the smell to Toothless.

"I can't."

"Oh?"

"The dragons, I think I can track them. It will be easier if we work apart, you on the ground and I in the skies. I might find my kind will talk of what has been happening to them." Toothless didn't look at him.

"And will you be leaving me to the speed of boats from here on out? And here I thought we were friends." Avrid batted his brother's fin playfully but Toothless didn't respond in likeness. He went to say something, but Toothless descended so suddenly that even the decades Avrid had become accustomed to flying on his reptilian friend, couldn't have prepared him for.

The wind howled in his ears, growling against the dragon that defied speed and physics. Avrid clung helplessly to Toothless' scaly body, only the years of built-up muscle in his arms kept him from sliding off and parachuting to the skies.

When they hit the ground with as much force as in the sky, Avrid growled as he barely tumbled off.

"What the fuck Toothless?"

Toothless shook his massive head and went to leap away but Avrid gripped at the back of his neck. With a grunt, Avrid shoved Toothless back to the ground. He snarled, teeth and claws snapping as he went to barge Avrid off but missed and sent himself on his back.

Rolling, Toothless went to shake out his wings, to flap them and try thrust himself away but, before he could, Avrid fell to his knees and dropped his head to the floor. A submission.

Such a sight made the dragon whine and fall to the ground, sliding his head under Avrid's. Two pairs of green eyes met speaking volumes of guilt, forgiveness and understanding. Toothless did not need to say anything, what bothered his brother was fine to be left unsaid. Avrid put a hand on his snout and nodded. He should go, find what he could about the dragons.

Without another word Toothless slid away and, silent as his master, the dragon flew off, sinking into the black of the skies like light to the sun.

Avrid sprinted back to the inn, they hadn't landed too far off, his mind occupied with Toothless. He could not comprehend what could possibly cause Toothless, a calm rock through every storm Avrid had ever weathered, to lash out so suddenly and unprovoked. It was unlike him, to say the least.

When he reached the inn and about to pull open the arch wood door, he stopped still. Forseti was out, in his palm and pressed at a throat before the attacker could breathe. Avrid rammed the male against the door and pulled off their hood.

"Not a very clever thing to do." Avrid hissed.

The male gulped, "I need what she stole from us."

"The Freabole, it was yours?" The male nodded slightly, keenly aware of the blade near his lifeline. His forehead began to glisten in sweat.

Avrid smiled. "Perfect." and knocked him out with the hilt of his blade.

...oOo...

Charles had led Astrid to that table full of elegantly dressed men and women and when she had expected to be treated as a stranger at least, they were unabashedly welcoming. His father, who just happened to be a king of some sort, had outright embraced her and even placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek when Charles introduced her.

Then there had been drinking games and bets placed on who could stuff as many pastries into his or her mouth. Astrid, of course, won but she had a feeling they had let her. If for pity or whatever reason, she couldn't find it in her to care. For the first time in a very long time, Astrid was blissfully happy.

But then, like all good things, her bubble was burst by no other than Peaton. Seeing him coming, she had groaned and hidden behind Charles but it was fruitless.

"Miss Astrid?" Peaton said, coughing as she peeked over Charles' robes.

"She exists not."

Charles gasped. "Oh! Adverb after the verb, I taught you well."

"Miss Astrid, Drago requests you by his side for the speech." she groaned and looked up at Peaten through her lashes.

"I fear I may be drunk again." His mouth twisted as he scanned over her.

"Indeed." Not even Charles could help her now as Peaton grasped carefully, but firmly, under her arm, but that didn't stop her from casting one last pleading glance back at him. Charles winked and she stuck out her tongue, damn him.

Astrid was carted up to Drago, in front of the fountain and stood on his right. Peaton had left her without a glance and it was all Astrid could do not to scream when Drago's arm curled up and around her waist, a waist so frighteningly thin that his hand was nearly able to wrap around it completely.

Everyone had stopped their dancing and cheering, staring now expectantly at the beast beside her. He cleared his throat.

"Vikings, Kings and Queens, Lords and Noblemen, I have made a promise to you." His stone voice rumbled through the crowd, a sword against a wedge stone. Astrid searched for Charles but she could not see him amongst such a dense crowd. It seemed like everyone had gathered before them. Dozens of strange people each one more dissimilar than the last. Night skinned men with their earlobes stretched the width of an eye. Women with large hats, those with barely any skin that wasn't decorated in thick black ink. Small, pale people that dressed in the white clothes of the north. She saw it then.

This was a gathering, not of people that Drago had stolen like herself. Not just visitors from other villages, no, this was much worse. She should have got it when Charles revealed himself a king, there were no kings in this Archipelago, but there was outside.

There were tales she had told Ryther when he wouldn't fall asleep, that the monsters beyond the seas, beyond the Archipelago, would come for him. Monsters that dominated castles bigger than a Nadder with masses of men used as armies to control the people they ruled over. Where there were rules that those people had to follow, things like binding your soul to another that you despised, being hanged with a rope should you not bow and respect the monsters that owned you. Where women were treated as things to be used and discarded, mortified and humiliated not like the warrior Valkyrie's they were.

Those tales had been spun by Downhead the Saviour, a Viking legend who had braved the seas once went beyond the Archipelago and not only did he survive but he came back. Back with stories of the nightmares he faced, the kinds of men and women that indeed seemed like monsters but not because of their rules. No, those were petty in the eyes of a Viking, but it was their wealth, their men and armies and power and strength. Downhead had told once, that he had stood on an island, bigger than any in the Archipelago, and as far as the eye could see were armed beasts.

But the thing was: they did not know the Vikings existed, no idea how easily they might be tamed and overtaken and Downhead had not spilt the truth, hence his title as Saviour. It had become a bedtime tale then, that those powerful beasts might come and take the land someday, that it was only a matter of time, that the Gods were planning the Viking's descent. She had not known it would come in her time. Because those beasts, the ones with castles and armies were here; and Drago had led it right to them.

It was obvious now, to look at the strange people in all their strangeness and see they were not from here and they did not come all this way for a dinner feast.

"For the last decade of my life, I devoted myself to one thing; one dream. A goal, a vision and now an act."

Astrid's hands began to sweat and shake, she should have known, should have seen the signs. Berk had been invaded for no reason, they had no quarrels and they were heavily guarded, a fortress. And yet, in the blink of an eye, the entire village wiped, sucked dry and demolished like a sandcastle.

"You Lords have come out of your burroughs, your castles and armies because I offer something that will make this realm shake."

It was Drago, he was going to destroy this realm. He planned to take it for his own and rule over everything. He was stripping people of their villages and turning them into sheep to be flocked and how could they not see it? Those kings that stood so tall and mighty, lured like children to sugar out of their Kingdoms. How could they not see that they were becoming sheep?

"A Dragon Army. Dragons are a myth in your part of the world, I know this. I know that you use the image of an open maw for embellishing your shields and flags so you can feel mighty like the beasts themselves. But here, in the Archipelago, those beasts are a far cry from myths."

And then Drago raised his metal arm in the air.

She heard it first, the sound struck a primal habit in her, the instinct to reach over her back and grab the axe that was ready and waiting. Her arm did reach behind her, but there was no axe and so she stood helpless and useless.

It sounded like thunder crashing in her ears, a snarling and roaring thunder thrashing and withering. For a moment everyone stood completely still, unable to figure out what they should do, what was happening.

And then the candles all blew out, one by one the wind snatched up the flame and everything went dark. But only for a second because then came balls of raging fire to fill up the night sky. Soaring above them, hellfire reigned and it was only when she squinted did she see that it was dragons that flew above them. In their maws they had opened a pit of flame that danced and swirled, taunting those below with the promise of death.

There were hundreds of them, millions. They flooded the sky, soaring past in an unending conveyor of thick, clawed beasts. Monstrous Nightmares, Nadders, Gronkles, Skrill, every dragon that she knew of and more that she did not know. Each one was covered from tip to tail in metal plates.

Astrid's mouth fell slack, he was going to kill them all. Her head began to fuzz with a blackness that no dragon could light up. He was going to destroy everything that got in his path, kill and dominate what he wanted and no one would be able to stop him. In her mouth, Astrid tasted the coppery tang of blood. With this many dragons, with such control over the things that ravaged Berk for decades, he could control everything, rule over anything. The night sky began to blur, the colour of flame mixing with blackness and the white of stars that seemed pathetic as they blinked between the horde of dragon bodies.

She put a hand to her nose and pulled back at the slickness she found, blood, that was blood on her fingertips.

The last thing Astrid saw before she fainted was the nightmare that was to come, the death that would be reigned against them. And she knew they would be helpless to stop it.

...oOo...

I am still working on the past chapters from, I think, chapter three or four onwards is where I haven't fixed up; you can tell by the different layout of the chapter titles.

Also, any of the images I had up on Wattpad are down now so I apologise about that but alas, what can one do?

And I have just realised, today marks the exact one year anniversary of this story! I suppose the shocking fact is that I have literally only completed ten chapters in the space of a year but I guess that's still more than none and as long as people continue to read then I shall hopefully have the story finished at some point. Really, for me, this is like a full-blown novel and just you wait till we get to the really juicy part- hopefully, it won't take another year for another ten chapters.

I hope you all enjoyed,

- Crystal