Prodigal Son 24

"Welcome home." Stoick said, holding open the door to Haddock Hall.

Astrid hesitated before stepping through, feeling that once she did so, there was no turning back. A part of her desperately wanted to run back to the comfort of the Hofferson Hall and her mother and father, but she reminded herself that this had been her plan. The consequences were ones she was prepared to take. She stepped through, and the chief followed, shutting the door behind them.

The interior was spacious, but possessed a certain homey charm. The building was held up by four enormous central pillars, which sat around the hearth. A wooden wall with a darkened doorway divided the back end of Haddock Hall from the main hearth area. Off to Astrid's right was a dining table with a few chairs. To her left was a staircase leading up to the second floor; Hiccup's bedroom, though she wasn't about to tell Stoick how she knew that.

Cupboards lined the walls, and small chests and sacks were scattered throughout the room. Some hung from hooks, others simply sat on the floor. There was a bookshelf there as well. Hiccup's helmet was once again hanging off a nail which had been driven deep into one of the four pillars.

"I'll get a fire going." Stoick said, shuffling past her and bending over a small woodpile beside the door. "There's a pot and cookware in a cupboard by the table if you want to try your hand at cooking. But Iona usually comes by with a bowl of something and a loaf of bread."

"I might wait for her tonight, then." Astrid told him, "To be honest, everything I try to cook usually ends up black and burned."

"Heh. In that case perhaps I'll take up the post of household cook."

"Ha! You can cook?" Astrid tried to imagine the enormous warrior bent over a boiling pot, daintily adding herbs.

"Of course I can. Didn't have much choice but to learn." Stoick answered, straightening up and marching over to the fire. He dropped several thinner sticks onto it, and bent over to coax the hot coals back to life. "I know that cooking is regularly women's work, but after Val was taken I had to feed both of us. Hiccup could cook too. Quite well, actually." With a final breath, he managed to produce a small flame, to which he slowly fed finger-sized bundles of dried grass. "Just do me a favour and don't mention it to the men. I'd be the laughingstock of Berk."

"Your secret is safe with me, sir."

"Much appreciated." He propped the thicker sticks around his growing blaze, creating a little tent-like structure for the flames to devour.

"You said lately you had Iona bringing your meals, though."

His face darkened, and Astrid felt a stab of guilt. He said, "Yeah. Well…She would also stay and chat for a little while. Bring me the harmless gossip of the day. Whatever the Thorston twins were up to, or crazy nonsense Bucket was spouting." Stoick sat back on his heels and held out his hands over the comforting blaze. He smiled up at her. "It's going to feel good to have someone else in this hall, Astrid. I've found that silence and darkness are two things I never can quite get used to, no matter how long they keep me company."

"I can't imagine, sir." Astrid said politely. She herself had grown up in a Hall with her entire extended family. A blaze was always roaring in the hearth. Children running, crying, laughing, and chattering were a constant background noise. Her father, and her uncles were always gathered around the fire, and her mother and aunts were constantly bustling in and out of the hall. The Hofferson clan had thinned out a little over the past ten years, as more and more of her generation were married off, and more and more of the older generations passed on, but the thought of a completely empty hall was a strange and horrible one. She felt sorry for the aging warrior.

Stoick rose and dusted himself off. "Alright… the grand tour." He pointed back towards the darkened doorway. "That's my bedroom."

A separate bedroom. A separate bedroom! One of the perks of being chief, probably. I'm pretty sure you can find your way around here easily enough." Stoick said, gesturing to the main section of the hall. "I know you're a warrior like me. Sharpening stones and oil are in this cupboard here." He walked over to a cupboard under the stairs and tapped on it. Of all the cupboards in the room, that one had the least amount of dust on it. "As I said before, cooking pots and bowls and plates are in that cupboard over there, and if you get peckish, I keep a loaf of bread on the table." He pointed across at the platter. "Just pick the weevils out, if you care about that sort of thing. Now, this old chest here has spare linens. I keep the firewood stacked by the door. If the pile gets low, restock it, please. There's nothing worse than to be stuck in the freezing cold morning with no firewood and a cold hearth, so keep the pile stocked. It'll give you practice with that axe." He strode over, snatched a few large logs off of said pile, and placed them across the now roaring fire. He straightened up and dusted his hands off.

Astrid stood to the side, respectfully silent.

"Oh… right." Stoick grumbled. "The bedroom. You'll be staying upstairs in Hiccup's old room." He led her up the dusty, creaking steps and opened a door at the top of the stairs. "Don't mind the door. Put that in when I walked in on him… never mind. But it'll give you some privacy when you want it."

"Thank you." Astrid responded politely. She stepped by him, and into Hiccup's room. It became immediately apparent that Stoick had cared deeply for his son. The furniture was all meticulously hand-crafted.

Against one wall, Stoick had constructed a studio, complete with a writing desk. A large board was hung up on the wall; a space for Hiccup to nail his drawings to. There was a wooden cup with a sturdy base. Inside were several quills, and a set of charcoal sticks for sketching. Several sets of shelves had been carefully constructed for Hiccup's papers. Weapon hooks hung on the wall, all of them empty, save for a blacksmith's apron which hung awkwardly from the hook nearest the door. Beside Hiccup's bed was a set of low shelves, upon which sat various trinkets and models, twig-sized versions of some of Berk's most effective siege weapons.

Astrid took a few steps into the room, and turned back to Stoick. The man had a tortured look about him, and there was a certain unwillingness to actually step into the room itself. He stayed instead at the top of the stairs, peering in after her.

"I'll get myself settled in." she assured him sympathetically.

"Thank you, Astrid. Just let me know if you're going to… to throw any of it away."

"Wasn't planning on it, sir."

"It's your room now." Stoick explained. "It's been empty long enough. You aren't Hiccup. I'm sure you'll find things to fill it with sooner or later."

Astrid unslung her axe and hung it on a set of hooks near the door. "I'll make do." She said.

"Right. Right. I'll just…" he motioned over his shoulder and started down the stairs.

Astrid walked slowly around the room, unsure of where to put her feet, or what to look at. Hiccup's heart-shaped sketch had been placed on the desk, but she didn't really want to examine it again. Not only had it caused her so much current trouble, but something about it was beginning to put her off. Instead of ignoring it and turning away, she picked it up and gave it a thorough examination, looking for the problem.

After a moment of self-reflection, she realized it was the idolization. Hiccup had idolized her. It was true that he had managed to capture her ferocity, and determination, and a certain flavour of cold beauty as well. Her looks were something she was proud of, but not because of anything sexual in nature. They were a sign of her commitment to her goals; Astrid Hofferson was in good shape because she was a warrior and that was what survival and victory required. Clearly, though, her looks had meant much more to him, and in a very different way. It was a strange thing to think about.

More than that, though, her youthful determination was a result of the anger she had felt over the death of her uncle Finn. The ferocity displayed in her eyes, and so well captured by Hiccup's skilled hand, was a desire for vengeance. She had, at that age, wanted to hack dragons to pieces. She wanted to watch them bleed and die for the injuries they had done to her and her village. They were an evil threat to be destroyed.

Except that Stormfly was not evil. Neither was Toothless, probably, though Astrid had never met the dragon. Not all dragons were evil, in fact most of them probably weren't. While that was a revelation which would benefit everyone in the end, it meant that what Hiccup had captured so accurately was actually her blindness and stupidity, and an attitude she knew she would look back on with shame. Not only had he captured it, he had idolized it. Yet when the time had arrived for him to act the way she would have, when he had a dragon at his mercy, he had done a better thing than she would have.

She heard someone knocking at the door downstairs and set the sketch back on the writing desk. Iona's cheerful greeting pierced the wooden walls, though Astrid couldn't make out any words. She walked to the door and headed down the stairs. The cook had indeed arrived with two steaming bowls of salmon stew. Stoick was relieving her of her burden and ushering her inside.

Iona's face lit up when she saw Astrid coming down the stairs. "Oh, Thor! When you said Stoick was considering his options, I never imagined this! Astrid Haddock, Berk's Warrior Heir! This is amazing! This is great!"

Astrid exchanged a glance with Stoick. The man might have been smiling beneath his beard, but she couldn't tell. She said, "I wish everyone was as happy about it as you are, Iona."

"Most people are! You should have heard the gossip tonight!" Iona's face fell. "What have the Jorgensons said to you?"

"They've been nothing but polite." Stoick informed her.

Remembering well Fishlegs' warning, Astrid said, "A far better question is what have they been saying to you?"

Stoick nodded in agreement.

"Not much." Iona replied. "They talk to Styr, mostly. I'm just background, but I think they're still absorbing it. Snotlout was swearing at a blue streak though. He turned beet red."

"We're not trying to cause trouble between clans, Iona." Stoick said.

"I know. I think a lot of us understand that. Even Jorgenson allies, but they have a lot on the line with Snotlout. I don't think they'll give up easily."

"I know." Said Astrid.

The three of them fell into a moment of awkward silence. Stoick turned away to place the bowls on the table. He crossed to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out two sets of cutlery and a few cups. A large jug of ale was produced, and the drink was poured.

As he worked in the background, Iona took a few steps over to Astrid and shook her hand eagerly. "Anyway congratulations, Astrid. I know you'll do us proud."

"Thank you." Astrid smiled at her.

"What are you planning to do as chief?" Iona asked.

"End the war."

Iona raised her eyebrows. "Wow. That's a tall order."

"Not when you know how to do it. Have a good night Iona."

"You too." Iona nodded to herself, and left without another word.

Dinner was eaten in silence. The soup was delicious, though the bread was a little stale. Stoick finished his bowl first, and sat watching her across the table.

"Tomorrow is going to be a long day, Astrid." He said.

"I know." Astrid broke apart another slice of bread and dipped it into the stew.

"There's going to be a lot of people stopping by. A lot of people shaking hands. Perhaps a few gifts."

"I know. I'll get a good night's sleep."

"And what about this plan of yours. Ending the war and all that." Stoick studied her. "I assume you mean this plan to find the nest."

"We already know where it is, we just have to get to it." Astrid explained confidently. "While I was making my way back to Berk, I saw something in Breakneck Bog. A type of dragon."

"There are many types of dragons."

"This kind steals metal. Pots, pans, plows, rakes, forks, knives, Axes, shields… they also breathe smoke out of their mouths."

"The same kind which attacked us in the fog, then, eh?"

She nodded, dipping the bread and chewing on it as respectfully as she could. Stoick stroked his beard, deep in thought.

"The beasts are after the metal, not us." Astrid explained. "If we cover up our weapons, hide them in the chests, they'll ignore us."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be."

"Fat lot of good that does us when a Monstrous Nightmare burns us to pieces."

"We can ward off larger dragons by hanging eels from the rigging."

"Eels?" to his credit Stoick didn't laugh at her the way Bard had, but in his voice she heard the same scepticism.

"Dragons hate them."

"And you came by this information how?"

"It's right in the book of dragons, sir. We use this information. We get to the nest. We throw everything we have into battle. For better or worse, the war ends. We take them or they take us. Our own little Ragnarok."

Stoick sighed. "There's nothing I would love more than to end this war, and see the beasts dead or driven from these islands. But I am not going to be able to rally Berk around another assault on the nest. Not when the last one went so poorly. Especially not if I tell them to hide their weapons and hang eels from the rigging. Whether it works or not, it sounds insane, and that's enough to dissuade most people."

"I have my own support." Astrid said, "Perhaps together…"

She trailed off. Stoick was shaking his head. "I can't see it being done, Astrid. Not without a hefty threat of some kind. Or if we had the Jorgenson's support. All three of us together might get this clan moving, but I doubt we'll see that."

"It's worth thinking about, sir."

"I agree."

They both retired soon after dinner, though Astrid regaled him with a few entertaining stories about teaching in the kill ring. The bed upstairs was soft, and far more comfortable after Astrid changed the straw, and the moth-eaten sheets. Though it was too short, being made for a boy of Hiccup's size, and she found that her feet poked out the bottom whenever she stretched her legs to their full length. She settled back regardless and blew out the candle she had carried upstairs with her. Bed length was the least of her problems.

She lay in the darkness for a long time, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, and thinking about Hiccup Haddock. She wondered if he was still alive, and what he looked like. Short and spindly, probably, with chubby cheeks and nobbly knees. She wondered what had become of his night fury, and where on earth the two of them had found another home. She wondered whether or not he was still making sketches of the sort which had caused her so much trouble.

Firelight from the hearth flickered through cracks in the walls, and when she sat up in bed, she could see Stoick's bulk moving about in the room below. The man shuffled to the kitchen and poured himself another mug of ale. He crossed the room and gently took Hiccup's tiny horned helmet off the hook. Stoick sat down on a chair by the flickering fire, and stared down at his son's helmet, deep in thought.

Did it even matter what had happened to Hiccup in the end? Perhaps one of the archipelago's long winters had killed him, and his night fury. Fishlegs was right; she had sworn her love to a ghost, but it mattered deeply to Stoick. Living with him had been easy tonight, but she wondered and dreaded the day the subject of Hiccup Haddock would come up in conversation.

The day she would have to support her terrible lie, and expand upon it.

The following day occurred exactly as Stoick had predicted. Starting very early in the morning every clan in Berk big and small, weak and powerful, fishermen and farmers, all came to offer their congratulations to her. Most looked overjoyed at the idea of Astrid as heir. A few, like the Ingermans, maintained a very formal, neutral air.

"I like that clan." Stoick told her, as they caught a moment's break. "They don't get involved in Politics. Just simple living. A good clan, the Ingermans. A good clan."

The Thorstons showed, giving Astrid fine green cloth to fashion new clothes from. She had to admit, she was looking forward to wearing something which was threadbare and passed down from one of her cousins.

Even Gobber made a showing. He never said a word to Stoick the entire time he was there, but he treated Astrid with kindness enough "I've go' no gift righ' now, but I've a shield on the way." He told her. "It'll go well with yer axe."

"Thanks, Gobber."

"Maybe some new shoulder pads too. Those are looking a little small on you." The smith said, eyeing her up. He was absolutely right. He said, "Come by the smithy, and I'll size you up."

Next came the Barrasons and the Finnasons, both of them bearing gifts of one kind or another.

Astrid's class came all together, dressed in their battle armour. Stoick left his post at Astrid's side for time in order to watch them spar, and teach them what he knew. The sounds of children's laughter, and the chief's booming voice carried throughout most of the afternoon.

It was early evening when the hammer fell.

The Jorgensons came to visit, carrying spices, several rare treasures, and a black bear pelt. The clan's representatives were the two Jorgensons whom Astrid wanted to see the least: Spitelout and Snotlout.

Snotlout offered the fur to Stoick, while Spitelout spoke to Astrid, shaking her hand. "I want to offer my congratulations to you. You've done very well for yourself, and this bodes well for our future."

"Thank you for the gift and your congratulations." Astrid said mechanically. "But I'm afraid it's been a long day, and-"

"Before we leave, we were wondering if we might discuss business with Stoick." Spitelout said, cutting her off. "I'm overjoyed at your success, but the island doesn't run itself." He gave Stoick a glance. "Does it, Brother?"

"No." Stoick studied him suspiciously. "Astrid's right. It has been a long day. Come in, then and speak your piece."

Astrid's heart sank as Stoick led them inside and showed them to the table. Snotlout gave her a leering wink as he passed, and she resisted the urge to plant her axe in his skull.

"Astrid, could you pour some ale, please." Stoick asked.

She crossed to the cupboard he had shown her the night before and pulled out three glasses.

"Are you not joining us, Astrid?" Spitelout asked from his seat. "This certainly concerns you."

Her heart sank further, but she dutifully pulled out a fourth glass and planted them on the table, sliding each one across- Snotlout's cup whipping across the surface considerably harder than necessary- to Stoick and his guests. She fetched a bottle of mead and poured Stoick a glass, then planted it on the table for Spitelout and Snotlout to help themselves, which Spitelout did, stepping easily over the insult. He poured her a glass as well, though she didn't touch it.

"I wish to be straight with you, Astrid, Stoick. I've come with a marriage proposal." Spitelout said.

"No." Astrid said immediately.

"Barely a day has passed, Spitelout." Stoick said angrily. "Can you not give us a moment's peace?"

"A moments peace is not a privilege chieftains can afford, isn't that right, brother?"

"I'm not marrying Snotlout, so you can pack up your gifts and go home!"

"I'm going to attribute that very grave insult to your exhaustion, young Astrid." Spitelout said fairly. "Any heir the chief chose personally would carry herself with more dignity than that."

"I'm not marrying your son." She growled.

"You may not like it now Astrid," Snoutlout leaned back confidently, "But the moment you get a taste of the Snotman, you won't be able to help yourself."

"Snotlout, my knife will enter your throat before your cock gets anywhere near my-"

"Can we… put aside our interpersonal… difficulties for a moment?" Spitelout interrupted. He leaned forward. "Let us cut to the quick of it. Astrid, you're a Haddock now. The Haddocks have the most wealth on the island. You have the most sheep, and most of the island works your farms, but Berk itself is a fishing village, and the Jorgensons own the boats. I know you have some reservations, but a marriage will solidify the Haddock clan's power over the island and grant your rule legitimacy."

"My own competence will be all the legitimacy I need." She shot back.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Spitelout said. "The Jorgensons have always been generous with our boats. We've kept the fees generously low, knowing we had the trust and cooperation of the ruling clan. But if we're no longer allied…"

"Let's not get carried away, Spitelout. We'll figure out a compromise." Stoick responded. Astrid turned and glared at him.

"You haven't taught her the economics, have you?" Spitelout tutted. "Shall I give you a lesson, young Astrid? The Jorgenson clan owns the shipyards and the docks. We build Berk's boats, and we rent them out to lesser fishing clans for a reasonable sum. But if we aren't going to be treated favourably by the ruling clan, then we're going to have to do what we can to protect our own interests."

"By charging Berk's fishermen through the nose." Stoick finished.

"It would be terrible if some of them couldn't keep up with payments. They'd end up being permanently indebted to us as much as you. Subject to our interests and obliged to follow our instructions…"

"Well first of all, you just proved that your clan has absolutely no honour whatsoever if you're holding the entire Hooligan tribe hostage to a marriage." Astrid began. "Secondly, we'd stop you."

Spitelout smiled. "How, exactly? You can help them by paying us from your own funds for a time, but eventually you're going to have to raise taxes on the farmers to make up the costs of the fisherman doing business. You'll have to or the Haddock clan will go bankrupt, and then you'll lose all of your political clout, and we'll own the island anyway. And if you don't, then the Fisherman are paying too much, the farmers are paying too much, and where is your competency, Astrid? How far has it gotten you?"

"Careful of your tongue Spitelout." Stoick warned, laying his hands on the table. "It wanders very far from the protection of your closed mouth."

"Do you threaten this every time a negotiation doesn't go your way?" Astrid asked.

"We should!" Snotlout said. "Teach everyone exactly who's in char- Ow! Dad! What was that for?"

Spitelout lowered his hand and said, "For being a fool, Snotlout." He addressed Astrid. "Every time? No. The island wouldn't stand for it, and the last thing we need are Berkians drawing each other's blood. Especially with the dragon raids. We only do this for things which we really, really value. Like succession."

Stoick said, "I adopted Astrid for two reasons. One, because I needed an heir."

"You have an heir."

"No, you have an heir. Snotlout is yours, not mine, brother."

"Don't talk about me like I'm some piece of meat!" Snotlout snapped, looking terribly offended. Without a trace of irony in his voice, he added, "We're here to buy Astrid, remember?"

"My first wedding gift will be Nadder venom in your wine." Astrid said cheerfully. "On our wedding day. From me to you, Snotlout. From me to you."

"Perhaps I wasn't being clear enough." Spitelout told Stoick, ignoring both of them, "Stoick, you had a Jorgenson heir. My sister Valka was a Jorgenson. Hiccup was a Jorgenson in everything but name. We had the throne. But now young Hiccup's gone, and leadership of the tribe belongs to …a Hofferson?"

"Excuse me?" Astrid glared at him.

"Astrid will be a Haddock now, and-"

"Not by blood!"

Stoick continued patiently, "…And Hiccup would have married her anyway. The two were very close."

"And you didn't even know that until a few days ago."

Stoick took a single breath to calm himself and said, "It would have happened regardless."

Spitelout agreed. "You're right. Expect that poor Hiccup passed away."

"You don't sound particularly upset by that." Astrid observed coldly.

"I showed more grief at his funeral than you did." Spitelout replied evenly. "Strange, that."

"What exactly are you implying?" She glared at him, and he responded with a blank look.

He said, "Absolutely nothing. But you were going to marry a Jorgenson. All we're asking is that you don't change your plans, Astrid. I know my son can be difficult, but if you marry him, you'll still be in charge."

"Until I'm with child or Stoick's gone." Astrid snarled. "Don't think for a second you'll fool me with that kind of yakshit."

"Just be reasonable. Think it through. We can both do so much to make eachother's lives easier."

"Right now, you're making my life very difficult." Astrid said flatly. "Understand this: I will marry whomever I wish to, when I wish to. Not before. But I can promise you: It will not be Snotlout."

Spitelout leaned back in his chair and knitted his fingers together. He gave her a chilling smile and said, "We hear you're planning another raid, Astrid."

"I…" Astrid hesitated, glancing at Stoick. "I know how to get to the Nest. I can end this once and for all."

"But your solution…" Spitelout tutted. "Eels hanging from the rigging? Hiding our weapons? It's all a little…"

"Crazy." Astrid said. "Go ahead and say it, you bastard."

"I was going to say difficult to understand." Spitelout said delicately. He smiled at her. "Oh, I believe you. Of course I do. You're Astrid Hofferson. You don't lie. But other Vikings... you know how stubborn this village is. They aren't open to new ideas. One needs leverage."

"Just spit it out! Say what you're going to say! I'm out of patience." Astrid snapped.

"We can apply pressure, Astrid. You say you know how to end this war, but another trip to the nest is not going to be a popular move. Especially after the last one. No offense, Stoick."

"You're a snake, Spitelout."

"Astrid, the Jorgenson Clan can provide the power you need to take Berk there. We can provide the ships, and the men. But most importantly, we can provide the motivation for another fight. The attitude. You can end this war. Bring Berk into a new era. We'll help in any way we can. We want this too, and there's only one thing we need from you."

Astrid glared at him, and then at Snotlout.

"What is Berk's future worth?" Spitelout inquired.

"I…need to think." She stood up, tripping over her chair and stumbling out the door. The sun was shining, but the air was bitter and cold, gnawing at her joints, and burning her cheeks. She stared out across Berk towards the open sea. She briefly considered trying to find Fishlegs for advice, but knew the Jorgensons wouldn't wait that long for an answer. Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She fumbled her axe off of her back and gripped it tightly in her hands, wringing the shaft as she searched desperately for a way to make it work.

No way out… no way out… no way out…

She heard the crack, and felt the shock run up her arms. Her axe handle had snapped; twisted and splintered beyond use. She stared down at the broken weapon which hung limply from her grasp, and began to cry. It was the third time in her life she could remember crying.

It was another five minutes before she re-joined them. Spitelout, Snotlout, and Stoick were still sitting around the table when she marched back inside, holding her head high despite her puffy red eyes.

"Five years." She barked, tossing her broken axe onto the table. "I get five years as heir. As a free woman. No contracts. I'm not betrothed. I'm not promised. There's no fucking scythe hanging over my neck." She pointed to Spitelout and Snotlout. "I have your loyalty. And yours as well. The Jorgenson clan and your allies back me up. Starting with planning an assault on the Nest."

Spitelout laughed. "Five years? Try one year."

"Four."

"Two years."

"Just face it, Astrid. Even you won't be able to stay away that long. Not from the Snotman." Snotlout said

She planted her knuckles on the table. "On my wedding night, when you're in me, I'll be thinking of dogs and pigs and horses and tree branches because anything would be preferable to being in bed with you, Snotlout. Because that's how much I fucking hate you!"

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, Spitelout's smug look faded, recognizing the young woman's very real emotional anguish; it wasn't just about politics. Not for her.

"Three years." He said, taking pity. "Three years as a free woman. And then you marry my son. I'll try to teach him to smarten up and treat you right in the meantime."

"Hey!" Snotlout exclaimed indignantly.

Astrid stepped back, breathing heavily. "Three years. Fine. Just fine. I am a free woman."

"Chief," Spitelout said, "Is this acceptable to you?"

"Very little of what you've done here today is acceptable to me, Spitelout. But ultimately, it's Astrid's choice." Stoick turned to her. "This will get you what you want."

"Sir, Berk is falling apart. This might be our last chance, our only chance, to end the war." She stared down at her broken axe. "I'm willing to die for that. I suppose I should be willing to get married too."

"This is nothing personal, Astrid." Spitelout explained. "It isn't you we want."

"Speak for yourself." Snotlout added. His father cuffed him across the back of the head. "The Jorgenson clan is one of the founding clans of Berk, alongside the Thorstons, the Ingermans, the Hoffersons, and the Haddocks. We just want to insure that no matter what the future brings, our assets are secure. And I'm still worried by this agreement. Three years as a free woman, you could marry any number of other bachelors."

"But she won't." Snotlout said. "She doesn't understand the incredible gift she's been given yet, but you will, Astrid. Don't worry."

Astrid ignored him, but her fists clenched hard enough to turn the knuckles white. She said, "I think we both know you're going to shake down every eligible man on the island. There will be no suitors."

Spitelout smiled. "You learn fast, Astrid. Now, tell me about this raid you're planning, and the Jorgensons will see it done. You'll discover what kind of allies we can be."

Those of you who are confused, disappointed or pissed off about what just happened at the end of this chapter, please be patient. Trust me. I don't pull this sort of stunt without a plan.

Most of the negotiation scene was written in consultation with Midoriko-Sama! So I want to thank her for everything. Please go give her stories a look. She recently posted a short story about an older Astrid telling her child a bedtime story. It belongs to the 'Wild Hearts' A.K.A. Feral!Hiccup AU, but It works regardless, and like all of her stories, it is more than worth the time to go read.

I know Alexandria is done with, but a reviewer named 'fate of the agarwaen' very kindly composed a list which covers most of the historical inaccuracies or misrepresentations which appeared in the Alexandria segment of this story. I've asked his permission to post them here.

My story takes place at approximately 815AD. Many of the events on this list occurred earlier or later in history, but they do an excellent job of explaining what actually happened to Alexandria, and the state of the world at this period in History.

Plenty of the historical deviations in this story are mistakes (the vast majority, in point of fact), a few stem from assumptions I was forced to make because I did not have sufficient data to portray the events more accurately. A few, such as the currency, have been warped, altered, ignored, or condensed for the sake of plot convenience and character growth.

Where I knew I was deviating I tried my best to keep everyone informed, but I am an amateur historian, and an historian only in the loosest sense of the term. The reason I chose to include all of that history in the first place was because I wanted to share the passion I so recently found with other people.

More than that, I felt that Hiccup needed a place to grow and nurture the skills and mindset which had made him such an outcast on Berk. I felt that there was no better place in all of ancient History for him to experience this, certainly none more iconic, than Alexandria.

Anywho I've rambled enough. Here's the list, edited a little to better compare what you just read in the story with reality:

First of all, it was not the Umayyad Caliphate who conquered Alexandria - and, by extension, Egypt. Egypt and Alexandria fell about thirty years before the first Umayyad Caliph took the reigns of power; the Caliph then was the Arab empire's second one, Omar.

In addition, the Saracens/Muslims/Arabs didn't start minting their own currency until about seventy years or so after they conquered Egypt.

The First Crusade took place around the fifth century of the Islamic domination (1096-1099) - by which time the Umayyad Caliphate had fallen, as had its successor, the Abbasid Caliphate. The battles spoken of in this story were actually the Arab expansion up the Iberian Peninsula (Spain), which they took in the late eighth century and held for a very long time. They built the Alhambra in this era.

The Byzantine Emperor at the time of the Arab conquest of Egypt, when Alexandria actually fell, and a few centuries before this story takes place, was Heraclius.

Although it seems very odd nowadays, the early Islamic empires were very much pro-science, pro-learning. Yes, the Greeks were the first to propose the mathematical proof for the world being round (and Eratosthenes performed his own startlingly accurate calculation), but the Arabs later found and refined the formula themselves, and calculated the earth's circumference to within a few hundred miles. The basic fact is that almost all of what we know of Ancient Greek science came back to Mediaeval Europe from the Middle East.

They scooped up, translated, studied and expanded on what the ancient Greeks and Romans learned. Then those translations got filtered back into Europe and there we go. Avicenna, Alhazen, these famous names of Mediaeval European learning? They're Muslim names, latinized.

I'll admit I have done the scientific Muslim world of that time, and people like Al-Haytham (Alhazen) a bit of a disservice in this story. It is very likely much of what was kept in the Library would have been saved and studied, though scholars argue as to whether the cultural pieces (plays and histories and such) would have been saved from the fire. Certainly the pure, objective mathematical and scientific studies would have survived a purge. The Muslim society was curious, progressive, and generally speaking far more tolerant of other peoples and religions than the Christian societies of the same period.

I could have done more, I suppose, but to show the library surviving would have taken all the tension out of the plot, especially considering that that segment was about the death of a civilisation.

In actuality there were plenty of fires in Alexandria. Plenty of wars. But what probably happened to the library was that its collection rotted away because not enough people cared to maintain it. When scrolls were tossed in lieu of books, much of the collection didn't make it into the new medium, and the million scrolls with so much worldly knowledge rotted to dust in the library basement. Far less dramatic than blood and flames, eh?

There's an excellent BBC podcast called In Our Time. One of the episodes is about the rise and fall of the great Library of Alexandria. Anyone who is interested in the truth should go give it a listen.

Anywho that's all for now, folks. Next chapter the game changes.