Uh, hey, everyone…
I hope you all enjoyed the rest of August… And all of September… And October… November… Yeah…
I had originally planned on writing an elaborate and extensive A/N making excuses for why this chapter took so damn long to write and post, but instead of making you read all of that, I'll sum it up to this; as the story draws closer to its apex — and it is drawing closer, by the way — I want to make sure that I'm putting out the best quality of writing I'm capable of providing for you in these chapters, or at least close to it. That means lots of revisions, but also many an hour sitting in bed, staring at my plot outline doc with a deep frown upon my face, nothing being actually written anywhere but my mind. And so… Here we are. I'm very, very sorry.
Which brings me to my next point: as we approach the apex of our heroes' journey thus far, I've realized it would be beneficial to have a beta to help me ensure I'm putting out the best product I can for all of you. I've, ah, never really done this before, so for the time being, I can't bring myself to put out an official request anywhere as I'm only considering it, but if you're interested and meet FanFiction's requirements (or, of course, have beta'd before) please PM me, and we can talk about it in a bit more detail. I'd be looking for help both on syntax errors and on grammar, but also on general writing and stylistic choice. I believe a reader's direct perspective will be very important going into these next few chapters, and that's largely why I'm putting this out there.
One more note: I was able to get one thing done in that stretch of time, and that was a fairly sizable revision of Chapter 1. And I don't just mean corrections in grammar or general writing; I did both add and remove some plot and character details to make it more in line with what I've since fleshed out and decided on. Nothing very major, but if you're the kind of person who likes to theorize about what's going on, I'd suggest you go check it out. I do also plan on doing the same for some of the other early chapters, though I'll be sure to tell you all once I have.
And that's it! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and be sure to follow for updates and review!
I don't own How to Train Your Dragon.
"An attack on my son!" Stoick roared. "How dare those spineless, damned cowardly, rotten excuses for Vikings…"
Hiccup winced as his father's accusatory rant escalated into real curses. He and Syl had barely made it back the night before, pushing the two dragons to their limits as they raced back to Berk. Syl had drifted in and out of sleep the whole way, still fazed from the explosion, but safe and alive. She seemed understandably confused to wake up several hundred feet in the air on several occasions, but luckily didn't once have a full on panic-attack as Hiccup feared she might.
Stormfly did her best to stay strong, but it was clear she was struggling, too; a steady stream of blood had flowed from her leg for longer than Hiccup would have liked, and though it stopped and swelled after almost an hour of flying, a nasty-looking scar took its place, and his frown only deepened whenever he glanced at it. She had suppressed another cry on landing, and each of them had quickly been rushed off to their respective healers, Syl nearly falling off the Nadder before she was carried down. Hiccup had helped walk her to the nearest Viking's house, who had offered a bed for her to lie down on until the healer got there.
Once he'd left, and both Gobber and the closest on-hand healer had assured him that they would both be alright, he went to find his father. Or, more specifically, his father found him, running down the streets at a speed seemingly impossible for a Viking of his size, a look on his face that made it clear word had already gotten to him of what had happened; Hiccup had explained the situation briefly to the nearest Viking he'd seen as soon as they had landed.
So there they stood, in front of the blacksmith, a small crowd already beginning to form around them as they woke up and stumbled outside to see what was going on. The early morning light was reminiscent of the many awkward conversations he had had with his father just like this one before the war had ended, only this time, he wasn't the one Stoick was mad at. As to whether that was better, or worse…
He slunk back, trying to decide whether anyone would notice or care if he suddenly disappeared inside the shop. "It, uh, wasn't really an attack on me specifically—"
"And an ambush, at that! They don't even have the guts to carry out a true assault," he spat. "Swine! To think what other tricks they're scheming, if they're willing to drop this low..."
Hiccup's mind drifted back to what Syl had said before the explosion, and he winced. Everyone on her island was willing to kill me and Toothless, just for recognition… And she might've succeeded, herself, if...
He shook his head.
No. That hadn't been her fault. That hadn't been her. She had just been a girl, desperate for her mother's approval, willing to do anything to get it… Even if it meant killing someone — or something — she had never met.
He knew the feeling all too well.
"Kinsmen," Stoick said, addressing the group around him, now so large it almost blocked off the street. "The Veiklaðar tribe sits and waits until we are separated, prone to invasion. They would attack my own son, and your children as well, before facing us like Vikings! They would raid and pillage our allies, the smallest and most vulnerable of them, and call themselves warriors! Heroes! Well, we need to show them what true warriors look like!"
There were a few cheers and shouts, as well as weapons drawn and raised into the air. Most didn't carry weapons around town, though — not anymore, anyway — so swords and axes were replaced with fists, or whatever they happened to have in their hands at the time. He counted two pans, five loaves of bread and three buckets, among an assortment of other strange objects.
Just as Hiccup made to run in the shop, the door swung open beside him.
"What in Odin's name is all this commotion ab—" Gobber stepped out of his house, scratching his head just as Stoick opened his mouth to shout again.
"Ah, Stoick…" He cleared his throat. "Was just hopin' to get some sleep… Not that tha' matters to you, it seems…"
He just then appeared to notice then the crowd around them... as well as Hiccup, slowly trying to shuffle backward into the forge.
"Hiccup!" He started, hobbling toward him, simultaneously reminding everyone that he was still there. "How's Stormfly? And Astrid?"
Ah, yes. He could always count on Gobber.
"They're… Fine," He said, holding back a sigh. "I think her healer said she wanted to find someone 'more advanced,' though as far as I know, it was just a sprained wrist. And Stormfly… Well, I'm not really sure. Did you see anything… Noteworthy, bringing her back?"
He wasn't just trying to deflect the crowd's attention — while he knew some basics about dragon anatomy and healing, Gobber had been studying them far longer than he, if under very different circumstances. He was by far one of the most knowledgeable Vikings on the island, and had already saved a few dragons' lives in the short time they'd been living with them. If anyone could help the Nadder…
"Nothing too out of the ordinary," he answered, pausing first to rub his chin. "She took a nasty wound to tha' leg, ya know. It'll heal in some time, though as for flyin'..." He shrugged.
It couldn't be that bad, Hiccup reasoned, if Gobber had already gone back to bed just a few minutes after tending to her. Still, it was early, and since the raids had ended, the two-limbed smith had certainly grown accustomed to his 'beauty sleep.'
"Gobber!" Stoick called to him, interrupting their conversation. "Fetch some charcoal sticks, and lots of paper. As much as you can find in the shop. Get more from the Great Hall if you feel that we'll need it."
"That time then, huh? Sure thing, O' High Chief," He replied with a snort, before disappearing back into the smithy, muttering to himself.
"Um… More missions, Dad? Is that why you need the...?" Hiccup asked. Needless to say, after last night, he was less than willing to go back out there. If Syl was right about the attack being for him and Toothless… He didn't want to be responsible for any more villages burning to the ground.
"No, Hiccup, no more..." Stoick had started to lower his voice for him, before raising it again at the sight of someone in the crowd Hiccup couldn't see. "Halstein! Have every lite ship ready for travel by noon. Make sure they're manned with the best crew ye' have, as well. Ye' sail tonight!"
There was a hurried "Yes, Chief," before the man took off for the docks. Hiccup began to feel a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Dad, I…" He swallowed. "We could still go on them, but just more discreetly. They can't all have people working for the Veiklaðar tribe — uh, rats, that is. Maybe if we go at night, or arrive unannounced... They'll be less likely to sign the documents, but—"
"No, Hiccup. No more documents. No more politics," Stoick shook his head. "Ye've done well, son, but they've made their intentions clear by now. And if this is the game they want to play… So be it."
Gobber appeared in the doorway as the Vikings began to disperse, each with a jump in their step, getting the feeling that something big was happening. They were right in that feeling, too. The blacksmith held out the papers to him, and he took half the stack.
"Write to every tribe in the archipelago we know isn't with them. Every. One. I don't care what documents they've signed, what they think of dragons or humans or the two of 'em being put together on one big damned island. Call their banners, rally their men, and demand they all sail to Berk immediately, if they wish to uphold their freedom, and lives, too. It's clear now that Brenna's not going to wait for winter to pass. So neither will we."
Gobber raised an eyebrow, and Hiccup tried to shrink down into himself, wishing he weren't there, that he wasn't hearing any of this.
"Peace is no longer an option. We must destroy them, lest they rise up and do the same to us, first. Have it be known to all that would challenge Berk: we're at war with the Veiklaðar Tribe, and any who side with them."
Syl figured she must have been dreaming again.
A foreign island, her mother attacking, an explosion of white before a deep, enveloping black, eyes opening soon after to see water below her in every direction — it was the kind of thing she had learned to prepare for every night before she fell asleep. She fully expected it to end with her falling in, thrashing and flailing her limbs desperately in the churning waves of the ocean, crying for help that a voice in her head told her would never come, until she woke up in bed, sheets on the floor and soaked in her own sweat, too afraid to fall back asleep.
This nightmare, it would seem, refused to end. Because, aside from several sore spots along her legs and a feeling from her left hand that hurt and itched like nothing else, there was the person standing over her, emanating an aura of pure disdain when she finally built up the courage to open her eyes.
The village witch. Gothi.
She nodded, satisfied, as if she had been waiting for her to wake up, and moved further back into the room, out of her sight. Not her room, nor her house, Syl realized with a start, but not Gothi's hut, either. She tried to sit up, but instead winced and bit back a cry at the sudden pressure on her wrist and ache of her back.
"Where am I?" Syl asked, reluctantly lying back down. There was no response. Mute. She remembered, sneering at both the pain and the woman. Or just too snide to talk to anyone.
She must have been on Berk, at least, if the witch was there. At this realization, for once, she was relieved — though for how long that was to last, she had no clue. With her mother back on her mind, now…
Syl had to admit — she had underestimated her. An attack on Berk was inevitable, and she had heard a little about their plans when they were still fine with her breathing their air, though it was by then no more than Berk already knew about. An attack on the Clouded Valley, however… Dirty tricks had her mother all over it, but to provoke a tribe so neutral and integral to the archipelago was… Insane. Before the raids had ended, they had been one of their island's very few trading partners. And if her mother was confident enough in her abilities to openly attack them… Suddenly Berk didn't seem quite so safe, anymore.
"How long have I been out?" She demanded. The silence between her questions had been broken only by the sound of a spoon stirring in an iron pot somewhere in front of her. Experimentally, she raised her head, propped back against her pillow, her chin resting at the base of her neck. It still hurt, but not as badly, and at least then she could see the room.
It wasn't any house or building she could recognize, though the sound of conversation and the occasional roar or grunt of a dragon from outside told her that she must have been somewhere in the village. At the other end of the hall hunched Gothi, stirring some foul brew in an iron-cast bowl hanging over the firepit. Suspicious, Syl watched her hobble over to a shelf on one side of the room, take a dish of ingredients from it, dump portions of its contents unceremoniously into the brew, and then repeat the process several times over, stirring the mix again between each.
It all seemed too… Mundane. Not even an explosion or single puff of smoke, aside from a light trail of steam steadily escaping the pot. Given what she had seen her do before, she reasoned that, regardless of her intentions, this must not have been too dangerous, and Syl relaxed somewhat.
That, was, until she poured it in an empty wooden bowl, walked over to the side of her bed, and tried to raise it to Syl's lips — with emphasis on tried.
"No!" Syl recoiled, eyes already darting around the room, searching for an escape. Her hands gripped the wood of the bed frame as she instinctively tried to sit up. This only brought more pain to her chest, at least twice as much as before, and she bit back another scream, as well as a curse for the woman in front of her that had been churning in the back of her throat since she had woken up.
Collapsing back down to the bed, trying not to wince, she settled for a disapproving scowl. From the look on Gothi's face, the feeling seemed to be mutual. Still, she pulled the bowl back a bit. Syl didn't notice.
Trapped. Bedridden. She had injured herself before, but even then had been able to take care of herself — or been helped by her brother, generally outside of their parents' knowledge. Kids got into trouble enough on her island, so it wasn't uncommon for them to break or sprain bones, even if few ever received more treatment than a makeshift splint around the broken part for a time. But said kids were usually stocky or at least toned from day-to-day life by the time they reached their teen years, and although her lithe form was proven to have its benefits, it wasn't without its downsides in the Viking world, either. Especially when it came to the incidents after her brother had… had…
She closed her eyes, submitting to the pillow and blankets, the sore but taught muscles telling her to sprint to the door, loosening in relief.
The nightmares had become unpredictable. While they were no longer every night, their seemingly random frequency was somehow even worse; she could go days at a time in a dreamless sleep, before one struck her unprepared, and suddenly. She found herself sitting up in bed each night, anyway, steeling herself for another evening of absolute misery and terror, and would wake up the next morning later than she should've, but still groggy and exhausted, regardless of whether she had even had one that night. She had, at least, been making use of her early-morning awakenings. She did have plans, after all… Of course, there were some nights when it was simply too much for her to do anything but curl up in a ball on the bed and bite back tears…
Whatever senseless god had decided she deserved this she had already cursed to the void more times than she could count — all of them, in fact, for not stepping up to help her sooner. She doubted that would change anything, but didn't think it could get much worse, either. And of course, just to add to the torment, in every one, too, was him.
Hah! If her brother could see her now. Maybe he'd be proud — the muscles forming on her arms and legs from Astrid's rigorous training sessions were those she had always wanted as a child. The markings of a strong warrior, her brother had always told her — but not necessarily a smart one, either. He had always insisted that fighting was to be balanced with intelligence; being able to swing an axe or sword through the skull of any beast may have made a good warrior, but only half a good chief, or even a chief at all. He had often used their father as an example…
Of course, if she really was going to be stuck in this gods-forsaken bed — for days, months, weeks — all of her hard-earned training was for naught, and she would be given a front-row seat to watch herself both recover her strength and grow weak at the same time. Perhaps she wouldn't even be able to stand, if it took long enough. How appropriate — forced to watch herself lose something she had worked hard for, for trying to save someone she was supposed to hate.
That she did hate, she reminded herself. Almost as much as this insistent old woman still holding the wooden bowl up to her face. But if she really couldn't move at all…
"Fine," she said, grabbing the bowl out of her hands with all the strength she had, even though Gothi let her take it. "I'll eat it myself, if you just… Go away."
With another, slower nod, she stepped back, but watched Syl until she began sipping from it.
It… Didn't taste as bad as she thought it would. Like a sort of broth, really. Warm, enough to make her realize how cold it was in… There...
She took another moment to observe the room — her new quarters, she realized, at least for the time being. She recalled Hiccup telling her that Astrid healed quickly, or at least pretended to, in order to get back out training again, and avoid growing weak. She could agree with that, at least, but by that standard, she would have to be up and about within a day or so of getting back. Much as she would've liked to get out of that house — and, preferably, off of the island altogether, if her most recent experience was any indication of what her mother had planned for Berk — there was no way she was going anywhere in the state she was in, not for a few days, at least.
She couldn't say she was completely disappointed. Aside from the dreams, the past few weeks hadn't been the best of her life, either. Stoick had stuck true to his word, as Hiccup had warned her he would, and almost every day he would take her around the village, showing her the various defensive points and and lookout towers stationed strategically around Berk, as well as other things she would 'need to know,' when the day finally came, and further. She could glean a bit of satisfaction off of knowing how mad Astrid would be to miss this, but not much else. The whole thing served as a strange reminder of the few occasions when her mother had tried to instill the same lessons in her — not just about their island, but about managing it, ruling it. Of course, her mother's "lessons" had been beyond awkward and pointless, and Syl had just ignored her, mostly out of spite, but also because she'd heard most of it before, from… Him.
Though his memory haunted her dreams almost every night, she still couldn't bring herself to say his name, not in so much as a whisper or silent mouthing of it on her lips, in the back of her throat. Because, ten years later, it still didn't feel real.
She had never been opposed to becoming Chief of her tribe. She had just never imagined it — couldn't imagine it. Since she was a child, the term, "Heir to the Throne" had always brought to mind images of her brother, and nothing else. The strange notions that she was a part of some lineage had seemed to her just as much lunacy as the notion of becoming the island's leader. Their home had always been just as shabby as the rest of the island, if a bit set away from it. Her clothes were patched and sewn mostly by herself, their food supply limited most of the time to the scarce game her brother always managed to find, and her parents… It wasn't like the storybooks, to say the least. Yet there was one person who had always held strong, had refused to pull their name through the dirt like every single other islander on it did. He had told her of his plans — that he would one day bring their island back to its glory, would host feasts and hunts every night, would laugh at the ferocity and frequency of the dragon raids as if they were no more than a few swarms of fruit flies in the heat of the summer. They were lofty aspirations, sure, and by a young age, Syl already believed them as little as her brother probably did while telling her. But in the deepest, darkest moments of their father's madness and outbursts, when they had no bread to eat or ran out of firewood on a winter's night, he would remind her of what it would be like, someday, when he became Chief.
And he was dead.
If Berk defeated her mother when the time came… That duty would fall to her. Stoick himself had made that clear, though she had been able to redirect most talks including "Brenna's daughter" with him, until then. It was bad enough having to hear all of the things she already knew over again, but she could tolerate it, at least.
As far as training the dragons went… She had avoided that as much as she could, as well, leaving Hiccup to take on the role, though he seemed almost as reluctant to do it as her. It was obvious he still entertained some fantasies of "making peace" with the enemy, and each going their separate ways, but with every day he travelled out to some island in a bid to gain their allegiance, his hope for the dream seemed a bit dimmer, especially when he returned, regardless of whether they had agreed to help them, or not. Still, in inviting Vikings to the academy to teach them how to fight alongside the dragons without getting killed, he refused to teach them anything but how to fight defensively and avoid dragons' wider tail-swings, wing-stretches, and of course, to stay away from their flashing teeth in combat.
Supposedly, Toothless was instructing the dragons to do the same — only in their case, to avoid injuring or killings humans, and to differentiate between those that would be fighting for and against Berk. Though Syl heavily doubted that was what the dragon was actually telling them, she doubted even more that the dragons were even capable of such advanced thought. The Night Fury seemed to be slightly more intelligent a breed than its counterparts, sure. It was likely the only reason Astrid could retain as much of her humanity — what little she had had to begin with, anyway — in the body of one, and even that appeared fleeting, based on what little time she had spent with her in the past few weeks.
Nobody seemed to be happy lately, in fact — the Vikings who mustered the courage to even go to the Kill Ring often ended up tightening grips on their weapons or muttering curses under their breath whenever Hiccup got to the part about keeping away while they were attacking. He would just go on as if nothing had happened, but it all reminded Syl of why Astrid was where she was — why she was where she was, and exactly how she had gotten herself into this whole mess. And now, trapped in a prison of comfort and immobility, the only keeper of the cell, her own sense of what was good for her.
Stuck there, then, wherever there happened to be. And it seemed that Gothi would be her caretaker. Well, if that was going to be the case…
"I, ah," she stuttered. "I believe I should say a few things, if I'm going to be—"
She stopped. Gothi was gone.
She wasn't sure how long she had been gone for, exactly. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, she must've completely missed her leaving the room — almost impressive, given how slowly the old woman walked. She must have been getting weaker already, if her senses were failing her on such a level.
A single voice, pausing frequently, passed through the door at the front of the room, muffled, and she strained her ears to hear it. The voice, as always, was one she could by then have told anywhere — it might've been the only one so nasally on the island, aside from Snotlout… And just about any of the other teens she had the occasional misfortune of encountering.
The talking ceased after a moment, and Syl contemplated whether sitting up in the sheets to glare or refusing to look at either of them when they came inside was the better option. Eventually, she settled for sitting up, prepared to meet Hiccup with eyes that told him she was still as ready to pummel whoever got in her way as usual and— oh, gods, she really was turning into Astrid...
Of course, this plan may still have worked… Had she not doubled over from a cramp in her side as soon as Hiccup opened the door.
"Syl!" He crossed the room, and was at her side before she could sneer at him to let her be. "What's going on? Are you alright?"
"Peachy," she said through gritted teeth, edging as far away from him as she could. Unsure of what to say, he stood there until she found a position that wasn't completely unbearable, and let out a sigh. Her eyes moved to the still-open doorway, if not with the fleeting hope for a way out, then at the very least to figure out where she was. But, of course, Gothi was already closing it — but still leaving just enough space for the Night Fury to slip inside, too.
"Does he really have to follow you everywhere you go?" She asked with a groan, averting her eyes from the large, green-outlined-black pair that was already moving closer to the bed than she would have liked, had she had the choice.
The dragon, though, stopped just before it reached halfway past her bedpost and — as if to taunt her — sat down on the spot. His eyes never left her, and he tilted his head. Hiccup smiled. "I don't think that's my choice to make."
She didn't respond, but forced herself to stay tense as the last frigid gasp of air from the closing door reached her arms, bared for Gothi's salves. Still, her breath caught as it passed over the equally cold ointments on the sores, which she somehow only then realized were there. Hiccup, too, had shivered as it passed by only a moment before.
The dragon didn't even flinch. Not that she was paying attention to it, of course.
"I… Wanted to check on you. You took a pretty bad hit back there on the island, and… So did Stormfly, actually…" He frowned, as it became clear that she wasn't going to respond, and could care less about the dragon — visibly, anyway.
He sighed, and started to stand up from the seat he had taken. "I-I'll just be going, then, if you don't really want to talk right now… I suppose that's understandable, considering—"
"You used my name," she interrupted, still not meeting his eyes — or the dragon's. "Meaning you must not be worried about people overhearing it. And I'm betting things have been pretty tense around here since you told your father what happened. So where am I, then? Outside the town? I heard people talking, earlier, so I expect you haven't put me too far out of the village… Or…?"
He forced another smile. "This is, uh… Healer Eira's house, right?" He looked back at Gothi, who had gone back to organizing some herbs on a shelf, and she nodded without looking up.
"She had you brought here after she treated your wounds. She was the only one up, and she applied some of the more basic bandages. She thought you might need Gothi, though, so I, uh, flew her down here…"
Seeing her look, he swallowed, and continued quickly, "We'll move you back to your — ah, Astrid's house as soon as you can walk again. Other than that, you've got this house to yourself — with Gothi, that is — for a few days. Eira's just sailed out to the Blinded Mountains tribe with a few others to… Well, that's not..."
Suddenly, Syl understood why he seemed so jittery — more than usual, anyway.
"Your father's rallying them to Berk, isn't he?" She asked. With a frown, he nodded, and she felt her throat tightening. Still, she released it after a moment, trying to sound as impassive as possible. "So, war it will be, then. Been long enough since the raids ended — I guess we were due for some action, weren't we?"
Hiccup seemed inclined to disagree, but didn't shake his head, either.
The silence that followed wasn't as uncomfortable as it should have been. Instead, it was mournful, solemn, already anticipating with held breath the charred and demolished houses, blood running down the roads, sunken ships and fallen warriors. If Brenna won, she would take over Berk for herself, ordering every dragon hunted and killed, if they hadn't already died in the battle. Hiccup and Toothless would be sentenced to public execution, or otherwise paraded around the archipelago like trophies, serving as an example to those who had refused to take a side in the fight. If they were smart, they would run before it came to that, as it became clear the tide was beginning to turn against them in the battle. To flee in exile, the only dragon rider left in the world… Perhaps they would take Astrid with them, for company...
And if Stoick and Hiccup won… Well, she knew all too well what would happen, then. The only subject for that matter the Chief had avoided thus far was whether Brenna would be imprisoned for life, or executed. And even she knew he had already made up his mind. He just hadn't told her, for her own sake — Astrid's sake, that was.
"I… Should tell you, that…" His voice came out hollow, and he cleared his throat. "Back on the island, you… I knew that we could help them, that we shouldn't— couldn't leave them to die there… But you were…"
She couldn't stop her brows from raising in surprise. She remembered what she had said on the island — all too well. But she didn't regret a word. Still, to hear him say it… Almost thanking her, trying to tell her that she'd had a point, at least...
He sighed, and stood up, making to leave. "Y-you need your rest. I shouldn't be bothering you like this. I-I'll check in again after—"
She made a decision.
"Hiccup," she didn't meet his eyes, choosing to stare into her cooling soup, instead. When she spoke, the words were soft as she could make them. "I'm sorry that it's come to this. In a different world, a different time, perhaps my people, my mother especially, wouldn't be the way they are, the way we are, and all of this could've been avoided. I know what's it like to want to run. To just keep running, and never stop. But you… You want to stay, too, to help, and that's… well, that's something I never really..."
She frowned down at some unrecognizable chunks in her soup as she finished, but when she looked up, he was smiling. "I know this isn't the ideal situation, but… Try to enjoy a few days off, Syl. You've earned them."
The dragon, as if on cue, stood up and navigated cautiously around the firepit, where Gothi paid him no mind at all, and then out the door, but not without giving a final glance back inside, at her. Hiccup, a small smile still on his face, followed, closing the door softly behind him as he stepped outside.
Syl took another sip of the soup, and pulled the blanket up around her. It was hard for her to remember the last time she had been able to just lie in bed for so long, the last time she had been sick, ill or injured without having to hide it. She did deserve it.
A few days in bed, she decided, might not be so bad. Of course, she wasn't going to be alone, assuming Gothi would be staying there with her until she was healed. And since I am doling out kindnesses left and right...
"Gothi…" Syl started, clearing her throat. "Elder Gothi,"
The old woman looked up with a raised brow, as if surprised to hear the title. Syl was, at least.
"I would like to… acknowledge the fact, that I may have… borrowed a recipe from you, a few weeks back," The old woman snorted at this, and Syl gave pause, not for the first time wondering whether the witch really couldn't speak, or was just pulling one over on everyone in the village. Nonetheless, she blinked, and continued, "... And while my sincere intentions there may not have been entirely clear… I assure you, they did exist."
Gothi's eyes never even flickered from her stew. Syl had to hold back a sigh. The woman's lack of a tolerance for complete and total bull was more developed than Hiccup's, at least, and yet she didn't reel on her like Astrid did. It made her hate the witch that much more. And yet, if this was how it was going to be… The truth it was.
"Fine, then…" She glanced around the room, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the pain. "I didn't just get it for them to read it. I thought it was, uh… Interesting, all this stuff. Alchemical magic… That is what you call it, right?"
She stopped stirring and glanced over at her, with lowered brows, scrutinizing her. Syl wanted to shrink back into her bed, but sat straight, instead, much as it hurt. Then, Gothi went back to her soup, as if having decided something, and nodded. Syl let out a breath. Magic…
"It… Said that, in the book. I know you must know we've read it, by now, or at least looked at it, but… Well, I glanced through it too, sometimes, and caught a few things. Things I thought might be… useful… But I didn't really understand it all, how it worked..."
Syl's brows furrowed, and when she spoke, it came out in almost a whisper. "It… It really is magic, then?"
A smile was already on Gothi's lips, thin, but present. It was all the confirmation Syl needed. She drew in a breath.
"Can you teach me?"
Hiccup was relieved to find himself being greeted at a door for once, rather than knocking on one himself. So relieved, in fact, that Gothi somehow knowing he was coming before he even reached Healer Eira's house didn't unsettle him in the slightest.
"Gothi," he offered a wry smile, already trying to put his uncomfortable presence and horrible awareness of his father's rant behind him.
Gothi nodded, seeming almost equal in height just by her sheer proximity to him. Though her staff was in her hand, it was clear she was waiting for him to talk, as if he had something to say.
Unfortunately, he did.
He had been able to avoid it when flying her down to the village, at least — the flight was short, they were both in a rush, and the wind too strong for conversation. And, of course, there was nowhere to scribble in the dirt several hundred feet above the ground. Now, however, when none of those applied…
"So… How's Astrid?" It was a valid enough question, and then it wasn't. Syl had needed help, of course. Broken limbs had to be treated, if that was the case, and he wouldn't have wished that upon anybody — especially not paired with an uncomfortable and hasty retreat back to Berk following an ambush. But that was the Viking way, of course, and while Syl might have shared his sentiment in not being in peak physical or muscular condition, she would survive, and she would heal.
As to the real Astrid… He would find out soon enough.
FINE
INJURED IN HER CHEST AND LEFT WRIST,
BRUISED ELSEWHERE, HEALING
SHE WILL BE GOOD AS NEW
IN A MATTER OF DAYS
HER PARENTS CAME TO CHECK ON HER
I TOLD THEM SHE NEEDED REST
BUT THEY DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE
UNTIL SHE WOKE UP
Gothi wrote, looking back up at him with a furrowed brow.
It had been days, at least, since he had last talked to her. His commitment to his father meant he could no longer spend time sitting with her as she studied the book — not that he ever gleaned anything from that, anyway. The last time he was there she still hadn't even let him come within a few feet of it, and he doubted that had changed since, even though he had only gotten a few chances to look at it with Syl's stolen recipe. But then… Perhaps she had changed her mind. And since he wasn't going to be gone all the time anymore…
He brought himself to his full height, and tried to stop his voice from quivering when he spoke.
"I'd… Like to know what you've found. What I should know. For Astrid, for… for anything. I-I feel like I'm just a piece of driftwood in a stormy ocean, I'm just being… pushed around from place to place, and… I suppose that's nothing new, but…"
His forced confidence and words escaped him, and his whole body sagged.
"The poem on the first few pages…" His eyes widened slightly, as he caught himself. "Not that I've been—"
I KNOW ABOUT THE RECIPE, HICCUP
I KNOW THE GIRL STOLE IT
I KNOW YOU HAVE READ THE BOOK FOR YOURSELF
With no energy left in him, he could only give a short laugh. Of course — that had only ever been a matter of time. So she knew. It was one more secret he would no longer have to deal with, at least.
"Maybe Astrid's right about her… She's just doing all this to cause trouble. At least when I do it, it's by accident, but she just seems to go looking for it…"
PERHAPS
Gothi gave a wry glance back at the door that Hiccup almost missed.
OR PERHAPS NOT
I BELIEVE WE SHALL FIND OUT
SOON ENOUGH
WHERE HER LOYALTIES LIE
UNTIL THEN, SHE IS DOING HER JOB
AND I SHALL DO MINE
"Then… Can you give me some answers, or…? Ah, gods, I don't even know what questions I should be asking…" His frown deepened, and Toothless purred behind him, sensing his exhaustion.
NOR DO I, HICCUP
AND YET YOU STILL HAVE HOPE
AND I STILL STUDY THE COMPENDIUM
WHILE I CANNOT GIVE YOU THE ANSWERS
NOR THE QUESTIONS YOU SEEK NOW
I CAN AT LEAST LET YOU KNOW WHY
EVERYONE YOU HAVE MET
HAS DONE EVERYTHING IN THEIR POWER
TO STOP YOU FROM READING IT
The tiniest bit of excitement — from where, he didn't know — returned to his heart, and he nodded. It was something, at least. Gothi wiped away her previous message, before beginning again.
IT IS A BOOK OF MAGIC,
AS YOU HAVE GUESSED
HOWEVER, IT IS NOT SO SIMPLE
MAGIC IS A RARITY
AND WHAT LITTLE HUMANS CAN NORMALLY WIELD
COULD BARELY BE CALLED THAT
IT IS NOT MUCH MORE THAN THE HERBS
AND REMEDIES I AND OTHER HEALERS PRACTICE
THE TRICKS WITH FIRE
YOU'VE SEEN AND PRACTICED YOURSELF
"And… the potion? For Astrid's voice? What about that?" He asked.
THE BEST OF MY ABILITIES
THAT IS AN EXAMPLE OF
SOME OF THE GREATEST FEATS OF MAGIC WE COULD PERFORM
AND FOR A LONG TIME, IT WAS BELIEVED
THAT THIS WAS ALL THAT THERE WAS
"It's… Still pretty amazing," he stuttered. "But I'm not sure I like where you're going with this."
NEITHER DO I
AND THAT IS WHY WE TRIED
TO WITHHOLD THE BOOK
FROM YOU
YOUR FATHER KNOWS ENOUGH
TO KNOW THAT ITS CONTENTS ARE DANGEROUS
I KNEW LITTLE MORE, TRULY
EXCEPT THIS
Once again, she cleared away her message.
DECADES
PERHAPS CENTURIES AGO
THERE WAS ANOTHER PEOPLE
IN THE ARCHIPELAGO
THEY PRACTICED MAGIC
IN THE SAME WAY I DO TODAY
BUT IT WAS REVERED
NOT FEARED
THEY STUDIED ITS USE
AS YOU STUDY DRAGONS
Hiccup frowned, and she cleared it again.
THEY WERE A TRAVELLING PEOPLE
ALWAYS SEARCHING FOR THE NEWEST
THINGS THE WORLD COULD OFFER
UNTIL ONE DAY, THEY STOPPED,
SETTLED DOWN.
THEY FOUND SOMETHING
THAT ENDED THEIR SEARCH.
SOMETHING BEYOND OUR UNDERSTANDING.
SOMETHING MAGICAL, POWERFUL.
THAT IS ALL I CAN TELL YOU OF THESE PEOPLE FOR NOW
BUT KNOW THIS
THEY ARE THE ONES WHO WROTE THIS BOOK
IT DETAILS EVERY DISCOVERY THEY EVER MADE
THERE MAY HAVE BEEN MORE BOOKS, ONCE
BUT ALAS, THIS IS THE ONLY ONE
STILL IN THE ARCHIPELAGO
THAT WE KNOW OF
TO READ IT ALONE MAY HAVE DANGERS, YES
BUT MORE DANGEROUS YET
IS THE KNOWLEDGE IT HOLDS
YOUR FATHER KNEW
YOUR CURIOUS MIND
AS DO I
UNTIL I CAN TELL YOU MORE
IF THERE IS ANYTHING
TO HELP ASTRID
OR YOUR DRAGON
IT IS IN HERE.
"I…" His mind raced with questions, and he opened his mouth, only to realize it was pointless. She had told him all she would, for now — that was her way.
Gothi seemed to read his thoughts, and smiled, opening the door a crack behind her.
COME
LET US SEE YOUR FRIEND
PERHAPS SHE HAS HEALED IN THE TIME
WE HAVE LEFT HER HERE.
Hiccup smiled and nodded at her, letting a flutter of hope return to his chest, and followed her inside.
By the time they had left the house, Hiccup had a spring in his uneven step. Gothi's message may have been a little cryptic, but with Syl's almost-apology, as well as the knowledge that Gothi at least knew enough about what they were getting into to keep secrets from them... Things were looking up.
Without realizing it, Hiccup started to paint a picture in his mind. Gothi would find a way to change Astrid back, eventually, and a cure for whatever Toothless was experiencing, magical or otherwise. Once she could assure its success, Astrid could spend a week or two more as a dragon — she wouldn't mind, he reasoned — discovering as much as she could about their culture. Once changed back, they could help Syl go back to her mother, maybe even with his father's help, and convince her to change her mind about dragons, about the war. It hadn't been so easy with his father, of course, but Brenna was rational, too — she wouldn't want to lose any more of her people to a worthless cause if peace could be made. He just knew she wouldn't.
He was only half-aware of Toothless landing in the cove, until he heard him purring. At first, he thought it was just the dragon urging him to get off out of laziness, until he came to a realization.
Astrid was nowhere to be found.
Nowhere obvious, anyway — the entire cove was oddly empty, quiet in the face of the oncoming winter. She may have been in the woods — but that was unlikely, given her preference for vision of as much as she could see around her. In the lake, swimming, maybe — she had told him she had learned how to do that the last time they had talked, but had seemed quick to change the topic despite his questions, for some reason. Besides, it was already beginning to ice over, and if she still was, it was too small for her to be able to go unnoticed. She couldn't have gotten out, unless…
"Bud, do you know…?" He asked as he glanced around, blinking himself out of his thoughts, and clambering off the dragon. The Night Fury sniffed the air, before narrowing his eyes as he glanced around. She was here, but…
Suddenly, the dragon's body froze, mid-step, face to the ground. Narrowing his eyes, he turned around completely, and began marching straight across the beach. Hiccup stumbled after him.
"You know where she is? Did you catch a new scent trail, or—?" He asked, as if the Night Fury could actually explain it to him.
Still, raising an eyebrow — or the dragon equivalent — he lifted a paw to gesture at the sand… Where Night-Fury shaped footprints led down alongside the lake, away from the woods.
"Ah," he responded, wincing. "You just, uh… Lead the way, bud."
The footprints only led them as far as the end of the beach, before the sand gave way to dirt too hard-packed and cold to leave an imprint. Still, the cove wasn't that big. And if she wasn't even in the woods, then—
He looked up. No, there was still nothing. A large, weathered boulder was covered by the shade of the cliff, but was too close to the sheer face for Astrid to be hiding behind it.
He frowned. "There's nothing here, bud. Come on, she must be in the woods somewh—"
He growled at him again, and Hiccup stopped. The Night Fury gestured again at the boulder, and Hiccup opened his mouth… and blinked.
Because it wasn't just a boulder.
Astrid was curled up on top of it, tail hanging down along the side so closely he had mistaken it for a strange formation of the stone. Her wings were pulled tight against her body, her feet, torso, and head all curled together, almost perfectly covering the flat stone on top. If he glanced out of the corner of his eye or didn't look closely enough, it was still hard to believe she was even there.
But beyond that, she was almost… Cute, beneath the two equally deadly layers of Astrid as a Night Fury.
Something about that seemed just plain wrong. Astrid could be beautiful, sure, strong and so stunning it made his eyes hurt, sometimes. But anything even close to adorable was so far from accurate, any time a guy even muttered some variation of the word around her, they'd be in for a beating bad enough to make them run home to their mothers and watch their backs constantly for the next several months, if not forever. So the fact that Astrid would ever even let herself be seen that way was just weird, unless, of course… She was sleeping.
But… That didn't seem right, either. Her training regimen had changed since her transformation, obviously, but it was almost mid-morning. She never slept in this late, ever.
Though come to think of it, she has looked a bit more… Tired, the last few times I've seen her, and that was days ago. He thought, suddenly noticing what appeared to be bags beneath her eyes, before telling himself it was just a trick of the shadows she was bathed in. Still… He didn't like just standing here, staring at her. She would probably hate him if she found out. That, at least, he knew was wrong.
"Come on, bud," he told Toothless, already backing away, keeping his eyes on Astrid. "I—I don't really want to bother her while she's… Like this. We can come back late—"
The dragon huffed from beside him, before rushing around to his back and pushing him from behind.
"Wha—" He said, stumbling forward, before turning around to glare at him. "She's asleep! Gods, haven't you ever heard of 'never wake a sleeping dragon,' before? And you should know what could happen, bud…"
The Night Fury gave a not-so-kindly purr and sent him a glare back, then nodded again at the sleeping figure on the rock. The message was clear. She deserves to know what happened.
And he was right.
"Oh, by Thor's Hammer..." He sighed, and started the walk up to her face, shooting an unhappy frown back at Toothless before he reached her. He purred back at him, and sat down.
Her face was just above eye-level, resting against her front paws, turned at a slight angle. He watched as a small puff of hot air was pushed from her snout every few seconds, followed by an inhale that tensed up her whole body, before releasing again. To be in the presence of a creature like this while it was sleeping was, in a way, scarier than it would be while it — she — was awake. The untapped potential of power, of strength, seemed to shimmer around her like an aura. Strong as Astrid was already, it was hard to believe it was still her inside of that creature's body, sometimes.
Well, here goes nothing, he thought.
"Hey, Astrid…" He raised a hand to her snout.
Her eyes snapped open before he could touch her, narrowed into slits.
The Night Fury slept.
She dreamt of a hunt.
The great pyres of rock had all been taken down — her own doing, as per usual. The screeches of their young and old running for cover, the cries in their own thick tongue, "Night Fury, get down!" before her fire released and she struck, bringing down upon their petty structures the force and heat of a thousand strikes of lighting at once. The impact and sound of it crumbling, already behind her, below her — soaring back up into the sky and feeling the crushing despair of the humans, the horror was nothing but invigorating. Those of her blood had been struggling before, yes, but now she was there, the Night Fury. The field of battle had changed — the humans no longer stood a chance of winning, and they knew it.
But tonight was different. This night, the group of humans' nest blazed, an inferno of flame that could rival the depths of the Queen's own mountain. They were weak, even compared to their own counterparts; it was why their nest returned there on hunts so often. Not that there was even much food to gather from them, anyway. Attack there too often, and they had no time to restock what little sources of meat they had. The Queen would have to make sacrifices that night for those who brought back too little; examples of the stragglers, to teach those who thought they could scurry by on scrapings under her watch. Only the strong survived. She would never be sacrificed, however. She was too important. If she died, the humans thrived; if the humans thrived, the dragons died. And if the dragons died, the Queen starved. It was a relationship she revelled in the pride of. The others feared her close connection with the queen, but no matter — let them fear her. It was better she stayed alone. The nest wasn't her only life, after all…
The towers were already down when she spotted them, halfway across the nest, hundreds of feet below: a small group of humans, being led into the woods by two others at the front. Even from there, she could make out some basic details; one was larger, of the size those of the blood had come to recognize them for after hundreds of years, and for some reason, she found herself smirking when she looked at it, though she couldn't quite place why.
The second, however, was different. Smaller, thinner, and younger, but with a sharp rod of iron in his claws — a sword, they were called — and just as bold as the others. Her smile only widened at this — her target. And now was her chance.
She went into a dive, narrowing her eyes down, tight. So tight they were almost closed, and… Sniffed the air.
Human scent. Close.
Her eyes flew back open. She was lying on the ground, or near it — that was the first thing wrong. Second… The sun was above her. No, that was impossible. She had been in the sky, high above with the moon to guide her. Had she crashed? And then there was the smell again. The smell of—
Human. There was a human in front of her, below her, standing there with its hand raised up to her head, ready to slit her throat, ready to poke her eyes out with a knife.
Her wings flared, and she leapt, snarling, vision red. It barely had enough time to give a pitiful chirp before it was slammed to the ground, probably dazed, if not knocked out, as well. She frowned — it was a delicate thing, smaller than most of them. Not the same as her target, but still, not typical, either. Weaker. Killing it would be a mercy.
Her paw raised up, talons unsheathed, ready to bring them down upon the quivering creature's neck, before she hesitated. There was another scent in the air, as well. One of her own. One of a—
A force like a boulder slammed into her midsection, flinging her off of the human, several feet away. She screeched as she crashed into water, lapping up around her legs as she jumped to her feet, growling.
Her attacker stood in front of her, a snarl of his own on his face as he bent down, ready to fight. The human cowered behind him, frightened and confused. She took a step forward, sore, but furious. This one would pay for what he had done in blood. She had chosen her prey, and to bar her from killing it was—
"Astrid!"
She blinked, and narrowed her eyes. Astrid? That was not her name. That was not her. She was a Night Fury, a dragon caught unawares and threatened by a human, a human she intended to kill. She was not about to be challenged by one who would stoop so low as to protect it, and that—
And that was not her.
She stepped back into the water.
Her… That was not… Her. She was a Night Fury, one of the blood, a… a dragon…
That was not her.
She took another step back into the water, letting it float up around the base of her legs. It touched her chin as she lowered her head to its rippling surface.
That was not her. That was not her.
That was not me.
That wasn't me.
She was… Astrid… Astrid Hofferson… a girl from Berk… She was a human… She was a human… A warrior, and that… the Night Fury. That was Toothless. That was her friend.
And the human — the real human — standing behind his Night Fury — Toothless — staring at her in horror, in fear... that was… that was…
Oh, gods... Oh no. No, no no— That… that was…
Hiccup.
She had just tried to kill Hiccup.
That wasn't me.
And yet… it was.
"Astrid," Toothless repeated. He still crouched low to the ground, though, ready to fight back at a moment's notice… To fight her... to kill her… to protect Hiccup… from her…
"Say something… Astrid, say something. We need to know it's…"
To know it's me, Astrid thought. Gods, how could she tell him when she didn't know herself? That…
"That… Wasn't me," she responded. "That wasn't…"
Toothless relaxed a bit, his muscles visibly loosening. He cast his eyes down, and gave a low, soft purr. Hiccup's eyes darted between her and him, though the dragon didn't seem to notice. "Astrid, thank… I thought we'd lost—"
She gave an anguished cry, feeling her claws dig into the still, soft sand of the lake shore. "That wasn't me… That wasn't me!"
She screeched, as if her words could be heard by all the archipelago if only she was loud enough.
Toothless stepped forward, as if reading her thoughts, but he was too late, and her vision was still too red.
Her claws dug into the sand as she struggled onto the shore, the water dragging her back in like demons clawing her back down into the abyss. She fought them, though, and leapt onto the shore, free of the water's grasp. Toothless, seeing what she was about to do, had already started to close the gap. He had receded to protect Hiccup by the boulder, though, and was still too far away to stop her in time.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hiccup stumbling forward after Toothless, as if making to follow, as well, but still too dazed to take more than a few steps without falling to one knee. Dazed, because she had tackled him. Because she had tried to kill him…
She made for the forest. Her legs obeyed, and soon she was under the cover of the trees, dodging between and around them with a grace only accomplished with weeks of practice. She kept going, running, until… A wall stopped her. Frightened at first, as if being confronted by her worst nightmare, she skidded to a halt, turned, and ran down alongside it, to the left. The cold sunlight beamed down through the leafless trees, but the shadow of the wall was an almost comforting dark for her to run in— until she reached another wall. A corner. Not a perfect one, but rounded enough that she would have to change direction or risk slamming into it head-first.
Growling, she shifted her momentum as she reached it, but was stopped by a black blur jumping in front of her.
"Astrid."
Not meeting his eyes, she whipped around, trying to run back down where she had come from. Again, though, he stepped in front of her, blocking her escape. Finally, she met his eyes, fierce.
For a full minute, each of them stood there, daring the other to attack, to make the next move. She glared into his eyes, pushing outward with hers all the ferocity she could muster in her soul refined into a command to let her go, only accomplished by years of practice on others who had made the mistake of defying her wishes.
And yet, in his eyes… Was the resilience of a dragon. Of one dragon who had been willing to defy his Queen, who chose not to kill a young, scrawny boy in the woods who had shot him down and grounded him forever. A creature who would willingly die to ensure the safety of the one he was supposed to hate, but loved like a brother. One so humble, he tried to hide his own illnesses to appear as strong as he could for others. He was better than most, dragons and humans alike.
He was better than her.
She collapsed down to the ground with a cry, and shut her eyes so tightly it hurt. Toothless relaxed a bit, too, and sat down, but kept staring at her. They stayed that way for a while, the silence only broken by a shuddering breath she took every few seconds, the muffled, fast but subsiding thumps of her own heartbeat.
Toothless glanced around, tail flicking behind him unconsciously. "This is… Getting old, isn't it? Running into these woods, I mean..."
She kept her eyes shut, hoping that if she pressed herself into the ground hard enough, she could become a part of it. "That wasn't me."
He frowned at her. "I know."
"No, you don't," she finally opened them, and rose up on her front feet, just a little. "That… Wasn't me. It was like there was… Like I didn't even…"
He raised a brow, urging her on, but she saw only doubt in his eyes. "You don't believe me, do you?"
He tilted his head to the side, and huffed. "Astrid, just a few weeks ago you turned into a full-fledged dragon, and we still don't know why, aside from something to do with magic, which, apparently, exists. Do you really need the answer to that question?"
She sighed. "It… Wasn't, though. Not just not like me, but not… Me. Someone else, some…thing, else. When I woke up, it wasn't me in my body, in my mind… It was a…" She stopped herself, though Toothless already knew what she was going to say.
"A dragon," he finished. Astrid nodded for a moment, before the blood seemed to drain straight out of her body. To where, she didn't know.
Who chose not to kill a young boy...
She had been dreaming — she remembered, now. It had been difficult to separate reality from delusion, at first, but she could piece it together, now… Now that she was her, again. Waking up, trying to kill Hiccup… that had been real. But before that, she was asleep. Dreaming. Yet…
It couldn't just have been a dream. At least when she had had the vision of her and Toothless, something had seemed wrong. Some part of her knew that what was happening wasn't right, wasn't her. But this… This was real. It was… a memory. Memories. The burning village, the group running into the woods — the memories were already fading, but receding into the back of her mind like visions of another life from years before, not strange and vanishing nightmares broken by the exposure to reality. She swore that had happened. And yet, it wasn't her.
There was one thing she knew, though — it had been the memory of a Night Fury. She just didn't think that way — taking down towers... the exhilaration of the explosion behind her... and of course, the terms; those 'of the blood,' sacrifices, even a mental picture of the Queen's nest she had seen not more than a glimpse of once herself. Of course, there was only one Night Fury she knew... one who matched all of those descriptions… But, it couldn't have been…
Toothless, once again, seemed to read her thoughts, but was still a step behind. "Then… What was it, Astrid? What made you…?"
His eyes were not deceptive, not scheming, she decided. He was just as confused, just as scared, as her. But then, the memories… She was sure they were memories...
… At a time when he had been under the Queen's control. Suddenly, she remembered all he had been through — he had troubles of his own, after all — a disease of the mind, though no one knew what. It had just been a dream.
And yet, if that was so, she had still tried to kill Hiccup.
She collapsed down once again, the remnants of despair resurging within her. Toothless started to say something again, but she quickly spun to the wall, wrapping her wings around her body in a cocoon.
She growled at nothing in particular. "It. Wasn't. Me."
"Fine, it wasn't," he told her, eyes narrowing, though not at her. "But that's not enough. I need to know that Hiccup is going to be safe if we keep coming back here. That you're… Safe. If anywhere is safe, considering what happened just a few hours—"
She whirled back around, tense. "What happened?"
A snarl crossed his face, and obvious distaste and anger laced his thoughts. "We were attacked, by men, on the island. Cowards are what they were — they used the fog to conceal their… Their ships, and rained stones of fire down upon us before they landed. Hiccup wanted to stay, but we would likely all have died, if we had. We barely made it out, anyway. His father gathers your people, now, for war."
She felt disgust boiling in her own stomach as he finished, too, but there were more important things. "Was anyone hurt?"
Toothless tried to conceal a grimace. "The girl was knocked out by the fire. She's resting, but they say she'll need to heal, first. Hiccup and I were fine, I managed to catch him just before…"
Astrid narrowed her eyes at him as he tried to avoid them. "Toothless… Don't lie to me. I need to know. What happened?"
He winced. "Stormfly's leg was wounded, and bleeding on the way back. It may be broken, but as long as she rests, as well, she should—"
For the third time that day, her world came crashing down around her. Stormfly. Wounded. Bleeding. Broken.
This was her fault — all her fault. Everything was. None of this, none of it would have happened if she hadn't… If she hadn't been so stupid. Gods, even if she had just died when that acid spilled on top of her, everything would be so much easier for everybody. She didn't care about Valhalla, not anymore — no Hel could be worse than the one she had put herself and everyone else through already.
Wounded. Bleeding Broken. Stormfly. Her dragon… Stormfly, when she had needed Astrid the most…
It was too much.
She raised her head to the sky, and howled. Birds scattered, trees rustled in a sudden gust of wind that carried the sound that already echoed in the cove over its walls. She carried it out until her throat hurt, until she could hear Toothless's telling her to stop like a dull ringing in the back of her mind.
When her breath was gone, when her soul and spirit and strength were all spent in a single sound, she let her entire body sag down to the packed dirt, dead in all but name.
There was a long silence. A cold wind still rustled the trees, blowing what few leaves still remained into the encroaching, cool clouds above.
Toothless walked over and lay down beside her with a groan, wrapping his tail around himself. Both of them stared out at the woods, at the light casting shadows of dead trees on the ground and one another, like bodies falling under the might of some unseen enemy.
"It happened, didn't it?" He asked. "When Stormfly was here last…"
She closed her eyes, tightly. "It was exactly like you said. I let my… my anger, get the best of me, and… told her to leave. And she left. But it wasn't like I was just telling her, I was—"
"Commanding her," he nodded. "That's what happens, yes. We possess the ability to talk to them, but more than that… It seems some semblance of the Queen's power of control is at the core of our beings, as well. We hold… influence, over other dragons. Over their minds… Why that is, I don't…."
He lay his chin on the ground, too, and his eyelids seemed to collapse more than close, his own weariness laid bare for the first time in… Astrid wasn't sure how long. He was keeping them secret from them, his attacks — Hiccup had told her he suspected as much. She knew it for a fact. Whether telling Hiccup what she had seen for herself would even help him, she couldn't say. Hiccup had seen it himself, after all, and they still had no idea what could be done for him. But then, if it had only gotten worse since then, it seemed sinful to keep anything she knew from him. Only Toothless could really tell them what was wrong. Perhaps he kept it secret for Hiccup's sake, but Astrid didn't think so. There was a fear in his eyes, a terror that went beyond concern for his rider. Perhaps he had been having visions, too…
She found herself drifting back to the dream — because it was a dream — despite her aversion to it. A Night Fury, in service of the Queen… Gods, she already sounded like one of them herself. She had corrupted their minds, truly, to ever even make them call her by a title of honor, of royalty — she was a true monster. Toothless was not.
Even if that had been Toothless, however that was even possible… It wasn't him, either. Not the real Toothless. Yet... he had still chosen not to kill Hiccup, that fateful day he was shot down. Astrid had always assumed it was because he was different, or out of a grudging respect — that Toothless had seen something in Hiccup that day when he cut his ropes, and paid back the favor by sparing him his life. But… Maybe it was something different — maybe he saw something else in Hiccup, someone else, a regret, a mistake he made that he had vowed never to make again…
Who chose not to kill a young boy...
Gods, what was she thinking? This was Toothless — this was her friend. And besides, now was not the time to be throwing accusations about. Not when he was crippled, vulnerable and ill. Not when he didn't trust her. Not when she didn't even trust herself…
Toothless was watching her face, both with curiosity and concern. She had never thought of dragons as expressive before she met him — she had never had reason to, never mind even glimpsing one's face for long enough to see anything but a threat before throwing an axe at it — yet he had repeatedly proven to her he was capable of every visible emotion a human was capable of, and more. She realized then, too, that she must have been making these same faces, and blinked, settling on an unimpressed scowl she had practiced with her reflection in the lake. Still, she couldn't hold it up, and found herself sighing again as she turned away.
She heard the dragon shift behind her, and cast her head down. Then he sighed, too.
"To think that I'm doing this, but…" he purred. "Astrid, if there is anything you think I can do to help you… I will. I don't know what's happening to you, either. To any of us. But… If you think there's something, anything that would ensure that you… that you're well, I'll do it."
She snorted. A disease ravaging his mind, driving him away from those he cared for, and he was still offering his help, however reluctantly. Toothless.
Still facing the wall, she stood up, and was about to tell him 'no,' then stopped.
There was… One thing.
How it would help? She wasn't sure, and yet, she knew it was necessary. It shouldn't have been. But, assuming that this all was just her going mad in the cove — though terrifying, the alternative, whatever it was, must have been even worse — this was the only cure. She knew it, in her heart and soul. She was nothing without it. She would never be anything without it. Not when she was… like this.
Yet, this wasn't new at all. No, she had wanted it, needed it from the moment she woke up like this. The decision had been made long before then — it was simply a matter of when. And here, worn out, scared and beaten, cowering in the shade of an open cell of her own making, she knew it was time.
And besides… Toothless needed some cheering up, too.
"You want to help, Toothless?" she asked him, bowing her head suddenly in the respect of a pupil, after she stood and turned to face him.
"Teach me how to fly."