CHAPTER FIVE: "HE'S NEVER WHERE HE SHOULD BE."
September 20th
Hiccup sighed as he organized the records room table with New Berk's current inventory records spread across them.
Another sleepless night, another night turned away from Astrid. Why is she so dead set on the Picts being the ones behind this? How is she so sure that war is the answer?
He thought back to yesterday. He had been at the forge finishing off more tools when he'd noticed a villager walking up the hill weapons in hand. Curious and puzzled as to why the fellow Viking was walking around armed for battle, he'd asked. The villager had replied that Astrid had made the arena usable again and had set up slots for sparring matches.
Incredulous, he'd dropped his tools, shed his apron, and beelined for the arena, bursting through the double doors, grabbing his wife by the arm and pulling her aside…
"Astrid, what are you doing?"
Astrid pulled free of his grip, giving him a death glare for handling her thus. "We need the arena up and running if we're going to be ready for war come spring."
Hiccup lowered his voice . "Who said anything about going to war?"
Astrid blinked, stunned. "W—half the village is expecting it—"
Hiccup cut her off, speaking through clenched teeth. "I haven't even come close to making that decision."
Astrid stepped back, raising her eyebrows in challenge and crossing her arms in front of her. "You were going to consult me first, though, right? I am the general."
Hiccup gave an exasperated sigh. "I don't want you getting the village's hopes up; we just received our first aid package today. I need time to figure out how long our supplies are going to last, what work still needs to be done, how many homes are going to be rebuilt since the fire left nothing—"
Astrid gasped at the mention of the fire. "I know what started the fire!"
Hiccup paused, processing what she'd said. "What?"
"I know what started the fire," she repeated, "It was Deathgripper Acid."
Memories of the house he grew up in, the loft where he slept, his father's chair, engulfed in flames, alongside every house in Berk—Old Berk—flit through his mind.
"It's been a week and a half since the fire. How could you possibly—"
"The Book of Dragons. I was flipping through it the night we moved in. I caught a whiff of the same sour scent and turned to the Deathgripper entry. The acid they spew creates the same fire that razed New Berk, which means there must be dragon goods on the market—"
He held up his hand. "Astrid, stop. What are you talking about?" Did she know how crazy she sounded? The dragons were gone, had been for years. Obtaining Deathgripper Acid was therefore impossible.
"Aren't you listening?" she said, her voice tinged with frustration, "Our home was burned to the ground by Deathgripper Acid. Where did it come from when we're the only ones who know where the dragons are? More importantly, how did the Picts—"
"Again with the Picts?!" he spat. How many times a day did he have to hear about this? "Why are you so hung up on them?" Had she forgotten their fight during the fire? "I told you I can't prove it!"
Astrid looked at him. "I just gave you proof about what caused the fire and that's what you take away from this?!" She leaned back, shifting her weight to her back foot. "My 'obsession'— she continued, "which is founded, I might add—with our enemy that attacks us unprovoked?"
Hiccup's patience ran out. "I told you the night of the fire we had no proof it was them, and now you tell me they somehow got ahold of Deathgripper Acid?
Astrid uncrossed her arms and gestured outwards. "I'm trying to figure this out!"
"What do you want me to do about it?" he snapped.
Astrid shook her head slightly, her eyes bewildered. "At least investigate—how are you not pleased with this?"
"I don't have time to go chasing after a hunch, Astrid."
"So we're just supposed to sit around worrying about what actually happened? We have the opportunity to flesh this out! We should take it!"
"I have more important things to worry about!" Why couldn't she see that?
"More important than finding the culprit to our homelessness?!"
"I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF WE'LL SURVIVE THE WINTER!" he yelled. He shook his head and threw his hands up. "I don't have time for this." He turned away from her and walked away. He would not let her have the last say on this. "Shut down the arena until I've figured this out."
"Hiccup—" she called.
"JUST DO IT!"
Hiccup exhaled as he smoothed out the papers of the running list of New Berk's food supply. He pulled over the list from the day before yesterday's aid supplies and, grabbing a charcoal pencil, added the total to the current inventory. Enough rations to last until October tenth, with tomorrow's load and the load two days after yet to be added.
They'd spoken little at dinner that evening, both Zephyr and Nuffink eating with friends, so they hadn't noticed the tension between them, thankfully…until Astrid had said otherwise.
"Nuffink knows we're fighting," she'd said as they'd climbed into bed, keeping her voice low so Nuff wouldn't hear since he slept in the loft above them. "He's not stupid."
Hiccup put down the pencil and placed his face in his palm. Family tension was not what he needed right now, he'd had enough of that growing up with his dad. A twinge of guilt twisted.
Am I really turning into my father? Ignoring the needs of my own family because I'm so caught up in running the village? Which I swore I would never do?
Memories of watching his father's funeral longship sail out to sea rolled through his mind. In the end he'd remembered all that had been good, how their relationship had changed for the better since Toothless had come into his life…but six years of improvement and understanding still didn't make up for the first fifteen where awkward silences had been their norm, wanting to say the truth but never getting around to it.
I don't want that to be my relationship with Nuff. I promised myself the day he was born I would always listen to him, always include him.
But should he include his son in the arguments with his wife? As a parent the answer was no. Nuffink did not need to know the details of that; it would be burdening him unnecessarily. But Astrid was right; he wasn't stupid, he wasn't blind to the tension betwixt them. The question was how much he already knew, how much he had heard. What more should he be privy to?
He lifted his head at the sound of a knock on the records room door. Nuff stood in the doorway.
Hiccup smiled. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he said, "How's everything in the village?"
Nuff stood a little straighter, a proud smile turning up the corner of his mouth at the compliment. "Busy," he replied, "but as Mom says, 'Many hands make light work.'" He handed Hiccup a small stack of letters. "These came for you this morning; they're from the furthest Archipelago island chiefs."
Hiccup raised an eyebrow as he took the letters in hand.
"I just wanted to see who they were from!" Nuff defended, "I didn't read them. Honest."
Hiccup chuckled. "I know you're eager to learn everything, and I'm glad you're interested, but the intertribal political side of things can be very messy. I don't want you to worry about that stuff unless you have to. The time for that will come soon enough."
Nuff nodded. "I understand," he pointed to the letters, "Are those about intertribal politics?"
Hiccup glanced at the letters. "No; these should be the reports of what aid the other tribes are bringing. I asked that of them as well as the middle island chiefs, whose responses arrived yesterday. I have yet to go through those. I will know about the aid from the islands closest to us when they finish arriving tomorrow and two days after that. Lots of calculating."
"Will you tell Mom what they say?"
The question caught Hiccup off-guard. He's not stupid, Astrid's words rang through his head. Was there a hint of accusation in his son's voice?
"I—share everything with your mother, so yes. She said you've heard us arguing?"
Hiccup watched his son swallow and his cheeks turn pink before speaking. "I…heard you and mom fighting yesterday in the arena. You walked right past me on your way out."
"I see. What did you hear?"
"Just…raised voices. Why don't you believe Mom?"
Hiccup gave his son a questioning look. "What do you mean?"
"A-about the Picts," Nuff stammered, "Mom says they were behind it."
Hiccup tucked his tongue in his cheek. So that's what you talked about after I left? "Mom made some good points about that during the fire, but we haven't had the time to look into it, or the resources. We've had to keep our focus here; and until we have proof, I'd prefer to keep it that way." So much for keeping him out of the arguments.
Nuff puzzled his brow. "But half the village agrees that it was the Picts. Even Zeph said their presence on the waters bordered on possessive when she came home. That doesn't sound suspicious to you?"
Gods, it was like talking to his wife, only he was staring into his own eyes. Nuffink was all Astrid when it came to conflict: get all of the facts, make a decision, and carry it through. Resentment flared. One of them was enough. It was hard enough that his wife and son got along so well; was he somehow not meant to have a good father-son relationship?
"As I told your mom, and as she well knows, we don't have proof it was them."
"So shouldn't we investigate and find out?"
"Again, as I told Mom, we don't have the time or the resources."
"But Mom said—"
"I know what Mom said!" Hiccup snapped, "I hear about it every gods damned day! I do not need to hear it from you!" Why can't they just listen to me?
Hiccup mentally kicked himself at the hurt look in his son's eyes. Nuffink stood there, awkward, his right hand holding onto his left arm.
He gestured with the letters. "Thank you, for bringing these. I'm sorry I snapped at you. Please…go to the forge and work a shift with Hjalmar, he's low on hands today."
Nuffink nodded, turned on his heel, and walked out.
Hiccup sighed and put a hand to his head. Why can't they just take me at my word? Why do they have to question everything?
He grabbed the bone letter opener and opened the letters from the tribal chiefs from the rest of the Archipelago Islands. His heart sank with each reading. When he had finished one, he added the supply numbers to the official list.
After the up and coming aid packages, only three more would arrive, all two weeks apart: the first on the first of October, the second on the fifteenth, and the last one on the twenty-ninth.
His heart crashed in despair at the final tally. Even with the second wave of aid, they would only have enough rationed to last the village until December twelfth. After that, they'd have to rely on what they could hunt and forage for individually, and time for that was running out.
It's not enough. It doesn't matter how much we sent for, asked for, even with aid, it still won't be enough.
"Thor help me," he murmured, "We've lost so many already. How can we stand to lose more?" The now real possibility—practically a certainty—that they would lose more people, not to war or disaster, but to starvation weighed heavy on his shoulders.
Hadn't the funeral pyres been enough? Hadn't the loss of their homes and crops been enough? The loss of eightfamilies, most of them children and elders? Hadn't that been enough?
His wife and son's words about the prospect of war flit through his mind. He wasn't blind to his people's grumblings for war, despite what they may think. After the fire, that was all he'd heard: when will we go to war? when will we go to war? when will we go to war? There hadn't been time to think then, let alone answer that question.
And now? War would just make it worse…wouldn't it? War required everything: food, armor, weapons, longboats, people. They couldn't afford to feed an army, and he was loathe to spare more people, despite being well equipped, despite insulted honor.
His heart twinged at the thought. Razing another man's village to the ground without provocation was an act of war, and a justified one, as Astrid had said. Everyone's honor was insulted, but especially his…and yet he was reticent. Why?
Hiccup's shame from yesterday's argument crawled up his cheeks. Because I can't physically do it. Another thought followed: And because a chief protects his own. I have protected my own by being the peacekeeper, not the warrior…Astrid's the warrior.
And that was where they clashed; she advocated for war despite the lack of both people and supplies. Honor was more important to her…being right was more important.
He thought back to those early days, back when Toothless was a secret and all he'd dreamed about was fitting in, being one of the very people who had constantly shunned him, his own father included. Back then, all Astrid had cared about was being the best; as one of three Viking maidens, and one of only seven teens, it meant everything to her. Her honor and everything she was had been at stake. She'd had everything to lose; warrior status especially. He'd had nothing to lose.
Had the tables turned? Was he now the one with everything to lose? Was the Archipelago-wide peace he's created everything to him? Was it worth risking to restore insulted honor?
His answers surprised him.
Yes, he had everything to lose. Yes, the peace was everything.
He could live with his people's displeasure, even hatred of him. He's been there before. He knew how to handle that; and no, the peace he'd created was not worth risking.
Honor could wait.
He'd been without honor for the first fifteen years of his life, and while it had come during the six years with the dragons, it had come slowly. It wasn't until after the dragons had left and the Archipelago Peace secured, that honor had come in full. His people could wait for honor to be restored. They owed him that much.
Honor could wait.
His purpose now was to keep them alive; ensure their survival through the winter, lessen the death toll as much as he could.
Yes. Honor could wait.
MEANWHILE…
Astrid watched as Kirk Thorsten sparred with another peer, both wielding battle axes. Both boys blocked each other's strikes, the axe handles cracking as they hit, neither moved their lower bodies, but attempted to throw each other off using only arm strength.
"Halt!" she called. Both boys released their stances and relaxed, standing apart as she approached them.
She took Kirk by the shoulders and squared him, nudging him until he placed one foot back. "Keep your weight on your back foot when on the defensive," she stated. She then centered his hands five inches apart around his axe handle and had him thrust the block again. "You'll defend yourself better and wear your opponent out faster if you block this way."
She turned to the other boy, and adjusted his stance as well, only from the offensive. "Your strike will have more power if you shift your weight from the back to the front." She eyed both of them and indicated to each, "Look for weaknesses in how your opponent fights. Everyone has a tell, some little thing that they do to psych themselves up for gaining the upper hand. If you find it, exploit it. Exploiting another warrior's tell shows not only that you have experience in combat, but that you're smart, that you're patient; and patience in battle can be terrifying."
"Like the Berserkers?" Kirk voiced, his father Tuffnut's trademark mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Astrid chuckled. "The Berserkers are their own category. They don't need patience because they get their strength and fury from the gods themselves; and that's terrifying enough for those who would dare oppose us. I have no doubt you'll make a fine Berserker one day, Kirk, but until then, channel that self assurance into sussing out your opponent," she tapped him on the forehead, "use the brains I know you Thorstens have for something other than melodrama."
Kirk gave a toothy grin. "No promises on that Chieftess, the drama comes when it comes."
Astrid rolled her eyes and shoved the boys towards a different section of the arena. "Go practice what I taught you."
She scanned the arena and smiled. The space was filled with warriors, young and old, experienced and new, testing out all of the weapons and practicing with them. The sounds of a working barracks was music to her ears: grunts of exertion, shouts of encouragement, the clang of steel on steel, the thunk of weapons on wood, the soft hiss of arrows flying to meet their targets. The rhythm was a bit rough at the moment, but that would become a well oiled machine in no time…provided Hiccup let her continue training during the winter.
Who said anything about going to war? She remembered him saying. She frowned. How could we not go to war? Razing another Chief's village unprovoked is insulted honor of the highest order. Now was not the time to sit back and do nothing.
But Hiccup hadn't been doing "nothing"; he'd spent every day since the fire amongst the village, attending one too many funerals, constantly checking the inventory of the trades and calculating what supplies were left and how long they would last. Being there for his people wasn't nothing.
But it's not the action nor answers I need. For whatever reason, Hiccup had refused to discuss her findings about the Deathgripper Acid, refused to even think of investigating, using the same excuse of time. He had no time.
I have time, she thought, I can investigate…if only he'll let me.
"I don't want a war on my hands…" His words from the night of the fire echoed across her mind.
Frustration roiled. Not wanting the warriors to see her displeasure, she strode over to the armory and went inside, putting away weapons that had been taken and left out.
She exhaled through her nose. Yes, she could have a short fuse when it came to combat, but that was because it was her passion, her area of expertise. She knew the level of standards needed and expected everyone under her charge to meet them, which included keeping the warriors in shape, constantly. And yet, ever since the Picts had sailed into the Archipelago, Hiccup had gone out of his way to placate them, assuring her that the situations were not that bad, that her presence at the multitude of meetings over the spring and summer was not needed, that he could handle it. He'd brought peace to the entire Archipelago after all.
She'd managed to work her way into attending four meetings, and each time she'd become more concerned; not only because of the clear discontent of the other tribes, but that Hiccup seemed to be blinded by the Peacemaker role he'd made for himself.
She'd been so proud of him when the Archipelago Peace was complete—no chief had ever achieved that—but it had also worried her, niggled in the back of her mind, especially for the past year. Peace that lasted too long could lead to complacency; plus, it was not the Viking way. Their culture thrived on combat…but Hiccup was different. He always had been. It had taken many years for everyone to see his difference as something good rather than weak.
Was her husband becoming complacent? Or was he just trying to hold on to a peace he'd created that was doomed to fail from the beginning? Was the Archipelago Peace in danger of failing? Is that what he was trying to protect?
And then there were these questions; questions involving the Picts and the fire and the dragons that needed an answer…but Hiccup would not give her one. The one man who, at any other point in time, would have been the first to investigate, currently "did not have the time" to look into it. The one person who she told everything to, worked everything out with, was preoccupied.
Astrid put a hand to her head. "Who am I supposed to talk to if not him?" she murmured.
She jumped at a soft knock at the armory door. Heather stood in the doorway.
"Heather!" Astrid exclaimed, "I didn't see you there."
"Everything okay?" Heather asked.
"Yes," Astrid replied out of habit. She sighed at her best friend's raised eyebrow. "No, I'm not…can I talk to you?"
Heather walked into the armory and closed the door, leaving it ajar. "Of course! What's up?"
Astrid paused before speaking. Did she really want to share what she'd discovered with Heather? They were best friends, but Heather had been a double agent before…there had been a time when she wasn't trustworthy…but many years had passed since then, and they had become close. Astrid knew deep in her gut that she could trust Heather. But could she willingly go behind Hiccup's back when he'd specifically asked (demanded, really) her not to?
"I've…made some interesting discoveries since the fire, and I think you should know about them."
Heather gave her a quizzical look. "You're not sharing them with Hiccup? I thought he would be all over that."
"I did too." Astrid sighed. "Hiccup and I…haven't seen eye-to-eye lately, to put it gently…"
"Oh, I've noticed the ice between you, as has Fishlegs."
Astrid have her a look. "Then why didn't you say something?"
"Because you two usually work it out. You don't squabble long enough for Fishlegs and I to worry." Heather furrowed her brow. "How long have you been in disagreement?"
"Months," Astrid conceded, her voice catching, "Since summer, when the Picts started giving us trouble. Somehow it turned for the worse the night of the fire. We snapped at each other…"
"Are you guys okay?" Concern laced Heather's voice.
Astrid swallowed and cleared her throat, trying to blink back tears. "I don't know…we've said very pointed words to each other," she managed to reign in her emotions. "but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about—although I wouldn't mind venting later—"
"You're welcome to vent any time. Now, you made discoveries?"
"Yes. The first thing I noticed was that the fire was unusually strong and pungent. It had felt familiar to me—like dragon fire actually—but I couldn't explain why until Fishlegs gave us the Book of Dragons. The night we moved into our new house I caught the same smell as the one during the fire. After flipping through the book, it turned out that the fire was dragon fire; specifically Deathgripper Acid."
"Deathgripper Acid? How in Odin's name did the Picts get their hands on Deathgripper Acid? The dragons are in the Hidden World…aren't they?"
"That'd exactly what I've been thinking." Astrid pulled out her notebook from her hip pouch. "I've written down everything that doesn't make sense, doesn't add up, and every question."
"You haven't told Hiccup this?"
"I have, but he flipped out and got really angry."
"What? That's not like him. He's usually thrilled to hear this stuff."
"Don't even get me started. Anyway, there's enough loose ends and more than enough questions, that I think it's worth investigating."
"Investigating? Are you sure that's wise right now? Have you tried bringing it up to Hiccup to see what he thinks?"
"That's what I'm saying, he's not listening. I don't—"
Both women turned their heads at the sound of a ringing bell.
Heather creased her brows. "The gathering bell?" she pushed open the door and walked out, Astrid following behind. "At midday?"
"What in Thor's name is going on now?" Astrid said.
Astrid and Heather made their way from the Arena to the square just outside Great Hall, where large meetings were held, weather permitting.
The square was packed, New Berkians and fellow Archipelago tribesmen rubbing shoulders, murmuring to one another about what possibly could have happened. The air buzzed with tension and curiosity.
Astrid walked faster as she saw her husband stand upon an overturned barrel and whistle, grabbing everyone's attention, the silence immediate. Hiccup, what are you doing?
"Thank you for assembling so quickly," Hiccup's voice rang over the crowds, "I have a short announcement to make."
Astrid reached the edge of the crowd and began pushing her way through. Hiccup, whatever you're planning on doing, please don't make any hasty decisions…
"First of all, thank you to our fellow Archipelago tribes for lending us what aid you could spare. I speak for all of New Berk when I say we're grateful for the help you've given us."
Applause rippled through the crowd. Astrid pushed further.
"In lieu of that, my announcement is this: I have been able to calculate how much aid we have received and will receive and how long all of our rations will last. Unfortunately, they will only last through the beginning of winter. The problem for this lies not in our neighbors, but with the lack of fish from the sea. I understand that that has been the main source of our difficulties, not to mention losing our homes a week and a half ago. Because of these new facts, and the risks we face this winter, I have decided that war is not an option."
Shocked gasps and incredulous outcries sped through the crowd. Astrid stumbled. What?!
Her husband whistled again. All eyes turned to him. His voice determined, final in his next words. "My decision is final. All hands and energies will be spent on shoring up for winter and rebuilding as much as we can." He stepped down from the barrel.
The crowd buzzed, confused, still processing their chief's words. Had he really said war wasn't an option? They spoke amongst themselves as they dispersed.
Astrid broke through. He can't do this. Not without consulting me. She ran up to Hiccup, grabbed his shoulder from behind and turned him towards her.
"Hiccup, what about the warriors?" We need to train them. Please don't deny them that.
"What about them?"
"Aren't we going to fight back?" We have to fight back. Please see reason.
Hiccup rolled his eyes and shrugged her off. "We don't have time, Astrid. I need to make sure we survive the winter."
He turned to walk away, but she grabbed him again, forcing him to face her.
"Our honor's been insulted," she said, lowering her voice, "We can't just do nothing."
"Surviving the winter and rebuilding the village is more important right now."
More important? "We wouldn't be rebuilding the village if the Picts hadn't burned it down in the first place! It's an act of war, Hiccup. We must fight back."
Hiccup shook his head. "No. We need every spare person to help gather and hunt what's left and rebuild what homes we can before the snows come. I'm sorry. We're already risking death by starvation. I won't add war to the mix."
"You know damn well that Norsemen and all Vikings settle accounts through battle—"
"You think I don't understand how badly we've been insulted? I had to choose. I had to decide whether to go to war, and through it restoring our honor, but losing gods know how many more in the process, on top of even more through starvation, or focus on making do with what we have and keeping as many alive as possible. A chief protects his own, Astrid."
"They're hungry for war, Hiccup. They want this. I want this. Denying the right to go to war is adding injury to further insult. And a chief protects his own by fighting back."
Hiccup never used his height to intimidate her, but he did so now, his green eyes piercing, his face close. "I won't risk war on the verge of winter. We stay, we gather what's left, and we rebuild, that's the end of it."
Stunned and in disbelief, Astrid watched her husband turn and walk away.
"Astrid?"
She turned to see Heather, Snotlout, Ruff and Tuff, Throck, and Eret standing in a group.
"What is it?" he said, half dazed.
"You need to talk sense into Hiccup," Snotlout demanded.
"Telling us we can't fight when we've clearly been insulted?" Tuffnut interjected.
"Has Hiccup knocked a screw or two loose?" Ruffnut added.
"Viking code of honor demands that we duke it out to the death," Snotlout continued.
"I know what the code demands, Snotlout," Astrid replied. Defense for Hiccup kicked in fast. "He's just trying to do what's best for everyone." Gods, her words sounded so hollow…
"What's best for everyone is that we go to war and kick the ass of whoever did this!" Snotlout yelled.
"I agree with Snotlout," Eret voiced, "The people want retribution."
Astrid held out her arms. "What do you expect me to do about it? Why come to me?" She could feel the raw emotions rising. Hold it together, Astrid, you can't crack in front of them.
"Because Hiccup listens to you," Heather said.
Astrid had to fight the urge to shout. Had they not seen her failed attempt to do just that? She turned to Throck. "Wanna add your two cents?"
Throck sighed before speaking. "While I applaud Hiccup's endeavors to keep us fed, sheltered, and alive for the winter, and while it is necessary to do, the consensus among the people is that they would rather go to war and retain our honor. It's the only thing we have left to fight for."
Everyone else nodded in agreement.
Astrid exhaled through her nose, quelling the rising emotions that threatened to spill over. She raised her head and looked her friends in the eyes.
"Look, I agree with you; I think we should go to war—"
"Then why did Hiccup say we're not?" Ruffnut interrupted.
"Because he disagrees and he's stubborn!" Astrid shouted. Because he's not listening to me. She gave a quick exhale. "He doesn't want any more unnecessary loss of life."
"We're Vikings, A.!" Tuffnut blurted, "Death in battle is the best way to go! It's the only way to get to Valhalla!"
"Are you sure you can't try to convince him to go to war anyway?" Eret, Son of Eret said to Astrid.
Astrid gestured in the direction Hiccup had walked off. "I tried. He won't be moved." She wiped at her eyes, brushing away any oncoming tears. She walked through the group, heading back to the arena, attempting to keep her voice even. "I'm sorry. You want to go to war, you'll have to convince him yourselves."
Astrid's throat constricted and tears streamed down her face as she walked past the arena and into the thick forests above the eighth-rebuilt village. She pulled her daggers from their scabbards, one in each hand, and slit scars in the trees as she passed, needing something to stab.
It was bad enough he wasn't listening to her in the first place, but making the decision to go to war without her? He never did that! He'd always deferred to her when it came to military matters! How dare he?! She was the warrior gods damn it!
Astrid grunted as she sliced another groove into a passing tree's bark.
How dare he? How dare he?! She swiped her tears away with her arm. How could he so blatantly disregard her input? Cast aside her experience? Her knowledge?
He'd shut her down; but worse than that, he'd shut her out.
Astrid turned on a pine and slashed the bark with her daggers. She screamed in frustration, which gave way to hurt.
The dam within her broke. Tears spilled down her face as she dropped her daggers and collapsed to her knees. She tilted her head skywards. "Why are we falling apart?" she asked the gods, "He won't listen to me, and I don't know how to make him listen!"
Astrid sank her head into her hands and wept. Anger swelled amidst the tears. She punched the tree trunk, once, twice, thrice, the bark scraping her knuckles raw.
LATER…
The evening sun splashed golden rays over the rippling blue green sea. The sky was tinged pink and orange, the clouds melding from billows into streaks.
Zephyr sat cross-legged on the empty dock, weaving a fishing net. The sailors and fisherman having returned early because of slim or empty hauls. She tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, her eyes focused on the task at hand as her fingers steadily braided cord after cord.
A light breeze blew in from the sea. Zephyr paused, sat up, closed her eyes and smiled as she breathed in the briny scent of the ocean. A wave of relaxation swept her at the sound of the water lapping against the pilings, the groaning creak of ships bobbing in the harbor, the small but steady crashing of waves upon the shore.
She exhaled, opened her eyes and stared out at the water, stretching to the horizon and beyond. She had seen so much of the world in the nine months she'd been away, and yet there was still more out there. The thought was both baffling and exhilarating. Her heart ached to go, to continue, to sail until there was no land left to find.
"Sailing the main again, Ice Eyes?"
Zephyr started and turned her head to see Erik walk up and take a seat next to her, his legs dangling off the edge of the dock.
She quirked a small smile. "Just remembering the feeling." She glanced at him and plopped half of the net into his lap. "Here," she said, "help me finish braiding this."
Erik chuckled as he took stray cords and began weaving. "I'm surprised you're not inventing something to help make the work go faster."
Zephyr looked behind Erik as people buzzed about the village, hauling loads of all kinds: lumber, stone, clay, iron tools and building materials. She watched as a group of men hauled large beams using a pulley system, up to others on the scaffolding of a new building, who guided the beam into its rightful place.
"There wasn't really a need to make something new, just ways of making what already does work more efficient, and that was easier to do than create something out of thin air. Simple observation, really."
Erik chuckled, then was silent for a moment. "Speaking of observation, we never did finish our conversation on the ship."
Zephyr gave him a look. "Is that what you came over to talk about?"
"Partly," he glanced around the docks before continuing, "we are alone, so now's as good a time as any."
Zephyr sighed, continuing to weave the net. "Why me?" she asked after a moment. She looked at him. "Aside from the fact that I'm the Chief's daughter?"
Erik smiled and tilted his head in thought for a moment. "You're smart; you understand how things work, like those thingamajigs we saw in Rome, the Far East people who had dragons like we do—"
"The woodblock printer?"
"Yeah. You only had to hear the explanation of how it worked once and you understood the concept. I was still scratching my head trying to figure it out hours later."
Zephyr chuckled and smiled.
"You're the best sailor I know," Erik continued, "You have a natural ability for navigation—you barely needed to use the sunstone once we kept to an area—and you understand how to manipulate the water and the karve to work in your favor. It's fascinating to watch."
Zephyr straightened, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. "Thora said you liked to watch me steer."
Now it was Erik's turn to smile. "I do." He lifted one hand from the net in his lap and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I like your braids today."
His eyes roamed over her head, trailing her side braids that wrapped around her head, pulling it out of her way before joining together in a four stranded one and rested atop the rest of her thick auburn waves, which billowed down her back, the ends touching the dock. Her angled bangs falling nicely over her red leather and brass studded fillet.
"Thank you," she replied, her cheeks turning pink, "My mom did them. She used to wear it this way."
"Want to know what my favorite thing about you is?"
Zephyr nudged him playfully. "What, my smarts and sailing skills weren't enough?"
Erik chuckled as he rubbed the smooth strand of her hair in between his fingers. "I love your deep focus in everything, be it seafaring, inventing something, or keeping your sword skills up. You zone in so completely there's nothing but you and the task. I love it."
Zephyr lifted her hand and trailed it along the ridge of his hairline, then down his cheek. She gave a small smile. "I love…" she started, but trailed off.
Erik noticed emotion flash across her face, watched her drop her hand and turn away, her lips pursed.
"What's wrong? Something I said?"
Zephyr mentally kicked herself as she untangled a netting strand. "No," she replied.
"A cloud passed over your face," Erik continued, "It's happened a lot lately. What's wrong?"
Zephyr sighed, then looked at him. "Are you sure this is the right time to get together?"
"Thora and Ivar are getting married next month; the village being in disrepair hasn't stopped them—"
"Yeah, but they've been engaged for a year, that's different. You and I are…barely a couple. We've only admitted our attraction to each other two weeks ago. We're just deciding whether or not to become one."
"And?"
Zephyr blushed. "I've never been courted before."
Erik raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What about all those guys who gave you flowers and asked for your hand for the past three years?"
"I never said yes to any of them. I had no interest in that. Besides, all they cared about was showing off how little brains they had—present company excluded."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. How long have you liked me?"
The question caught Erik off-guard. "W-what do you mean?"
"I've…gotten the feeling over the past few weeks that you've been interested in me for a lot longer than a month or two."
Erik pressed his tongue to his cheek. "Did Thora tell you that?"
Zephyr creased her brows and put her hands on her hips. "I'm not dense, Erik, I can tell when a guy likes me…for the most part."
Erik glanced at the water lapping the pilings before responding, "Since you were sixteen."
"You've had a crush on me for almost three years?!" Zephyr exclaimed, incredulous. "And you didn't say anything?!"
Erik faced her. "You said yourself you had no interest in that. I'm not dense either. I could see I wouldn't have gotten anywhere. You were more interested in friendship than in romance. I was happy to oblige, so long as I still got to spend time with you. Yes, I've had a crush on you for a long time. Is what's got you concerned?"
Zephyr exhaled in frustration. "We've been friends for so long, how do we know we'll make good lovers? And if we do make good lovers, what happens then? And what if we don't work out? What if we make better friends than lovers? Would we go back to being friends? Could we be friends after that?"
"Are you expecting us to not work out?"
She sighed. "I don't know. It's all so new…realizing I liked you was scary enough, and then realizing that you liked me back…" She gestured to the two of them. "I'm in uncharted waters without a map. I don't know how to navigate this."
Erik gave her a small smile. "Well, we won't know unless we try. Think of it this way: we're discovering new territory in these uncharted waters. We're going where we've never been."
Zephyr smiled and ran her fingers through his ponytail. "You always know the right thing to say. That's my favorite thing about you."
Erik grinned and ran his finger along the outline of her chin. "What, my good looks and combat skills aren't enough?"
They both laughed.
Suddenly, they turned their heads at the sound of a ringing bell.
"The Evening Meal," Erik said, He hopped to his feet, dumping the fishing net onto the dock in a pile, and held out his hand to Zephyr. "Join me?"
Zephyr removed the net from her lap and took his hand. She smiled as he pulled her up. "With pleasure."
They kept their hands clasped together as they walked into the village and up the hill towards Great Hall.
Fellow Vikings joined the throng as they walked until the path leading up became swollen with people, friends and neighbors, both within New Berk and throughout the Archipelago.
Erik noticed Zephyr tense as they walked, her posture becoming straight, and her fingers curling tighter into his as people walked by, muttering under their breath.
"What's the matter, Zeph?" he spoke low into her ear.
"It's going to be a long meal," she replied.
"Because of the Chief's announcement," Erik stated.
Zephyr nodded,
Erik swallowed before continuing. He squeezed her hand. "Everything okay at home?"
"If they weren't tense before, they certainly will be now."
"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"
"There's this…weird tension between my parents that I've never seen before. Nuff gave me the brief rundown when we got home that they disagreed about who or what started the fire, and ever since then they've been preoccupied. I got the impression from mom that the Picts are behind it, which, given how many of their ships we saw in the water on the way in that doesn't surprise me; plus her letter said that very thing. I had assumed, along with half the village, that we would be going to war come spring, preparing for that as well as rebuilding. Mom got the arena back up and running for that purpose. And then—"
"And then your Dad says we're not going."
"Exactly. That's what doesn't make sense…"
"But?"
"But Dad's right too. You've seen the food stores; we eat less and less at each meal. How Thora and Ivar are going to pull off a wedding feast in the midst of this is beyond me…we barely have enough to feed ourselves, let alone an army. If I could just talk to him…"
"You haven't spoken to your Dad since you got home?"
Zephyr looked at him, tears in her eyes, but she brushed them away. "You've seen how preoccupied he is; he spends the entire day running around the village making sure everyone's okay and that we're a little bit better off than we were yesterday. I know that's his job as Chief, but he's always made time for me, time for just the two of us to talk. I was hoping to get that shortly after we got home, but it didn't happen."
Erik removed his hand from hers, wrapped his arm around her and hugged her.
"I'm so sorry, Zeph." He leaned his head against hers. "You're welcome to talk to me any time."
Zephyr took his hand and squeezed it, leaning into him. "There you go again, always knowing the right thing to say." She looked into his face, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. "Thank you."
Erik smiled back.
Hiccup almost choked on his ale as he watched Zephyr walk into Great Hall—with Erik Ereston—his arms draped around her like they were a couple.
His fatherly protectiveness surged. He got Astrid's attention and nodded towards his daughter.
"When did that happen? What is Erik Eretson doing with his arms draped around out daughter?"
Astrid stifled a laugh with her hand, then leaned in. "Zephyr gained a crush on him while they were at sea, but according to Eret's wife Thorhilde, Erik's had a crush on her for a lot longer." She watched the pair sit down at a table filled with their peers. She glanced at Hiccup. "I don't think you have to worry too much; Zephyr told me she's unsure of the whole thing, and judging by the way they entered, they're close, but not a couple."
"How did I miss this?" Hiccup said to himself.
Astrid laid her hand atop his. "You've been busy," she said, her tone coming out more condescending than she liked. "We all have," she added.
Hiccup jerked his hand from beneath hers. "Great. I'll just add absent father to my list of faults."
Astrid lowered her voice so the others to her left wouldn't hear her. "Hiccup, that's not what I meant at all—"
"Well, the point's been made," he returned, shifting his attention back to the small bowl of stew.
Astrid swirled her spoon in her own stew, before speaking, her voice tinged with challenge.
"Am I still allowed to train the warriors?"
Hiccup paused before shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth. "We're not going to war. I told you." He looked at her. "No."
"Then can I at least investigate where the Deathgripper Acid—"
"Enough!" Hiccup spat through clenched teeth. "I'm not having this conversation again."
Astrid bit her tongue. He'd refused to listen. He'd shut her down. Again. She turned back to her stew, her voice laced with derision.
"You're the Chief."
LATER THAT NIGHT…
Silver moonlight spilled cold into the arena, illuminating empty space, devoid of warriors, the silence deep.
Astrid waited.
The door to the arena creaked open, and Heather stepped inside.
"Sorry I'm late," she replied as she walked up, "Oswald had a nightmare and I had to calm him down. What's going on?"
"Tomorrow morning I'm going to the Northern Markets to see if I can find Deathgripper Acid." Astrid said, cutting to the chase, "You're the best scout I know. I want you to come with me."
"I'd be happy to," Heather replied, then noticed the uncomfortable look on Astrid's face. "Is Hiccup okay with this?" she continued.
Astrid's cheeks turned pink. "…he doesn't know."
Heather raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You're going behind his back?!"
Astrid glared at her. "Don't make me feel worse than I already do; keeping this from him is bad enough."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Because he's wrong!" Astrid snapped. She bit her tongue, her heart twisting as the words left her lips. She looked at her friend, pleading for understanding. "I can't stand by and do nothing," she continued, "You know that. Hiccup is so caught up in being the peacemaker he can't see anything else. There's more to this, I can feel it, I just need proof. The harbor will be busy tomorrow with the last aid from the islands closest to us, so Hiccup will be distracted and we won't be missed." She held out her hands. "Please, Heather, help me."
Heather sighed. "Are you sure there's more than just insulted honor involved?"
Astrid sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm expecting to find, but all of this has happened for a reason. I'm just trying to find out why because someone has to. I've tried encouraging Hiccup to pursue this but he won't budge. The village's immediate needs are his top concern, right now. He won't hear anything else. Please."
Heather sighed. "All right, but if Fishlegs asks I'm not lying to him. We don't keep secrets between us."
Astrid nodded. "I understand. Thank you. Meet me at the docks as soon as the aid ships arrive."
"I will. What excuse shall I give?"
Astrid thought for a moment, then said, "Bring all of the extra potash you have; tell whoever you need to that you're going to trade it for supplies. I'll bring our extra potash as well, that way the gossip mill won't run."
"Done," Heather said.
Astrid watched her friend disappear into the night. She lifted a prayer to Thor, god of strength and protection as she walked back into the village. Help this mission to go right, help it to go unseen, unnoticed, safe from prying eyes.