Chapter 5: Stormfly
Astrid stifled a yawn as she stepped under the portcullis into the dragon ring. She'd managed to get a few precious hours of sleep after checking in on Hiccup, but she was still tired, and mentally processing Hiccup's revelations about the dragon war. She unslung her axe and swung it around a couple times, feeling its comfortable weight in her grip.
The arena in front of her was filled with a labyrinth of tall wooden walls, easily two or three times her height. Narrow corridors stretched away to the left and right of the entrance. She idly wondered when Gobber had found time to set up the maze while overseeing the repairs of the village.
She pushed the thought away, silently repeating her uncle's training mantra: In battle you must be as the eye of the storm; violent on the outside, but calm within.
The portcullis slammed shut behind her, sealing her in along with the other dragon trainees.
And soon, an angry Nadder, she added.
"Get ready," Gobber instructed, pacing away from them, around the circumference of the ring.
Astrid adjusted her grip on her axe and dropped into a ready stance. Around her she sensed the others following her lead
"Guys, wait," she hissed, remembering Gobber's advice from the previous night. "We need a plan; If we all charge into that maze blindly we'll get picked off one by one."
The clang of a cage opening echoed across the ring, followed by a furious hiss and a raptor-like screech.
"I have a plan: Get that dragon!" Snotlout yelled, raising his mace over his head and charging off down the right-hand path. A moment later, the Twins let out their own battle cries and disappeared down the left path. Fishlegs glanced at her, meeting her gaze with apologetic eyes before shrugging and chasing after Snotlout.
"Well, I tried," she muttered to herself, before following after the Twins.
"Today is all about ATTACK!" Gobber shouted from the sidelines. "Nadders are quick, and light on their feet! Your job is to be quicker and lighter!"
She heard a rushing of air and a creak of wood. She instinctively dived down a side corridor as a shadow flitted across the narrow slit of sky above her. She glanced back as she sprinted away, but the high walls obscured her view. She heard the dragon let out an excited squawk and a moment later Fishlegs cried out in terror. "How in the Hel is this teaching us anything!" he yelled.
Astrid stopped running and glanced around warily. From the far side of the maze she could hear the Twins arguing while Gobber lectured them about finding a dragon's blind spot. Quick and light? she thought, glancing down at her shield. Nadder fire was among the most destructive kinds, but it was also short-ranged; the heavy wooden disk on her arm would just slow her down. She quickly slipped her arm out of the shield let it drop to the arena floor. Her lips twitched in a cold smile. She prefered to wield her axe two-handed anyway.
She cautiously rounded a corner, and spotted Snotlout crouching at the intersection of two pathways. Keeping low, she silently slinked up beside him and peeked around the corner. The Nadder was prowling down the narrow aisle towards them, its wings half-extended to block the passage. She swiftly pulled back, pressing against the wooden wall.
On three, she mouthed to Snotlout, readying her axe.
"Stay back babe, I'll handle this," he said, stepping out into the intersection. He raised his arm and threw his mace.
Snotlout stared dumbly at the surprised dragon as his weapon clattered harmlessly against the maze wall.
Astrid leapt into action, grabbing the back of his collar and tugging him with her. She felt a flash of heat on her back as the Nadder incinerated the space he'd been occupying a half-second earlier. "Never throw away your weapon in battle!" She growled.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her and she let go of Snotlout, doubling her speed. She darted around a corner. The heavier dragon skidded after her, smashing into the maze wall and knocking it down. The impact didn't phase her pursuer at all. The Nadder shook off the splintered wood and leapt after her, hopping along the tops of the walls. The huge wooden sections crashed down in its wake.
Astrid glanced around. Snotlout had vanished down a side passageway, leaving her alone in the dragon's sights. A deafening impact shook the ground, making her stumble. She caught herself, and looked up. Almost in slow motion she saw the wall on her left begin to lean over towards her. She put on a desperate burst of speed and dove into a roll.
For a single instant she was buffeted by a blast of wind and engulfed in a cloud of dust as the maze section fell, missing her by mere inches. In the next, she was finishing her roll and rising, taking in her surroundings. She was in a small clear space, on one side, the open doors of the Nadder's pen; on the other three, collapsed maze sections.
She heard an angry hiss and a crunching of claws on wood. She reacted; spinning, switching her axe to the left hand. Her right hand found the knife on her belt in the same moment that she turned to see the Nadder leap at her. She raised the knife, then in the blink of an eye, whipped her hand downwards.
The knife struck the near the base of the right wing, slicing nearly the whole length of the membrane. Thick, hot blood splashed on stone. The Nadder bellowed in pain. It's right side dipped and it crashed heavily to the arena floor. The dragon was slow to rise; stunned.
Astrid saw her opportunity. The Nadder was three paces away. She raised her axe and charged.
Her mental calm shattered. Memories and thoughts slipped in with each step.
One. A Terrible Terror leaping from a burning house, it's eyes wide with panic. Her axe rising of its own accord to meet it, splitting its skull in twain. Hot blood soaking her hair.
Two. Reading the dragon manual as a child, the same words on every page: "Extremely dangerous, kill on sight."
Three. A Night Fury slumped on the ground whimpering with grief. 'SHE DIDN'T WANT TO HURT ME'
Astrid skidded to a halt, her axe frozen mid-swing. Was this a mindless beast? Or a slave? A monster? Or a victim? She couldn't tell anymore.
She looked down. She was standing over the Nadder; yellow eyes stared up at her in fear and growing confusion. The eyes blinked. Once. Twice. The Nadder grunted, and shakily clambered to her feet. Astrid stumbled backwards as the dragon shuffled silently into her cell.
A soft pattering of liquid caught Astrid's attention as the dragon passed. The rent in her wing membrane was bleeding profusely, spreading drops of blood in a trail behind her. She felt sick.
The doors of the Nadder's prison slammed shut with a resounding boom.
Tuffnut broke the silence that followed. "Who are you and what have you done with Astrid?" he taunted. "I've never seen you chicken out on a dragon like that before."
She didn't respond. Hiccup's last words as a human echoed in her mind.
I did this.
The harsh glare of the midday sun dragged Hiccup into wakefulness. He raised his head and looked around, blinking rapidly to clear the sleepy fog from his mind. He hadn't realised that he'd fallen asleep. He'd lain down to rest for a moment after a long, stressful night and the rising sun had seemed to have an almost soporific effect on him. Before he knew what was happening, he'd felt his eyelids begin to droop and his head drop onto his paws.
He glanced over at his shelter beneath the roots of the pine. Part of him wanted to curl up in the shadows under the great tree and go back to sleep. Instead, he forced himself to walk over to the shores of the lake and took a long drink of the cool meltwater within. Refreshed, he sat back on his haunches and met the gaze of the reflected Night Fury.
His conversation with the Nadder - or should he say the Dragon Queen? - from the night before replayed in his head. Whatever magicks the Night Fury possessed had been consumed in transforming him, she'd said, leaving him trapped in this body.
Well it could be worse, he thought morosely, I could have been turned into a Gronckle or a Zippleback. Based on what he remembered of the Night Fury and what he saw in his own reflection, he thought the Furies were one of the least hideous dragon species: Sleek, streamlined, and possessing an almost feline quality to their appearance. In a different set of circumstances, he might even have described the Furies' large green eyes and wide black pupils as cute.
The Queen had also said that it was the nature of dragons to attack and steal from the weak, and that eventually his 'true nature' would assert itself. Was he fated to become a selfish beast, and turn on his tribe?
No, he told himself adamantly. I might be black and scaly on the outside, but I'm still me on the inside. I haven't changed. Was that true though? An explanation for his strange sleeping patterns since his transformation suddenly lit up in his mind. Night Furies had black scales and large, sensitive eyes. Dragon raids happened exclusively at night. Logically, it would make sense if Night Furies were nocturnal - was that what was happening to him?
Considering his 'attack' on Astrid, and the incident with the fish basket the day before, it was obvious that the transformation had affected his subconscious as well as his physical form. How long would it be before it began to affect his conscious thoughts too? Would he even realise when it was happening?
"No," he growled, turning sharply away from the lake. "I'm still me, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third." He couldn't allow himself to start doubting his own thoughts; down that route lay madness and despair.
He cast his gaze around the cove; he needed a project to occupy his thoughts - gods, he missed the forge. His eyes settled on the boulder he'd used in his failed attempts to climb out of the cove. Astrid had been right; stuck in this cove and unable to fly, he was vulnerable to any roving dragon or Viking that chanced upon him. As Gobber was fond of saying: A downed dragon is a dead dragon.
He scrambled atop the rock and turned to face the far wall of his prison. He extended his wings and gave them a few experimental flaps. With a deep breath, and a silent prayer to the gods, he threw himself forwards into empty space.
At the apex of his leap, Hiccup drove his wings downwards. Rather than rising gracefully into the air as he envisioned, he spun uncontrollably and tumbled to the ground. He landed in an ungainly tangle of wings and tail, throwing up a cloud of dust.
Hiccup groaned and clambered to his feet. "Time for some good old-fashioned Viking stubbornness," he thought out loud, turning back towards the boulder. "If at first you don't succeed, keep beating your head against the rock until one or the other breaks."
After the third heavy landing - and accompanying mouthful of soil - Hiccup came to two conclusions. One: He'd had enough of intentionally throwing himself off high places to last a lifetime. And two: the only thing in the nine realms more stubborn than a teenage Viking was the force of gravity.
Perhaps learning to fly solely by trial and error was a bit optimistic, he thought sheepishly. While he was still grounded for now, there must something he could do to make himself less of an easy target. He briefly glanced over at the body of the Nadder - still lying sprawled in the middle of the cove.
While it made him sick to think about what he'd done to the dragon, he had to admit that being able to control his fire and use it at will would be useful if he was attacked. But where to begin?
Hiccup closed his eyes and tried to remember how it had felt when he'd used his fire. It had started with a heat blossoming in his chest, somewhere between his heart and his stomach. He focused on that area, and he felt it, something clenched tightly at the centre of his torso. He flexed his chest muscles, and found a new set that seemed to connect to the thing. He experimentally pulled them, and he felt a brief flare of heat, but it quickly sputtered and died.
Encouraged, he repeated his action, taking in a deep breath at the same time. The flame in his chest sprang into life. Hiccup jerked in shock. His teeth instinctually retracted and he shot a small fireball into ground, kicking up a shower of dirt.
Hiccup blinked in surprise. The fire tasted weird; it left an almost metallic taste in his mouth, like the air just after a lightning strike.
Hiccup raised his head to look up at the cliffs and drew in another breath, opening his fire. This time, he held it in, stoking the flames. When he felt he contain it no longer, he fired. A purple bolt shot from his mouth and streaked across the cove, detonating against the wall with a crack of thunder. The blast set off a small rockslide and left behind a stark black scorch mark on the rock.
A soft fluttering caught Hiccup's attention. Undeterred by his pyrotechnics, a crow had flapped down onto the Nadder's chest to feast on her entrails. Oh no you don't, Hiccup thought. He quickly breathed in and fired another shot. His blast went wide, but it still had the desired effect - the bird squawked in surprise and quickly retreated into the safety of the trees.
Steeling himself, Hiccup approached the Nadder's corpse. He'd been avoiding it, but he knew that if he was going to carry on living in the cove he had to do something with the body. He idly clawed at the ground with a forepaw, excavating a narrow trench. Burying the Nadder was out of the question; it would take him a week to dig even a shallow grave. When a dragon was killed in a raid on Berk, they usually burnt the body on a bonfire at the edge of the village. However, those fires also created towering pillars of black smoke; if he lit such a fire in the cove it would undoubtedly draw the villagers' attention.
Hiccup looked up at the cliff walls pensively. His gaze settled on the scorch marks his fire had left on the rocks, and an idea began to form in his head. He knew that in certain conditions fires could burn with minimal smoke. If his fire was as hot as he expected, he might be in luck.
Turning away from the Nadder, he located a small boulder lying at the base of the cliffs. Standing over it, he took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then retracted his teeth and exhaled, opening the source of his fire. A jet of blue flame shot from his maw, splashing over the rock and instantly crisping the grass around it. He maintained the jet for a couple of seconds, then cut it off, closing his jaws as the last tongues of flame tickled at his throat. The rock was left glowing a dull red, and Hiccup could feel the heat radiating from it even at a distance.
This should work, he thought, returning to the Nadder's remains. He took a deep breath and looked down at the dragon's head. He hesitated. She was an intelligent creature; it felt wrong to put her to the flames without at least an acknowledgement of her passing.
Hiccup paused, thinking. Growing up in a village under near constant attack by dragons, he'd seen his fair share of funerals. Most of the traditions centered on ensuring that the dead person wouldn't come back to life as a Draugr. He doubted that they would mean much to the Nadder.
Eventually he settled on a section of a poem he had heard recited in the mead hall on a Winter's night. It spoke of flames, a king that tortured his subjects, and a young man who went to the aid of an innocent prisoner.
"Heitr ertu, hripuðr, ok heldr til mikill;
göngumk firr, funi!
loði sviðnar, þótt ek á loft berak;
brennumk feldr fyr.
"Átta nætr sat ek milli elda hér,
svá at mér manngi mat né bauð
nema einn Agnarr, er einn skal ráða,
Geirröðar sonr, Gotna landi.
"Heill skaltu, Agnarr, alls þik heilan biðr
Veratýr vera;
eins drykkjar þú skalt aldrigi
betri gjöld geta."
As the final words faded into the background noise Hiccup inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air. He held it for a long moment, then breathed fire upon the Nadder's head.
Two great intakes of air, and two fiery exhalations later, all that remained of the Nadder was a patch of blackened ground and a pile of dark grey ash.
Bowing his head, Hiccup stepped back and spread his wings. I don't know where dragons go when they die, he thought, but I hope it's better than the life you had here. He flapped powerfully, creating a gust that scattered the Nadder's remains. He watched as the wind took the tiny grey particles, carrying them far, far away from Berk.
If only he could escape his own problems so easily.
Astrid lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. However, she didn't see the rough wooden boards above her. Instead, all she saw was the bloody gash her knife had left in the Nadder's wing, and the steaming red trail she had left behind as she slunk back into her cage. The dragon's pained cry as the blade cut into her flesh echoed in Astrid's ears over and over again.
She raised her hands above her face. In the dim light, she could see that they were shaking. What's wrong with me? She'd witnessed the destruction the dragons wrought on her home first hand: she'd seen whole families burnt alive and her beloved uncle's life destroyed by the beasts. She'd dedicated her life to winning dragon training and restoring her family honour. She should hate them.
Yet, she couldn't get the look in the Nadder's eyes as she stood over it, axe in hand, out of her head. It hadn't been the gaze of a savage killer, they had been the terrified eyes of a wounded and cornered animal - an animal she'd wounded.
Her fingers twitched. She wasn't good at sitting on a problem; she needed to do something. Her hands ached for the haft of her axe; training - no matter the time of night - was always good to work off excess emotion. However, part of her felt sick at the idea of even picking up a weapon again after what she did.
She dropped her hands to the bed with a strained exhale. Who was she to question seven generations of Viking wisdom? Her people killed dragons; it was the way of the world, it was right.
Only the second Viking ever to see a Night Fury and live to tell the tale, a small voice inside her whispered. And possibly the only one who knows the truth of why the dragons raid us.
She sighed. What did they know - really know - about dragons anyway? She wracked her brain, trying to recall everything about Nadders that she could. They breathe superheated fire and shoot poisoned spines from the tail, she thought, avoid those. Sharp claws, and strong legs, aim for-
"... the wings." she finished aloud. She wasn't sure why - she vaguely recalled Fishlegs explaining something about 'thermal regulation' - but Dragons seemed to have an inordinate amount of blood flowing through their wings, even a small cut to the membrane would bleed profusely. It was part of what made capturing dragons so difficult, they would often bleed out from wing injuries long before the battle was over.
She thought of the Nadder, huddled in a cold stone cell, slowly bleeding out through the wound she'd inflicted. Her stomach twisted, and she was glad that she'd left her appetite behind somewhere in the training ring that afternoon.
Determination crystallized in her chest. It was time to do something decisive. She smoothly rolled out of bed and slipped downstairs - leaving her weapons and armour behind. Quietly, she rifled through the cupboards, pilfering the items she needed, then stepped out into the night.
Although the stars were obscured by clouds, and a light drizzle fell from the heavens, Astrid hunched her shoulders and pressed on. The moon shone faintly through the clouds, spreading a weak, diffuse light over the village, but she didn't need it; she knew the way.
First, she made her way down to the docks and took another basket of fish from the warehouse. She felt a pang of guilt as she stole more vital food so soon after her last theft, but she knew that there was no other way. As she slipped out the warehouse doors she made a silent promise to find a way to pay back the village for the food she'd taken.
Shouldering the basket, she made her way up the ramps, skirted the boundaries of the village, and started down the track towards the kill ring. She walked briskly, trying to use the rhythms of her body to distract her from the niggling feeling of guilt in her chest. Before, she'd been able to rationalise her actions helping Hiccup as for the good of the village. Now, though: why was she doing this? On a hunch? On the second-hand words of a dragon? To satisfy her conscience?
Before she could answer her questions, she crested the final rise and laid eyes on the training ring. Thunder rumbled in the distance, out to sea. The rain was noticeably heavier now than it had been when she left the village. She quickened her pace, hurrying down the incline and over the rope bridge that lead to the ring proper. She had limited time: she did not want to be stuck outside the village when that storm hit.
She grabbed a lantern from the storage shed on the outside of the ring, lighting it using a flint from a pouch on her belt, then returned to the entrance of the arena. She cranked open the gate. Taking a deep breath, she raised the lantern above her head and stepped inside.
The wreckage from the training session had been cleared away, leaving the arena silent and empty. She felt naked standing in the ring without the comforting weight of her shoulder pads or a weapon in her hands. Almost reluctantly, she released the catch and allowed the gate to slam shut behind her.
Her heart pounding in her ears, she approached the Nadder's cage. She set the fish basket and her supplies down a short distance away and stepped up to the lever that released the great doors. She rested her hand on the smooth, worn wood. This is it.She whispered a quick prayer to Thor, and pushed down.
The large iron-reinforced doors clanged open. Astrid held her breath, expecting fiery death to leap from the shadows. Nothing moved. She counted three rapid heartbeats, then picked up her lantern and approached the cage's black maw.
An angry hiss sounded from the darkness. She flinched and instinctively stepped backwards. When nothing moved from the shadows, she took a deep breath, and moved forwards again. "It's okay," she said, her voice sounding pathetically small. "I- I don't want to hurt you." She raised her light and squinted into the darkness.
The Nadder was huddled in the far corner of the cage, her injured wing tucked close to her body. She appeared to be shivering slightly. A trail of dried blood ran from around her feet to the drain in the center of the cell. She stared at Astrid with wary golden eyes.
Astrid cautiously took another step forwards. The Nadder rose to her full height, hissing louder. A dry rattle echoed off the stones as the spines on her tail rose. Her deep black pupils narrowed to threatening slits.
"Okay..." Astrid said, stepping backwards. Not taking her eyes of the dragon, she crouched and placed her lantern on the ground, then retreated out of the cage.
The Nadder obviously didn't trust her, but given the circumstances, that was to be expected. Well she hasn't killed me yet, she thought, that has to be a good sign. She cracked open the lid of the basket she'd brought and pulled out a large cod.
The Nadder shifted nervously and let out a short hiss as she approached. Astrid stopped beside her lantern. "I get it," she said, "You don't trust me. I won't come any closer than this, alright?"
The dragon's only response was a nervous shuffling of her wings. Astrid swore she heard a muffled noise of pain as she pulled on her injury.
"Now," Astrid continued, "With all that's happened recently, I imagine that you haven't been fed in a while. You must be hungry." She held out the fish. The Nadder's nostrils widened as she took in air. Her eyes darted to the fish then back to Astrid's face. She let out an uncertain warble.
With a short underarm motion, Astrid tossed the cod so that it landed just in front of the dragon. The Nadder sniffed at the fish, before snapping it up and swallowing it in a single gulp. Astrid tried not cringe as razor-sharp teeth flashed in the lantern light.
A questioning chirp came from the Nadder as she turned her gaze back to Astrid. Astrid backpedaled, picked up the fish basket, and set it down beside the lantern. She reached inside, pulled out the next fish, and tossed it to the Nadder; it was devoured it as quickly as the first.
Astrid repeated this for the next few fish, making sure to handle each one as much as possible before throwing it, hoping that the Nadder would associate her scent with the food.
On the fourth throw, Astrid adjusted the length of her toss, landing the fish just out of reach of the dragon's neck. With barely a moment's hesitation, she stepped forwards and snapped it up. Astrid repeated this process, gradually drawing the dragon closer and closer to her.
When she was two arm-lengths away, the Nadder stopped and let out a short growl. Astrid froze, her hand half in the fish basket. The Nadder chuffed and nodded at the basket. Astrid almost laughed; she'd forgotten that the dragon was supposedly as intelligent as her. "Sorry," she muttered, and kicked over the basket like she had done for Hiccup, spilling the remaining contents onto the floor. The Nadder immediately dove into the pile, all but inhaling the fish.
Astrid took advantage of the dragon's temporary distraction and stepped around her side to get a better look at the injury. Her first thought was that the wound looked remarkably clean given the squalid conditions of the cage. She could tell that the cell had been perfunctorily washed down somewhat recently, however an almost black mixture of dried blood, excrement, and gods know what else encrusted the corners and cracks in the floor.
Most of the wound had scabbed over, but Astrid could see that in places the scabs were cracked, and a thin trickle of blood ran down the dragon's wing. She shifted slightly to get a better view, and the Nadder suddenly jerked her head up and rounded on Astrid. She bared her teeth, letting out a long, low hiss.
"It's okay!" Astrid exclaimed, "I want to help you!" She automatically extended her hand in a placating gesture, unknowingly moving her arm into striking range. The Nadder reared back with a startled screech, cocking her head to stare down at Astrid with a single yellow eye.
Part of Gobber's lecture from that afternoon drifted through Astrid's mind; a Nadder's blind spot was directly in front of its nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she said, sidestepping. "I'll stay where you can see me from now on, okay?"
The Nadder snorted and curled her tail around so that the bristling spines formed a barrier between Astrid and her body.
Astrid took a deep breath, belatedly realising that she'd managed to position the dragon between herself and the door of the cage. She glanced up at the Nadder. A single golden eye blinked down at her impassively.
"I want to help you," she repeated breathlessly, gesturing to the Nadder's wing. "If you let me touch you, I can help make that better. If you don't, you might die. Do you understand anything that I'm saying?" The Nadder blinked. "Look," she continued, "I know that I hurt you, but you attacked me first, I didn't have any..." she trailed off. "Im sorry, okay?"
The Nadder made a soft noise, lowering her head down to Astrid's eye level. Her tail drifted away from her body slightly. Astrid's breath caught in her throat - was it her imagination or were those tail spines relaxed slightly?
The Nadder blinked and bobbed her head slightly. Astrid realised that she had to make the first move.
The tail was just within arm's reach. Hesitantly, she reached out a shaking hand. The Nadder made no move to pull away. Not daring to breathe, Astrid rested a trembling hand on the side of one of the spikes. The spine was smooth beneath the pads of her fingers. Heart in her throat, she ran her hand upwards, gently pushing on the spine. To her disbelief, the spine gave to her gentle pressure, folding down to lie flat against the tail.
She reached out to another spine and repeated her actions. Gradually, she began to smooth down the spines on the Nadder's tail. As she worked, she became aware of a low thrumming sound coming from the dragon - was it purring?
Astrid patted down the last spines at the tip of tail, and disbelievingly pulled her hand away. She stared at the Nadder incredulously. "Hiccup was right," she breathed. "Everything we know about you guys... is wrong."
Suddenly, the Nadder whipped her tail away and butted her head into Astrid's chest. Astrid stumbled backwards in shock. The Nadder followed. Panicked, Astrid backed up, glancing from side to side. The cell was too narrow for her to slip past the Nadder. Her back collided with the stone wall.
The Nadder reared up, her silhouette blocking out all the light from the doorway. Astrid heard the great maw open. She clenched her eyes shut, praying that her death would be quick. A strange, choking sound met her ears, followed by the wet splat of something hitting the floor. Confusion made her open her eyes. The Nadder was crouched before her, the dragon's gaze fixed on a point on the ground just in front of Astrid. She let her eyes drift lower; lying at her feet was the rear half of a fish.
The Nadder grunted, her eyes shifting between the fish and Astrid.
It took her a second to realise what the Dragon wanted. "You have got to be-"
The Nadder growled and repeated the gesture.
No going back. Astrid slowly bent and picked up the fish. Steeling herself, she raised it to her lips and took a bite. It was oilily, raw and disgusting. Grimacing, she forced herself to swallow.
She shuddered. Still tastes better than seabiscuit, she thought.
The Nadder stepped forwards and nuzzled at the back of her hands - which were still numbly holding onto the fish. A low purr rumbled in the dragon's throat.
"You want this back?" Astrid asked, dumbstruck at the sight of a dragon begging for food like a housecat.
The Nadder chirped and opened her jaws, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. Astrid hesitantly dropped the fish into the waiting jaws. The jaws snapped closed, swallowing the fish in a single gulp, then the Nadder immediately went back to nosing at her hands.
Still not quite believing what was happening, Astrid cautiously rotated her left hand and rested her palm on the dragon's muzzle. The Nadder stilled. The scales were surprisingly warm to the touch. The dragon's hot breath tickled at the skin of her arms.
An electric thrill ran through Astrid. This was a deadly creature of the sky, that could kill her in an instant, yet she was allowing herself to be touched.
With a soft snort, the Nadder pulled back, ending the contact. She chirped and shuffled to the side of the cage, letting Astrid out of the cell.
Astrid cautiously stepped past the dragon and took a lungful of the fresh air outside of the prison. It was raining fully now, and moisture quickly soaked through her clothes, but she didn't care. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the heavens, silently thanking every god she could think off that she was still alive - despite her conviction, part of her had believed that she had doomed herself as soon as she opened the Nadder's cage.
The sound of heavy footsteps followed by an inquisitive chirp brought her back to reality. The Nadder had followed her out of the cage and was standing by her side expectantly. Detachedly, she realised that she'd been thinking of the dragon as a 'she' since that afternoon. She wasn't sure how she knew, but some instinct told her that the bird-like reptile was female.
Astrid took a deep breath, making friends with the Nadder was an earth-shattering revelation, but it wasn't why she had come here. She picked up the small pack of supplies she'd brought and stepped back into the cage, moving the lantern from the floor to a hook set into the ceiling. The Nadder trailed her curiously.
Astrid set down her bag and reached out towards the Nadder, holding her hand an inch in front of her muzzle. The dragon sniffed at her fingers, then pressed forwards into the contact. She ran her hand across her jaw and then down her scaly neck, pausing when she reached the wing-shoulder. The Nadder squawked a warning, but made no move to pull away.
Astrid met the gaze of a single, golden eye. "This is going to hurt," she explained, hoping that the dragon understood her, "But it will help you get better, okay?"
The Nadder let out a low croon, and extended her injured wing.
"Thank you," Astrid whispered. Reaching into the bag, she removed a container of alcohol and used it to wash the wound. A small hiss of pain came from the dragon as the liquid seeped into the cut, but she held remarkably still. That was the easy part.
Now, Astrid took out a large needle and thread that were originally intended for repairing the Sjóknapa's sails. She was thankful that she'd spent enough time watching her mother tending to her father's - and later, her own - injuries that she knew how to stitch up a wound.
She washed the needle with the alcohol, then threaded it with shaking hands. Gingerly, she reached out with her left hand and pinched the gash in the Nadder's wing closed. Then, with her right, she pressed the tip of the needle against the wing. Holding her breath, Astrid swiftly pushed the needle through the membrane. The Nadder grunted in pain beside her, and the wing shifted in her grip fractionally. Then the needle was through, pulling the thread along with it. Astrid let out a sigh of relief, and set to work sewing up the wound. She tried not to cause the dragon any undue pain, but the wing membrane was tougher than she was used to, and she cringed whenever a pained noise escaped the Nadder's jaws.
It only took her a couple of minutes to close up the hole, but they were the longest minutes of Astrid's life. By the time she had finished, her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely tie off the loose end of the thread.
Astrid let go of the wing and took a step back, letting the Nadder examine her handiwork. The dragon sniffed at the taut threads experimentally.
"I know it's uncomfortable," she told the dragon, "But you only have to put up with it for a week, and your wing will be as good as new."
The Nadder gingerly folded the injured wing against her body.
The cell was momentarily illuminated by a bright white light, followed a fraction of a second later by a booming, bass rumble. Astrid spun around; the rain outside the cell had become a deluge - she'd been so focused on the Nadder that she'd completely missed the storm breaking.
Astrid cursed under her breath. Unhooking the lantern from the ceiling, she made her way to the arena's entrance. Holding the light high, she squinted through the bars. She could barely see the rope bridge that lead back to the mainland. Attempting to make it back to the village in these conditions would be almost suicidal; she would be far better off finding shelter here and waiting out the storm.
Her first thought was the cramped storage shed outside the ring. The roof of the rickety old building probably leaked, and the thought of spending the night crammed between dusty weapon racks wasn't appealing, but it was better than nothing. Then another idea occurred to her. She turned away from the gate and headed back to the still-open cage.
"You think you can share this hole for a night?" Astrid asked the Nadder as she stepped inside.
The dragon chirped back at her.
"I'll assume that was a 'yes'," she said, sitting down in the far corner and placing the lantern on the floor in front of her. She drew up her legs and hugged her arms to her chest. Now that the adrenaline of meeting the Nadder had worn off, she felt cold and wet and weary; her muscles ached from training that afternoon and fire duty the night before.
A blast of warm air ruffled Astrid's bangs. She looked up to find the Nadder staring down at her. "What do you want?" she snapped.
The dragon snorted and shuffled back slightly, still blinking down at her.
Astrid sighed. "I suppose I should call you something,"
The Nadder cocked her head.
"A name," Astrid continued, "I can't just call you 'Dragon' or 'Nadder', it's-"
Thunder rumbled again, and the Nadder turned around, staring out at the sky almost longingly. She seemed to make a decision, and stepped out into the storm. She padded out into the center of the arena and spread her wings, then froze, waiting for something.
A few heartbeats passed. The wind gusted through the arena making the dragon's wing membranes flutter. The Nadder raised her head to the sky and let out a long sorrowful keen that rose and fell with the wind. Astrid stared at her, wondering what she was doing.
The wind gusted again, and the dragon repeated her cry. Terrible realisation slowly dawned on Astrid. It's the first time she's felt wind beneath her wings since... In that moment she realised the cruelty of what they did to the dragons: It wasn't just the dank conditions that they kept them in, or that they tortured them in the name of 'training'; no, the true cruelty was that they took these proud creatures of the wind and sky and chained them to the ground.
The Nadder's cry sounded a final time. She slowly folded her wings and padded back towards her prison.
"Stormfljúga," Astrid whispered.
The Nadder froze, tilting her head in unspoken question. "Stormfly," Astrid repeated softly, "It's your name."
Stormfly blinked a couple of times, then chirped happily and stepped back into the shelter. She circled a couple times and settled down in the other back corner of the square cell, across from Astrid.
The wind gusted outside again, blowing through the open cage doors and cutting through Astrid's sodden clothes. She groaned, clambering to her feet and hauling on the heavy metal-reinforced doors. She left about a foot of space between the two doors; not daring to close them all the way. While she was fairly certain that Stormfly wasn't going to attack her, there was no way to open the cell from inside, and she didn't want to overstay her welcome.
Her labour over, Astrid returned to her corner of the cell and sat down. She shuffled in vain, trying to find a position against the unyielding stone that didn't make her ache. Eventually, she gave up and settled in for a long, uncomfortable night.
Astrid divided her time between staring numbly out at the rain, and studying Stormfly as she rested. After their first few tense interactions, the dragon hadn't acted at all threatening towards her. Even before then, she'd been defensive, not aggressive. The contrast between the creature resting peacefully beside her, and the vicious beasts that attacked Berk was so stark that Astrid would have almost said they were different species.
"What am I going to do?" she whispered. If this was how the dragons acted when left to their own devices, what they did to the training dragons was monstrous; they were as much victims in this war as the Berkians. However, The Queen - if she really existed - remained hidden in the unreachable nest, while the raiding dragons threatened her home's very existence.
What should she do? Did she follow her convictions and turn her back on seven generations of Viking tradition? Or did she disregard her conscience and do what her people expected of her? Could she do either of those things?
The night wore on. Thor howled and raged outside, and she found no answers to her internal strife. The cold stone beneath and behind her, along with the persistent draught through the cracked doors, leached the warmth from her body. She soon found herself shivering. She hugged herself tighter and huddled close to the lantern, but the feeble heat given off by the tiny flame did little to ward off the cold.
Sometime later - an interval marked only by intermittent flashes of lightning - the lantern flame sputtered and died. Astrid swore and fumbled for her flint and steel. Her fingers were numb and stiff, and it took her four tries to get even a small shower of sparks. The lantern resolutely remained cold and dark. She tried several more times to no avail. Eventually, the firesteel slipped from her senseless fingers, clattering on the stone floor. Astrid threw the flint down alongside it in a mixture of frustration and anguish, and huddled, shivering, in the darkness.
Distantly, Astrid was aware that she was probably going to die. The weather of the Barbaric Archipelago was almost as dangerous as the dragons; fail to treat it with the proper respect and it would kill you as surely as dragonfire. Strangely, she didn't feel any fear at the prospect of her demise, just an odd sense of melancholy and disappointment: Without her aid, Hiccup would likely starve, and the war with the dragons would go on unchanged, as it had for generations before.
Wait, that doesn't make sense, she thought. She had in her mind an image of a black dragon, but Hiccup was a boy, Stoick's son. Yes, the chief's son was a Night Fury. But...
Her thoughts were going in circles. She would sort out the identity of the chief's son later. Right now, she needed to rest. She leant her head back against the rock wall. So tired...
Something nudged her in the side and she sprawled forwards onto the floor. She opened her eyes - she hadn't realised she'd closed them - and blinked several times, trying to focus on the large mass standing over her.
Eventually she recognised the silhouette of a dragon, but not the dark dragon she remembered: that one had walked on four legs.
"Storm..." she murmured, voice slurring.
The dragon cooed softly, and descended towards her. Astrid let out a wordless cry and tried to scramble away, but her arms and legs wouldn't respond. Before she could move, she was wrapped up in a warm, leathery embrace. She stopped struggling as her frigid extremities began to register the heat radiating from her living cocoon.
A gentle croon came from the unseen dragon as her embrace shifted, loosening slightly. Astrid suddenly became aware of a difference in texture of the material encasing her. The new surface was firmer and rougher than the leather, but not quite as warm. She gently rolled over and pressed her back against the rough surface, lying on her side. The material around her shifted slightly one final time, then stilled.
Astrid lay there in complete darkness, listening. She could still just about make out the noises of the wind and rain, but they were muffled somehow; distant. The most prominent sound in her perception was a slow, rhythmic thumping that seemed to emanate from behind her.
Part of her wanted to find out what that strange beat was, but her new cocoon was surprisingly comfortable and warm.
She would find out later; she knew she could rest safely now.
Icelandic:
Stormfljúga - Stormfly (roughly)
Author's Notes:
'How Do I Live?' Chapter 6, 'Winds of Change' Chapter 5, I really need to stop using hypothermia as a plot device...
Anyway; friendly greetings!
Last time I said that there would probably be a delay in getting the next chapter of this story out, then I manage to plough through writing the longest chapter that I've published to date in just two weeks; It's funny how a reduction in the amount of free time available makes one focus on what matters to them the most. Anyway, this time there will almost certainly be a longer than usual (whatever "usual" means with my update schedule) gap between chapters as I've reached the end of the chapters that I have planned out. While I have rough notes for where I want the story to go from here, I need to take the time to convert those into a series of chapter outlines.
On that note: While I always read your comments and feedback, and appreciate them. Now, as I am constructing the outline for the remaining chapters, I ask for your theories and suggestions about where the story is going from here, as one of the great joys of posting in this "serial" format on FF is using reader feedback to inform future chapters.
I don't normally say this, but I'm actually quite happy with how this chapter came out, especially the first part from Astrid's POV. I'd even go so far to say that it might be some of my best writing to date, so I hope you enjoy it! There's a lot of focus on character development in this chapter, and I'm trying to make an effort to make the character's changes gradual, so I hope that Hiccup's angst about his transformation isn't getting too stagnant, and that Astrid's attitude towards dragons in this chapter isn't too bipolar.
The poem that Hiccup recites here is actually an extract from an Old Norse poem called the Grímnismál, and is part of a set known as the 'Poetic Edda' which together are one of the most important sources of our current understanding of Norse Mythology. The english translation of the extract Hiccup recites here is as follows:
Hot art thou, fire! | too fierce by far;
Get ye now gone, ye flames!
The mantle is burnt, | though I bear it aloft,
And the fire scorches the fur.
'Twixt the fires now | eight nights have I sat,
And no man brought meat to me,
Save Agnar alone, | and alone shall rule
Geirröth's son o'er the Goths.
Hail to thee, Agnar! | for hailed thou art
By the voice of Veratyr;
For a single drink | shalt thou never receive
A greater gift as reward.
As the focus of this chapter is chapter is on Astrid and Stormfly, so my fanfic recommendation this time is 'Talking in her Sleep' by 'Determamfidd'. A lot is said about the sequel to this story, 'When In Rome' (and rightly so), but I want to talk about the original. On first inspection 'Talking in her sleep' is a fairly standard (if well-executed) Hiccstrid tale, but what makes it special IMHO, is that the story is related through Astrid monologuing to her hibernating dragon, which gives the story real heart, and I was somewhat disappointed when this style was dropped for the aforementioned sequel.
Anyway, as always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think of the story so far in a review!
~Superbun
Guest review replies:
QuiteARandomFan - Thank you for the long and thoughtful review. You are correct in saying that part of the plot of this story is 'a retelling of HTTYD with a transformed Hiccup in Toothless' role and Astrid in Hiccup's' although, I'm planning on diverging more from the original storyline as we go on.
I'm glad that you share my good taste in Fanfic :D. Cke1st's 'Dimmadreki' is a great story, arguably better than 'Lightning and Death Itself' in some regards, and criminally underrated in comparison to its longer sibling. Also, 'Call of the Night' isn't without it's issues, but it is a good story, and the Night Fury society it represents is fascinating.
As I've said before, there will be (at least a hint of) some 'Toothcup' in this story (they are the last of their kind after all), but it's not going to be for a while. Hiccup needs to accept and adapt to his change, and "Toothless" needs to be freed from the Queen's control and then come to terms with being a mind-control slave for the majority of her life.
Finally, Happy Birthday! (I hope this chapter makes a good present!)