Took me longer than I thought to write this. There goes the shorter and lighter chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for everything.
Chapter 8, where things start to come together and the author cannot be bothered to write author's notes.
Disclaimer: *as usual*
CW: violence, racism, [corsets, composite weapons, McGuffin]
Merida's muscles were tense. Perfectly immobile. Her ears were acutely open to each and every fluctuation in the thin air. But her eyes saw only one thing. Her target.
Then she released all tension.
The corn kernel, propelled from the teeth of her fork as she hit the other end, flew through the dining room, above the empty wooden tables and new carpets. Its trajectory ended right in the crystal fishbowl of Elinor DunBroch's pet coelacanth. The creature immediately devoured the snack before diving away from the surface. At the view of his sister's aiming feat, Hamish's jaw dropped. Hubert's eyes widened. Harris let out a shocked gasp. Shooting them a darkly naughty glance, Merida got up, gave a mocking curtsy and stomped away from the breakfast table.
She had been forbidden to attend the arms display, once more. Her mother had thought it better for Merida's own education as well as her family's diplomatic relation with economic partners. Fergus DunBroch himself admitted it safer if his daughter did not randomly shoot at potential associates with their own rifle, as during the last session. So that while he parents were being advertised the full range of latest-fashion, cutting-edge weapons from one of the best armourer companies, Merida was confined to her asphyxiating zeppelin cabin. And to top it off, a dance lesson was planned in half an hour. A dance lesson. Something an accomplished young woman should go through. Something her mother had insisted on planning on that very day to spite her, she was sure.
With a long sigh, she slammed her room door behind her. She should better get ready for the class. She tossed her simple leather boots onto the wooden floor. With some effort, she managed to extract herself from her white linen colonial dress and throw it onto her four-poster bed. That was when the torture only started. She pulled out a steel cage crinoline from her cupboard and heavily dropped it onto her hips. Then, she slowly laced up a leather corset, painstaking hole after painstaking hole. Mrs. DunBroch had recently made her the most exquisite present of an automatic corset-tightener. With a grimace, she inserted both ends of her corset's ribbon into their dedicated slots. As she lowered a lever, with a frightening buzz, an arrangement of disgustingly elegant pulleys and gears sprang into action, pulling the ribbons until the corset's ivory spokes bit against her ribs. Breathless, she lifted the lever to end the excruciating pain. That would have to do. She pulled a pale green, frilly silk dress over her head. The tight half-sleeves compressed her arms, the corset imprisoned her lungs. Sweat immediately oozed out of her skin, embedding itself into the delicate, embroidered fabric. Beads of perspirations were visible on the ridiculously low and lacy round neck of her gown. She hastily wiped them off with the palm of her hand. The second stage of ceremonial self-torture had only commenced. Merida gave a glare of full hatred to her all-time arch-nemesis. The metallic hairbrush, its merciless teeth viciously glowering with entangled strands of bright red hair, stared back in pure cruelty. As the object prepared to unleash its sadistic wrath onto her, a knock was heard at the door.
Relief washed through her. Fate had given her a short respite. She ran up to open the door. And immediately found herself trapped in a steel-strong grip, the razor-sharp edge of an enormous axe right against her neck.
"One move and you're dead."
She, Merida, firstborn heir of DunBroch, who could split an arrow in flight and terminate a giant robot bear in mere minutes, had been caught in the most elementary of traps. She was boiling with rage. Her assassin, standing against the wooden-panelled wall, was holding her from behind. Had she wanted to give up her last scrap of pride and called for help, she would not have been able to. She decided her last thought would be that, at least, she would hardly have to attend that dance class. She would die in a stupidly tight dress, weaponless, with nothing in hand but a treacherous hairbrush –
"Ouch!"
The grip around her temporarily released as the assassin gasped in pain, nursing a hand painfully scraped by dozens of metallic hairbrush fangs. Quickly, Merida swiveled around and brandished her improvised weapon against the axe. Lunged forward. Parried. Slashed. She was fast. She was strong. But in a few seconds, she had been pushed back onto the bed, with the battleaxe once more hovering above her. In her hand was a neat stump of brush. She saw in astonishment the metallic monster lay in defeat, cleanly chopped into four pieces fallen beside her.
"If you want this to go quickly, don't try that again. Now, why did you explode a civilian aeroglider over Plant Alpha yesterday?"
Merida looked up at the axe-wielder. And what she saw made her eyes widen like a lemur's. Clad in her characteristic fighting gear, a pleated leather skirt, an matching red corset covered in assorted silvery buckles and straps for her scabbards and shoulder protections, elbow-length combat gloves wrapped in black ribbons, munitions, guns, knives and crossbows hanging around her metal-skull-ornate belt, legendary round shield tied around her back, platinum blonde fringe and braid framing her famous traits, proud gray blue eyes looking down at her, was –
"Astrid Hofferson of the Berk Clan! I'm-your-greatest-fan-ever-I-keep-all-luxographs-of-you-in-that-draw-near-my-bed-you're-my-star-I-can't-believe-to-see-you-in-real-life-please-please-please-I-want-to-see-how-you-do-that-with-your-axe - "
Astrid raised a blonde brow in confusion. The fearless warrior who had stolen the audience's breath at the Exposition was rather literally drooling with admiration in front of her.
"Okay, er, first things first. Why did you shoot at that glider?"
Visibly, the other girl was abashed. Her unkempt orange curls bounced lightly against her shoulders as she stammered:
"I just wanted to show Mother what I was capable of. She didn't let me join the patrol, so I proved that I was entirely able to do what none of our mercenaries can…"
All right, Astrid had hardly expected that. Hiccup had arranged for her to join the group aboard the Stormfly to the DunBroch aircraft over Plant Alpha to demonstrate the usage of the Berk Steel weapons Stoick had meant to advertise to the militia. She had been meant to find Merida DunBroch, whom they had identified from the Exposition's guest list book, to investigate the true motives behind the recent events. She had been meant to hide in plain sight, using her status as a representative of Berk Steel. And obviously, she was doing it her own way, axe in hand.
"And the Weselton Exposition performance? Was that another tantrum?"
"Er… yeah… Astrid-can-you-sign-me-an -"
"Do you realise what you've done? The pilot from glider you blew up is the only heir to Berk Steel, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. And that trick of archery in the arena was perceived as defiance to the Weselton clan, and by extension, the whole of the Southern Isles Company who sponsors it. Your little teenage crisis could have ended all trustful trade relations between the DunBroch clan and its main employer Corona & Sons with Berk Steel, the Andersens' Company and the rest of colonist families around Eastern Extremesia! With all the arms and militias all these have, that could have launched a war!"
Was her idol chiding her like her mother always did? Merida was starting to realise she felt quite afraid.
"Er… says the… girl… holding an axe right over my head?"
The redhead was making sense, Astrid admitted. Sometimes she felt like Hiccup was speaking through her words. Consequence of listening to him complaining for years… His peaceful approach to talking was very much unlike her.
"Sorry, I need to go back to the demonstration. I'll see you again."
Weapon in hand, the blonde warrior stormed off the cabin. Before leaving, she added through the door:
"And if you even think about leaving this room, I'll cut your head off."
Merida sat up on her bed, dumbfounded. She had just met Astrid Hofferson. Who happened to be have been holding an axe just over her, which she found quite amazing. She had even fought Astrid Hofferson. Well, for a few seconds with a hairbrush and in a highly uncomfortable dress. Put in a more heroic way, Astrid had rescued her from the monstrous nightmarish hairbrush and a dance class of death with a sweep of her axe. And what an axe, what a beautiful weapon it was! Its admirable proportions, its highest-quality steel blade, the splendid system of silver levers, cogs and pistons along the handle, and even that new trigger that suggested some recent updates! She could hardly believe her eyes, the famous female warrior, the legendary Shield Maiden of Berk Steel, the star, the stellar, the astral Astrid Hofferson…
The astral Astrid, meanwhile in the armoury, was deeply focused. She felt the DunBroch's evaluating gaze over her skin. Stoick's words rippled the surface of her mind as he advertised:
"We have lately been working on multiple-range custom weapons. This example combines the long-distance, high-precision firing power of a mechanical constellite rifle with the extreme short-range and mêlée efficiency of a good old-fashioned axe."
Loading her upgraded weapon onto her shoulder, she actioned a small lever that automatically unfolded an imbrication of metallic parts that slid and developed over each other along the handle. The barrel expanded ahead of the axe blades, away from her. Confidently aiming at the rather large target through the just-deployed steel sight, she pulled the trigger. Automatically, a mechanism of gears rotated to load munition after munition, firing a tight group of successive constellite bullets towards the centre of the target. As soon as the impact occurred, as had been choreographed, the target's spring-loaded machinery shot five flying boomerangs in different directions. For a fraction of a second, she inspected their trajectories. And then, she moved.
She lifted her shield to her left. One of the projectiles bounced off it. One down.
Sliced one just before her into two with a swing of her rifle-axe. Two down.
Heard the whistle of a boomerang behind her, jumped and kicked it with her boot. Three down.
Cleanly cut another as she gracefully landed. Four down.
Pushed a lever on her weapon, launching a series of mechanisms to switch bullet type. Shot at the boomerang just above her. Five down.
As the boomerang exploded into a myriad of minuscule shards, she was back to immobility, on one knee. Her axe stable in one hand, her shield, resting against the floor, in the other. She hardly heard what Elinor DunBroch had to whisper to her husband. That last demonstration, after a series of more conventional shooting and fencing ones, had come to an end, and she had to focus on the next task.
Stoick and his hosts briefly resumed the conversation started before Astrid's arrival, while she had been with Merida. Mentions to the Drifter camp, while vague about both size and location, were made before agreements could be settled. The number of mercenaries, the equipment and the time required to clean off the nest would, of course, have to depend on these technicalities. Funding questions were crucial. But even more so was the discussion of a long-term partnership. Berk Steel was traditionally under the hegemony of the Company of the Southern Isles, while DunBroch mercenaries had recently become part of Corona & Sons' militia. The Coronas' business had emerged as a competitor to the Company's over the recent years, even though clear signs of hostility had only shown most recently with the Coronas' notable absence from the Weselton Exposition. If Berk Steel and Corona joined their forces against the common Drifter issue, the balance of economic, social and military interaction in Eastern Extremesia would be profoundly altered.
"Thank you for your interesting offers and your extensive demonstrations, Mr. Haddock," customarily said Elinor. "Miss Hofferson, my greatest thanks for everything you showed us. My husband and Lord McGuffin will need an instant to debate over all your propositions. Please find our new guest lounge at your disposition."
As soon as those of the Berk clan left the armoury, Astrid ran to find Stoick. Talking was not her best skill, but both she and Hiccup knew how the Berk Steel leader trusted her. For unlike her foster brother, she resembled Stoick. In a way she resembled him more than he could resemble himself. Weaponry was the air both of them breathed, but while Stoick fought a war of markets and negotiations, sustaining his status as one of the Colonies' most prominent businessmen, she unleashed her energy wielding her axe and her shield for the good of the clan. Stoick was the Extremesian settler embodiment of a Miseralian's success, but Astrid truly lived up to the values of Miseralia – old-fashioned take-it-down-with-an-axe-and-then-lop-its-head-off kind of values. Such that she knew that Stoick would understand her thoughts, respect her arguments and agree with her principles. She had to try and convince him, as she and Hiccup had planned. While hoping that Merida did not blow up something again while they talked.
On the other side of the closed armoury door, Fergus DunBroch tapped his prosthetic foot nervously. He knew his wife had chosen Lord McGuffin, amongst all friends and advisors of their clan, to attend the display for a reason. After all, Mrs. DunBroch was the one responsible of their business affairs. Fergus was a brave warrior and a leader of men into combat, but he was hardly a negotiator. She was, however, and a rather fine one. What made him uncomfortable were how she had behaved recently. Since she had achieved that spectacular contract with the Coronas and settled the clan zeppelin in Plant Alpha, Elinor had been striving to establish her status as an accomplished woman in colonial Extremesia. Luxurious embroidered dresses, garish feathered jewelry, exotic pets, toiletry automatons, oaken furniture in these fashionable flowing floral forms and assorted stained glass panels had been ordered to the zeppelin for Merida and herself. There was even word of her telegramm correspondence with some General friend of the Coronas. Such that at that very instant, Fergus knew the Lord McGuffin was on his wife's side, even though he could not be sure which side she was taking.
"Offering our services to two powerful partners will assure a greater safety to our affairs," McGuffin claimed, "so if Corona & Sons finds no gold in Plant Alpha and sinks on the morrow, our men will still have plenty to do with Berk Steel's defense against the savage raiders. Furthermore, we will be viewed amongst the companies of Extremesia not as the greyhound of Jerome Corona but as an attractive new market. This new contract, shortly established after the first one, will do fantastic publicity in our name after the, er, unsettling events of the Exposition. There are possibilities of expanding our clientele to the Weseltons, the Stabbingtons and even the Andersens of – "
"Corona & Sons is the most powerful business in Southeastern Extremesia," Fergus spat, "challenging even the all-powerful Company of the Southern Isles and its royal mandate up north. And our men are warriors loyal to a cause, not potatoes you can sell in bulk."
"And which loyal cause, Fergus?" Elinor intervened. "The Coronas are admirable in every way, but which cause are you defending by patrolling over their precious Plant Alpha? A lulling sense of safety you and your men uncomfortably bathe in, wondering when they can raise their anchors again and go campaign against savagery. Don't you see there's your cause, right before you, worth being loyal to? Equilibrium. Unity. Peace. By offering our services to several partners to combat the Drifters, we are unifying the face of Eastern Extremesia, overruling the petty wars between Andersens and Coronas, Haddocks and Bunnymunds, Dingwalls and Stabbingtons. We are not playing small games on the chessboard any more, we are pillars under the chessboard. We are not the pawn of the crowned Crownsworths, we are a power as strong as theirs. We rally all merchants of gold and steel, silk and fur, wood and flour, against a common enemy: the bloody shadow of savagery that lurks in the dark jungles, that drifts above our beds at night to stab our children in the back and fly away with our weapons and constellite. There is no difference with the time of tribes back in Northern Cornucopia, and the alliances to fight off Viking barbarians. Balance, for the good of our family, our clan and all of the Colonies of Eastern Extremesia. Balance, that's a cause worth fighting for. "
He could see the stars glowing in her dark blue eyes, the flame distillated by her favourite General, which grew at the mention of expanding civilisation against savagery. And, between the strands of dark hair that fashionably fell before her eyes, subtly sprinkled with a hint of pearly gray, he saw a mother, strong and willful as a she-bear, ready to tear apart the engines and their sophisticated little pieces to defend her family. A mother and a wife he loved. He knew how right she was, how their mercenaries would agree to become proud warriors once more. Their clan in Extremesia was young, still made out of warriors at heart rather than experienced soldiers of fortune. They lived for combat, not for patrol. She was right, this time, but she was growing ambitiously crazy. Briefly he made a mental note that sending Merida away from the familial zeppelin and Plant Alpha for some time would do her the greatest of goods.
The said redhead was still confined to her room, wondering why Astrid said she would come back. So was she agreeing for the autograph after all? Would she show her what she could do with an axe and shield? Or would she humiliate her further? Would she slice her into –
"Great. I hope you haven't smashed anything while I talking to my father and while he talked to yours."
The blonde warrior burst in through the door, weapons still in hand.
"You came back!"
"No time for chatting. You pack your stuff, I pack mine. Mr. DunBroch and Mr. Haddock have agreed you are spending a week on the Berk Entreprise Rumblehorn 12 with us. You will attend the exposition as a guest to the Berk clan. Your training with weapons will happen with me and the other members of our academy. We're leaving at noon, be ready. I need to go collect my stuff in the armoury."
Astrid dashed out once again, before peering through the door at the bewildered DunBroch heiress.
"And Hiccup, the scrawny one-legged brunette aviator. If you shoot at a single hair of his again, I'll break both of your legs with great pleasure."
The Berk star walked through the corridor, a grin plastered over her face. The plan she and Hiccup had designed the previous night was working smoothly so far. She was just slightly dubious on how helpful the redhead would prove to be, despite her unparalleled archery skills, seeing her limited cooperation. Oh well, fate only could tell.
As its complex golden clockwork slid, spun and stretched, Merida's travel safe snapped open. Distractedly, she threw in her bow, quiver and reflected on a selection of blades. Ah, and clothes would be needed too. And… a new hairbrush. She would be living with her idol for a week. For a week, she would learn with her, fight with her, eat with her, chat about combat with her, amongst her ludicrous collection of axes, shields, guns, crossbows, knives, swords, hatchets, all that magnificent stuff… For a week, she would be by a star and her stuff.
Fun fact: Miseralia is on the Old Continent, north of the tropic of Misery. This story passes the Bechdel Test. I always figured that Merida would have her fangirl moments if she met a star in her predilection field. That's kind of my headcanon, I guess… She probably also has an intimate thing for weapons, even though not as much in the mechanical/metallurgical sense the way Hiccup does. If you enjoyed Astrid's axe-rifle, you should check out RWBY in case you haven't yet done so. Seriously, it's full of amazing weapons that double as guns. And has pretty wonderful costumes and soundtrack.
Announcement: Seeing how regularly I (plan to) update this story, I realised that asking for next-chapter suggestions in reviews won't really be possible. Oh well. You can still try. Please R&R, F&F, stay awesome, thanks xxx