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Chapter 06: Doubt

(Astrid)

Astrid watched the procession as if it was some unexpected dream, like those where you are nothing but a powerless spectator, thin and insubstantial. She had managed to place herself at the rim of the pit, her hands on one heavy link of the chains that formed the damaged protective dome. The cold steel touching her palms and the familiar weight of her rain-soaked clothes were the only proof that she was, in fact, quite awake.

The Night Fury was being dragged in. Astrid tried to look into its eyes. Maybe a murderous glance from the unholy beast would have given her the confirmation she needed, the answer to the conundrum haunting her mind ever since she had left the prison caves: had she done the right thing? An unwelcome question, its source an unknown, unexplored crevice of her conscience.

The black creature, however, bypassed her gaze, somehow purposefully, or so she told herself, just to slight her, to make her feel even more insignificant.

It's just a dragon, Astrid. Get a grip!

Soon afterwards, Hiccup entered the pit as well alongside Gobber the Belch, both joining the chained Night Fury at the center of the arena, under the increasing rainfall. The summer storms were beginning early this year.

Like the dragon, even Hiccup had not looked at her. Instead, his eyes were trained solely on his father. Astrid found herself hoping for the boy to quickly accept the offer the chief was going to make, bringing an end to the whole story. She pleaded in her mind for Hiccup to do the right thing.

Just kill that Night Fury and let this all be over, she prayed.

If Hiccup were to do it, it might have erased the state of confusion that the boy's words had ignited. It would mean that he accepted the truth: dragons were evil creatures. There was no room for exceptions in the Viking world. Uncertainty would only bring hesitation, and hesitation invariably brought defeat and disgrace. That's what she had been taught, and that's what she knew to be true.

Despite her prayers, Astrid could still feel her wish was unlikely to be granted. If only she had succeeded in killing the dragon herself during Hiccup's fight with the Monstrous Nightmare.

The previous day, after making sure that Gobber had found the boy at the forge, Astrid had gone home, she had taken some time to drink, splash cool water on her face, and grab her mother's axe, before darting off towards the place she suspected Hiccup of leaving the Night Fury. She didn't care about Hiccup's fight, nor did she stop to truly consider the words the boy had spoken in the cove:

'...I don't want to kill that dragon!'

Astrid was still convinced Hiccup was going to use his tricks to win, before attempting to leave Berk for good. So, although her absence from the great event could be considered petty and dishonorable, she had a much more noble task to carry out. She too had a dragon to kill. She was then going to prove Hiccup guilty of treachery by finding the boy's harness and showing it to the chief. It was going to work.

She had found the Night Fury exactly where she had expected, right at the forest border, protecting a large basket and waiting for Hiccup to come back. Alas, that small victory had been insignificant.

Astrid had attacked with all her might and skill and speed, and, despite the element of surprise, she had failed. Again. She had failed Berk by not killing the beast, or maybe she had ultimately failed Hiccup, who wouldn't have been in this situation had she managed to slay the Night Fury herself, though the boy's well-being had not really been a concern of hers back then.

The dragon had been too agile, fast unlike any other, even on land, too strong, despite its size, and, most disturbingly, too careful. It was as if the Night Fury had been expecting her to come.

When Astrid had found herself disarmed and pinned to the ground, all in the blink of an eye, the black beast had sat on her with an insolent huff, blocking her movements, yet with the amazing care not to crush her ribs with its weight. She had expected to die at least a warrior's death, but she didn't. Why hadn't the dragon killed her without Hiccup to stop it? Of the many questions she needed answered, that one, above all, twisted her guts.

'A dragon always goes for the kill'. That's what Gobber always said. And yet, she had been merely restrained. Could dragons understand such a concept?

Eventually, distressing sounds had risen in the distance, and the Night Fury had left towards the arena, abandoning her.

When Astrid had joined the commotion at the arena, Hiccup was unconscious, the sturdy protective dome, which could withstand even a Deadly Nadder's fire, sported a glowing, smoking gash on it, and the Night Fury was in chains, which were apparently not enough to keep the beast restrained without six more men trying to hold it down as well, Stoick the Vast first among them.

Astrid realized how foolish she had been. She never had a chance of killing the rare dragon alone to begin with. Its small size had given her confidence, but it was called the 'offspring of lightning and death' for a reason.

Hiccup too had failed his fight with the Monstrous Nightmare, and he had nearly died. A part of her had been glad the boy hadn't succeeded; she was the one deserving that honor. Try as she might, however, Astrid couldn't ignore the severe knowledge that Hiccup's condition was her fault. She would have been indirectly responsible for Hiccup's death, had the Night Fury not intervened. But why did she care so much? Empathy had never been Astrid's sharpest weapon; at least that's how she liked to see herself.

Our family is loyal to Stoick the Vast, and Hiccup is his rightful heir. Yes, that's why. He is going to be the next chief, and that is all that matters.

It was only very recently that Astrid had started thinking of Hiccup as her chief-to-be. Perhaps it had been because of Stoick's words after her report:

'I trust you not to speak of this anymore,' her chief had said. 'This matter must be handled with the utmost care Astrid. Hiccup is going to be chief one day.'

Stoick's voice had brimmed with such certainty that Astrid found herself realizing the truth about Hiccup's future as if for the first time. She had always known, but she had never taken it seriously. How could she, when Hiccup had always been such a clumsy little runt? If the boy had to become her chief, however, he needed to become a true Viking first; he needed to kill the beast.

Astrid prayed again for the boy in the arena to do just that, swallowing her pride for the honor of being loyal to her village and to Stoick the Vast, according to whom such treason could and would be atoned for by having his son execute that deceitful creature.

And yet, no matter how hard she tried, Astrid could not fully share her chief's conviction. Her chief had not been at the cove. He had not seen the interaction between boy and beast. He had not witnessed how Hiccup had caressed its snout, washing away the creature's feral glare as if by magic. Besides, Astrid had not told him how she had found the Night Fury on her own and, even more importantly, she hadn't revealed that the dragon had spared her life, even in Hiccup's absence.

Her insides quivered. Was that fear? It was as if something had broken in the order of the universe. As if someone had tampered with the rules that governed Midgard, and they no longer made sense. Would the sun start rising in the west tomorrow?

To make matters worse, ever since the previous morning, after the sight of Hiccup's unconscious body sprawled on the arena's floor, an unpleasant sense of guilt had also nested itself inside of her. She could feel it like a weight pressing on the pit of her stomach.

Admittedly, Astrid had always loathed being guilty or wrong about anything. It had been that way ever since her childhood.

'Stubborn like a Haddock, but at least prettier! Ain't ya, lass?' Her family used to say between laughs, while she could only pout in response.

She had grown up since then. Now, every time she made a mistake, she had to be the first to acknowledge it, as her beloved uncle Finn had taught her. It was the most dignified way to come to terms with one's failures.

Whom have I failed now though? Astrid asked herself.

Before his death, Fearless Finn Hofferson, among other life lessons and fighting tips, had taught her that there was also honor in apologizing, if at fault.

But to whom do I have to apologize to rid myself of this guilt? What am I even guilty of?!

She had tried apologizing to Hiccup. She had broken into the prison caves to do it, but it had been all for naught; the boy had gone insane, possessed by Loki. Dying for a dragon? It was madness by all accounts.

Astrid tried to quiet her feelings by reminding herself that she had always religiously obeyed the laws. She had done the right thing. She should have felt proud, but the sense of accomplishment was nowhere to be found. Her actions had spawned a storm, not only within herself, but in the whole village, a storm she was not prepared to handle, and, although it was out of her hands now, she still knew she was directly responsible for everything that was happening.

She was responsible for the boy being in chains before the whole village. She had called that harmless-looking kid a traitor. Maybe she had been right, but it definitely didn't feel so in her gut.

Was there something she was missing? Why could she not be as decisive as she had always been? She followed the rules. She was Viking, and she wanted to scream it to the gods, as if to remind them. Someone else screamed instead, startling her:

"I said no! I am not one of you, because you'll never let me be! I don't know if I'm right or wrong, but you won't even listen to what I have to say about the dragons! Fine! I don't care! But you will listen to what I have to say about this dragon! This Night Fury here, he is my best friend! If killing him is what it takes to be a true Viking, then I don't ever want to be one!"

The words were coming from Hiccup, whose voice had a pitch of desperation and anger, but also a determination that wasn't helping Astrid make her confusion any tamer. An unprecedented response followed from the chief:

"HICCUP, IF YOU DON'T KILL THAT FUCKIN' BEAST, YOU ARE NO LONGER MY SON!"

Everything followed far too quickly, even for Astrid's trained reflexes. Gothi fainted, Gobber hissed a command, Hiccup shouted, the Night Fury emitted a screech, and, finally, an explosion filled the arena with grey smoke. Everyone stood still, trying to understand what was happening all of a sudden.

When a dark figure flew like an arrow out of the arena, it all became clear. Hiccup was leaving Berk on the back of that dragon.

Astrid felt a spark of trepidation flood her chest, making the knot in her insides loosen with an unbelievable, yet unacceptable sense of relief. Hiccup was going to get what he wanted. It was going to be as if she had never discovered his secret in the first place. The thought made her feel less culpable, even though she knew how cowardly it was. She tried to suppress a sigh. She should have been outraged, and, in a sense, she was, but not with Hiccup.

The chief climbed between the protective chains and jumped into the pit, screaming his son's name. He made a beeline through the smoke and debris, towards the exit at the other end, aiming for the cliffs. Astrid followed immediately. She had to do something. Staying idle would have been an admission of defeat. It would have made her a passive accomplice. Others had the same idea, and unsheathed their weapons before rushing in the direction of the sea.

Astrid made her way through the heavy rain and burly villagers. Her leaner-than-average figure helped her slip right beside her chief by the front lines, near the cliff's edge, just in time to witness the black dragon make a somersault in the sky, grazing the dark clouds and leaving a trail of swiped raindrops in its path.

The dragon produced the first Night Fury's roar Astrid had ever heard. It was an explosive release of anger, but also a scream of freedom, a draconic curse, a sickening insult, and a warning. She could feel it on the surface of her prickling skin, like so many needles.

The dragon finally perched itself upon the closest sea-stack.

Hiccup mounted the black monster with practiced posture, like some southern knight upon a mighty steed. Astrid remembered the stories she had been told as a child, about valiant warriors in the mainland, riding into battle on the backs of horses. The island of Berk had no such animals, but most children had seen drawings.

Astrid's emotions soared like an uncontrollable vortex: anger, relief, disgust, awe, dismay, doubt.

Hiccup paused on the tall rock pillar. Although the distance made the available weapons powerless against them, the Night Fury kept emitting a defensive, feral growl, yet it stayed unmoving under the will of its rider. That's when Astrid noticed the whole elaborate contraption attached to the saddle and the broken tail. Hiccup wasn't commanding the beast. He was helping it fly!

'... one thing kind of led to another and we… became friends.'

The boy was looking at them now. He was looking at her! His damned green eyes pierced through the rain, and shone with an unbearable mixture of sorrow and longing. Astrid was prepared to handle condemnation or contempt, but no, that wasn't Hiccup.

It was at that moment that the most staggering notion crossed Astrid's mind:

Hiccup is in love with me...

She had heard people whisper and snigger at the rumor, a rumor which she had often overheard about many boys her age, and some quite older too, so she had never given it any credit. She had even received one or two actual confessions, bold and brash, and obviously heedless of tradition. Yet Astrid had never really believed any of those words to be honest. Just talk. Just boys being boys, and at times men being crass. It was only now that she could tell, by some arcane faculty, that for Hiccup those rumors were actually true.

What was she to make of this information? She wasn't even entirely sure what being 'in love' meant. She had heard tales of crazy deeds performed by men and women in the name of 'love', but was it truly so strong an attachment to make Hiccup think of her, and turn to look at her with such agony in a moment as grave as that? Was she worth so much to that scrawny toothpick with whom she scarcely ever spoke?

Astrid's legs turned weak as grass, and it took all of her will not to fall on her knees and pray for wisdom to her uncle Finn, who was surely feasting beside the Allfather in Valhalla.

Hiccup kept looking into her eyes. His mouth moved. Nobody could hear, and most could probably not see through the downpour, but Astrid read his lips. The words, she could almost feel like a spear to the chest. They were the same words that had escaped her own mouth, before she had run into the forest to report his betrayal.

I'm sorry.

Hiccup finally shifted his foot into the weird contraption, and both boy and dragon were airborne, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

What is he sorry for?! Astrid thought, scowling furiously at the sky. Is he sorry for betraying Berk? Is he sorry for telling me to 'piss off'? Is he sorry for making me feel like yak-shit?! Well… he better be sorry!

Astrid snapped instantly out of her inner conversation when a powerful cry that screamed of death and vengeance came out of the chief beside her, a violent roar that closely rivaled that of a dragon, and made her chest quiver:

"GOBBEEEER!"

Astrid had seen the chief get angry before, but never like this, and, although she was not the target of his anger, sudden fear wiped away all her previous thoughts like a storm.

Chief Stoick was out for blood.