By popular demand… More Astrid! I'm sorry, those of you who asked for Hiccup. He's next I promise.

God… even with three parts, this section is sooo damned loooong…

Prodigal Son 17

It was hard not to think about it.

She had let a dragon live. A mistake in any conventional mindset. It occurred to her that that might be the Nadder who would eventually burn her home, or eat her family, or her students. It was very easy to imagine a Nadder doing all of those things, and the thoughts made her sick, but she found it difficult picture that particular Nadder, with its twinkling blue and green coloring. Not difficult… perhaps objectionable would be a better word. She had no doubt that this was the same Nadder which had killed Snorri Sigurdson, yet those two worlds seemed so very far apart. How could a dragon that had treated her so well do something so horrific to other Vikings?

Where to go from here? Not physically- her destination was obvious: that dark blot on the horizon- but mentally. She could kill dragons. She would continue to kill dragons. She had to, in order to defend her village. Animal or not, friendly or not, they still ate livestock and the occasional child. Even if the Vikings stopped killing them, as Hiccup wanted, the raids would still continue and her village would starve to death. Like it or not, they had to keep fighting.

She wondered what she would do if she encountered her Nadder stealing sheep from Silent Sven's farm. What would happen? Would she kill it? No. She would chase it off, or perhaps feed it fish instead. Was there a happy medium somewhere? Somewhere where she could kill some dragons while taking care of others?

What would happen if she found it attacking the children?

Then it would die.

Astrid smiled. Not that she wanted to kill the dragon, it had helped her, after all. She felt very much that they had an… understanding. But she knew that if push came to shove, she was not Hiccup Haddock. She would defend her village. Vikings still came first. She had found a place to make her stand, a place to redraw her lines in the proverbial sand.

Sailing was slow progress. Her raft held up rather well in the calm seas. The wind was weaker than she would have liked, and she drew in her sail, taking pleasure when the resistance increased, and the lines pulled against her grip. She tied them to a notch on one of her logs, and relaxed a little as her raft skimmed forward smoothly, its wake rippling behind her. Every second which ticked by drew her further from that godsforsaken spit of sand, and she began to feel more and more herself.

The bindings creaked, and water lapped at the spaces between the logs. Though Astrid was constantly splashed with cool droplets from the waves which broke across her bow, she felt dry and warm. She had removed her boots, tying them to the mast and hanging them to dry off. She sat for a while so that her aching feet could bask in the sunlight. She took a great deal of pleasure in letting its warmth seep into her sore muscles. The leather satchel was full of fresh water, and she drank greedily. Her raft was too small to use a full sail, and she had plenty of the canvas left over, which she used to make a small tent, giving herself some shelter. She sat against the mast for a time, holding the tiller, looking backwards at the spit, and making fine course adjustments to keep it centered in her wake as she watched it shrink.

Eventually she grew bored. She kept one hand on her tiller, and with the other, she read Hiccup's journal again, marveling at the boy's combination of ingenuity, cunning, and cowardice. Astrid could not help but notice the parallels between her situation and Toothless the Night Fury's. Both of them had been stranded in Hostile territory, and they both had been forced to work with the enemy out of necessity. Toothless had given up his independence, and she? Well, Astrid had been forced to work with a dragon. Even relied upon it at some points. She had trusted it with her water pouch, and slept beside it. Who had ever heard of such a thing? It would be harder now, she knew, to teach children to kill them.

The island at her stern had shrunk to a spot on the horizon. She wondered whether the Nadder had awoken or not. She hoped not. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the dragon as possible.

As the sun crept higher, the wind began working against her. Clouds had gathered around the island, and the wind was blowing towards her, forcing her to cross back and forth, zig-zagging towards the distant landmass. It did not help that her raft did not really have a proper keel to keep it from side-slipping in the water. She was forced to work with her sails and tiller to compensate. Over an hour of constant necessary exertion had passed, and she felt as though little to no progress had been made at all. She was sweating and sore, having worked herself to the bone just to stay in the same place against the drafts.

The wind blowing against her was growing more forceful, and it did not bode well, especially with the dark clouds brewing on the horizon. Astrid let her sail out just to the point where it started to billow, then drew the line in a little. The action limited the amount of force the wind applied to her sail. She didn't want to move too fast. The waves were getting choppier, and while her raft had held together perfectly well thus far, she had no wish to test it against the coming storm. Thor looked to be in a foul mood, and Astrid wondered if he was perhaps angry at her for befriending- for using- using the dragon like she had instead of killing it.

Another hour passed, and the wind had changed, drawing her raft towards the island. And towards the storm. Her heart sank as lightning arced between the water and the low-hanging clouds. Rain began to patter down, a grey sheet in the distance, obscuring her objective. Flashes of blue lit the clouds as thunder tore apart the sky.

Her raft began to jolt and tip as it rose along the steep peaks and fell into the deep valleys between each of the waves. She worked to keep her raft at the edge of the storm, but the churning water buffeted her, throwing her tiny craft to and fro, and always pushing her towards the island, further into the gusting winds of the furious storm.

Astrid heard a creaking noise, then a loud splintering noise from her mast. A crack had appeared by a knot at its base, a thin black line slowly crawling up the timber as the wind pulled her sail back and forth. She realized that any hope of sailing through the storm had faded. This had been a long shot from the start, and she was still miles from the island's shoreline. She would just have to buckle down and pray that her raft held together. Aware that her time was limited, Astrid pulled her tiller up out of the water, and set to work on her sail, rolling it up and tying it to lessen the strain the wind put on her weakened mast. Her raft tilted sideways and hit the base of a wave. The water washed over her raft at waist height, and it would have carried her off if it weren't for the tight grip she kept on the rigging.

Then she hit the rain. Or rather, the rain hit her. It beat down upon her desperate little raft in heavy, merciless droplets. Within seconds she was soaked through. Her hair, which had long since come loose from its braid, clung to her shoulders in thick, heavy strands which seemed to weigh her down. The water ran down her face in rivulets, getting in her eyes, and her mouth with every breath she took.

Astrid spotted another furious, frothing wave incoming and dropped to the deck, gripping the logs as hard as she could. It washed over her raft, pulling it underwater, and granting her a moment's respite from the wind. Yet currents and eddies grasped at her, pulling her this way and that.

The feeble craft broke the surface, and she was once again assaulted by the storm. She coughed and hacked, spitting out saltwater. The world had momentarily lost its shape and order, transforming into nebulous patches of gray and blue and black, the chaotic forces of wind, rain and water, and the noise of the storm. Yet Astrid had no time to piece the puzzle together. She barely managed to gulp down a lungful of air before her raft was forced under by a second wave, this one coming from an opposite direction. She was considerably less prepared this time, and the wave swept her clean off the deck of her raft. Ropes line the edges of the raft, fastening the logs together, and she managed to grab hold of one of them. She shut her eyes and let the ocean suck at her body, keeping her grip on the raft's bindings; the only solid anchor in her world.

Once again she had a moment's respite as her raft hit a trough between the ends of two waves. She clambered back aboard, kicking and scraping, hand over hand across the soaked timbers. The mast was sagging terribly, having been splintered further by the rushing waves. Lines blew left right and center, and she realized her tiller was gone completely, as was the oiled satchel and all her fresh water. Dizzy with the chaos and half-blinded by the rain, she fumbled her way across the deck, looking for another handhold. Something to hang on to, to grip against the power of the ocean and the anger of Thor.

Then her raft rose on the swell of a wave, and lightning hit the top of the mast. A great crack split the world, and her eardrums, and there was a tingling and a mighty flash of light which caused her to cry out. The world had gone silent. Astrid was blinded as if she had been staring too long at the sun. She could barely feel the wind and the rain over the strange tingling in her body. She fell to the deck, struck dumb by the power of the gods.

Something gripped her shoulders, and she felt herself being lifted off the wooden raft, up, up and away into the air, floating freely.

I'm dead. The thought wormed its way through her dazed mind as realizing that a Valkyrie was carrying her off. I've died…

Astrid was laid on cold stone. Her ears were buzzing incessantly, and the noise of the outside world came through filtered and muffled, as if she were hearing voices underwater. A steady distant drone separate from the high-pitched whine in her head. Yet noise was constant. She tried to shout, but could not hear her own voice. Some feeling had returned to her limbs, though her extremities still tingled. She twitched and shuddered impotently, as if Thor's might was still flowing through her. How mighty Thor must have been, if this were but a spark from his hammer's strike. And what a battle must have been raging in the heavens.

Speaking of hammering, her head was pounding and aching with a steady thrum, muddying her ability to think. Her fingers and toes tingled and crackled with every move. Her face hurt, and it took her a considerable time to realize that it was burned, as if she had sat too close to a bonfire. She tried to open her eyes, but could see only darkness, and the strange purple washes which constantly seeped across her vision.

She could see nothing, hear very little, and her body was only nominally responsive to her commands, yet she felt a warm bulk settle next to her. She was shivering, though she could not discern whether that was due to cold, or to aftershocks from Thor's mighty hammer. All the same it was warm, and softer than the stone so she snuggled up to it as best she could, and let the world float away.

Seconds passed. Or perhaps hours, or days. She didn't know, and she didn't really care either. Awe gripped her as she realized that she had stood at the epicenter of Thor's indomitable rage. He had brought his hammer down upon her raft, and somehow she had survived the blow. She feared what would happen when he learned that fact, but to feel even that tiny fraction of the god's raw power…

She drifted in and out of sleep, random thoughts fluttering aimlessly across her mind. Unwilling to face the present, with its pain and blindness, her mind took refuge in the past, stuck somewhere in the realm between Dream and Memory.

Her family, gathered around the blazing fire at the center of the Hofferson's hall. Astrid was sitting between her mother's knees, watching her father Haldor Hofferson, and her uncle Finn play a game of King's Table. Astrid had never been very close to her father, but she adored her uncle Finn. He had no children of his own, but Astrid was his favorite. She remembered how his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled, and his booming laugh. He used to tell her stories of the battles between the Aesir and the Jotun, and of the Great War which united all the gods. He told her more stories. Stories about honor and the glory of battle. He taught her of Ragnarok, and that some battles were worth fighting even if losing was foretold.

Finn had played with her more than her siblings, encouraged her more, and taught her more about winning and losing, about being competitive. Uncle Finn had taught her how to be a Viking Warrior. They had left the rest of the Hofferson family behind and gone hunting together, deep in the forests of Berk. They had gone sailing together, far from the island. He had taught her how to swing an axe. He taught her how to move, how to stand, how to think. He taught her to take care of her body. He taught her how to devote herself to the Warrior Ideal. Eventually he caught a Terrible Terror, and taught her how to maim and kill her enemies. 'When you carry this weapon, Astrid, you carry all of us with you.'

Finn had given Astrid her first axe. She dreamt of the day she didn't use it. While Arvendale's ethereal fire shimmered in the skies above, her brave uncle had planted himself on a bridge, standing between his village and harm. Between Astrid and the Flightmare.

'Here I am ungodly beast!' he had cried, 'Fearless Finn Hofferson! I've been waiting ten years for this moment! Come and get me if you dare!'

And it had.

Little Astrid Hofferson had stood in the shadows, watching as the Flightmare bit her beloved uncle clean in two. She had stood there frozen just as he had been. The Flightmare had gone on to terrorize the village. The following morning the crying started. Astrid had cried for days. Her hall had seemed so empty, her life so colorless. And after she was done crying she had sworn to herself not to shed a tear again. Berk remembered Finn as a joke. Frozen Finn Hofferson. Astrid hated them for it. She knew the truth: Finn had been utterly fearless. He had challenged Hel's demon, stood tall and called it out while the rest of Berk had blown its horns and run for cover.

That summer she had traveled with her family to the holy temple of Uppsala. She had watched her sisters and cousins pray and sacrifice to Sif, Idun, Frey and Freya. Prayers for fertility, for youthfulness, for marriage…

And then Astrid's turn had come. There, in front of her family she too had knelt before the statues of the gods, but not in front of Freya. No, she kneeled before Thor and Odin, and in her Uncle's named she pledged herself to Berk as a Skjoldmo. A shield maiden. A warrior, just as her uncle Finn had been. She recalled the confusion of her sisters and cousins, her father's shock, and her mother's pride.

Her dreams brought her forward in time until she first stood in the dragon training arena. She remembered how much it had meant to her, to enter the Kill Ring and train with the other warriors. She remembered how little it had meant to Hiccup Haddock.

Pain… love it.

In her dream state, Astrid remembered the surge of anger. The snide tone, the sarcasm. How dare he? Pain had meant nothing to Finn Hofferson. Pain was a risk. The reward was honor, and more importantly the safety of Berk. That was something worth dying for. Finn had taught her that.

Yet somehow that snide little fishbone had surpassed them. Somehow he surpassed her. Somehow he became Champion.

Astrid remembered feeling jealousy, and rage. Most of all she felt shame. For all her training, for all her determination, for all that Uncle Finn had taught her, Astrid had lost to the boy who somehow managed to burn down half of Berk every other week even without the Dragons' help. She could only imagine the look which Uncle Finn would have worn, up in Valhalla.

Then Hiccup Haddock had disappeared, and Astrid could not have been happier. She faced the Nightmare in the arena three months later. She bathed in its blood, took its head and presented it to Berk's chief.

Stoick the Vast had given her all due honors, though his voice was hollow and tearful. He was still in mourning for his son and the Haddock line. The village followed his example, standing silently until necessity and tradition prompted them to clap. Never had an honor been awarded more somberly.

Astrid remembered being the only one who smiled. She was imagining her Uncle doing the same.

The thought had haunted her for a time that her victory over Hiccup was unfair. That she was still second. She had won by default, after all. Yet she fought back against those doubts as she did everything else: facing them down and battering them into the dust. Dragon training was there to teach young Vikings how to fight dragons. If Hiccup had gotten killed and eaten, then clearly the training hadn't worked, had it? That made sense. And yet, the same thing had happened to her uncle Finn, and he was more experienced than both Astrid and Hiccup combined.

The next raid, Astrid resolved to prove to Berk that she deserved her honors, and when the chance came about she killed a Gronckle and a Nadder. She could feel her Uncle Finn smiling down at her.

The raid after that, she defended her own former classmates against another Nightmare. During the next, she rid the village of two Zipplebacks which were terrorizing the sheep farms. In a matter of months she had proven herself as capable as any other warrior in Stoick's army.

A year passed and Arvendale's ghostly fire once again filled the sky. Astrid Hofferson had stood tall on the bridge and called out Hel's demon, saying the words she had waited ten long, cold winters to say. 'Leave Berk now and never come back! Here I am, Ungodly Beast! Fearless Astrid Hofferson! Come and get me if you dare!'

And it had ignored her completely, fluttering past her towards Berk, and towards the rivermouth, chasing some unseen prey through the clouds. Astrid had pursued it all night, firing arrows, flailing her axe and screaming challenges well into the morning when it finally flew out to sea, following the glowing river.

Astrid cried a second time that morning. She had fought so hard and waited so long, yet the demon had clearly not thought her a worthy challenger. Not as worthy as her Uncle Finn. The chance to avenge his honor and good name, to prove herself at last, had been lost.

Her mother had comforted her. Her father had laid a hand on her shoulder. Her sisters and cousins, a few of them with husbands of their own, had looked on with impatience, curiosity, and indifference. She realized how alone she was in the world. Like Finn, only she had stood before the Flightmare. Like Finn, she had no family or children of her own. She had not prayed for marriage beside her sisters and cousins. She was destined to die in battle, as her uncle had. She was a member of her family, but they did not laugh together as they once did. She awoke before they rose, and arrived long after they had fallen asleep. Her parents were proud and supportive, if a little melancholy. She loved her mother, but in everything else, her training came first. The rest of her family treated her politely, but kept her at a distance. Perhaps so that it would hurt less hen the time came. There was a space there. A division which only widened with time.

A year passed, and more raids came and went. Astrid tried harder, and killed every dragon she saw, determined to prove herself a worthy enemy for the Flightmare. Determined to defend Berk. Another year, more of her sisters and cousins disappeared into the halls of other Hooligan clans. A brother or two were married, but who was counting? More raids, more killing, more training. Astrid received a few proposals in that time. Her family were handed contracts from interested suitors. Her father agreed, wife and daughter did not. Father argued, and his wife threatened him with divorce.

After that all suitors were ignored. More isolation between her and the rest of the village. But that was okay. Berkians greeted her with grim nods, finally understanding the course she had set for herself. They grew quiet around her. Snotlout continued to pursue her, and she ignored him as she always had.

The days grew longer and darker. Wounded deeply by his son's death, Stoick the Vast had wrapped himself in a blanket of stone, and his silence reflected on Berk itself. It grew into a quiet, tense village. A grim place, where laughter was as rare as sunshine.

The following year Fishlegs and Ruffnut were married. The festivities carried on for almost a week before they were cut short by a death in the training ring. A Nadder had eaten one of the children.

Gobber never forgave himself, and aside from his necessary work as the village's smith, he retired almost entirely from public life, imposing solitude upon himself in much the same way Stoick and Astrid had.

The following few weeks possessed an air of uncertainty. Due to the concurrence of the two events, rumors circulated that Ruffnut's marriage had been cursed by the gods. The raids had taken their toll on morale, with the dragons always taking a little more than the Vikings could easily recover. The loss of a promising young warrior was truly disheartening. Quiet words were spoken in dark corners of the great hall. Warriors died every raid, and with no new recruits being trained, many began to talk of packing up and sailing away to a different island. There was talk of defeat. Of desertion. Berk began to splinter.

To Fearless Astrid Hofferson, that was unacceptable. Some battles were worth fighting, even if losing was foretold. Seeing what was happening to her village, she stepped up to the plate. On an autumn morning, the grass cold, and stiff with frost, she trudged across the village to the Ragason farm and the Ingvarson homesteads. She pounded harshly on the doors one, two, three times.

Each door was opened by a somber, tired Viking.

"Dragon Training." Astrid would say shortly. "Get your child dressed. Give him a weapon."

And they would vanish, only to reappear a few minutes later with their eldest child. Astrid would grab her recruit by the scruff of the neck, and drag him out the door and down the steps. "March!"

The children followed her. Uncertainly at first, yet growing more confident as their numbers increased. An hour later Astrid stood in the arena with two dozen recruits, lined up against the heavy portcullis. She was so much taller than they were. They were, most of them, just under fourteen winters; nearly reaching adulthood. Yet none of them remembered Fearless Finn. The oldest ones barely remembered Hiccup Haddock. For the first time, Astrid felt old.

She watched them. Their younger eyes lingered on the weeks-old bloodstain near the center of the arena. They clutched their weapons tightly, not with confidence, but with fear. Every one of them had been in the arena when Sluglout had died.

"What do you fear?"

"Pain and death." The youngest of their number said. His name, Astrid later learned, was Osmand.

"The only thing to fear about pain is that it hinders your ability to fight." Astrid replied coldly. "The only thing to fear in death is not gripping your weapon. So long as you have your weapon, you will go to Valhalla."

She let the Nadder out and killed it there, in front of them. She let it linger first. She cut off its tail when it tried to spike her, slit its wings when it tried to fly. She broke its teeth when it tried to bite her and in the end she let it die. Not immediately though; its moans were pitiful, its cries pleading and pathetic but she let it linger. She wanted to show them the true nature of the creature they were dealing with. She wanted to destroy their fear. They feared pain and death, so did the beasts. They were capable of making dragons feel fear.

When she was done with the Nadder, she opened the Nightmare pen. Then the Gronckle. Over that time a crowd had gathered around the arena, watching her performance and cheering with every dive, summersault, and near-miss. Snotlout was there as well, watching her with hungry eyes.

When she was done, three dead dragons lay in the arena. The stone floor was soaked and stained and slippery with blood. She used that blood to paint the stunned faces of her young charges, and then she taught them how to hold their arms, reciting the mantra which her uncle Finn had taught her: "When you carry this weapon, you carry all of us with you."

She looked up at the crowd. Stoick the Vast was standing there, his bulky, muscular silhouette standing out. She had not consulted him when she decided to restart dragon training. She had acted independently. She wondered if he were about to tell her to stop, but her chief gave one slow, deep, approving nod, and then he turned on his heel and stocked away.

From then on, every morning before dawn broke, every household with a child would receive three booming knocks. The door would open.

"Dragon training." She would say.

The door would close. It would open again and her student would be deposited at her feet.

"March." She would say.

Within two weeks, she no longer had to knock. The children were already there. Within three weeks, they all wore red face paint. She saw how they looked up to her, an echo from her own childhood. So she taught them how to move, how to stand, how to think. She taught them how to take care of their bodies. She taught them how to devote themselves to the Warrior Ideal. Eventually she brought a box of Terrible Terrors to the arena and taught them how to main, and how to kill their enemies.

Then young Osmand had come up to her with the Book of Dragons and shown her a certain sketch…

Astrid awoke and her head was clear. Her vision was foggy, but she could make out shapes and colors, which was an enormous and promising improvement. Her hearing had returned as well. Her toes and fingertips still tingled, but she could feel, for the most part, everything around her. Her entire body once again ached. It felt as though she had been training hard for several days with no rest. Thor's power had caused her to convulse and twitch, leaving her stiff and sore.

She was lying in a cave, and could see daylight through a right, circular entrance. Water fell down the cave mouth in steady droplets. She could hear each one impact as it hit the ground with a steady patter. It was not rain; the sun was out. Yet the patter was steady enough to suggest that there was a water source somewhere above her. Wherever she was…

The entrance was blocked for a moment as a bulky shape stomped into the cavern. Astrid tensed, scrambling for a weapon. Not only did she come up empty, but her limbs still weren't moving quite right, merely flailing in the direction she wanted them to travel. The lack of control was worrying, and to top things off, when she scraped her knuckles on the rocky floor, she felt no pain at all.

The shape squawked, and Astrid froze. She rose on wobbly legs and faced her rescuer head on. It was the Nadder. Her Nadder. The one she had left behind on that horrible spit of land. The dragon tromped to a halt in front of her and gracefully leaned down to nuzzle Astrid's cheek, which she allowed it to do.

"You saved me." She murmured, raising a hand to rub its beak. She realized that she could only feel the dragon's warm scales on some patches of her palm, but on others she felt nothing at all. Not warmth nor cold. A slight tingle, perhaps. It was strange, as if she were wearing a thin glove with several large holes in it. Places where her skin touched the outside air, places where it didn't. She felt the stirrings of panic, but suppressed them just as she did during battle. It was something to explore once she got back to Berk.

The dragon was crooning softly, pecking at her stiff clothing. Its teeth were so very close, gums shining with spittle, and its hot stinky breath puffing against her threadbare tunic. Yet Astrid was not afraid. On the contrary, she felt… relieved. More than that, indebted. She knew the power of Thor's rage, and she was glad to have an ally willing to brave it for her. She reached up and gave the nadder a fond scratch.

A thought occurred to her. "Was Thor angry with me for letting you live, or for leaving you behind? If he wanted you to die he could have struck you from the sky himself, right? But his lightning hit my raft…"

The Nadder squawked at her, sensing her distress.

"Listen, I don't speak Dragon." Astrid said, smoothing its scales (the nadder seemed to like that), "And I doubt you speak Human. But I know what I owe you. You got me food and water. You helped me build my raft. And when that didn't work you defied the Gods to save me. So we're in this together now. I don't know if all dragons are evil, but I know you aren't."

The nadder had paused, listening intently. Astrid smiled ruefully at it. She spoke softly. "Maybe you're their Hiccup. You don't think like the rest of them do. Maybe that Night Fury didn't either. I don't know."

The nadder tilted its head to the side to examine her. The pupils of its yellow eyes were wide, and it stunned her how dramatically that small thing changed its entire appearance. It had transformed from something alien and threatening to friendly and doting.

"Either Thor wants us to be together, or he wants us both dead. For better or worse we're in this together now." Astrid said. As for the village, she would have to figure that out when she got back. Fishlegs was on her side, at least. She had an ally, and that already put her ahead of Hiccup.

The dragon warbled at her, and then its eyes narrowed slightly. It lifted its massive head and to Astrid's amazement, clamped her messy hair in its beak and tugged at a knot, pulling her sideways.

"Ow! That hurts! What are you doing?" Astrid swung out and smacked it in the jaw with her fist. It let go immediately and backed up a step, squawking indignantly.

"Never do that again!" Astrid snapped, waving a warning finger at her dragon. To her surprise, it shrank from her scolding the way a dog would have.

Astrid rubbed her sore scalp and glared at it. "That's my hair!"

They glared at each other. The Nadder stomped its foot and chirped insistently, glaring at the knotted mess.

"Don't like it, huh? Well guess what: It isn't your business."

Its eyes narrowed further.

"Fine." Astrid pulled her knife out of her belt. It was the only thing which had survived her disastrous voyage. "Fine." She said again. She found the knot and brought the knife up to cut the hair away. The dragon stepped forward, warbling at her in a worried voice. Its eyes were wide as it watched her cut the hair away. She tossed the knot on the floor. "You happy now?"

The dragon had gone silent. It was staring at her in shock, its gaze occasionally darting down to the lock of hair, and back up to her scalp.

"That's right I can cut it off if I want. There you go! Burn it or eat it or something. Anything. I don't care! It's not my problem anymore." She kicked the fuzzy blonde lock to the side, where a gout of hot Nadder fire vaporized it and turned the surrounding rock into a molten red pit. Surprised, Astrid stumbled backwards and landed painfully on her bottom. The Nadder sniffed the hot patch, warbled proudly and turned to her with its tongue lolling out.

"Good job…" Astrid said weakly.

It nuzzled her, crooning softly

"Well… now we're in this…" Astrid told it, "What should I call you?"

The Nadder plomped itself down across from her. Its fringe twitched in tune with her voice.

"That was brave of you, scooping me out of the storm like that." The Viking said thoughtfully. "Like a warrior or a Valkyrie. Your name should be something strong and brave. How about Brunhilda? That's my mother's name."

The dragon made a warbling noise that, to Astrid, sounded somewhat negative. "Yeah… That would be kind of awkward, wouldn't it? Name a dragon after my mum... I don't think she'd like that very much. One of the other Valkyries, then? But I don't even know if you're a girl or a boy." Her curiosity spiked, Astrid leaned out a little to check. There was nothing suggestively male in the dragon's anatomy. Nothing… pokey. She realized the dragon was giving her a very wary look. Astrid clearly her throat awkwardly and gave up on her inquiry, deciding that so far as she knew, the dragon was female. She said, "Besides, it wasn't a battlefield, really. It was a storm. What about something simpler? What about Thunder-Dragon or Storm-Flyer?"

The Dragon perked up, its pupils widening. It looked… cute. Gods… Astrid decided that Thor's hammerblow must have done something to her brain.

"That's still a bit of a mouthful. How about just Stormfly?"

It chirruped. The noise was cheerful enough.

"Your name is Stormfly." Astrid decided. "Good enough?"

Stormfly mouth her mouth deposited a dead fish in Astrid's lap.

An hour later they exited the cave. Astrid's legs were cramping up, the muscles tensing painfully; another lingering effect of Thor's power. She steadied herself by gripping the horn on Stormfly's snout. The dragon seemed really quite patient about it. She seemed to sense that Astrid was in a fair amount of pain.

They were standing on a steep mountainside. In front of Astrid stretched the treetops of a tall, dense forest, shrouded in fog. Far ahead of her, and to her right, were enormous sea stacks, each with its own shrouded forest. There were four in total, plus the one she was currently standing on. They looked like the grasping fingers of a giant, stretching skywards.

Berk lay at the foot of an enormous mountain, and each one of the sea stacks could easily match its height. Each of the tall, stone monoliths had its own forest, and they met in the center to form the hand's mist-filled 'palm'.

"This is Breakneck Bog." Astrid realized, feeling a sudden surge of shock and fear. She had grown up hearing stories about Breakneck Bog. Many a ship had sailed into its mists, never to return. She remembered sitting on her grandfather's boney knees, listening intently as he told stories of pirates and black magic. Many claimed a monster lived there, moving under the cover of the thick fog which lay like a sheet across the island. Legend had it that it actually was the left hand of a slain Jotun, tossed from Asgard by Thor. The hand was still stretched skywards, reaching vengefully for his opponent. Astrid Hofferson was standing on the hand of a dead giant.

This was a cursed place, but there was good news as well; she knew where it was. Breakneck Bog lay northeast of Berk. She could get home now! The sudden surge of hope was nearly enough to offset her dismay. Stormfly stood beside her, letting out a gentle warble, and Astrid felt comforted. She breathed a long sigh. "At least the air is clear up here…"

The climb down looked rocky and treacherous. It would be far worse with the way her legs were cramping up. Even so, she took a few precarious steps forwards. The surface was cracked, dry sand which slipped and slid under her foot with every step, forcing her to lean back against the side of the steep cliff to prevent herself from tumbling. It was far too risky. Besides that, what exactly would she achieve by getting to the bottom? Then she would be trudging through the swamp, with the fog monster hunting her. She would have to find a shipwreck, or a pirate camp and get her hands on rope. Then she would have to gather timber and build another raft…

Was that the plan again? It had worked out so well the first time…

Astrid looked back up at Stormfly, an idea taking root in her mind. It was insane, of course. But her entire week had been insane. How was this any different? And Hiccup had already done it. Stormfly had proven she could carry Astrid's weight.

She clambered carefully back up the hill, wincing as a cramp forced one of her legs completely straight. Gods above! This climb had been a lot short going down than coming up!

Stormfly was waiting for her at the cave entrance, head cocked to one side as she observed Astrid's slow, awkward progress. At the last few feet, the dragon leaned down and plucked Astrid off the mountain, lifting her up to the mouth of the cave.

"Thanks, Stormfly." They stared out at the enormous stone fingers reaching so high into the air, and the distant white lines of breaking waves far below. Breakneck Bog felt like its own little world, held in the palm of a giant's hand.

"Stormfly, I need a favour." Astrid said. "Can I… would you let me ride you?"

The dragon squawked curiously.

"I can't go out on another raft." She explained apologetically. "And I need to get home…" Of course, that would mean bringing the Nadder home with her. How that was going to play out…? Who knew? It was a problem to be solved later. Right now… there was only one option.

It was just a matter of convincing the dragon it was a good idea.

She reached out her hand and rubbed Stormfly's nose. "I know it's going to be weird. It's going to be weird for me too. But I need help."

Stormfly was as unresponsive as ever. Astrid realized that it was unlikely the dragon understood much of what she was saying, and immediately felt like an idiot. At least the cramp had faded, though she had no idea when it would be back.

"Aright," Astrid said, "Screw it." She grabbed one of the Nadder's frills and swung herself up onto Stormfly's back, with her knees sitting just ahead of the wings. The dragon squawked loudly in protest, and shook herself from side to side. Astrid ducked below her companion's frill and held on for dear life. Suddenly this didn't seem like such a good idea.

Unable to dislodge Astrid, Stormfly promptly took off, leaping out into empty space. The bottom of Astrid's stomach dropped out, and her world turned upside down as they plummeted head-first towards Breakneck Bog. She was somewhat sheltered from the wind, clinging as tightly as she was to Stormfly's neck. Gravity suddenly returned as the dragon levelled off. Astrid was granted barely a second's pause before the mighty wings on either side began to pump the air around them, drawing the dragon higher and higher and higher until they were above the clouds, and the island of Breakneck Bog, with its five enormous fingers, was the size of Astrid's palm.

Stormfly was squawking and chirping wildly, rolling, diving, and pitching through the air.

"OhgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsStormflypleasestop!"

The dragon began to spin from side to side, and at the worst moment possible, Astrid's leg began to spasm, causing waves of pain which demanded that she straighten it out.

"I'm sorry!" Astrid shrieked. She could feel her grip loosening as the dragon's frantic movements threatened to pull her off. "Please stop! Please, I'm sorry! I'm Sorry!"

She lost her grip. One moment she was wrapped around Stormfly's neck. The next, she was flying freely through the air. What once had been a dragon, turned into a rapidly shrinking blue dot, barely visible against the sky. Astrid could see the ocean far below, and the giant's demonic stone hand rising up out of the distant, tiny waves to catch her. She tried to scream, but the wind stole her breath away, and made her eyes tear up. She realized she was about to die. She wondered how she was going to explain this to her Uncle Finn.

Then a pair of wings appeared. Stormfly was back, falling with her. The dragon matched her speed and moved towards her. Claws gripped Astrid's shoulders as the dragon carefully pulled both of them out of their fall. They leveled off near the treetops, and immediately began another ascent. Astrid feared for a moment that the dragon meant to drop her from a great height, but instead the Nadder deposited her on a wide, sheltered cliff.

Astrid landed with a huff, groaning as the muscles in her leg clenched. She rammed her fist into the outside of her hip in the hopes that it might loosen something up, but that only served to add another layer of pain to her troubles.

Stormfly kicked up enormous clods of dirt when she landed, and she was very clearly angry. She hopped from foot to foot wings and frill spread wide, vibrating in a display of aggression and indignation. She fired a gout of flame at the ground, scorching a great black smoking line between her and Astrid then she stomped one final time, cocked her head, and glared down imperiously at the prostrate Viking.

"Alright-" Astrid winced, propping herself up on her elbow, "That may have been a little presumptuous of me. I'm sorry. Alright? I'm sorry."

Stormfly roared at her.

"Look, I need to get home but I can't build another raft and I can't swim that far-" she dared to glance over the edge of her cliff, and saw a three-hundred foot drop into Breakneck Bog. "-And I certainly can't get off this cliff. I need to fly. I need…" she hesitated. "I need you. And I never thought I'd say that to a dragon, so please don't make me say it twice."

Stormfly planted her feet firmly against the rock and dipped her head. She let out a single, demanding squawk.

"Uhhhg. Fine. I need you." Astrid spread her arms and flung herself upwards dramatically onto one knee. "I need your help. You've done so much for me already. I owe you and I know that. I understand. I'm sorry I just jumped on you like that. I should have waited to make sure you were okay with it. I'm sorry I didn't ask, but I need your help again. Alright?"

Stormfly perked up. Her pupils widened and her frill lowered. She waddled over, looking considerably less aggressive. She crossed the line smugly, but stood before Astrid and lowered her head until her companion could easily climb on.

Astrid waited a moment longer for the pain in her leg to fade. Her muscle loosened, and she massaged the tender area at her hip. She threw out a couple kicks, leaning on Stormfly for support as she tested her limb.

"I'll tell you something, girl," she said to the dragon, "Thor is not getting any sacrifices from me for a looong time. You ready?"

Stormfly squawked an assent.

"Alright. Round two." Astrid flung her leg over the Nadder's neck and shifted backwards under her knees were tucked safely around the dragon's wing joints. Stormfly flexed her wings and took a few paces back and forth on the cliff, getting used to the weight. To Astrid's amazement, the dragon suddenly folded up its wings and sat down in what was a clear indication for her to dismount.

So she did, frowning at her ally. The dragon turned its back to her and squawked at her over its shoulder.

"You want me to… to what? Get on from the back?"

Another squawk.

"…Alright." Astrid said doubtfully as she eyed the dragon's bare back. "But you catch me if I slide off, alright?" she could have sword the Nadder rolled its eyes. The noise it made was certainly one of exasperation.

She mounted again, this time with her knees behind Stormfly's wings. The Nadder seemed much happier with this new arrangement, and it wasn't long before the dragon was standing at the cliff's edge, wings spread, ready to fly.

"Can we take it easy this time?" Astrid asked. "Just some gliding, okay girl?" She patted Stormfly behind the frill, and the dragon warbled an assent. "Nothing too crazy."

The second time was worse. The flying was much calmer, true, but the first time, Astrid hadn't known what to expect. She hadn't realized how the world seemed to shrink away, or how terrifying it was, trusting her life so completely to the dragon's aerial competence. A thousand thoughts whizzed through her head. What if Stormfly got tired? What if Astrid lost her grip? What if the dragon's wing ripped, or she couldn't carry the weight or one of any thousand spontaneous disasters occurred.

On the flipside, flying was amazing. Once Astrid was able to put aside her anxieties- Stormfly seemed greatly relieved- she realized how glorious it was to soar over the island. She realized how much less threatening the world seemed from so high above. They spent some time, gliding in nearly straight lines back and forth across Breakneck Bog. Astrid encountered a moment or two of panic as Stormfly hit a rough patch and had to ascend a few feet to avoid it, but it passed, and soon the Viking warrior found herself confident enough to sit upright and enjoy the sunlight and the gentle wind as they glided slowly back and forth through the towering fingers of the giant's hand.

Off in the distance, Astrid could see the shapes of circling gulls, mere dots of white against the dark rocky cliffs of the giant's fingers. One of the birds disappeared into a low cloud which floated near the base of one of the monoliths… and failed to re-emerge from the other side. The patch of mist itself was moving in a peculiar way; purposefully, and against the prevailing wind. It left a dark trail behind it, and the grey vapor looked oddly similar to the ethereal fog which had surrounded the Dragon's Nest.

"Follow that fog!" Astrid ordered, pointing. Stormfly chittered in annoyance, swerving in the general direction, but she obviously didn't know exactly what her rider was referring to. Astrid clearly needed to find a different way to communicate her needs. How had Hiccup done it? Well… he had designed that false tailfin, but he had also explained that leaning was a good way to steer.

Trouble was, they were soaring a good hundred and fifty feet in the air, above the birds and the fog and the distant bog below. Astrid was not particularly keen on leaning; she had no safety harness as Hiccup had built. She reminded herself that she was a Viking Warrior. Pain and death were occupational hazards, and this was something she was going to have to learn how to do if she ever wanted to get home again. Another raft was not an option.

She grimaced against the painful cramps in her legs, grabbed the spines on Stormfly's frill, and leaned sideways. The ground was so very far away, and Astrid found immediately that if she thought of it as a model or a painting her fear became much easier to deal with.

Her dragon squawked in annoyance, but banked right, towards the mysterious patch of fog which was floating above the treetops. Astrid leaned forward, pushing Stormfly's head down as apologetically as she could. The dragon followed instinctively, and the bottom of Astrid's stomach dropped out as they descended at a steep angle. She leaned back, and the dragon followed suit, levelling off a good fifty feet above the strange mist.

The cloud was moving against the wind, and in a particular direction- towards the largest of the five gargantuan monoliths which circled Breakneck Bog. As she watched it, Astrid recalled that terrible battle at Helheim's gate. The way a hundred small dragons used the fog as cover. The way they zipped across the longships, snatching up weapons and sometimes entire Vikings. She felt a sudden surge of duty to the village, and the desire to investigate this strange fog increased tenfold.

Uncle Finn had taught her a few things about hunting. Understanding the relationship between scent and wind was absolutely essential. Animals usually had an extraordinary sense of smell. A trick to hunting was to set up a Drive. The hunter was to walk along a straight line and let her scent carry downwind, driving any animals in the area away in a predictable direction. Then she circled and approached them from the leeward side, ensuring that they were unaware of her and had their senses concentrated in the opposite direction.

In this case, Astrid was not hunting to catch, but rather hunting to follow. She and Stormfly kept several dozen feet above the mist, and always to its leeward side. It was traveling against the wind, which made the job easier, but she wanted to insure that whatever it was wouldn't sense them.

The grey blob wound its way across the treetops and up the steep hill to the base of the giant's thumb. It suddenly flitted upwards, rose two hundred feet up the cliff face, and entered a cave very similar to the one in which Astrid had first awoken.

She leaned back, pulling Stormfly's spines to slow them down. They hovered near the cave entrance, watching the black oval for any signs of aggression.

"Take me in, Stormfly." She ordered. This time the dragon seemed to know what she was saying. They flitted inwards and landed in the cave entrance. Astrid hopped off her dragon's back and pulled out her knife. The cave was dank and dark and barely lit. Rivulets of water ran down the curved stone walls on either side, forming channels which ran further into the cave.

"Stay here." Astrid whispered. She crept forward slowly, grunting as the cramp returned. She was forced to pause and wait for the spasm to pass before she could continue onwards. The cave wound on for a hundred meters or so before it broke out into a larger cavern.

Dragons were there. Dozens of them, lit by a faint beam of sunlight which poured through a crack in the ceiling. The beasts were small and darkly colored, though their snouts were covered by a protective layer of bone. As they moved and chattered and growled at one another, Astrid noted the strange smoke which billowed from their mouths. The smoke was generated by the dragons themselves! No wonder it had behaved so strangely!

They were working on a project in the center of the room; a giant hive-like nest, constructed entirely of metal. Weapons and armour were there, but also nails and shovels and picks and pots and pans and lanterns and cutlery… any metal of any kind. The cave was constantly being lit up with small hot tongues of flame as they welded each new addition to their nest. Closer to Astrid was a large pile of loose junk, all of it metal. Among it were weapons and dead bodies from Berk's armada.

They were after the chainmail, Astrid realized. That was why the tiny dragons carried off entire warriors and stole weapons. It wasn't anything like intelligent cowardly tactics. They just wanted the metal for their nest!

This was information she had to get back to Berk. They could adjust their tactics during the next attack. Perhaps covering or hiding the metal. Along with Eels nailed to the bow and stern and hung along the edges to drive the larger dragons away…

Yes. Yes! It could work! They could reach the nest!

Stunned, she recognized her axe and shield, placed off to the side on the pile of loose building material. She felt a surge of possessiveness, and darted out to grab it. The dragons reacted immediately. The occasional chirping and nattering became and angry growling buzz. She grabbed her shield first and slung it across her back, taking her axe with her other hand. She turned and sprinted towards the exit, with dozens of angry dragons in tow.

Astrid could hear the buzzing behind her as she ran. Like a swarm of angry, smoke-spitting bees, the dragons pursued, nipping at her heels. And there was the cave entrance approaching at great speed, but no dragon waiting to pick her up. Astrid had no time to think, only act. She knew if she stopped, she was dead. Instead she sped up and threw herself out of the cave and into the sunlight and open air, gripping her axe tightly. She felt her stomach lurch. The wind blasted at her face, and the distant green treetops rushed up to meet her.

"Stoooormflyyyyy!"

Suddenly her view was blocked by light blue wings and a scaly, reptilian spine. The dragon was beneath her! She landed hard, and heard Stormfly's pained grunt, but the dragon took off as soon as she locked her knees. They shot across the treetops, sending tendrils of fog writhing in the air behind them. The tiny dragons followed, squeaking, snarling, and belching that thick acrid smoke.

"Get higher!" Struggling against the stiff wind, Astrid crawled forward, grabbed the spines on Stormfly's frill and pulled, forcing the dragon upwards. Stormfly's wings pumped on either side. Their flight path was nearly vertical. Astrid leaned close to the dragon's back, gripping tightly. She glanced backwards and saw the smokey cloud falling behind but still in pursuit. Each time Stormfly beat her wings the tiny dragons were flung downwards in a gust of wind.

They slowed as the swarming cloud sank back towards the distant island, but Stormfly wasn't done. With a great roar the Nadder turned in midair, tucking its wings in close and diving towards the flock. All Astrid could do was hold on, as Stormfly careened downwards. As they reached the smoke, the dragon let out a great cone of white-hot, sparking fire straight into the center of the swarm. Quite a few cooked corpses dropped out of the cloud and down into the bog below. Coming to the instant, unanimous conclusion that one axe and shield weren't worth the trouble, the tiny dragons broke formation and fled back to their cave.

"WHOOO HOOOO!" Astrid screamed, reveling in the excitement, and the incredible display of fury. "Take that you bastards! Good girl, Stormfly!"

Satisfied that her rider was safe, Stormfly levelled off, and woman and dragon glided lazily out to sea, and towards Berk.

I hope the writing was clear enough, but just in case it wasn't, Astrid's raft got hit by lightning. Being in such close proximity to a lightning strike can result in sometimes permanent hearing loss, sometimes permanent blindness, nerve damage ranging from minor to severe, possible concussion from the shockwave, and burns. Yikes.

Fright of passage is one of my favorite episodes of RoB. It is canon that Finn is Astrid's uncle, but I believe that if the show weren't for kids, he would have been her father. There's a lot that's implied there, and it's a real shame that they set such strict expectations to which the show must conform. It is a younger children's show, and they nerfed everything. It could be so much better if it were but a little bit darker. Another character who suffers greatly from the neutering is Dagur the Deranged. I get the impression that he is supposed to be a Viking Joker, but they can't make him as crazy and dangerous as they want him to be.

Breakneck Bog does look like a giant hand. It's one of the coolest island designs I've seen in a long time.

I'd like to know what you thought of Astrid's dream sequence.