"It matters not what you think. Soon, before the first snow of winter falls, the entire nest will sally forth, and crush your pitiful village and all your Viking friends. I will bring you before the mother personally, and she will show you the way."
Astrid's eyes fluttered open from a deep and oddly restful sleep. They took a long time to focus, and in the end she let them slide shut again. It just wasn't worth the effort. She didn't feel groggy, just comfortably tired, as if she slip back into sleep without a second thought, the dim light and the gentle heat crackle of the fire lulled her into a gentle slumber. A cool, damp cloth brushed across her forehead, a gentle pressure that filled her with an overwhelming sense of safety and security. She purred and gurgled in content, happy to just lie there in bliss. She could smell Hiccup, strongly. In fact, it was almost all she could smell. He must have been nearby, and that could only be a good thing, she liked Hiccup, after all. The cloth began to tickle slightly, and her nose began to twitch.
"Hey, Hiccup, stop it" she complained. She swung her head back and forth, trying to escape the wet fabric, but it followed her everywhere, just brushing against her scales. She could hear giggling.
"Make me".
Astrid went to retort, but was cut short be a sharp intake of air. She held her breath for a second, eyes rolling back underneath her eyelids, and lifted her head up off the ground. She had no idea what was going on, and couldn't help herself from doing any of it. It quickly became clear, however, as her head shot forward, and her lungs were emptied in an instant. There was a deafening rush of air, like a mini explosion, as she let out a colossal sneeze.
Her eyes snapped open. Hiccup had actually been knocked onto his back by the force of the blast, ears ringing. His cloth had been blown into the fireplace, where it was slowly spitting and curling up, as the heat burned off the moisture. They looked at each other, then the cloth, and then back at each other. There was a moment's silence, before they both burst out with uncontrollable laughter. Astrid bellowed deeply, causing the furniture to shake slightly, listening to Hiccup's nasally chuckle that she had become so familiar with since her transformation.
He ran up and threw his arms around her, and she obliged, falling onto her back so that she could wrap him up in her wings. She felt his tiny grip tighten just a little bit more.
"I'm so glad you're okay. I thought we'd lost you for good this time"
"It's okay, I'm tougher than I look you know."
"You must be the strongest person I know, and not just because you're deadliest dragon alive".
He wrestled free from her scaly grip, and stood back up again. She scrambled back onto her front, nuzzling his chest. He took her massive head in his hands, and planted a light kiss on her forehead.
"Don't you ever scare be like that again."
They stared into each other's eyes, a smile slowly spreading across both of their faces. There was only one response to that comment. Astrid opened her mouth, and dragged her tongue across Hiccup's face in an extra special lick, coating him in saliva.
"Eww, I will never get used to that".
She smiled, her tail thumping against the wooden floorboards. She looked around properly for the first time, they were inside some sort of building that much was clear. Light from the late afternoon streamed in through a grimy window that, with the help of the fire, lit up the cosy interior. It, as with all the homes in Berk, had been built out of cheap but strong materials, generally fir wood. No matter how sophisticated and practical they were, every building on Berk would have to be replaced eventually, and using expensive materials was inevitably a waste. It looked homely, typical of any Viking home in the village. A table with a few chairs crowded round in the corner of the room, large padded seats facing the fire, weapons and shields mounted on the wall, heirlooms of fighting legacy that went back far beyond living memory.
She froze as she looked at the weapons, memories of her encounter with Stoick rushing back. Looking down, she saw what remained of her paw. The sword had struck straight and true, removing a large chunk of her right appendage. The two claws on the outside of the paw were missing entirely, although the real mass and bulk of the paw had not been lost. It hurt much less than she thought it would, given that it was the dragon equivalent of losing several fingers. It had been much worse when she had lost her thin and sensitive tailfin, or hit her head hard against the rocks. It appeared to be healing well, a thick scab covered up any further bleeding, and already a shiny new layer of scales had begun to form. As she focused on the mangled flesh, a dull throb emerged in her injury, each beat of her heart creating a small but painful jolt.
Her ears pricked up, and her pupils slit. Her haunches lowered to the ground, she let out an involuntary warning growl. If she was in the village, then she would automatically be in grave danger. It seemed that everyone on the island had a personal vendetta against her kind, she wouldn't last a second if anyone found her.
Hiccup, sensing the anxiety and guessing at the cause, put a soothing hand on her flank.
"Its okay, they won't hurt us, not in here. Dad has made that very clear. We'll be safe for now. As far as anyone knows, you're chained up with armed guards watching you constantly. Gobber is outside right now, making sure that nobody comes knocking…"
He trailed off, hearing angry voices arguing outside. They were just within earshot, but from what she could tell they were coming closer. The voices grew louder, no mistaking the hostile tone and the occasion clang of weapons. It sounded like they were preparing for a battle. She felt dread in the pit of her stomach as she realised that was exactly what they wanted. It didn't take much to rouse a Viking to violence, and a dragon camping out in their village was an open invitation down whatever they were doing and grab weapons.
The voices swelled, not just louder, but also more numerous. Hiccup dared over to window, rubbing a clean spot with his sleeve so they could both see through. Form the looks of it, she had been put in the Chief's house, which had a commanding view over Berk below, stretching right down to the cliffs and the docks. It also allowed them to see perfectly the angry mob of citizens, marching down the streets in something akin to a battle formation. Many were fully armoured, and all carried weapons.
The tide of angry villagers surged forwards through the streets, their posse growing larger with each passing second as every able man, woman and child in the entire village joined the mass of humanity. Some carried torches in the light of the early evening, although it was more likely they were looking to burn something to the ground. They were of course, headed straight for Hiccup's house, and there was absolutely no way to stop them, not now.
Astrid scanned through the crowd with her superior dragon vision. She saw the faces of those she loved, those she once called friends, all twisted with an ugly expression of hatred, all of them completely justified. She had been a fool, to think that her ordeal would have a happy ending. It was impossible, Vikings held grudges for too long, and nothing in Hell or on Earth was going to change their minds. The clamour was deafening now, the rumble of hundreds of feet, the crash of weapons beating against shields, the battle roars of an enraged populace.
As she looked, all hope slowly draining from her body, she focused in on the leader of the group. Her legs began to shake, as she recognised an all too familiar face heading the bloodthirsty mob, directing them towards the house. Her father had always been an influential man in the village, one of the chief's closest advisors. He was a proven battle commander, who lead from the front and would never be seen to retreat. All through her childhood, she had admired Angarr because of it, but now she felt nothing but terror. She was going to die, by her father's hand.
*BANG*
The door was ripped off its hinges by a powerful kick, and she yelped in surprise. They were out of time. An enormous helmeted figure bundled into the room.
"Sorry about that Hiccup, I can't work the door handle too well these days…"
"GOBBER!"
"Aye, I'm here, come to sort this all out before it gets messy. No need to thank me…"
"Gobber, they're coming! What do we do?"
"Hiccup, Dragon lass, if you want to be still be breathing by the time the sun comes up, I suggest you follow me!"
Stoick put on a brave face as he marched up the hill towards the great hall. Though the low sun shone bright in his eyes, he did not lift up his arm to shield himself like the other. He squinted, eyes practically closed, as he trod with confidence the path he had known since childhood. A small crowd had already gathered behind him, but sensing his determination, had not decided to challenge him. Yet.
In reality, only a few villagers had seen him manhandle the dragon into the family home with the help of Gobber and Hiccup, if you could call Hiccup's moral support 'help'. Stoick had given Gobber key instructions, to protect his son if things went wrong, which they might, and fast. It didn't matter how many Villagers had actually seen them with the beast, word spread so quickly through Berk that within a few hours it was as if everyone and their yak was a first-hand witness.
The crowd was steadily growing, growing louder as they talked amongst themselves, trying to find out what had happened, or guess as to why. Many were sceptical, not believing for a second that a Night Fury was living in their chief's house. Some wanted to congratulate Stoick, or at least prepare a feast to celebrate the capture of the most devastating dragon that anyone knew of. There were a few lurking in the crowd that did not appreciate what Stoick had done with the dragon, who wanted to know why Gobber was keeping watch on the house and turning everyone away. Their poured their poisonous words into the ears of anyone who would listen, 'we have been betrayed', 'the chief has gone mad', 'he has doomed us all'. A feeling of mistrust swept suddenly through the crowd as the sensationalist tales spread. By the time he reached the hall, Stoick was facing a baying, angry and confused mass of people. He could hardly be heard over the poorly phrased insults and angry accusations. He pushed his chest out, preparing to bellow like his own father had taught him so many years ago.
"QUIET!"
There was silence, not a single one of the hundreds that were now huddled around the thick oak doors made a sound. They may have been angry, but they had been taught to respect the chief since they could walk, no one dared to interrupt his clear and carefully chosen words.
"I will explain everything in a village meeting. Right here, right now. I will NOT let rumours and petty challenges tear Berk apart!"
As if on cue, the doors creaked open, pulled on from the inside. He did not turn around to see who had opened it for him, continuing to stare down the crowd that had thankfully calmed at his words.
"Let me assure you, all of you. Whatever happens, you are NOT in danger, and would do well to continue with your day. Anyone else who is not satisfied, follow me."
Many of the villagers turned and left at that, happy that the chief was protecting them. Most of them were simply afraid for their families and livestock, and with their safety assured there was no reason for them to stick around. Vikings were an intensely practical people, but not the most imaginative. They would be happy to return to their jobs and let the powers that be discuss the 'dragon' that had been captured. Some older Vikings, veteran craftsman and artisans that had respected both Stoick and his father before him, turned to follow the others back down the hill, having participated in enough dragon slaying over the years. Stoick cursed under his breath, they normally made up his main support base in village meetings, and this next one would be a lot more difficult without them.
The problem was made infinitely worse, however, by those who had stayed behind. Those with more ambition, less patience and more vengeance were more likely to stay. Those who had a problem with authority, had recently lost close family or friends, or just wanted a good fight. There were also the heads of some powerful families, the Halfhorns, the Hammersplints, and the Oakensons. These were dangerous men, those who were warriors by trade, and ambitious through birth. It was men like them that Stoick had to outdo in order to secure his position as chief in the first place. Angarr Hofferson led the group into the hall behind the chief.
Stoick's eyes took a moment to adjust to the light as he passed into the hall, taking his place at the head of the vast table from which countless wars and raids had been waged. He realised, that for the first time in the history of Berk, the chief would try and convince his people to save a dragon.
The doors swung shut again, shutting out the natural light and leaving him alone in a sea of barely contained hostility. Only the angriest remained at this point, and yet they still managed to nearly fill the entire hall. Gobber was guarding the house, and Spitelout was apparently nowhere to be found. He felt uncomfortable, unprotected. Something between anxiety and fear. These were his people, and yet he did not recognise their hard, accusing faces. He would have to make explain the situation to them now, before things got out of control. He would make them believe, even if he was still slightly sceptical himself.
"I know what many of you saw today is disturbing. I know what you are going to ask me. Why is there a Dragon in my house?"
A shrill voice called out from the crowd, many actually wincing at the painful tone and pitch that was so iconic. "Well, why is there a dragon in your house, and a Night fury at that?" There were a few muttered agreements.
"I am TRYING to explain that now Mildew. What I am going to tell you will seem impossible. You will doubt me, and you will be unable to fathom how such events came to pass. All I know is this…"
The crowd collectively held their breath, leaning in closely to hear the news that was apparently impossible. In their arrogance, most felt that their own, already formed and fundamentally flawed judgements were undeniably true. Many were trying to guess what was happening, whist others were confident that they were about to hear what they already knew. Not one of them expected what the chief said next.
"That Dragon that we found in the woods. It… how do I explain this? It is not really a dragon, at least not until recently"
The muttering began again. Rumour had it that Stoick and Gobber had captured a Night Fury, or at least an exotic dragon that no one had seen before. The creature had been unusual to say the least, a mass of sleek black scale, all bundled up in Gobber's weapon's cart, but it was clearly a dragon. Eyebrows were raised at this latest revelation. Many did not understand, and Vikings had historically felt threatened by that which they did not understand.
Stoick looked around at his villagers, doubt written across their features, a hint of fear in their eyes. This would be the hardest thing he would ever have to do as chief of Berk. His people would almost certainly not believe him. At best, they would object loudly and storm out of the building, having lost his respect. At worst, they could revolt, overthrow him and kill the dragon themselves. The only thing in Berk that was more intense than the respect for their chief was the burning hatred of dragon-kind.
He met the stoney eyes of Angarr Hofferson, who had forced his way to the very front of the hall. His family had been hit especially hard by the Night Fury, and the most recently. If there was anyone who would go out of his way to butcher a dragon, it was him. It wouldn't matter what orders he was given, he was far too ambitious to let vengeance slip away without a fight. As they stared at each other, Stoick began to doubt himself. Was this really the best course of action, to tell them all the truth, no matter how insane and inexplicable?
He thought back to the words of his son. 'For once in your life can you please listen to me!' Stoick had been wrong not to listen to him. Hiccup had tried and tried to convince his father that the dragon was actually Astrid. They had been through hell, both of them, hiding away from their loved ones of pain of death. He owed to his son and to Astrid to tell the truth, consequences be damned. Anyway, if he, the greatest chief and dragon killer in Berk's history, could be convinced, then the village would be too. He broke away from Angarr, now determined to see this meeting through to the end. The chief took a step forward, and spoke with confidence the words that would shatter their very way of life.
"Through some black magic, whose origins I do not know, that creature is a human, a Viking. That dragon is Astrid Hofferson."
There was a sharp intake of breath, but no one uttered a word. Every single face displayed deep, profound shock at the news. Every face, apart from Angarr Hofferson's. His face was white as a sheet, and for a second it looked as if he would pass out. It quickly faded to red, and then an odd tinge of purple as he became enraged beyond reason. Those standing near him started to shuffle away, fearing a violent and bloody outburst.
Angarr had taken his daughter's death harder than anyone thought possible. She had been his favourite, the principle focus of his attention and devotion. The pride of the village, he had been immensely proud of her skill and prowess. After she had been carried away screaming by Death itself, he had been inconsolable, blaming himself. If only he had trained her harder, if only he had been there to save her, it was driving him mad.
But instead of being driven mad with grief, Angarr had focused his sadness and guilt into a burning hatred of the dragons, a need for revenge that outstripped even the most stubborn of Viking grudges. He had hardened significantly since the loss of Astrid, vowing silently to hunt down and annihilate the creatures that had wronged his family. He had become obsessed with that Night Fury and constantly carried with him a small, smooth black stone that he had found in a cove whilst out hunting. Part of him almost believed that it was a dragon scale, although it was unlike any other scale he had seen. It was a symbol of his commitment to his daughter, to honour her memory through vengeance.
Far from being comforted by the dip in raid activity, he had become restless and anxious, constantly on the lookout for something to kill. In village meetings, he regularly pushed for more nest hunts, almost begin the chief to give him a change to find and kill as many dragons as he could. Regular hunting went some way to satisfying his insatiable quest for blood, but until he brought his daughter's murderer to justice, his berserk insanity continued.
All of this was well known by practically everyone in the village. They had always respected him as one of the most important members of the community, on par with Spitelout and often in a position of command. He had created something of a cult following, his hardline conservative views on Dragon killing striking a chord with some of the most powerful older men, the heads of great family's and the like, who just so happened to be the ones who had packed into the hall.
Angarr was the first one to break the silence, with a low, venomous tone that practically spat murder.
"How DARE you! That beast killed my daughter before her mother's eyes, and you have the nerve to tell us that Astrid is one of them."
Stoick was sweating now, he had put himself into a very difficult position, and began to think that he had made a mistake. He tried to calm the situation down, appealing with patience and reason.
"Angarr, I know this is difficult, but you must believe what I say, did Vara actually see Astrid being…"
"My Wife saw my Daughter being carried off by Death! Are you calling her a liar as well? This is an insult to my family, and to all Vikings everywhere!"
The crowd hissed in agreement, turning on their Chief all at once. Nobody interrupted, but many started to shout and jeer their agreement. There were calls of "insanity" and "madness" at Stoick's claim. Angarr was not deterred.
"It is an affront to the Gods, Viking tradition, our whole way of life. This is an OUTRAGE! The chief puts us all in danger and then fill our head with LIES. He is no longer fit to lead us in any way.
Stoick tried to respond with a show of strength. He was losing the support of his village, and fast. He knew that if Gobber or at least a few supportive voices of reason were there to help calm the situation, it would be a very different story. But here and now, he was totally and utterly alone. There was nothing he could do to hold back their rage. Angarr was practically frothing at the mouth by this point
"I do not pretend to understand how or why this has happened. All I know is that Night Fury was once a human, and now…"
"SO IT IS A NIGHT FURY THEN!"
There was a roar of anger and agreement with Angarr as Stoick was cut off once again. He tried to formulate a comeback, but was at a loss for words. It seemed like everyone in the hall was shouting him down all at once. There were calls for Stoick to step down, for a fight to decide the next chief, to mount his head next to the dragons'.
Stoick was sure about one thing, he needed to get out, and fast, he quickly made his way down from the platform. Plates and cups were hurled at him, bouncing off his helmet and cloak as he shoved through the crowd. They were baying for blood, barely held back by their own, entrenched inhibitions about violence in the meeting hall. As he burst out into the evening air, he could hear those he had left behind rallying to Angarr. There were call to burn his house, and kill the dragon.
He froze, his blood ran cold through his veins. They were going to kill Astrid, and he knew exactly what would happen to Hiccup when they did. He needed to protect his son. He looked in the direction of his home, but angry, armed Vikings were already pouring out of the hall, blocking his way back. The vast show of strength and purpose brought many more Vikings out of their home, fully armed as if expecting a raid. Many were just caught up in the heaving mob without fully realising what was going on.
There was nothing he could do to help his son. Stoick choked back a cry of helplessness, a fairly rare emotion for one of the most effective chiefs Berk had ever seen. It brought back memories of the night he had lost his wife, the same sense of loss and utter hopelessness as luck decided the fate of those he loved.
But it was not all down to luck. Stoick had put his offspring in the care of his oldest friend for a reason. He and Gobber had come up with a contingency plan, and now was the time to put it into effect. With renewed purpose, Stoick sprinted down towards the docks. The jeering of the crowd was still ringing in his ear as he untethered a small ship, and with expert seamanship, guided it out of the harbour. He thanked the gods that the wind was in his favour, and steered his personal, unmarked ship around the edge of the island, and up the coast.
The darkness was overwhelming under the cover of the trees, and what little light was left was quickly fading as the sun slowly slipped beneath the horizon. Hiccup, even with his limited senses, could still hear the manhunt behind them as hundreds of enraged villagers tracked them through the forest. Gobber led the way, looking behind and around them constantly to check for tiny markings and pointers in a direction that only he could see. Despite his wooden limbs, he was making good speed, setting a challenging pace for a scrawny youth and an injured Dragon.
Astrid moaned quietly again, in fear as much as in pain.
"It's okay Astrid, Gobber's knows where we are going. We'll be fine"
Gobber glanced back at them every time Hiccup called the Night Fury 'Astrid', but he didn't say anything, focusing instead on finding a path through the forest. They had slowed somewhat as night took hold in it's entirely, but they never stopped outright. A gust of chilly wind brought with it the sound of horns and shouting. They had found their trail.
They fell into a steady pattern, picking their way between the trees, saying practically nothing as they made slight alterations to their course. There was a pervading sense of dread and a sickening feeling of terror as their pursuers edged closer with each passing minute. The constant pressure was exhausting, and a journey of a few hours felt like days.
They were all on edge, and Hiccup had to supress a scream of surprise when they finally emerged into a small cove that lead out into the ocean. Most of Berk's coast was made from high, rocky cliffs, but occasionally there was break in the steep rock face. On either side of them, the cliffs rose sharply, which with the help of the trees, perfectly masked the small channel that lead out to the open sea. There was a small lagoon, protected from the relentless pull of the tide and big enough to house a small ship.
Sure enough, there was one. From a single mast hung a drooping, off-white sail, secured against the wind by a few sturdy ropes. It was moored against the edge of the lagoon, tied around and old oak log that had fallen into the water during the storm. From the looks of it, there was little room for storage, only a small cabin at the stern of the ship to provide some shelter from the elements. It was built for speed and simplicity, and could be manned by just one or two able crew. It was his Father's Regatta ship, and he had never been happier to see it in his life.
Sure enough Stoick was standing aboard, scanning the treeline to spot them. When the three of them came into view, he untied the mooring and prepared for a quick escape. Hiccup was too tired to protest as Gobber lifted him onto the deck before stepping up himself. The ship rocked violently as Astrid leapt up onto the bare wooden slats, but the water was far too shallow to capsize in. Stoick pushed off from the beach with a long wooden oar, and Gobber steered through the channel. With barely a whisper, they left their pursuers behind, silently cutting through the waves as the sail caught the wind, pushing them out into the dark, endless maw of the midnight sea.