THE GHOST OF WARBOROUGH HALL

"Reality is not always probable, or likely."

– Jorge Luis Borges, 1899-1986

CHAPTER FIVE:

The hair on the back of my neck stood when, faintly, I heard another voice take up the tune after I had stopped humming it. The voice was a little high, a little discordant, and it was moving away from me. I quickly ran in the direction of the disembodied voice, hoping to catch its singer and ask from which corner of the Earth that infernal lullaby came from.

But I wasn't kidding when I said that Warborough Hall was like a labyrinth. I would turn a corner thinking that the voice sounded stronger this way, only to find it so much more distant than before. Soon enough I could no longer hear the strains of the lullaby, and I was in a part of the manor that I had never been before, where all the curtains were drawn and dust cloths covered everything

I kicked the floor in frustration.

"God damn it!" I growled, stomping my way back the same way I had come from. "I knew I should have turned right, but oh no Ruffnut, you just had to turn left. You are such a duh-brain. Now you'll never know who was singing that tune…"

Someone suddenly barrelled into me as I passed a T-section in the hallway. I lost my balance and fell.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" I yelled.

"I am so, so… sorry."

I saw a hand extend to help me up, but I swatted it away. I picked myself up and brushed myself down, glaring at this twerp. He was wearing a suit, blue tattoos just visible above his collared shirt, his red-brown hair tied back in a ponytail. There were three vertical scars across his left eye, marring what would otherwise have been a handsome face.

He looked like someone who's killed before.

"I haven't seen you around. Who the hell are you?" I asked rudely.

"I'm Dagur," he readily replied, flashing me a brilliant smile as he extended his hand again. "From Oswald & Associates."

"What's that, a circus?"

I chuckled. "Nope. The solicitors. You know?"

"No, actually, I don't."

He threw back his head and laughed for a good minute. I looked around, feeling incredibly uneasy. I didn't even say anything funny.

"Are… you on drugs?"

"Only the legal kind," he replied, still smiling. His wide green eyes hardly blinked and never left my face. It was rather unnerving. "So, what's your name?"

"None of your business," I snapped.

"Nice to meet you, Miss None-of-your-business."

I glared at him.

"Wow, aren't you a little edgy. Did someone stick a dead cat up your ass?"

"What? You little…"

"Wait! Wait! I was kidding, geez!"

I clenched my fists and tried to walk around him, but he moved his body around to block me.

"Get out of my way!"

"No."

"You know, for a lawyer you sure are immature!"

"I get that a lot. I don't really care."

I tried to circle the other way, but found him blocking me again. I brought both hands up and pushed him, hard. He nearly stumbled, but managed to keep his balance. He was still grinning.

"Jesus Chr… what the hell do you want?"

"I'm lost. I need to know where Miss Hofferson is." When I didn't respond, he continued. "I thought she'd be in the library but she wasn't there."

For a moment I was at a loss for words, and then anger took over again. "Why didn't you just ask, asshole?" I yelled.

"What? It was more fun this way. So… go on, show me the way."

"Go find your own way, I'm busy." I walked around him, and this time he didn't try to stop me.

"Busy doing what?" He asked as he followed me. I threw him a glare over my shoulder.

"Busy walking away from you."

He laughed. "Oh don't be like that, Ruffnut."

I stopped and spun around. "How did you know my name?"

He smiled. "Come on, you were beating yourself up pretty loudly back there. 'I'm an idiot. I'm a duh-brain. Ooh, I should have turned right!'" He mimicked.

"I wasn't… oh, shit." I turned around and started to walk again. I really was a duh-brain.

After a minute or two I couldn't hear his footsteps behind me any longer. I looked over my shoulder to check if he was still following me and had to quickly step back when I found that his face was very, very close to mine. "Jesus!" I exclaimed.

He put his hands on his hips, chuckling. "Sorry, I was admiring the freckles on your neck."

My face turned red in a nanosecond. "You pervert!"

"Thanks! Wow, what a compliment!"

I willed myself not roundhouse kick him in the nuts - I didn't want to get sued. And so I turned around and started to walk again. Quickly.

"You're so easy to tease, Miss None-of-your-business, a.k.a. Duh Brain," he said conversationally. "You're not from around here, are you? Where are you from?"

I kept my silence. Perhaps Miss Hofferson was still in the drawing room.

"Okay, how about: what are you doing here?"

I marched on. The sooner I found Miss Hofferson, the sooner I would be rid of this devil.

"You're not giving me the cold shoulder are you? Because I can be very, very persistent."

I groaned and hoped that the nightmare would pass. He continued to pester me in the background while I desperately tried to find my way back to the drawing room. Finally, I rounded the corner to where I thought the drawing room was just in time to see Missus Parsons leave it.

"Molly!" Dagur called enthusiastically.

"That's Missus Parsons to you," the housekeeper said stiffly. "I thought I asked you to wait by the stairs."

He shrugged. "I got bored, so I made my way to the library. And then I got lost. Good thing I bumped into Ruffnut here."

I sighed and slapped my hand over my forehead. Missus Parsons looked at me sympathetically. "Well, you're late. Miss Hofferson has been waiting for you. Follow me."

Dagur hummed. "Why are they so obsessed with time here?" He murmured to me. I felt him discreetly press himself against my side and, before I knew it, I had already punched his shoulder to get him away from me. It didn't do him any harm though, unfortunately, as he turned away chuckling to meet the housekeeper's bewildered gaze. "Let's get this business started, shall we? Lead the way, Molly."

"Missus Parsons," she nearly growled through gritted teeth.

"Of course."

I stood rooted to the spot as I watched him enter the room. I heard him greet Miss Hofferson, heard Astrid's irritable, sarcastic response, before Missus Parsons closed the door.

"Where did Miss Hofferson find that lunatic?" I whispered.

"Trust me," Missus Parsons sighed. "His father was more agreeable."

I decided to hang out with the housekeeper in the kitchen as she prepared our lunch. She seemed to know everything about Dagur and his father, and had quite the story on them. Even Paul, who came back inside to get an umbrella, had something to say about the young solicitor ("He sounds like someone who would go berserk over burnt toast!" he said before he left for the village).

"Unfortunately Oswald died last year," the housekeeper was saying as she covered the simmering soup before turning the fire off. "His son Dagur took over as head of the law firm not too long ago. He's a brilliant man, Dagur, one of the best solicitors in the country. But to tell you the truth, he's more deranged than anything."

"No kidding," I said.

Missus Parsons offered me a rare smile. "Miss Hofferson trusts him, mind you, but she does not like him much," she continued. "However, before Oswald passed away, he promised the Lady that Dagur was as good a man as any, and an even better solicitor than him. Of course, Miss Hofferson decided to trust his word, since Oswald has served her for a very long time and had never given her bad advice before."

"But he's wrong. I mean, every nice parent thinks their children are better than they really are. Take my brother for instance: My mother used to think that he smelled like roses even though he never bathed."

She looked at me sardonically. "You do realise Miss Hofferson would not have stuck with Dagur if he wasn't anygood."

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"She wouldn't."

"Whatever. I still don't trust him."

"Neither do I, but who are we to judge him?"

"Well, we're not stupid for starters," I replied. "Because we are capable of recognising a predator when we see one. I don't know about you, but he gives me the creeps."

"It's just a first impression, we mustn't judge."

"Oh, yes," I said dryly. "Because you totally think that my first impressions of him are incorrect."

She sucked in a breath. "Miss Hofferson trusts him, and it really isn't our business to tell her who she should and should not trust."

I studied her quietly from my stool.

"By the way, about Lady Bertha Hofferson's curiosity box," Missus Parsons wiped her hand on a tea towel. "I would really prefer if I did not have to touch it. Would you come and collect it for yourself? I can show you where we keep it right now if you wish. It will save me from bringing it up to your room myself."

I raised an eyebrow. Well, well, this was interesting. What monstrosity could this box contain that repulsed even the hardiest of housekeepers?

We exited the kitchen and I followed her as she led me through a different part of the house in the first floor, past the music room and beyond. She led me to what appeared to be a room at the very centre of the house. And when we finally stepped inside I was, for lack of a better word, gobsmacked.

And impressed.

And awestruck.

I did not realise that Warborough Hall had a weapons room!

It was a small room, but it nevertheless inspired a frightful wonder in me. I walked up to the glass cabinet and ogled at the variety of swords, maces, spears, guns, axes, bows and arrows on display. Above it, set upon the wall, was a huge portrait of some dead old Hofferson on a horse.

"This. Is. So. awesome," I whispered.

"You're easily impressed," I heard Missus Parsons mutter. I rolled my eyes at her.

"You just led me to a weapons room. Of course I'm impressed"

She sniffed scornfully. "Oh don't be so surprised, this is an old house. Besides, every single Hofferson was a fighter. Miss Hofferson herself was well versed in swordplay, though she favoured the axe most."

"No way," I breathed. Can that woman get any cooler? I stared at the beautiful weapons, wondering if any of them were still sharp, forgetting about the curiosity box altogether. I could have happily spent the entire day looking and holding and testing each weapon if only the housekeeper wasn't there watching my every move.

She cleared her throat.

I sighed and straightened up, looking at her with an unimpressed scowl.

"The curiosity box," she gestured to a small box set upon a small, low table to the side of the room. It was nothing special – it was simply a small box that I would have completely overlooked if the housekeeper didn't point it out. She stepped back when I ran a hand over the lid.

I was about to open it when Missus Parsons stopped me. "Not in here!" She exclaimed. I looked at her and was surprised to see her genuinely agitated. "Take that box with you to your room and open it there you stupid girl!"

"Hey," I shouted. "I'm not the stupid girl here who's afraid of a wooden box!"

"It's not the box, what what's inside it that I am uncomfortable with," she spat back. "And you will do well to fear it too. In fact, it will do you a lot of good if you just left it here."

"Miss Hofferson offered this box for me to investigate, stupid," I snarled. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

I saw her grind her teeth and I knew then with a childish delight that I had won this round. "Just take it up to your room," she snapped.

I smirked as I picked it up. Oh wow. It was heavier than I originally thought. I wondered excitedly what was inside. Maybe poisons. Or torturing devices. Manacles? Some exotic weapons of death from the Far East…

She closed the weapons room behind us and walked away without saying a word. I shrugged, not really caring, and hauled the box upstairs to my room. I excitedly swept the paper on my writing desk to one side and set the box there as I kicked my shoes off to a corner.

"This is it," I whispered to myself. I opened the latch and slowly lifted the lid.

My grin disappeared.

Well, it was definitely not a treasure chest of poisons and manacles. It was… far weirder. I picked up a deck of cards on top of the pile…

Suddenly, the window in front of me rattled, and outside I heard a terrifying, raspy screech. I dropped the cards as I leaned across my desk and tried to look through the sheet of grey rain on the other side of the glass. I looked this way and that.

A large shadow suddenly flew past by my window, and I stumbled back, startled. It was far too quick for me to have taken a proper look at what it was, and so I ran to the other, larger window in my room and threw it wide open. The icy rain spilled inside in a whirl of wind, and I immediately got drenched. I stuck my head out and looked to my left and right, and then below me, then above. I couldn't see a thing. Actually, it was hard to see anything beyond what was immediately in front of me. It was strange: I definitely did not imagine that shadow, so what could it have been? A bird? It would have been a crazy bird of Herculean strength to have been able to battle through this storm.

The rain was slicing my face to slits.

I closed the window and shivered. Thankfully, they had placed a heater in my room, and so I turned it on at full blast and crouched down in front of it, wiping the rain from my eyes.

I looked back at the box and couldn't help but feel a little fearful. I felt like Pandora and that I had just unleashed some secret evil into the world. I shook my head when I realised how absurd I just sounded. When that didn't abate my fear, I knocked the side of my head hard against the wall.

Ah, there. That always does the trick.

I stood up and stoutly walked back to my writing desk, my long, braided hair leaving a trail of wet patches behind me. I looked down at the simple box and, taking a deep breath, began rifling through it, placing its contents neatly on the desk.

There wasn't much, which made me wonder why the box was so heavy to carry. There was a bottle each of belladonna, garlic, and earth, a couple of vials of some dark, unlabelled liquid, a short ivory tusk of a narwhal, a crucifix, feathers and flowers bound together in brown string, a yellowing paper packet of dried grass, the small skull of a raven, a notebook, some loose paper, and the deck of cards. I also found a couple of silver coins and a small, sharp stake and, at the bottom of the box, a pentagram carved into the wood.

I nearly laughed at this assortment of knick knacks. No wonder Missus Parsons didn't want to touch this thing. It was a Victorian curiosity box, definitely, and its contents would have made any God-fearing woman today faint in fear.

It was a smaller collection than a lot of the curiosities that I had seen. It did not appear to have direction, its oddities ranging from science, to witchcraft, all the way to vampire slaying. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was not Lady Hofferson's collection in its entirety.

The loose papers were blank. Some had burnt edges or were torn in half, while others were so old it felt incredibly brittle to touch. The vials I could not open as the lid was sealed in wax – perhaps it was meant to be broken, though for what occasion I did not know. I picked up the notebook next and flicked through the pages. It was bloated with age and damaged by time, the black writing inside blotted and hard to read. I would need a fair bit of time to decipher its contents.

I next sniffed the grass in the paper packet, giggling at the thought of the Lady smoking weed in some dark corner of the manor, but found that it was just dried up, humble grass, perhaps even uprooted from the garden outside. I slipped it in my coat pocket, deciding that I would ask Paul if he knew what kind of grass it was and from where it came from.

I next shuffled through the cards bound in lace. It was from the major arcana set of a tarot deck, but the gold foil in the beautiful images was already starting to peel off. I briefly noted that there were a few cards missing from the pack, and so I pocketed the deck of cards to research later.

I studied the contents of the box for another couple of hours or so, noting down my observations and wondering how all of this fit in Miss Hofferson's story. I was trying to make sense of what I had seen in the window when I heard a loud bang below. I opened my door and heard a few objects crashing to the ground. I ran downstairs and skidded to a stop when I reached the banisters overlooking the foyer. Missus Parsons and Lisa were already there. The door was wide open, and the tempest was blowing right into the house.

The housekeeper was yelling. She sounded even more cantankerous than before as Lisa tested the hinges in the door by pulling it back and forth. I crouched down low and listened in to their conversation.

"That's the eighth time this month that this has happened," Missus Parsons was growling. "If this continues, the whole front of the house will collapse!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Lisa laughed. "At least the hinges are still intact. See, no harm done. The workers did their jobs well."

"And look at this mess! Mud and puddles everywhere…"

"I'll help you clean up."

"The carpet is ruined! Miss Hofferson liked this carpet."

"Don't think she cares much, really," Lisa replied as she closed the doors.

"Miss Hofferson will need to do something about this," Missus Parsons said as she headed in the direction of the kitchen with the nurse. "Otherwise we might as well not have any doors at all!"

When they were gone, I stood up from my position and started to walk downstairs. I ran a hand over the heavy, solid wood and discounted the possibility of the wild wind blowing both doors open. I turned around and saw an overturned table, a vase smashed in the corner, and the carpet pulled in bunches here and there… It was as if a giant, excitable puppy bounded through the front doors and wreaked havoc with just a few sweeps of its tail.

So this was the eighth time this has happened, huh?

I was about to follow the housekeeper and the nurse in the kitchen when I stepped into a muddy puddle. I made a face.

"Oh come on!" I was still barefoot for crying out loud! But I stopped swearing when I noticed that the mud had imprinted a curious shape on the floor.

I crouched down low and examined the humongous paw – no, claw print. I knew of no beast in possession of such feet. Perhaps a bear… a very, very large, extinct English bear with… uh… claws. Instead of paws.

Missus Parsons and Lisa entered the foyer once more, mop and bucket in hand. The housekeeper was still complaining aloud.

"What happened here?" I asked as I stood up. I saw the pair exchange a quick look.

"This door is old," Lisa said, putting her bucket down. "The hinges swing open by themselves, especially if there's a wind trying to get in."

I raised an eyebrow. "You honestly think I believe that? The workmen just fixed this. Besides, look at these paw prints." I bent to examine the shape. "It looks like it was made by a large creature, though what creature I do not know. But it was large and strong enough to be able to burst through those heavy doors..."

"Ah, that's nothing," Missus Parsons said, and she immediately started to mop up the mess.

"Hey!" I protested. "I was still looking at that."

"Please go back upstairs to your curiosity box," Missus Parsons said. "There is nothing else to see here."

I looked at the housekeeper, and then the nurse. I crossed my arms. "What is it that you're not telling me?"

"Please, Miss Thorston," Lisa said in a low voice, "It would be best if you don't ask questions."

"Why?"

"She means you should check your tongue and mind your own business," Missus Parsons snipped.

I stuck my jaw out, offended. "This is my business."

"Perhaps," she replied. "But it is not our business to explain."

I loomed over her, glowering, but she did not back down. "Fine," I said stubbornly. "I'll ask Miss Hofferson myself." When they did not reply I turned on my heel and walked up the stairs in righteous anger. I would have hidden once more if only they weren't watching me closely. I sighed, then sighed once more when I realised I didn't know where to find Miss Hofferson. Was she still in a meeting with Dagur?

Ugh, Dagur. He barely even knew me and he was already flirting with me? If Tuffnut was here he would have just told me to beat the asswipe up.

I thought I heard his phantom voice being carried across the corridors and, not wanting to chance bumping into him again, I slunk away into the shadows. The thought of his green eyes following me made me quicken my steps to the safety of my bedroom.

That night, as I was waiting for Miss Hofferson to arrive in the library, I took a book on tarot cards down from its shelf. But as I was climbing down the ladder, my eye grazed past a shelf filled with books on mythical creatures. A large brown book in particular caught my eye.

The Book of Dragons, the spine read.

I looked at it for a moment. Then, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all, I reached out and put it under my arm. Hey, what better place to start researching dragons than by reading a book on dragons called The Book of Dragons, right?

I settled myself on the floor and laid the tarot cards out in front of me, matching them with the ones in the book, studying the images and its meanings carefully.

The Fool. The Lovers. The Wheel of Fortune. Death. The Star.

These were the five cards missing from the deck.

God, I was at a dead end: I did not know what to make of all this. I hummed, then decided to set the cards aside. I then reached for the book about dragons, quickly flicking through the first few pages. The foreword was written by some Norwegian guy named Bork, stating that most of these dragons came from the North. The book was divided into "classes" and included the dragon's speed, size, temperament, strengths, weaknesses, and something called its "shot limit". It was written as if the dragons actually existed.

The names, I had to admit, were delightful, as were the woodblock drawings that accompanied each dragon. Let's see, there was the tiny Terrible Terror and the hardy Gronkle. The Timberjack and Changewing. Skrills and Thunderdrums. Scauldrons, Nadders, and Whispering Deaths. Out of all these dragons, however, there was one in particular that really caught my imagination.

The Hideous Zippleback. Two heads, one body. One head breathed gas, the other sparked it. It was, in one word, awesome. I found myself wishing it was real so I could befriend the wild thing. I imagined myself taming it, imagined the thrill of the first flight. I traced a finger over the fearsome drawing, and it appeared to grin at my touch.

I shook my head.

What the hell Ruffnut?

I wished that my brother was here so that he could knock some sense back into me.

Miss Hofferson said that dragons still existed, and that all I needed to do was believe. To open my eyes and ears and to feel. And it must have been the lack of sleep or something but, in a sudden epiphany, in the company of hundreds of clever, dead words bound in leather, I found that I was willing to believe in dragons. I found myself believing that dragons could still be riding the wind, if I could believe that they still existed.

I desperately wanted to believe, but I did not know where to start.

I remembered the soft breath on my cheek the first time Miss Hofferson asked me to believe. I remembered the cry for attention that she heard in the drawing room. I remembered the shadow in my room. The paw prints in the foyer… Should I toss away everything that I knew was real and start to believe in the improbable? Believe that these unexplained events were all due to dragons?

What is this that I unleashed from Pandora's Box?

The rain had started to ease up just after midnight. I was back in my room, transcribing the story that Miss Hofferson told me that night, and somewhere in the middle of this task my mind started to wander. I found myself looking at my reflection in the window from across my writing desk as I questioned everything that had happened and everything that I believed was true.

In that reflection, distorted by the drops of water chasing each other down the window, I found my twin staring back at me. I looked into his eyes and asked him if I should let go and dive headfirst into Miss Hofferson's world, to dive down to its depths without fear or hesitation.

I saw the twin in the glass mouth a smartass comment. I smirked. His eyes softened as he reached out towards me. I did the same, our hands touching glass.

"Thanks, Stinky," I murmured. I bent down once again to continue my work, hearing Miss Hofferson's voice infused with each word that I transcribed.

"Lord Hofferson," wrote I, "looked down from the library and watched Astrid stalk purposefully into the woods, an axe slung over her shoulder.

"Astrid was twelve when she mastered the ancient art of axe-throwing, and she was fourteen when she finally outdanced her father at fencing. Yes, she adhered to the etiquette and the stiff societal rules of her class when she was in the company of other women. It was, after all, ingrained in her from a very young age. But when the guests were gone and she could shrug off her actor's cloak, she would pick up her axe and stalk off into the woods in search of a tree to practice on.

"No other father at that time would have taught their dainty daughters how to handle a sword or wield an axe. Gracious, no! Daughters were taught how to run households and be good, pretty wives! So why did George Hofferson teach his daughter how to fight?

"Perhaps it was his longing for a son, or perhaps it was the lack of a wife to discourage this behaviour. Maybe it was the lack of proper Englishwomen to serve as Astrid's role models.

"Or perhaps… he just wanted her to be prepared for anything that might come her way in the future. She was only about three years shy of the day when he would have to present her to society. If she had to fend for herself or her children in the event of a war, or even from an abusive husband…

"He turned away from the window at the sudden vision. He would not be able to live with himself if he gave Astrid away to someone so unworthy.

"One afternoon, Astrid guiltily entered the library where her father sat writing letters. She placed her broken axe upon her father's feet and stepped back, head bowed.

"He sighed. He bent to pick up the blade, studying it. When he did not say a word after a few minutes, Astrid felt her chest tighten at having disappointed him – or worse, hurt him. Her father saw the glistening in her eyes and immediately drew her near.

"Father, please forgive me, she said.

"Hush, hush. Not a worry, I shall hire a blacksmith to fix this and all the other ancient weaponry that you and I have broken. In fact, I believe Lord Haddock just mentioned he knew of an excellent blacksmith in Scotland. I'm sure he wrote about it in his last letter to me... it has to be here somewhere…

"Astrid breathed out a sigh of relief at the realisation that her father was not disappointed in her. She watched him as he turned papers over in his search for the Scot's letter. Upon finding it, he allowed her to read over his shoulder as he wrote.

"And then she did not think more of it.

"But fate waits for nobody, because would you believe it? Within a short two weeks, a large, one-armed, one-legged blacksmith arrived at Warborough Hall unannounced, complaining of the weather and his hungry stomach and his stiff joints.

"A skinny boy carrying their bags stood in his shadow, curious green eyes flashing as he quietly studied the servants' astounded faces."

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Haha sorry if I've led anyone to believe that the "certain green-eyed gentleman with red-brown hair" I mentioned in the last chapter was Hiccup. In my defence, Dagur does have green eyes and red-brown hair too, but I think Dagur offers us a glimpse of what Hiccup would have been like under different circumstances. He is such a fun character to write, although in this fic he is less mentally unstable and murderous.

And sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I actually finished writing it on Sunday, when it was still at 3000+ words, but I wasn't happy with it. I have lost count the amount of times I have re-written this chapter, and I admit I'm still not 100% happy with it, even after it has swelled to 5500+ words. I do apologise if it's not quite as polished as the previous chapters.

However, despite the grief, I nevertheless enjoyed writing this, from the introduction of Dagur the Deranged all the way to the ending when Ruffnut contemplated on whether she should let go. Because it's not so much letting go of reason, but welcoming the possibility of the improbable in order to see the bigger picture.

And now to my beloved reviewers:

The Cannibal Can Yep, you should definitely read Turn of the Screw. And if you enjoyed that, read The Yellow Wallpaper by Elizabeth Gaskell next. Want an uber spooky but short Gothic tale? Try A Madman's Manuscript by Charles Dickens, taken from his awesome The Pickwick Papers.

Hahahha LizzyLori you also got me giggling with your review. I find it rather hard to write creepy stuff since very few things creep me out (I still haven't seen a movie that truly spooked me) so I'm really glad you found the last chapter scary.

Tyra, WOW what a compliment! Thank you thank you thank you! I am so flattered by your review *o* I guess my writing style is fluent because I already have an end goal set, so all I need to do is steer the plot in that direction XD I still don't know what's going to happen between now and the ending though, so I'm taking this journey somewhat blindly along with you. But wow, once again thanks :)

And oh Sweettea8 you are far too kind! I hope you'll squee as well in the next chapter. I'm dying – dying – to upload a particular scene and to hear what you think.

NEXT CHAPTER: In which Astrid meets a certain blacksmith and his apprentice.

PS: Here, have a BONUS DRABBLE that I wrote and posted to Tumblr one drunken night last week. Enjoy~

The Triangle

Ruffnut felt a pair of eyes on her. She looked over her shoulder and found Dagur staring at her in a most… peculiar way. Her irritation turned to surprise.

Dagur blinked, and then turned away. He shook his head as if to clear it, utterly confused at this feeling that she stirred in him.

Fishlegs watched this entire exchange from the bottom of the hill, and he felt an anxious terror well within him.

There was one common thought that crossed all three Vikings' minds.

"Was that… love?"