Who here remembers the plotline about how Astrid stole one of Hiccup's sketches? If not, take a read through chapter 11, and chapter 13, because here's the payoff.
Prodigal Son 19
The Great hall was full of Vikings. The weather outside was cold and miserable. It was washday and most of the clans had gathered indoors while their clothes dried. Stoick was at his throne near the enormous fireplace. Most of the Jorgenson clan and their allies were gathered there as well. Other clans were in other parts of the hall. Brunhilda Hofferson was sitting at a table in the far corner, with a few friends gathered around her. She passed her time talking to them, and occasionally shooting Stoick a cold glare.
"I can't believe he just slammed the door!" Brenna said sympathetically.
"I can't believe he even implied that Astrid would steal anything." Brunhilda replied. "My daughter was a warrior, and an honest woman!"
Her three drinking companions nodded. After washday they always convened at the hall for a mug or two of mead.
"You didn't stay and argue?" Brenna asked. She was a married woman, Matron of the Barrason clan, and in very much the same position as Brunhilda. Brenna had several children, including a younger son in Astrid's class, and an older son already serving as a warrior in Berk's defense. She said, "If the dragons killed my son Bard, and Stoick accused him of something like that I would have been at his door day and night."
"I would have, but I just felt…"
"Tired." Tofa Sigurdson finished kindly. She had lost her husband Snorri in the last raid. He had left the village to help young students trapped in the Kill Ring. His corpse had been recovered the following morning, riddled with Nadder spines. Tofa said, "But let's have some sympathy for Stoick. He's already felt your loss twice. Valka and little Hiccup were both taken by the Beasts."
"That's the other reason." Brunhilda said.
"It's a poor one." Ingrid shot back. "Brunhilda's wounds are fresher. And whatever they might be, a Chief's personal feelings shouldn't affect how he treats his people!"
"I have to wonder how much his feelings direct his choices." Brenna said. "Was going after the nest again the right move? And just hours after we were raided. What exactly was the point?"
"The point was to show the beasts that they cannot raid us with impunity. If they fly over here and attack us, burn our homes, kill our warriors and steal our livestock, we'll respond in kind!" Tofa said forcefully.
Brunhilda cleared her throat. "The trouble is that they can. What lesson did that raid teach the dragons, exactly? They burned three of our ships and killed half of the expedition, including my daughter. We didn't even get close to their home. What message did we actually send them?"
"That we aren't going to take this aggression lying down. If they attack us, we'll strike back with everything we have. Whether we win or not."
"And promptly lose it all." Ingrid said.
"We didn't lose it all. Ships are replaceable."
Brunhilda set her mug down with a loud clunk. She glared at Tofa. "My daughter wasn't replaceable!"
"Neither was my husband!" Tofa shot back evenly. "I was at Uppsala too, Brunhilda. Astrid swore an oath to protect Berk. You were proud of her for it, as I recall."
Brunhilda glared at her.
"Astrid didn't die protecting Berk, though." Ingrid said. "That voyage was a fool's errand! Young men always have something to prove, but a village chief should be more prudent."
"Stoick is doing what he thinks is best. He's guided us this far!" Tofa defended.
Brunhilda studied the chieftain's profile. The old bear was leaning on one arm of his chair, his chin in his hand as he rubbed his massive beard. His brother Spitelout was beside him, chattering away and gulping down mead. Stoick's gaze was fixed upon the bright, flickering flames. He was scowling harshly at some unwelcome thought. He blinked, looked up and met her eyes from across the hall.
"And where exactly has he guided us to?" Ingrid was asking. "A smart leader wouldn't throw away half of his army in some fruitless attempt to teach the dragons a lesson. Especially on an expedition that's never succeeded in the past."
"Just because it never has doesn't mean it never will." Tofa said.
"I think we both know that was badly planned, though." Brenna said fairly. "We didn't think it through, we just packed up and sailed off."
"We have to defend our home!"
"That wasn't defense, it was an attack!" Ingrid said fiercely. "Besides, what good has defending this island done us?"
"What good? This is our home!"
"Remember after Sluglout died?"
The table went silent.
"You…can't seriously be bringing that up again." Tofa said, her face grim. "We've lived here for three-hundred years! Old Hamish and his son both fought long and hard to take this island from the Berserkers! We've earned this place!"
"Who's going to train the new warriors?"
"Snotlout is doing an excellent job, or so his father tells me."
"He's just training more young men to die." Brenna said. "This is a vast archipelago. There are other islands farther from the nest. I'm sure we could find another place to live."
"And give up on our heritage?"
"To insure our future? We might have to!"
"Don't let any of the Jorgensons hear you say that." Tofa recommended. "That group couldn't be pried off this island if Thor himself were pulling."
Brenna turned to Brunhilda, whose eyes were still fixed on Stoick. "What do you think?"
She said, "I think I just want my daughter back."
The enormous doors to the Great Hall swung open, their ancient hinges creaking loudly, silencing the room. A proud figure stepped through, dressed in a ragged, torn tunic and ripped brown leggings. Blonde hair billowed loosely as cold wind rushed into the hall, causing all the Vikings to shiver. She carried a familiar double-headed axe, and a shield bearing the Hofferson crest was slung across her back.
Brunihlda slowly rose to her feet, caught between hope and disbelief.
It couldn't be…
"Astrid?" Brunhilda called out into the silence. Every eye was fixed on the tattered apparition. Several people around the great hall rose with her, looking stunned.
The newcomer turned her head, and Brunhilda met her daughter's eyes, as strong and unyielding as ever. Astrid shot her mother a cocky smirk, and then scanned the enormous room, her electric gaze beaming out between tangled locks of blonde hair. She strode forward, limping slightly, but the silent crowd parted as she passed.
Brunhilda felt Brenna's hand on her shoulder. Her knees were weak with relief, and she fell back to the bench, letting out a long breath. Her companions were giving her looks of astonishment, and perhaps a little fear, but Brunhilda kept her eyes fixed upon her wayward daughter.
Astrid walked straight up to the large central table, straight across the fire from Stoick and his war council. She gave her axe a fancy twirl and planted it in the table with a dull thud, which nevertheless echoed through the hall.
Snotlout, who was standing a few spaces to Stoick's left, went pale. "D…d…Draugr!"
Astrid's reply rang crisp and clear, carrying across the crowd and raising a few smiles. "Snotlout, you are an idiot every day of the week. Why can't you take just one day off?" She addressed Stoick. "Reporting for duty, sir."
Every Viking who wasn't staring in shock, turned to Stoick. The chief remained silent, propped up on an elbow. He simply watched her, eyes glinting beneath thick, tensed auburn brows. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he took in Astrid's wrinkled tunic and wild hair. Brunhilda thought her heart would burst with pride as her daughter met his gaze with the same proud intensity she had always displayed.
"Well, well, well…" Stoick said over the sound of the crackling fire, "The thief returns."
Astrid felt a strange numbness wash over her as she stood before Stoick's throne. Stormfly was hidden safely in the Cove, where Hiccup had trained his dragon. Astrid had flown on dragonback for perhaps four hours with absolutely nothing to look at but blue sky, blue ocean, and the occasional cloud to break the monotony. Her ass ached, as did her groin, her legs and her back. Astrid was in excellent shape, but riding had taken muscles she didn't know she had, and everything hurt. To add to the pain, her legs were still cramping up. Thankfully the tingling numbness in her palms had dissipated.
And now this…
The Chieftain's accusation had stabbed straight through her heart, filling her with dread and guilt. The sudden cacophony of voices were drowned out with a strange rushing noise. The hall was suddenly a whirlwind of activity. Cries of outrage mingled with cries of condemnation. Every Viking was on his feet. Clans were grouping together, sorting themselves according to the island's various alliances. All the while, Astrid stared across the bonfire into Stoick's merciless eyes.
This wasn't what she had expected to return to. What had happened? Feeling lost, she searched the hall for Fishlegs and spotted him lingering near one of the pillars. He met her eyes and shrugged. His face was pale, and he looked as if he had just been hit by a charging Gronckle. He clearly hadn't expected the accusation any more than Astrid had.
One enraged voice rose above the din, cutting through Astrid's bewildered daze. Brunhilda stepped out of the crowd, her face white with fury. "Stoick the Vast this is a grievous insult! I swear on my father's name that if you accuse my daughter of theft, you'd better be prepared to face the full might of the Hofferson clan!"
Stoick's angry glare fell upon the older woman. "Your daughter stole one of my son's sketches from my home!"
"How dare you!"
"Mum…" Astrid said quietly, unwilling to watch her mother defend her honor and her reputation. Stoick was right. No matter how he knew, no matter what it meant, Astrid had stolen from him. There was no honor to defend. The room had gone silent again, with everyone watching them. Astrid spotted the faces of her children; the trainees. They were dotted throughout the crowd, anxiously watching the proceedings. Astrid felt a blush spread up her cheeks. She had to look away from them, unable to face the shame.
"Chief or not, Stoick, we'll declare a feud!"
Astrid licked her dry lips. Her voice cracked as she struggled to speak up. "Mum…"
"Do you want this island to be at war, Stoick?" Brunhilda cried. "I'd expect you to know better than to accuse Astrid Hofferson of something like that!"
"Mum…"
"She has been nothing but loyal to you! She's always supported your decisions! She even agreed to go sailing off on some foolhardy quest to find the Dragon's Nest and now you're going to accuse her of this? How dare you even think that way about her! HOW DARE YOU?!"
Behind Brunhilda, the crowd was beginning to murmur in agreement. Astrid could see them, shifting over. The Hofferson clan, three-dozen in total stood gathered together behind their matron. Astrid's father, Haldor Hofferson, was there as well. Their clan's allies stood with them, the Barrasons, the Ingermans, the Finnasons and the Hallkelson. Some of the most powerful tribes on the island. On the other side stood the Jorgenson clan and its allies; the Thorstons, Oddgeirsons, Saemingrsons, the Hallasons and the Karsons. The island was dividing before their very eyes. Fishlegs was standing off to the side, watching Astrid with a slight frown on his face.
"Mum!" Astrid barked.
Brunhilda finally turned to look at her daughter, and the shame in Astrid's eyes told her all she needed to know. They stared at each other until the weight of Astrid's guilt forced her gaze to the floor.
Brunhilda stepped back, out of breath and out of steam. "Oh… Astrid…"
Astrid addressed the room at large. "I did it. I stole a sketch from Stoick's home."
The room came alive with whispers and surprised exclamations.
Stoick's eyes widened, but he kept his surprise restrained; he clearly had not expected a blunt admission. He leaned to Spitelout and said, "Gather the rest of Berk together. I want this grievance resolved today. See that she stays here!"
Two Jorgenson warriors broke from their pack and came to Astrid's sides, laying grim hands upon the hilts of their swords. One retrieved her axe, and the other took her shield. The rest of the family and its allies left the hall to gather everyone up. Stoick left for his home as well, shooting Astrid another cold look as he passed by.
The very second he was gone, Brunhilda bulled her way past Astrid's protesting guards, and threw her arms around her daughter. She pulled Astrid to her breast and sighed a long relieved sigh. "I thought we'd lost you! I thought the dragons had taken you from us!"
The stress and pains were taking their toll, and she let herself slump into her mother's embrace, all the relief of being home had dissipated, and now there was just pain, hunger, and worry.
"Astrid, why did you steal that sketch?"
"How did he know, mum?"
Brunhilda backed up and held her daughter at arm's length, giving her a worried examination. "I gave it back to him. It was obviously drawn by Hiccup, and it was a beautiful sketch. I didn't think you ever would have stolen it. Why would you do that?"
Astrid glance to Fishlegs, who was seated on his own at a shadowy bench, popping berries into his mouth at high speed, and frowning into space, deep in thought.
"It's complicated, mum." Astrid said.
"You're going to have to do better than that, darling." Brunhilda said in frustration. "Stoick's called all of Berk together for a trial."
"I'm hungry." Astrid kept her eyes fixed on the floor. She could feel the gazes of a hundred curious Berkians on her.
Her mother sighed. "Alright, come with me." She led her over to a bench in the corner, where Ingrid Ingerman and Brenna Barrason, two of Brunhilda's friends, were waiting with warm, welcoming smiles on their faces.
"Good to see you back, Astrid." Brenna said. Astrid felt a rush of gratitude for the woman's immediate warmth.
"You probably have an incredible story to tell!" Ingrid Ingerman added.
"You don't know the half of it." Astrid replied, sliding in beside her. Brunhilda took a seat on her other side, keeping a comforting arm around her daughter's shoulder.
To Astrid's surprise, Iona Sigurdson, the Hall's cook, arrived with a bowl of stew and a wooden spoon. She set them down carefully on the table and stepped back, giving Astrid a guarded look. She was one of the few people on the island Astrid spoke to regularly. They talked every day, when Astrid ran the children up to the Hall for a meal. It was a relief to see her. She said, "You looked hungry."
Astrid stared down at the stew, the sight and scent of a substantial meal momentarily overwhelming her senses. She looked up gratefully. "Iona…"
"Shh! I shouldn't talk to you." The cook said hurriedly. "My husband's right over there, and you're mum nearly declared a feud between our clans."
"And we'll carry through on it, too." Brunhilda announced. "I'm not about to let Astrid sffer for this. It's ridiculous. I just got her back."
"I did steal, mum." Astrid said fiercely, her face red. "I'll take whatever punishment they throw at me. Run the gauntlet, carry hot stones. Whatever honor demands."
"Besides, Iona you're not a Jorgenson." Brenna Barrason said, a shade coldly. "The Feud wouldn't be with you."
"My Husband is Styr Sigurdson. Our clan are allied with the Jorgensons." The cook cringed uncomfortably, wiped her hands on her apron and bustled off leaving Astrid in the company of her mother and her friends. The two guards took up station nearby, keeping an eye on her.
"You just ignore her, girl." Ingrid advised in a tone of false cheer, "She's just being cautious."
Astrid chose to remain silent as she dug into her meal.
The entire Hooligan tribe was gathered now in a wide, formal circle. The Hoffersons stood on one side of the hall, their friends and allied clans gathered around them. On the opposite side was the Jorgenson clan and its allies. The mood was tense. Brunhilda's threat was clearly something her husband and family were willing to carry out. The Ingermans were right beside them, though Fishlegs was standing exactly half way along the circle, half way between the two factions. Ruffnut was with him, nursing their little girl. It was a symbolic gesture of impartiality. Fishlegs had not even looked at Astrid since her arrival, and she was growing more and more furious, remembering his promise:
We were always in it together, Astrid. I swear on Thor's Hammer!
She had stolen Hiccup's notes and journal at his behest, and only two things kept her from calling him out. The first was that while Fishlegs had encouraged her to take the journal, the actual sketch she had taken of her own accord. The second was that she had lost Hiccup's journal. Fishlegs had the only remaining copy, and if he were punished as well, it would make changing the island's minds about the dragons all the more difficult. There was something larger at stake there.
It occurred to her that perhaps this was why he chose not to support her; so that he would encounter less troubles later. It was a cold, calculating, horrible thought. But it made sense.
Astrid and Stoick both stood exposed in the circle's center, facing each other, and each standing before their respective factions.
Spitelout Jorgenson was seated on a chair before Stoick's empty throne, and he was waving at the crowd. "Alright, let's have some silence here! You all know me. Chief Stoick is the injured party, so he can't officiate this trial as he normally does. I'm acting in his stead to ensure that the trial is fair."
A few members of the Hofferson clan scoffed. On the other side of the circle, the Jorgensons glared at them.
"Chieftain Stoick Haddock," Spitelout called out. "You have an accusation to make."
"I do." Stoick held a piece of rolled parchment in the air. "This belonged to my son Hiccup Haddock. I know it did because it was hanging on his wall when the demons took him from me. When I got back from the latest raid, it was returned to me by Brunhilda Hofferson."
All eyes turned to Astrid's mother.
"Brunhilda, is this true?" Spitelout asked.
"I returned a sketch." The woman said through gritted teeth. A murmur spread through the Jorgenson's allies.
Stoick continued. "I was under the impression that Astrid Hofferson had died in battle. I would have let this matter rest, except that she's clearly alive and well. On behalf of my son, and as the injured party, I demand that she face the consequences of her actions."
"I see." Spitelout turned to Astrid. "Astrid Hofferson, you've been accused to stealing a sketch from Stoick's household. Do you deny it?"
"No."
"So you did in fact steal the sketch?"
She gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes fixed on Stoick. She had betrayed him. Stolen from him. The least she could do was look him in the eye and admit it. That was also an easier option than looking at her own family, and facing the fact that she had stained the Hofferson name.
That last realization made her flinch. Since when had she taken the easy way? Astrid Hofferson was not a coward! She looked backwards at her own clan, letting their disappointment, frustration and confusion wash over her. She said, "I stole that sketch the night of the dragon raid."
Another murmur spread through the crowd, and Astrid made sure to hear it. There was a reason the trials were held in public; the community shaming was part of the penance, and Astrid refused to shy away from it. The Hoffersons and their allies were looking sorrowful and frustrated. Brunhilda herself had a stricken look. There was shame in her expression, but also curiosity and sympathy and more love than Astrid felt she deserved.
Across the circle, the Jorgensons were prideful, arrogant and smug. The thief had been caught. Stoick, their chieftain had been wronged and now proper punishment would be exacted upon the criminal. Astrid had not denied the charges, so her guilt was not in question. She would avoid suffering through an Ordeal to let the gods to determine her guilt. There would only be the punishment.
"Why did you steal the sketch?"
Astrid raised her head proudly and jutted out her chin, staring directly into Stoick's unforgiving eyes. She kept her mouth closed, and her gaze fixed on her chief.
"Why did you steal it?" Spitelout asked again.
Astrid kept her silence.
"Astrid, you have a chance to defend yourself. Will you speak?"
Silence. The crowd watched her, transfixed. The judge sighed. "If you insist. Astrid Hofferson, you've admitted you stole the sketch, you won't provide a reason why and without one, you can hardly defend your actions. We have no choice but to move on with the punishment."
There were several punishments for theft. Perhaps Astrid would be forced to run a gauntlet. The village would form two lines, and she would run between them, all the while being pelted by whatever objects the villagers felt was just, whether rocks, or feathers, or rotten fruit. The weight of her crime would be decided by the village.
The trouble was, anyone who threw soft objects would not only be making a statement about the severity of her crime, but would simultaneously be declaring the extent of their loyalty to Stoick. Any clan who wanted to be favored by their Chief, would throw heavy objects, and throw them hard.
Another possible crime was picking hot stones out of boiling water. This crime, while in its own way for more fair than the gauntlet, was more horrifying to Astrid. Dodging projectiles was something she was good at. It was part of being a warrior, as was the risk of injury. Deliberately lowering her hands into boiling water was a different kind of pain, and a different kind of horror.
"Chief Stoick, as the injured party, what do you believe Astrid's punishment should be?"
Astrid watched as her Chief mulled the question over. Boiling water, or running the gauntlet. She found herself praying for the gauntlet.
"Exile." Stoick declared in a low voice which brooked no argument.
The crowd gasped, and Astrid felt a cold hand grip her heart. Her stomach fell, just the way it had when she was in freefall, but this time there was no Stormfly to catch her. Her mouth fell open into a little 'O'. The children protested first, and Astrid dared not look at them. The Jorgensons made no moves at all, though a few of them looked surprised by the verdict. The Hoffersons were shouting and hollering in dismay, Brunhilda among them, paled-faced and speaking to her husband in a fast, clipped tone.
Astrid caught Stoick's eye. Feeling as though her breath was stolen, she barely managed the whisper: "What?"
"You stole from me, lass." Stoick said bluntly. You stole from your chief. If it were another member of the tribe, maybe we'd be lenient. But how am I supposed to trust you in battle? Or teaching the children? Where on Berk is there room for someone with no loyalty."
"But-"
"And beyond that, you stole Hiccup's sketch! You stole all I have left of my son! How dare you?"
Another voice rang out above the clamor. "Yeh can't do this, Stoick!" That was Gobber, elbowing his way past the Thorston clan. "We all know the proper punishment for theft is to run the gauntlet! Yeh can't exile the girl for tha'! Tha's not the law!"
The rom went silent again. It had been a very long time since Gobber and Stoick had even spoken to one another in public. The smith kept himself to himself, especially after young Sluglout's death. Watching the two former friends glare at eachother was like watching the clock turn back eight years.
Stoick looked furious. "We damned well can! She took Hiccup's sketch! You of all people should understand, Gobber!"
The smith planted his hands on his hips and glared at his chief. "Well I don't. Would ya mind explainin' why yer breakin' our traditions? I reckon yer too close ta this, Stoick! Let someone else judge!
"You're saying I can't be fair?" Spitelout rose to his feet, glaring at the village smith.
"Yer his cousin fer Thor's sake! This is ridiculous. We all know the girl ain't outcast material! It's Astrid Hofferson!" The Hoffersons murmured in agreement, as did most of the other tribes in the room. Only the Jorgensons and their closest allies showed no signs of discomfort with the idea.
"Can I just cut in for a moment?" Fishlegs strode to the front of the angry crowd. He was large enough that no one dared get in his way. He waved his arms to get everyone's attention. Death glares were still being shot back and forth across the aisle. Both sides looked ready to grab their weapons. "Look I think we're all a little highly strung." he chuckled, a strange noise in the hostile atmosphere. "But um… I just wanted to ask a few questions."
"Speak, Fishlegs!" Stoick barked. Gobber stepped aside to give him the floor.
"Our Illustrious Chief aside, who here is the best Dragon Killer on Berk?"
The Jorgenson clan all pointed to Snotlout, who puffed out his chest. The rest of the room, however grudgingly, looked to Astrid. Her own gaze was fixed on Fishlegs. Was he finally stepping up on his own? How much would he admit to? Would he reveal the journal? She hoped not. It would tear Berk to shreds there and then. Blood would likely be spilled. So what was his game plan? What good could he do?
"Aside from Stoick, Astrid Hofferson is the best dragon killer on the island." Fishlegs confirmed as he started to pace back and forth across the semi-circle
"What?" Snotlout cried, "You've got to be kidding!"
"Her rate of kills per raid is forty-two percent higher than the next leading warrior. She trains every day from dawn till dusk, and teaches the young ones how to fight Dragons so that Berk's future will be protected. Can anyone deny this?"
Heads shook, some more reluctantly than others. Fishlegs turned to Stoick. "Chief, is this not true? Astrid trains hard, and teaches in the Kill Ring."
"Both are true. They make her betrayal all the worse."
"If it was betrayal at all."
The comment was made lightly, and with such ease that it took many in that powder keg of a crowd a few seconds to sort through it and register what he meant. When they did, a low whisper, angry and confused, stole through the crowd. Stoick leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "She stole from me. What exactly would you call it, Ingerman?"
Fishlegs gulped and took a step back, but managed to rally. "I'm just saying… The Haddock clan is by far the wealthiest on Berk. You have gold, silver and precious gems. You have chain mail and plate mail. The finest weapons and armor our smithy can provide… all of these and more are in your home. Yet Astrid Hofferson took a sketch."
"One of Hiccup's sketches. A keepsake from my dead son!"
"What was it a sketch of, exactly?"
Berk's chieftain launched himself forward, his hand closing around the hilt of his axe. In his eyes shone with the cold wrath of a Jotun. "I think you'd better sit down, boy."
Fishlegs took a step back, visibly nervous despite his size.
Brunhilda answered for him, speaking loudly and clearly. "I saw it. It was a sketch of Astrid, back when she was a teenager."
A murmur spread through the crowd, and Fishlegs recovered, bolstered by the hall's sudden curiosity. He said, "Where is the document sir? If we're going to vote her into exile then at the very least we should be able to see what it was she stole…"
Stoick glared, but too many in the crowd were with Fishlegs. He nodded to Spitelout, who was standing at his shoulder, and the Viking produced a thick scroll, rolled up. Fishlegs took it with the utmost care and unrolled it, holding the image up for all to see.
Young Astrid Hofferson, axe at the ready, her image wreathed in a heart-shaped laurel. And underneath the words: The Most Beautiful Girl in Midgard.
The crowd uttered a collective 'Awww'.
As he spoke, Fishlegs held up the scroll, turning it from side to side, so that everyone could see it. He spoke clearly and loudly. "Eight years ago, Berk's heir, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, vanished. I remember that day well. It was the eve of our graduation from Dragon Training in the Kill Ring. The two best warriors in our class were Hiccup Haddock, and Astrid Hofferson." He waved a gracious hand in her direction. The children of Astrid's dragon training class were all listening with rapt attention, all intensely curious about their teacher's personal history. It was something Astrid had never discussed with them.
Fishlegs continued. "Hiccup came in first, Astrid Hofferson came in second. Hiccup was a quiet lad, and after every class he would steal away into the woods for some time alone. As would Astrid Hofferson."
"I was training."
"I'm sure you were. I'm sure he was too." Fishlegs smiled sympathetically, and never in her life had Astrid wanted to punch him harder. He tapped the sketch, "Probably together. Probably fairly often."
Astrid's jaw dropped again as she realized where this was heading. She growled. "Fishlegs, don't you dare!"
"Dare what, Hofferson?" he asked. "There's no need to be ashamed. Hiccup may have been small, but he was a smart young man with a bright future ahead of him. It's been eight years. Hasn't enough time passed for you to admit it out loud?" he returned her glare with another infuriatingly gentle smile. Then he addressed the crowd again. "Hiccup Haddock was taken by a dragon. He never returned from the forest that particular evening, though Astrid did, looking quite frustrated, I might add."
That was true. Astrid had spent that entire day after class trying to follow Hiccup and learn his secrets. She was the first Berkian to realize that something was wrong when she couldn't find him. His tracks just seemed to end… somewhere just off Raven Point
"Frustrated by what, is the question my friends?" Fishlegs said gently, addressing the crowd at large. "Coming second in dragon training? Perhaps. Or perhaps… a missed rendezvous?"
"Get to the point!" Spitelout barked. Stoick was gazing at Astrid, his eyes wide, and -to her amazement- devoid of all hostility. Instead there was… empathy? Surprise? Relief? Gentleness? He had, of course, picked up on Fishleg's insinuations, and wore the look of a man released from a dreadful burden.
"Astrid trains harder than anyone else. She always has. My question is why? Eight years ago she ended the life of a Monstrous Nightmare in one of the most exciting and tense graduations in Berk's three-hundred-year history. Since then she has trained constantly. Worked her hardest to insure that what happened to Berk's lost heir would never happen to anyone else. My question is why? She's refused marriage proposals from the family of every suitor on Berk including my own. My question is why? Astrid has always remained fiercely loyal to Chief Stoick, and the Haddock line, as much as any Jorgenson. My question is why?" He shook the sketch once again. "My friends, I think after all these years, I finally have my answer."
The crowd had calmed. All around the circle, from Hoffersons and Jorgensons alike, were sharing looks of sympathy. Their quarrel was forgotten in light of the revelation. Vikings were a passionate people. Passionately angry, passionately vengeful, but also passionately caring and sympathetic. Nothing like the tragic tale of a budding romance cut short for changing hearts and minds. Whispers of 'I always wondered…', 'oh, the poor dear!', 'I knew it!' and 'Can't exile her. Wouldn't be right.' Spread like wildfire.
"Astrid, I know you don't want to talk about this." Fishlegs said. "And I'm sorry this has been revealed in such a public way. I understand if you're angry at me, but I believe in Justice, as our chief does. We both know you shouldn't be exiled. Not for this."
And Astrid? Well… Astrid was livid. This was an insult. A betrayal of her Uncle Finn, and everything he had taught her. But she knew that if she spoke the truth, if she contradicted Fishlegs and the new, sickeningly poignant lie of a narrative he had painted, she would be exiled. No one would come to her defense. She had no reason of her own to rival it. Why had she actually stolen the sketch? Because she had only just grown to appreciate Hiccup's incredible talents. Because she had just learned the truth about Toothless, and Hiccup's relationship with the dragons. Because she wanted to feel some personal connection to a vivid and underappreciated personality whom she had staunchly ignored during their time together.
Because it was a really good sketch, and captured a moment in her own past. A time she was proud of.
None of those reasons could hold a candle to Fishlegs' version. One of them was an ironically hollow echo, and another would tear the island apart. None of them would sway the crowd, and capture imaginations the way Fishlegs' reasons had.
Astrid realized that the crowd was staring at her, waiting for her to respond to the new narrative. She took a deep breath, feeling the deep blush which had spread across her face as she tried to sort through the tempest of emotions. Astrid made up her mind to ignore Fishlegs' lie entirely, and stick with the two truths she knew. She strode over to the Jorgenson guard who was carrying her shield. As she walked, she passed by Fishlegs and snatched the scroll from his unresisting hands, refusing to even look at him. She could feel the scrutinizing eyes of Berk upon her as she tore her shield from the Jorgenson warrior. She slipped her hand through the grips, taking comfort in its familiar weight. Then she turned to her chief.
"I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have taken it." She said hoarsely, surprised by how shaky and frail her voice sounded. She thrust the scroll at Stoick, who clasped it gently and carefully, relieving her of the burden. Astrid went down on one knee before her chief, and held up her shield, presenting it to him. "This was always yours, sir."
"Stand up, Astrid." Stoick said, speaking quietly, as he would to a young foal. He set aside the scroll and grasped her elbows, guiding her gently to her feet. He smiled sadly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a comforting, fatherly way. "I don't think that shield was ever mine… but perhaps it should have been my son's. You owe no one an apology for anything. But I certainly owe you one."
The crowd applauded quietly. Astrid stared at the floor, biting her lip. Stoick laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I know when I'm wrong, Astrid. I'm sorry. I should have thought better of you."
The walk back to Hofferson Hall was silent. Astrid stared staunchly at the ground ahead of her, ignoring the village to the best of her ability. Stoick's declaration of exile had shocked her but she realized it shouldn't have. The Chief had always been extreme when defending that which he valued.
She had escaped from one horrible life, only to be thrust into another. This was a nightmare. It had to be. Perhaps when she woke up in the morning, this would all have been a dream. Berk would be cleaning up after the latest raid. Stoick wouldn't be planning a voyage to the nest. There would be no journal, no shipwreck, no tamed Nadder waiting for her in the Cove at Raven Point. Just life the way it was before. The way it had been for eight years.
She realized that tomorrow, she was going to have to pick up her recruits and bring them back to the arena. She would train them to kill dragons. And afterwards she would bring a basket of fish to Stormfly, and perhaps she and the dragon would go for a flight around the island.
What would the children say about her? What questions would they ask? Would she have to explain what had happened to Hiccup? Would she have to weep and cry, make claims about the things she and Hiccup used to do? How they used to feel about one another? Lies upon lies upon lies, all to protect the most dangerous secret in their island's history. And to protect Stormfly.
Gods above! That was another layer of complexity. And she couldn't involve Fishlegs. Not until she'd spoken to him. Not until she had broken his nose. He had saved her, it was true, but only by painting her as a pathetic weeping maiden, wrought by grief. Astrid Hofferson was a warrior first. Her motivation was simple: Honor her uncle and protect Berk to the very best of her ability. To save her, Fishlegs had destroyed that. He had corrupted her image. This would be neither forgiven, nor forgotten.
The Hall was silent, cold and dark. The fire had gone out in Brunhilda's absence. Washing lines covered in drying clothing were strung up all around the property. Astrid brushed past them and flung the door open. Her mother followed her in. the rest of the clan had followed some distance behind. Astrid had pretended not to hear the shocked whispers of her siblings and cousins. She pretended that their curious stares weren't making her fists itch.
Her mother bade the family wait outside. Astrid was already at her bedside, hanging her axe and her shield on the same hooks they'd always occupied. Working in apathetic movements, she pulled off her tunic, and slid off her pants. She unwound her breast wraps and slipped off her underpants, piling all the clothing beside her bed to be dealt with after a long, deep sleep.
"Astrid?" Brunhilda was tossing a few small sticks in the fire, preparing fuel for the coals she intended to coax back to flame.
Astrid ignored her, electing instead to hunt for new underclothes.
"I'm going to prepare some tea for you."
"Thanks." The younger Viking said shortly, dragging some fresh clothes from her chest. After a short time, the fire crackled and blazed to life. Astrid heard a creak and a sigh as her mother took a seat on the bed behind her.
"Astrid, will you look at me please?"
The twisted scowl on Astrid's face felt so deeply rooted that there was a very real possibility it would become a permanent fixture. Her sour feelings were certainly on full display. Nevertheless she turned, arms crossed, and stared at her mother.
Brunhilda was seated with her hands on her thighs. She reached out for Astrid's hands, and the young warrior grudgingly unfolded her arms to present them. Her mother smiled and rubbed her palms in a soothing way. "I'm glad you're alive, Astrid. I was so worried we'd lost you."
"Thanks."
Brunhilda frowned. "I understand what just happened. I know what you and Fishlegs just told the village, and I know it's a lie. You never cared for Hiccup Haddock. The boy was an annoyance."
"He wasn't-"
"He had his strengths." Brunhilda said, nodding, "But I know you didn't recognized them."
Astrid said nothing. She knew that eventually she would be forced to defend this new story, but at that moment she was eternally grateful that at least one person had seen through it. At least one person knew who she truly was, and what she truly valued. Her cold scowl disintegrated and she melted into her mother's arms, shutting her eyes tightly against the world.
Brunhilda held her daughter close, rocking her gently and brushing her hair the way she used to. She rested her cheek against Astrid's forehead and said, "What's going on, Astrid? What were you doing in Stoick's house? Why did you take that sketch?"
"It's complicated, mum."
"Try me."
But Astrid remained stubbornly silent.
"You know you just presented your shield to Stoick."
"As a loyal warrior."
"After what Fishlegs said, that's not how the village is going to see it."
"And how would they see it, then?"
"As a daughter, and a grieving widow."
Astrid was quiet for some time. Then she said, "I don't care how they see it."
"I think Stoick shares their sentiment."
"So what?"
"So just be prepared, Astrid. You just declared your undying love for his son in front of the entire village. I don't know why you lied to them and I don't know what you're hiding, but for every action there are consequences."
This story is very heavily influenced by Midoriko-Sama's becoming trilogy. It may not appear obvious now, but all of this is set up for Hiccup's return. Stoick's going to take a bit of a beating in this story. He's the main antagonist, afterall. But I'll try to make him somewhat sympathetic as well.
Also I'm going to be a little more loose with Viking laws and culture so that Berk better matches the Berk we see in the movies and the show. And of course it gives me room to play.
For those of you waiting for news on the next chapter of Fallout 3: Mutatis Mutandis, including the battle to retake Rivet City and the Purifier from the supermutants, it is currently being written. I'm 2700 words in, which is about 1700 words more than it was a week ago.
Anyway please let me know what your thoughts are on this newest development on Berk. How well was the trial laid out, and what do you think the consequences are going to be?