If there were a more welcome sound in the world, Astrid couldn't remember for the sudden crashing of the stone and rock that made up the wall to the Celtic fortress was the best noise she could have ever remembered hearing. It came as a surprise, all of it. Everything down to the unexpected turn of events, to Phlegma commanding that they move to the north side, to the giant boulder that was the one to crash through the fortress—it was all a surprise and that sound of destruction was the best noise to her because that meant it would soon be over. She wanted nothing more than to go home. Raiding was tiresome, and though made for good excersize was not worth the risk of death to keep fit.
She had no reason to loathe the Celts, yet she had no reason to like them either. More than a few had tried taking her head off in the many frays she fought. She was agile, even wearing the armor that weighed her body down, she could as quickly dodge their blows as the next minute behead them with a hard swing of her axe. She didn't think about their deaths because they meant nothing to her—they were an obstacle in the way of her orders to achive a goal, the taking of the fortress.
Her knuckles and elbow were bleeding, the sleeve of her shirt had been ripped above her gauntlet and somewhere along the way had been struck with an arrow or sword—but it was so fast she didn't notice the pain until now. She winced and popped a crick in her neck, her entire shoulders and neck area were tense with discomfort from holding all the heavy things up for so long. Three days to be exact, she had seen the sun rise three times and wondered if each day would be her last—hoping it was not so. Now the sun was rising on the fourth. Her personal goal was to finish the raid as soon as possible—even if it meant dispatching all enemies she came across—because as soon as it was ended, they could finally go home. Once she was back in Berk, she would punch Hiccup for missing out and then throw her arms around him and give him the most heartfelt kiss she had in her because being so close to death made you realize you had to cherish what you had, and she had him. It seemed the entire Viking army was in the walls, fighting off the Celtics who were trying to defend what little of the fortress was left—grabbing goods and hauling them away. She took a quick moment to collapse into a sitting position on a protruding stone, not knowing how weak her knees were until they started shaking as all the pressure on them released and traveled to her hips. Her entire body felt tender, a good lot of it was probably bruised with all the crashing and colliding into enemy shields and weapons.
She wondered where her friends were, or even her brother—trying to make them out in the dawn—through the gradual rising light of morning. She saw some Vikings from her own clan, and then Vikings from the others that were allies with Berk. She took in a breath of air—it was smoky and mixed with the moisture that always seemed present in the southern islands.
She made herself stand once more, and run further into the fortress. She felt a forceful shove as a Celtic soldier ran past her, she glared and lifted her axe, ready to return the gesture but something dark leapt by in a blur, sending her stumbling backward and she thought she may have just been hallucinating from lack of food.
The dark object was a night fury, and atop it was a young Viking that knew the secrets to her heart. She blinked with disbelief; Hiccup wasn't supposed to be there! After shock and confusion, she raced after them to see what in great Asgard they were up to.
Did Stoick the Vast know his son was here? She followed them, and saw the many Vikings and Celts around her had stopped engaging in battle to witness the fire beast and his boy.
She stopped in what had been a courtyard of the inner fortress, and saw Hiccup was engaged in a swordfight with the Celtic man who had shoved her—but knew it couldn't possibly be due to the fact he had shoved her, though it was a nice chivalrous thought. She didn't even think Hiccup had seen her among the warriors. He looked intense, focused, and absolutely furious—a look she had never seen on his face in her life. Had he taken so quickly to the mood of battle? She remembered him telling her before she left he only wanted to go to protect those he loved. Hiccup was an impressive sword fighter, at least he had proved so during that last season of training before withdrawing. She had been disappointed at his decision, but couldn't chide him for she didn't know how it felt to loose a limb.
The Celt and Hiccup clashed their swords around a stone basin that held water. Only growls of determination to stay alive could be heard between them. Toothless paced around the ring, thoroughly frightening anyone from interfering, and always turning a concerned eye on Hiccup.
Hiccup finally thrust forward and pressed his blade upon the Celt's, then kicked it away where it skittered across the ground. Hiccup grabbed the man by the cloth at his neck and forced him down and pointed his sword in a deathblow at the man's throat. It was horrifying and amazing to witness him in such a raw state of anger—he never intentionally hurt living things, least of all other humans. It just wasn't who he was. Astrid knew this and a deep part of her willed him to show mercy—for that was the reason she loved him. She had come to understand mercy was not the same thing as weakness.
Hiccup paused, maybe just then realizing what he was doing.
Please, she fiercely thought, Stop.
Hiccup gave an agonizing shout of rage but instead of cutting the man's neck open, Hiccup moved the blade to the man's face and sliced a superficial cut across the side of it, enough to feel pain but not to kill—forever scarring him.
Astrid rushed to him then, Toothless bumped his head into her torso to stop her from interfering.
"That was for my father," Hiccup took in a ragged breath and growled at the man, who probably couldn't understand him anyway—only that his life had been spared which was more to say than his fallen comrades around him. Astrid let out a gasp realizing something horrible had happened to Stoick, and that was the reason for Hiccup's unusual wrath.
"Where is your leader? Take me to him!"
The man just stared wearily as blood began leaking from his face cut.
Hiccup let the man up roughly and looked around at those who had been watching, "All Vikings, halt your battle! Pass the word that this raid is OVER! Who is in charge here? Come forward!"
No one answered.
"For the love of Thor, can anyone speak to these people?"
"I can," Astrid heard a familiar voice from the other side of the crowd, recognizing it to be her brother's. Relief for his safety welled inside her—glad he was unharmed.
"Tell him I want to speak to their leader, tell them to cease fighting for we have also."
Svenan nodded and began to shout in Celtic to those who understood the language around them, which now the fact came to surprise her as she had no idea he was able to speak another language—though it shouldn't have been since he traveled so often to other lands.
She wanted to take a moment to embrace Hiccup, to let him know she was alive and all right but he looked so focused that she hated to bother him in the middle of something as vastly important as this. He was going to do what he did best—resolving problems. He only seemed to cause them until Toothless came along—how much he had changed in three years from that awkward gangly boy to this firm young man who possessed a leader's heart.
Since the raid was over, Astrid took it upon herself to start putting out the fires that had destroyed a lot of the fortress. No one had tried extinguishing them since it had started and it was better for everyone if it was stopped. She found a bucket in the rubble and filled it with water from the basin. She was experienced at putting out fires, especially those ignited from dragon attacks. She began to pour the water onto the flames, the heat of them near scorching as she came closer and closer. Others had seen her and began to help, now that they must have noticed that bothersome and thick smoke rising around them that had been most of the night. She bit her lip and turned to see Hiccup being led off, Toothless following to meet with the Celtic leader—whomever it was. She initially would have been worried for his safety, just as she had been when he was to fight a Monsterous Nightmare but from witnessing him that day she knew she would never have to worry about that again.
She told herself to stop thinking about him, he would work things out and she tried to advert her eyes and step over those bodies of those who were no longer living. The flames were eventually put out and most of the Vikings retreated form the fortress, leaving the Celtic's to their now destroyed home.
Odin what have we done? She looked at the toppled towers and rubble, the bodies, the devastation. What was it all for? For Viking pride and glory—reputation? To take what they could not obtain otherwise—the rich meats, grains, and fruits that were not obtainable in the north—the gold and silver?
She turned and she ran before the guilt could hit her fully. How many had she done in? They were only protecting their home and both sides had paid dearly. She tried to cover the rising guilt by reminding herself that they were savagely, and they didn't even believe in Odin the All-father so therefore they would all perish to Helheim where Hel would have her way with them. Still, was that an excuse to kill them?
On the field it was even worse, how would these hills ever be clean of the blood and treachery? Her mind dizzied and she threw her axe into the earth to balance on the handle. She saw that beneath the bodies grew brilliant blue flowers, the kind her brother liked to give to pretty girls—and was reminded that even through all the death, life would go on. She was alive, at least and resolved to make the most of her life while it existed. She took in a breath to calm her nerves.
She saw Tuffnut across the field, and quickened her pace to catch up with him.
"So you're alive?"
It was a stupid question but she put as much tone in her voice to say she was glad he hadn't died.
"Barely," his voice croaked, dry and battered-sounding.
"Come on, let's get back to the boats to find something to drink or eat. I can't remember the last time I had food."
"Me neither," he agreed.
They continued on and she noticed he was limping from a crudely wrapped wound in his thigh.
"You should take care of that," she nodded toward it.
"Yeah," he agreed, but she could tell he didn't care.
They passed the used catapults, towering above their heads. Astrid knew Hiccup had designed them, and perhaps they were the saving grace of the Viking's near-failed raid—she smiled inwardly thinking of how she would soon be able to see him again, tell him how proud she was of him.
Once on the boats, they found Ruffnut and Fishlegs—Ruff had apparently been severly injured in her shoulder area. She was uncharacteristically quiet, and Astrid figured it was due to the disappointment of not having been there for the final battle.
Fishlegs was distracted in his own thoughts but managed to offer the other two blonde Vikings some biscuits he had stashed for himself on the trip over. Tuff practically inhaled his and asked for more in case Fishlegs was still holding out—after all, Fish had a big appetite.
Tuff sat next to his sister and tried coaxing her to talk about what was bothering her, obviously something he did not do often as he looked awkward about it—but she merely glowered and turned her back on him without a word, not even with an initiation to a spat. Astrid took Ruff and had her lay down in her lap, undoing the tangles of her ridiculously long hair, just to pass the time. Ruff might have fallen asleep during the process. None of them had any sleep, what exactly was keeping them awake now? Fishlegs and Tuff started talking about some of the fays they were in, though Fishlegs had trouble remembering much as he seemed to retreat into a daze of sorts, losing his train of thought. Tuffnut was finally paying his would attention, wrapping it with fresh material. Astrid could see the battle had changed them all in someway, for better or worse it was yet to tell.
They sat there for a long time, just resting their legs, awaiting orders because they wouldn't be able to just sail away now that Hiccup had assumedly began negotiations of some sort. More and more Vikings came back to the boats also in search for ale or biscuits or dried lamb. Some were furious that Hiccup had stopped the Raid when they were finally in the fortress, if it had continued they would have been the victors. Some were relieved because they were dead tired, and the battle had taken everything out of them. Many demanded to know what had become of Stoick the Vast, but even Astrid did not know exactly what had happened—only knew it was something bad. She was anxious for the moment to see Hiccup so she could hear the story and have all her questions answered.
It was asked that if they were not the victors, were they defeated? Nothing like this had ever happened before. The morning light was clouded over by graying clouds—a common occurrence as it had rained the first day they pulled ashore, and a battle in the rain was theoretically epic but it caused lots of chafing and blisters in the Vikings's boots. Mud was also a problem, holding them back and maybe that's why they lost so many on that first day. Astrid had been on the Eastern edge of the fortress fighting the whole battle, under Phlegma the Feirce's command. The woman was fierce, a true example of a lady warrior. Woman warriors were not that common, and only the toughest were invited to join training and go to raids—Astrid and Ruffnut were the perfect fit of the new recruits, having grown up to anticipate attacks and eager to join in on the fighting. Now though, Ruff was silent and somber and Astrid felt as grey as the sky.
"Man I hate this place," Tuff growled, she saw him wipe a drop of rain off of his forehead. She in turn, felt the cold moisture fall onto her. She sighed.
"It just makes you full of ire," Ruffnut finally spoke, startling all—so she was awake after all.
"It's the land of ire," Astrid agreed with indifference, working a hard knot out of Ruff' pale blonde hair.
"Ireland," Fishlegs added.
"That's what it should be called from now on at least," Tuff said, "I command it to be Ireland."
"Are you still our commander?" Fishlegs wondered. Astrid yawned, curious about the story of how Tuff was promoted but felt her eyes get heavy, and just couldn't focus anymore.
Awhile later they woke up, all must have fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion in wait of orders. It was still daylight. Astrid lifted her head off of Tuff's shoulder and blinked blearily to see what was making noise. It was another Viking, one of Berk's that was sent from the fortress to report what had happened.
"What's going on now? What did Hiccup do?" they asked, all in wonder.
"Hiccup the Useful has reached terms with the Lord MacVaren, of Celtic nobility. They both agreed the raid was regrettable, Hiccup has demanded half the stolen goods be returned and Lord MacVaren shall let us keep the remainder in exchange for leaving a faction of Vikings to stay in the Southern Islands—"
"Ireland!" Tuffnut interjected obnoxiously.
Their messenger glared at him before continuing, "—to stay to help rebuild and clean the mess."
"How many?" Astrid asked, wondering with a small worry if Hiccup himself would stay. He would if he thought it the right thing.
"Nearly 200 combined from all clans."
Astrid's chest fell at the large number, but she supposed that was what it would take to fix the damage.
But it should only take a season or so with that many at work.
"There's more," the messenger coughed and then darted a regrettable look toward Astrid, which threw her chest even deeper to worry. What more news could there be?
"And to make sure all promises are kept between the Vikings and Celts, Hiccup is to wed the Lord's Daughter to secure the peace."
Astrid wasn't sure if she had heard correctly, in fact she was sure that the messenger had repeated the message wrong. Ruff's head shot up from her place in Astrid's lap instantly. Astrid blinked a few times as all of them looked at her, waiting for her reaction. The news came as a wave of shock, thousands of questions piled into her head so much it caused a headache but one over all screamed loudest—How could he agree to do that?
And as the colossal disappointment and the anger and the disbelief wrestled within her to achieve dominance, she also had the tiny logical part of her conscious trying to tell her that Hiccup only did it for his people, for peace. Of course the people should matter more than one girl but she was so sure she was to be with him after all this. She wanted to live her life with him, and there was no other—it had to be him. That tiny part was swept away, overpowered by the other three. If one thing was shared in those three emotions, it was the tears that had found their way to her azure eyes. She heaved in a breath that let out in a sob because it hurt, it stung worse than any wound she had acquired on the battlefield, and more suffocating than any guilt she could ever feel. It was heartbreak, the first heartbreak she had ever experienced. To know that some girl would have what she could not, hurt and it made her furious. She stood and picked up her axe, making her way off the boat. No one stopped her although it was suspected she was going out there to kill the russet-haired Viking even if he had the protection of the night fury.
She didn't make it far though, only to the catapults where she began to scream and hack into the wooden leg of the catapult with her axe. The rain started in harder. She shouted in screams of sorrow and rage so loud Hiccup could probably hear them all the way back at the fortress. The worst part was he had known what he was doing, he had made the decision knowing it would hurt her. What. A. Jerk.
With every scream she put a new chop into the wood. She hated him—she was filled with such ire. This really was the land of ire, or Ireland as Tuff declared it. She hated the girl that was to be his bride, she hated the raid, she hated how Hiccup made her feel and she hated—hated the hate within her that eventually caused her axe to swing around so hard, the leg creaked and the whole device made a buckling noise. She shouldn't have been able to do that—being exhausted and starving but there was that one poem about 'no fury is greater than that of a woman's scorn' or whatever it was that her mother had recited once.
She backed away swiftly as she watched the catapult break and tumble to the ground. It felt good, just a little. Pieces fell around her and she stayed still with a scowl directed at that fortress in the distance, the rain had slicked her hair into her eyes, dripping off her body, cooling her ire just a little. She saw the similarity between that catapult and the fortress, that was also within her—they all had been destroyed.
A/N: So, happy fast update everyone. This is what I love about one-shots, or in my case, one-shot compilations. You're probably thinking a big WTF, at me throwing out that last plot twist. Marriage between clans or countries was a common way to ensure an alliance—and I suppose a lot of the sudden 'peace' resolution occurred because Hiccup shows up with a big scary dragon under his order.