Prodigal Son 21

Astrid awoke in an envelope of comfortable warmth. She kept her eyes shut, relishing the softness of her straw mattress. The furs atop her were heavy, and carried a familiar, comforting, musty smell. The air was cool, yet she could hear the Hofferson's hearthfire crackling nearby. Quiet voices murmured in the background. She snuggled up into a tighter ball, and grunted as she realized just how much everything hurt.

Her entire body ached. Her crotch, thighs and legs were still terribly sore from riding Stormfly for hours. Her hands, arms, and shoulders had spent much of that time tensed as she tried to keep her balance and overcome her fears and worries. Her abdomen was on fire, and she felt the irresistible urge to stretch absolutely everything.

A yawn forced its way out of her and before she knew it, all four limbs were spreading out in all directions. Her hands and feet poked out from under the covers, and clenched in the cool air. Astrid arched her back and went stiff as every muscle in her body tensed with the massive yawn. Several others followed, each as irresistible as the last.

Having endured that wonderful, cathartic exercise, she fell back, relaxed and spread-eagled under the covers, staring up at the thatched ceiling. Her eyes had teared up, and she blinked several times to clear them. Moving with tectonic slowness and stifling another yawn, Astrid pulled her covers back, exposing herself to the cold air. She rolled to one side and propped herself up on an elbow, leaning over the side of the bed. Her questing hands found a freshly laundered set of clothes which someone- probably her mum- had laid out for her. She pushed herself upright, wincing, and grabbed the wraps first.

"Astrid!" Haldor Hofferson stomped over from the hearthfire. He was dressed in a pair of old britches, and carrying a bowl of simmering stew.

"Morning dad."

"A good morning to you too, lass!" he said, beaming. "It's wash day today. Brunhilda and your sisters are all out."

"I should be out helping her…" Astrid murmured, rubbing her eyes.

Her father reached up and rubbed her shoulder. "No you don't, Astrid! Your mother would flay me like a fish if she found you working today, after all you've been through." He leaned forward and pulled her into a tight hug. She would have returned the embrace, but not moving was so very comfortable an option. Even his squeezing was putting uncomfortable pressure on her ribs and shoulders.

"Ow! Please let go."

He released her immediately. "Of course. You must have fought your way out of Hel's realm."

"It feels like it." She said with a wry smile.

They both laughed. Haldor was beaming. He said, "I'm just so proud of you, Astrid. Your mother and I both are! We're so glad you're alive! And after the trial as well… the next few days are for you to rest, alright? Take it easy."

"I will."

His smile faltered, tempered by curiosity. "You never told me about the Haddock boy."

Astrid shrugged noncommittally, then winced again and reached around to massage her shoulders, rolling each in turn.

"You were so intense about training. I always thought it was your old Uncle Finn."

"I loved Uncle Finn. Hiccup was… a tragedy." True. Or at least it would have been if the coward had actually died. "It shouldn't have happened." Also would have been true. Good thing it didn't? Perhaps. "He and I…Dad, I need more time. I can't explore this right now. I just can't." Definitely true. That was an idea she could get behind.

Haldor Hofferson nodded in understanding. He leaned forward and embraced her again, this time much more gently. He kissed her crown, saying, "I didn't talk to you as much as I should have. I realized that while you were gone. But you're still our baby girl. Mine as much as Brunhilda's."

"Thanks dad."

"Your uncle Finn would have been proud too."

"…thanks dad."

He kissed her once more on the top of the head, and then went back to the fire. Spitelout Jorgenson was there, and the two of them resumed a conversation in hushed tones.

Astrid tried for some time to drift off back to sleep, but her restlessness grew the more she considered the strangeness, and the peril of her situation. What was there to be done with Stormfly? She could train the dragon the way Hiccup had, but to what end? On the other hand, she could simply steel herself and kill the dragon.

With that image came others. The look of betrayal and pain she imagined in the Nadder's eyes made her grimace. As much as killing the beast would solve the problem and allow her to reinforce her commitment to Berk, it was also a low and dirty thing to do. Stormfly trusted her explicitly. She had saved Astrid's life multiple times, brought water when Astrid was thirsty, fish when she was hungry. She had carried Astrid when she couldn't walk or swim, and fended off an entire flock of other dragons to save her life.

No, Astrid decided, killing Stormfly was not on the table. But what, then? Simply train the dragon in secret? Keep Stormfly cooped up in the cove her entire life? What if a hunting party happened upon her? What if Astrid was killed in a raid? Hiccup had left with Toothless, and though Astrid disagreed on principle with his decision, second by second she was growing to appreciate the complexity of his situation.

Restless, she rolled out of bed and pulled on that set of clean clothes. The stew went down quickly and cleanly, settling as a comfortable warmth in the pit of her stomach. She left her shield on the wall, but slung her axe across her back. Haldor gave her a nod from the fire pit, and she nodded back before opening the door and slipping out onto the dirt road which led towards the center of Berk.

The air was warm, and the sunlight on her face, as faint as it was shining through the clouds, was more than welcome. The burnt Hrolfson homestead had been stripped down and removed, leaving a large patch of clear dirt sprinkled with the occasional piece of charcoal. The Nightmare carcass had been dragged away as well, dumped over the nearby cliff side into the ocean, where a flock of white gulls circled. Sand had been poured over the pool of blood it left behind.

There were only two members of the Hrolfson clan left: Hundolfr, and his eldest son Eyolf, who was around Astrid's age. A marriage had been proposed once. Astrid remembered Eyolf as a vaguely handsome face attached to an otherwise unremarkable warrior. Though a stack of neatly organized, freshly cut timber lay beside the empty lot, rebuilding an entire hall for two warriors was a needless drain on strained resources. It was quite likely that Eyolf and his father would settle in the Great Hall. Berk Vikings were an industrious lot, and replacing burnt homes was a well-practiced exercise. Astrid wondered who the new hall was going to belong to.

"Morning, Astrid." A nearby Viking called out, waving at her. He was lugging two sacks of grain down the road towards the store houses. She stared, taken aback by the cheerful greeting. What was the man's name again? He was a Saemingrson, she remembered that much. One of the brothers. Sirnir, or Snidil. They manned the northern catapults, and had brought down more than a few dragons. Neither of them had ever said a word to her before outside of combat.

"Good morning." She waved back as he passed, flummoxed.

The arena was on the far side of town, and as tiring and painful as movement was, she headed there out of habit. There would be no training for her today; even the best warriors had to rest after long battles, and she knew her limits. But the stone ring with its steel cage was something familiar, and she needed that. Her path took her through the center of the village, and she soon found herself being greeted on all sides by Berkians with glad smiles and open hands.

"Good morning, Astrid."

"Hello, Astrid!"

"I bet you taught the beasties a lesson, eh Astrid?"

"Astrid! Good to see you!"

"Morning Astrid, how goes your day?"

"Good Morning, Astrid!"

"Up and about already, eh Astrid?"

She did her best to greet them all in turn, but there were so many, and they were so cheerful! What in Hel's name was going on? Perplexed and overwhelmed by all the attention, she mumbled an excuse and retreated, circling around the outside of the village square, around the backs of the family halls, still intent on reaching the arena, where she could sit in silence and reflect on the strangeness of it all.

People did not smile at Astrid Hofferson! Her life wasn't some joke! Grim nods and perhaps a few words. That was how warriors communicated! Warriors were professional, stoic, and silent. Ready to fight and ready to die. Dragon killing was her business, not idle chatter.

Caught up in her sour thoughts, and feeling very much on edge, Astrid reacted entirely on auto-pilot when a hand grabbed her shoulder. Her assailant immediately found herself slammed into the wall of the nearest house, one arm twisted behind her back, a knee in her kidney, and a knife against her throat. Astrid recognized the woman immediately and released her, stepping back a few paces.

"Loki's Shit! Iona I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! I was just walking and thinking and… shouldn't you be in the hall?"

"Washday. It's my day off." The young cook said, rubbing her wrist and staring up at Astrid.

"Sorry."

"It's alright." Iona said heavily as Astrid helped her to her feet. "Warrior first, right?"

"What in Thor's name is going on? Why's everyone so cheerful? Are they all drunk?"

Iona laughed. "What do you mean? It's wash day. Of course they're drunk."

Astrid smiled. "No, I meant… Everyone's so happy to see me. Not that they weren't before, I don't think, but…" She shrugged helplessly, "No one smiled before, you know?"

"You didn't smile at us, either, Astrid."

"Of course not! I had a job to do."

"Why should that stop you from smiling?"

"Because…" Astrid knew what her uncle Finn had always said: Being a warrior was a serious business.

"Everyone's talking about you and Hiccup." Iona said.

Astrid glowered. "They are?"

"Yeah." The cook smiled wistfully. "It's so romantic. I mean… not that I want to… trivialize it or anything. It's tragic, really. If you ever want to talk about it-"

"Stop that!" Astrid snapped. "I'm not some love-sick weeping… maiden or widow or whatever!"

Iona nodded. "Sure. Except… look, you made an impression yesterday, with the unexpected entrance. I mean, we all thought you had died, and then the trial and everything. It's like… we finally know Astrid Hofferson, you know? Everyone's talking."

Astrid glanced through a gap between the halls. The town was thrumming with energy. People moved back and forth along stalls full of fresh food. Several fishing vessels were pulling in at the docks, unloading their cargo. A group of young children whizzed past, waving wooden swords around. 0

She turned back to Iona. "What are they saying?"

"You're a hero, for starters. My husband Styr was talking to the Jorgensons, and apparently the Chief was really moved by what you said."

"I didn't say anything! That was all Fishlegs!"

"Oh Fishlegs told us, sure! But you gave Stoick your shield after all that."

"I'm a member of his army, and a loyal soldier!"

"And you loved his son!"

Gods above, the woman sounded sick in the head. Delusional. Astrid froze, a biting, frustrated rejoinder on the tip of her tongue. She couldn't deny it now, any more than she could have at the trial. Damn Fishlegs! Damn him! She hoped Fenrir would tear him limb from limb. She smiled a little too sweetly. "You don't happen to know where Fishlegs is right now, do you?"

Iona turned out to be a little smarter than Astrid had thought. "Don't you go about doing him any harm now, Astrid! I know it can't be a comfortable subject, but Stoick was going to exile you. We're all glad for you. Well maybe not glad, but… sympathetic?"

"What may or may not have happened between me and Hiccup Haddock is not Berk's business!"

Iona was looking hurt, and Astrid felt a stab of guilt. "I don't know why you're so upset. No one thinks worse of you for it. Hiccup may have been… Hiccup. But he seemed nice."

Astrid glowered.

"And everyone's wondering how you got back to Berk."

"…A raft." She said shortly. The cook seemed to finally get the message, as she gave Astrid an awkward wave and slipped away through the buildings. Astrid watched her vanish, then stared blankly into space for a moment. She tried to remember as much as she could about Hiccup Haddock. A nasal, sarcastic voice. Scrawny, bony awkwardness. Green eyes and auburn hair. Those last two bits would have been alright, perhaps… on someone else. Someone taller, for starters. Of far more importance was the secrets he had uncovered, and what they meant for Berk. She wondered whether or not he was still alive, and how thorough an appropriate pounding would be, if he ever came back.

Her thoughts were shunted sideways by the sight of blond hair, chubby cheeks, and a light brown tunic.

She smirked, Fishlegs…

Fishlegs' morning had been rather calm thus far. He did his usual rounds, checking the village's defenses, making sure the net traps and catapults were loaded, and had ample extra ammunition. He counted the village's rations and made a note to the hunters to look for new berry patches while they were out. Their grain supply would last, but it was a little low. Perhaps it was time to think about building another farm out beyond Silent Sven's property. Thankfully grain was not high on the list of dragon's dietary needs. The farm would need little defending.

His final stop was at the lumber mill. The stone structure powered by Hiccup's specially designed waterwheel. Their repair supplies were getting low again. He would have to put a work party together to cut more lumber.

He was walking slowly along the winding, riverside path back down towards the village when something hard and bony collided with the side of his jaw. He tumbled down the side of the steep incline into the gulley, and rolled to a halt on the riverbank, groaning. Leaves slithered and cascaded down the bank and a pair of shapely legs with feet in fur boots appeared in his narrow field of vision.

The sole of a boot pressed his face down into the thick riverside mud. He felt the cool sharpness of an axe blade at his throat.

"Fancy meeting you here, Fishlegs."

Ah. Astrid. He should have expected this.

"Listen," he said, his voice muffled and squeaky as his head sank further into the muck. "I know you might be a little upset…"

"Upset? No. I'm just curious." The woman said lightly. "Do you think a grown man can drown in just a few inches of water?"

The foul-smelling slime which graced all riverbeds was slowly oozing up his nose and into his mouth. The foot increased its pressure a little, and he found his face completely submerged. He tried to yell, but it came out as bubbles, and the moment his mouth opened more water flowed in, making him gurgle. He grasped impotently at her boot, and she released him. He rolled onto his back, coughing and sputtering, and staring gratefully up at the cloudy grey sky.

Blonde hair and angry eyes blocked his vision. "You lied about me."

"I saved you." He replied.

"Really? People think I'm pathetic now. That I'm some love-struck mourning maiden."

"Would you prefer perhaps being known as a cowardly thief?"

She lifted her axe threateningly. "I want people to know that I'm a proud, honest warrior."

"You saw what was happening in that room, Astrid. You were there just like me. There was a lot more at stake than just your image. That entire raid was a disaster. While you were missing, people were starting to question Stoick's leadership. Berk was going to pieces. Have you ever heard the saying a lie can travel around the world before the truth can get its boots on?"

"That doesn't condone lying, Fishlegs!"

"Yeah, well, we needed speed. We needed to extinguish this fire before it started, r there would be no stopping it. All of Berk's problems were surfacing in that trial, and now? Now Stoick is still in charge. The factions that don't trust him trust you. You've got support from both sides, and the village is as united as it has been in years. For your part, everyone thinks very highly of you, and people like Snotlout will be shamed and booed if they don't stop hounding you for marriage, which is something you didn't want anyway. All you had to do was declare your undying love for a ghost. Everyone wins."

"Hiccup Haddock is not a ghost! Didn't we just discover this?"

"Oh, please," Fishlegs laughed, "Hiccup is gone, Astrid. If he was going to come back he would have done it by now. He's out of the picture."

"I don't like being stuck supporting your damned lies! I don't care how much you think they helped. If people are going to think highly of me it will be because I'm good at what I do! Not because of some damned lie I'm helping you keep!"

Fishlegs sat up, propping himself up on his arms. "I'm sure you have a few of your own."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Bucket was saying just this morning how he was out fishing near the sea stacks yesterday and saw a woman riding a Deadly Nadder to Raven Point."

Astrid glared at him, breathing heavily through her nostrils.

"It's a good thing people don't listen too hard to anything Bucket says. Isn't it?" Fishlegs asked. She nodded carefully, chewing her lip.

"Hiccup's journal is gone isn't it?"

She nodded again, axe hanging at her side.

"Good thing I copied it, then." Fishlegs said, rising to his feet and wiping away some of the mud. "I am honestly sorry for what I did during the trial, Astrid. But there was little time, no options, and way too much riding on the outcome."

"You owe me now." She said. "You screwed me over, ruined my image, and now I'm left holding your baggage. This doesn't happen again. Understand?"

"I understand." Fishlegs replied. His eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. "Are you going to show me the uuhh… raft… you rode- sorry- sailed back to Berk on?"

"One day. When I trust you again. Right now I'm tempted simply to tell my …raft… to eat you."

He raised both hands. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry I asked. I still think it was the right call. I don't think it'll cripple Berk. Depending on what Stoick does, it could just be the best thing to happen to us."

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully.

"Think ahead." He challenged. "Stoick is getting on. He'll be looking for a replacement soon. In another ten years, perhaps."

"Oh, no-"

"When you declared your feelings for Hiccup-"

"I didn't-" she snarled.

"You gave Stoick your shield, not me! You volunteered to be his defacto daughter-in-law. If he accepts, then that puts you in contention with Snotlout for Chieftainship!"

"I don't want to run Berk!" she shouted in a shrill voice. A few birds burst from a nearby tree, frightened by the noise.

"Who else is there? Snotlout's next if we don't do something, and you saw how bad he was when he took over teaching your class. Well maybe you didn't; you weren't here…"

Astrid froze. "He did what?"

"Oops," said Fishlegs in an utterly deliberate voice. "Did I say too much?"

But the woman was already running. Her last words were shouted, and carried to him on the autumn breeze. "This is not over, Fishlegs!"

Snotlout paced back and forth across the floor of the arena. His hands were held officiously behind his back. Tuffnut was there as well, grinning widely. Before them, lined up in neat little rows, was Astrid's class.

"Alright, Recruits." He barked, "I know that somehow Astrid is back- stop cheering! That doesn't change a thing! I took over the responsibility of teaching the next generation of Berk's warriors, and I will gladly and nobly continue to do my duty! One day, if you pass my tests, you might have the honor of fighting alongside me as a member of my loyal Snotmen."

"What a great name!" Tuffnut supplied.

"Why thank you, Tuffnut." Snotlout said, "It's nice to see that some of us have good taste." He turned back to his class. "You are standing upon hallowed ground. Not only have generations of Berk's best warriors been trained here, not only have hundreds of dragons died here, but I –Snoutlout the Dragonslayer, Future Chief of Berk, was trained here." He turned on his heel and glared at them. "So show some respect!"

His class straightened up.

"Remember, when I teach you, you aren't just warriors, you're Snot Drops!"

"Eww!" Exclaimed young Hallfrid Hallkelson. The rest of her class agreed, though they kept their silence.

"Not Eww!" Snotlout shot back, glaring daggers at the little girl. "Not Eww! That's a proper honorable title!"

"Where's Astrid?" Hallfrid's brother Osmand demanded.

"We want Astrid!" the murmur passed through the rest of the class. "Where's Astrid? We want Astrid! We want Astrid! We want Astrid!" the chant grew in strength despite Snotlout's repeated attempts at shushing them.

Finally he snapped. "Quiet! All of you shut up! Stop whining!"

The children fell silent, wide-eyed with shock.

Snotlout glared at them, red-faced. "You all want Astrid? That's too bad. I took over! I'm teaching you now! No more wooden dragon heads on a stick! You're Vikings! Back when I was trained, we were put in the ring against real dragons!"

"Wasn't it your cousin Sluglout who got killed?" Fridleif Finnason asked. Fridleif, at fourteen winters, was the eldest of Astrid's class.

"He died a true Viking!" Snotlout declared solemnly, putting a hand over his heart. "Now, all of you, get ready. You learned what you could from Astrid, but you're with the Master now! You're a Snot Drop, and we learn by doing!"

Astrid's students hefted their weapons uncertainly as Snotlout sauntered over to the nearest lever. He gripped it with both hands and pulled, yelling, "Let's hear our battle cry! Snotlout! Snotlout! Oi oi oi!" No one else joined in.

"Oh, man! This is going to be so awesome!" Exclaimed Tuffnut. "Total destruction!"

The door flew open and an angry Gronckle charged onto the battlefield.

"Okay, everyone stay calm." Snotlout cried, ducking as the creature swung its tail at him. The Gronckle focused on Tuffnut and spat out an enormous gob of molten rock, forcing the gangly Viking to dive for cover.

"Don't be afraid! I'll save you!" Snotlout drew his sword. The sound caught the Gronkle's sensitive ears, and it snarled at him. He let out a battle cry and tried to plant the sword in its flank. Yet the dragon's tough skin turn the blade aside, leaving what amounted to little more than a scratch. Its thrashing tail caught him across his enormous shoulders and sent him pinwheeling into a pile of boxes.

The children immediately scattered for their shields as Astrid had taught them. Under the instructions of Fridleif and the older students, they found cover behind various crates and barrels scattered throughout the arena. The younger children began to bang on their shields, filling the arena with clanging noise. The Gronkle grew unsteady, growling in confusion and waving its head back and forth, trying to sort out the noise.

The students began to move from cover to cover as the Gronkle circled, staying out of its sight. Meanwhile the oldest students, wielding spears and axes, crept up from behind.

"Take its wings!" Shouted Fridleif. They moved as a unit. Followed by three others, he leapt at the creature and swung an axe at its oscillating wings. The blade buried itself deep in the dragon's bone. Blood spurted down the axe haft. The Gronkle let out a cry of agony, and a gout of molten rock. On its other side, two more of Astrid's students took its other wing off completely, and it crashed to the ground, yowling. The enormous bulb on the end of its waving tail caught Fridleif in the gut and sent him tumbling away. When he landed, he curled up into a ball with his arms clutching his stomach, and began to scream in pain.

The older students leapt backwards to avoid the bludgeon-like tail, and one of them, a twelve-year-old boy named Brynjolf Barrason stepped into its field of view. The dragon belched out a sphere of molten rock which caught the youth in the chest. Whether due to the extreme heat, or the crushing weight of the projectile, he died almost instantly, but the red-hot, flaming ball bounced and tumbled across the arena and smashed a crate which little Hallfrid Hallkelson was hiding behind. The young girl screamed in fear as the raging dragon thundered towards her, slitted yellow eyes narrowed and gobs of spittle flying from its gnashing yellow teeth. Osmand, her younger brother, yelled her name from across the arena and charged from cover, waving his tiny axe.

The bleeding monster crashed through the broken crate, jaws clamping shut on empty air. His prey had been scooped up a second before, and was safely in Tuffnut's arms as the gangly Viking sprinted across the arena, his long legs pumping to get her safely out of the way.

The beast turned towards eight-year-old Osmand Hallkelson, who stood exposed in the center of the arena. The boy had slid to a halt upon finding himself face to face with the angry Gronckle. The beast growled and opened its mouth, gathering more lava for a third shot.

Thwock! An axe buried itself deep in the creature's skull. Jerking and twitching, the Gronkle slumped to the side. Lava began flowing slowly from its open mouth onto the floor of the arena.

An angry call rang out from the arena's entrance. "What in Odin's name is going on here?"

The children fell silent. Astrid was standing in the doorway, hunched slightly, breathing hard, and moving as fast her aching muscles would allow. Despite the physical woes, her eyes were blazing with the same recognizable cold blue intensity.

Her gaze traveled from the dying Gronkle, to the open cage, to Fridleif Finnason, clutching his stomach and weeping in pain, to the crumpled black remains of Brynjolf, to Osmand, then to Tuffnut who was still clutching Hallfrid protectively in his arms. She finally settled on Snoutlout Jorgenson, who was leaning up against a crate, rubbing his shoulder and flexing his arm.

Astrid smiled a smile which was a little too bright, and said in a voice which was a little too cheerful, "Hello, Snotlout. What are you doing in my arena?"

"Teaching these kids what it means to be a Viking!" he declared.

"Oh, I see. That makes perfect sense." Astrid nodded understandingly, her sweetness undercut by the ferocity with which she retrieved her axe from the Gronckle's skull.

"Yeah." Snotlout agreed uncertainly. "It does. Perfect sense."

"There's a problem, Snotlout. You see, these are my kids. They're ready to face a real dragon when I say so. Not before. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah well… you were dead, sooo." He shot back, sheathing his unbloodied sword.

Astrid's smile remained as she stood in the center of the arena, focused entirely on the arrogant Viking warrior. She asked, "Do I look dead to you?"

"I just remembered-" Tuffnut said, backing away from her and towards the arena entrance. He set down little Hallfrid, who was promptly embraced by her brother Osmand. Tuffnut blurted out, "I uh, I gotta go feed old uncle Mildew." and ran.

Snotlout was not so intelligent. "Well we thought you were dead, and these kids need some proper instruction- arrrgh!" Astrid's axe landed in the crate behind him, taking with it a few wisps of his spiky hair, and a small chunk of his ear. "Ow! What the hell is your problem?"

"Snotlout Jorgenson, get out of my arena before I cut off your cock and feed it to a Monstrous Nightmare!" She gave him a good kick in the ass, and tromped a few steps after him as he fled, tripping and cursing, from the arena.

"And don't you dare come back! EVER!" she screamed. Red-faced and puffing with fury, she turned to her class. She ignored everything about the blackened, crushed shape which was spread across the arena's floor. Especially the contorted fingers which were still gripping an axe. She couldn't look at Brynjolf's remains. Not yet.

Astrid attended to Fridleif first. The youth wasn't screaming anymore, but tears were pouring down his face. He was still curled up in a ball, and his breathing was ragged. His face was white with shock. She took his hand, and winced as he squeezed it in a tight grip. "Are you alright?"

"It hurts. It really hurts. Oh, Sleipnir's shit it hurts!"

"What hurts?"

"Everything!" the young moaned. "Help me! I can't breathe."

Astrid helped him uncurl, and pulled up his shirt. Several dark bruises were forming all over his lower chest. One of his ribs was clearly broken. She sat up and began handing out orders to the other children. In no time, a stretcher had been assembled and he had been laid carefully upon it. A runner had been sent for Stoick and the Goethi.

While they waited, the students filled her in on what had happened. She patted Fridleif on the shoulder. "You fought well today."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"When you're healed, I want you back in this class, helping me teach."

"Yes mam." Despite his obvious pain, the young man stuck his jaw out confidently.

"And during raids you're to be on the barricades with the other warriors." She added, smiling gently.

Despite his pain, Fridleif grinned.

The Goethi arrived shortly, with Astrid's messengers leading her by the hand. Her staff clanking against the stone floor of the arena. Behind her was Stoick, with a dozen of Berk's finest warriors. Snotlout was with him, looking woefully unhappy. The Goethi headed immediately for Fridleif. Her own apprentices went with her, applying herbs and poultices under the village elder's carefully written instructions. Stoick took all of five seconds to look over the carnage in the arena. He bellowed, "Snotlout, Astrid, to me. Everyone who doesn't have to be here, get out!"

The arena emptied. Fridleif was carried out on the children's makeshift stretcher, likely heading to the great hall for proper care. The rest of the children either accompanied him, or headed home, escorted by Berk's warriors. Snotlout and Astrid stood before Stoick the Vast, shifting uncomfortably and glowering at one another.

Stoick crossed his arms and glared down at them. "Alright, you two, what happened here?"

"This idiot screwed up." Astrid fumed.

Snotlout took a rather more diplomatic tone. "Sir, I decided it would be best for a heavier hand to take over training the raw recruits. Someone with brains! Someone with brawn! Someone with the experience of a seasoned Viking warrior!" he paused to flex his biceps. Stoick appeared unimpressed by the display.

"All of those should rule you out, Snotlout!"

"Snotlout is a very accomplished warrior, Astrid." Stoick said firmly.

"Hel yeah I am!" Snotlout declared.

"You go tell that to Brynjolf's mother!" Astrid said, jabbing her finger towards the blackened smear which used to be one of her students. "You arrogant, pig-faced, snot-nosed son of a troll!"

"I shouldn't have to take this kind of abuse!"

"Stoick, he took control of my class without permission and murdered one of the young ones!"

"Murdered? Bullshit! Accidents happen, Astrid!"

"That's right!" she snarled, tightening her grip on her axe, "Accidents do happen, Snotlout."

Snotlout opened his mouth to reply, but Stoick grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed silently towards the arena entrance.

"I think it's time you went home and joined your father, Snotlout."

Snotlout and Astrid exchanged death glares, and then he walked away, leaving her alone with Stoick the Vast.

"What happened to Brynjolf was unfortunate." Stoick said, "But it was not murder."

"He wasn't ready. None of them were. A seasoned warrior should have been able to recognize that. Snotlout is-"

"-Going to be Chief, Astrid."

"That's not a good thing, sir. Look into my eyes and tell me honestly that you'd follow him into battle."

Stoick did look her in the eyes, but when he opened his mouth, all he let out was a long sigh. He stroked his beard and turned away.

"Chief, I'm behind you one hundred percent. I always have been." She said loyally, "But that was Brenna Barrason's boy that died. You know that there's been… talk… on the island. Some people are unhappy."

"I'm aware." Stoick said grimly.

"With all due respect sir, if Snotlout gets to be chief after this, it'll-"

"I know what it'll do, Astrid. I'm no fool."

"Well?"

Stoick turned away and strode over to Brynjolf's burnt, broken body. Rain was in the air, they could both smell it. Fog was moving in, and droplets of water were condensing on the iron cage above their heads, and gently pattering onto the carnage below.

"After Hiccup died, I got angry at Gobber." Stoick said quietly, staring down at the boy's remains. "I told him he hadn't trained the boy well enough. That he had spent too much time nursing Hiccup in the forge instead of teaching him how to be a Viking. I said a lot worse than that to him." He looked up at her, with grief in his eyes. "I regret it all, Astrid. Every word. But a chief can never apologize, and never step back. When he does he'll find nothing more than empty air to place his feet on, and he will fall. He questions himself, and everyone around him will question him too. I know what Snotlout's failings are, but he's decisive, and sure of himself."

"Sir-"

"More than that, Astrid. He's right about this." Stoick gestured at Brynjolf's body. "Keep these children alive in the kill ring as long as you want, but eventually some of them are going to die in the raids. Some of them already have. A soft touch here won't solve our problems out there. It won't save these children and it won't bring back my son. This will not stop until every single dragon is dead. Searching for the nest was the right call. It will always be the right call. It's the one Snotlout is willing to make. I know he won't bow to fear."

"He's also an idiot, sir. He gets people injured." She motioned down at the body. "He gets people killed."

"I know that."

"If he makes chief, Berk will tear itself apart."

Stoick nodded slowly, his face troubled. "I know that too."

A loud piercing wail of grief cut through the gentle rain. Brenna Barrason, Brynjolf's mother, was standing at the arena's barred entrance along with a dozen or so matrons from Berk's leading families. Brunhilda was there as well, drawing the sobbing woman into her comforting embrace.

Rain poured down her face and dripped off her chin as Astrid watched Brenna sag into her friends' arms. Word had spread, and the village itself, curious, had gathered in the stands above the arena. They staring down at Brynjolf's blackened body, at the dead Gronckle, and at Stoick and Astrid. On their faces, Astrid saw grief, anger, and discontentment.

"They won't follow Snotlout, sir. Their husbands and sons won't. I won't either."

"Do you have another option, Astrid?"

She opened her mouth, and shut it again. Then she looked down at young Brynjolf's body, and made a choice. A lie can travel around the world before the truth can get its boots on.

"I already gave you one, sir. I gave you my shield."

"Hiccup is gone, Astrid."

"Not to…not to us, sir." She said grimly. "You could buy me. Declare me your daughter-in-law. We both know it would stand up to our laws. The village would approve."

"And it would put you in line before Snotlout." Stoick stroked his beard. "That would anger the Jorgensons, Astrid."

"They know I'm capable, even if Snotlout's their champion. We both know I can do a better job than he can. And I won't split the village if I make Chief."

"And you? Are you sure you want to be a Haddock instead of a Hofferson?"

"You saw the sketch. I would have been anyway, if Hiccup had survived."

"Astrid, this is not how these negotiations are usually conducted."

"I'm sure you can sort it out formally later."

Stoick nodded. "True. And I can afford your bride price. But can your family afford a dowry?"

"I'll bring it myself, sir, I saw a few things while I was stranded out there. I know what causes the fog at Helheim's gate. I know how to keep the dragons off of our ships. I know how to end this. How's that for a dowry, Chief? I know how to get us to the Nest."

Sorry for the delay. I've been working on other projects including my Fallout 3 story.

I'm also sorry there were no dragons in this chapter. This was about Berk and its people problems.

I've always thought Mildew was a Thorston, and that it was Ruff and Tuff's shameful family secret. He has the right helmet, afterall.

I said at the beginning of this story that Fishlegs was the character I was going to change the most, and I meant it. In the movies, he's nerdy and analytical. In the show, he's at times downright cowardly, and always played for comic relief. I'm trying to translate all of that into a more mature version of the character, making him very smart and extremely capable in certain ways. I have plans for where he ends up, and what he ends up doing by the end of the story, but I do recognize that he's more than a little OOC here. I hope that's alright with you guys.

The quote 'A lie can travel around the world' apparently came from Mark Twain. A writer I seriously doubt Fishlegs would have read. However it encompassed the themes and ideas explored in this chapter far too nicely for me to resist putting it in. My apologies if that bothers you.