Prodigal Son 29
The sky had grown into a wondrous kaleidoscope of oranges and purples by the time Astrid slipped back into the village. She headed for the Hofferson Hall out of habit, and then remembered that she did not belong to that clan anymore. Guilt flooded her as she remembered the way she had simply walked out on her mother. It was a first in their relationship, but Astrid had realized she just couldn't handle it.
She desperately wanted to tell her mother everything. All of her secrets about Hiccup and Stormfly and the sketch. The real reasons things had played out the way they did, but it was too risky. Brunhilda could keep small secrets, Astrid knew, things like how she had managed to get her clothes so dirty, or the times she had disobeyed her father's sometimes strict rules and gone out to help during the raids.
However this was different. The secrets Astrid carried were going to change Berk. Tear it apart and rebuild it piece by piece, and it had to be done. The Hoffersons were by nature hard workers, tough fighters, and loyal subjects. No matter how much she wanted to, Astrid simply couldn't trust anyone in her family with the knowledge that Berk's lost heir was riding a Night Fury around the isles. There was too much at stake.
Then there was the marriage to Snotlout. Astrid had managed to avoid him, thus far, but she knew eventually she would have to confront that reality. Brunhilda more than almost anyone else understood the level of Astrid's distaste for the man-child. Astrid knew that if she revealed the way the Jorgensons had blackmailed her, the Hoffersons would take it public and declare a feud. Either with the Jorgensons, or with Stoick.
Technically not much could come of it, because Stoick owned her, and could marry her off as he saw fit, but there was Viking Law, and there were Viking Morals. Where one was sure to fail, an appeal to the other might make progress. The Jorgensons were far from popular, but it was an extra layer of trouble which Hiccup couldn't afford. Not if he was going to put Berk on dragonback. She realized she was starting to think like Fishlegs, and slapped herself gently upside the head.
She paused outside the Hofferson door, arm outstretched and ready to knock. She wanted to apologize at least. She was just about to knock when the door opened, revealing Brunhilda Hofferson, silhouetted against the flickering orange flames in the pit behind her.
The smell of roasting boar flooded out onto the dirt path, making Astrid's mouth water. She could hear her cousins and sisters talking and laughing, gathered around the warm hearth.
Brunhilda was carrying a bucket with her, and upon seeing her daughter, she immediately set it down. "Astrid!"
"Hi mum." Astrid shifted uncomfortably. "I just wanted to say sorry. I shouldn't have walked out like that. It was rude."
Brunhilda embraced her again, and this time Astrid responded wholeheartedly.
"I wish I knew what was wrong, Astrid." Her mother murmured. "You've managed to be at the center of all Berk's trouble for a month now. You're not acting like yourself, running off into the woods for hours and hours, saying you loved the Haddock boy. It nearly killed me when you sailed off the first time and didn't come back. And earlier today you said Berk was finished. I've never heard you say anything like that before. That's not the Astrid I know. What's going on?"
"I… I can't tell you, mum. I'm sorry. I need to figure this one out on my own."
Brunhilda crossed her arms and gave her daughter a concerned examination, searching her face for some hint, or clue. "Alright," she said, "Just… remember we love you, Astrid. And if you ever need anything, we're here."
"I know. Thanks mum."
Brunhilda smirked. "Now you head back to that old badger and let him know of my displeasure; a Nadder nearly ate you, by all accounts."
"Ha. Yes ma'am." Astrid threw out a playful salute, which Brunhilda returned, before emptying her bucket and stepping back inside.
Haddock Hall was warm and comfortable. A merry fire was burning in the hearth, and a pot of stew was boiling over it. It did not smell as good as Brunhilda's cooking, but Astrid was so hungry it hardly mattered.
Stoick was seated at the table, tearing bites off a loaf of bread. He looked quite cheerful. "Hello Astrid. Welcome back."
"Thank you, sir."
"Stoick will do." He said genially. He motioned at the chair opposite him. A bowl and a plate had been set there.
"We were so close, Astrid!" he exclaimed excitedly as she took a seat. "So bloody close! Using the dragon's own fears against them? Hah! Brilliant! I've ordered that live eels be captured so that we can hang them from the storehouse roof during raids."
"I'm sure that'll keep some of the dragons away, sir." Astrid agreed loyally.
"Mmhmm! Mmhmm! What do you think of Fishlegs?" Stoick asked in a more businesslike tone.
Cagey? Snake-like? Scheming? Conniving? Astrid settled on "Smart."
"I thought so too. Never gave him much credit. I mean, what use is poetry? It won't kill dragons and it won't protect the village. But the man has a brain in his head. He was supportive all through the meeting today. I'm thinking of grooming him for a position of some sort."
Astrid hesitated. "I should have been at the meeting today, sir. I'm sorry-"
Stoick waved a dismissive hand, chewing quickly to swallow a bite of food. "Don't trouble yourself, lass." He laughed and settled back in his chair, more at ease than Astrid had ever seen him. "You've already done more than I could have ever hoped!"
"Thank you. You seem in a good mood." Astrid said, not sure whether to feel more surprised or amused. Bubbly was a word she would never ever have used to describe Stoick the Vast, but now it seemed to be the only word that fit.
"More alive than I've felt in years." Stoick admitted freely. "We reached the nest, Astrid! The end is in sight! After three hundred years of war! Look!" He reached under the table to the vacant chair and produced a stack of papers. With a shock, Astrid realized they were some of Hiccup's old sketches.
"I was going to send sailors out to contact the Rus, and search the world for war machines, but then Fishlegs said we had them here at home, and it got me looking through Hiccup's doodles." Stoick stopped suddenly, staring down at them as a wave of grief swept through him. He ran a hand down his beard and let out a long breath.
"I'm glad, sir." Astrid said quietly. When Hiccup died, Stoick had been left with an enormous gaping hole in his life. His pain was obvious to absolutely everyone on the island. None of them respected him any less, but they all watched the best parts of his personality faded, to be replaced by gruffness and ill-humor.
"Yes… well…" Stoick shifted awkwardly in his seat. "It wasn't easy. I know Hiccup was not exactly the warrior I wanted, but he had a certain talent. I mean… look at this!"
Stick passed Astrid a sketch. It was a carefully labeled siege engine. An enormous crossbow powered by winding ropes and winches. The mechanics made Astrid's head spin, but its end purpose was quite clear.
"It's a cart-mounted crossbow." Stoick said, an eager, dangerous light shining in his eyes, "It can fire an entire bundle of arrows all at once. A brigade's worth of bowmen from one machine. And it only takes five men to operate! Imagine it, Astrid! Five or six of these mounted on longships, pointed at that great bloody hole we made. Remember the way those dragons came swarming out? Well next time: Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!" his fist banged the table. We'll pull most of them out of the sky before they know what hit them! Fire a few razorwire strands to slice up their wings. Then ten men could wade ashore and kill a hundred of the devils while they're dying on the beach!" He held up the page and examined it with a look of great pride. "Hiccup may be dead, but when we go back, he'll avenge himself! That's true poetry, Astrid. Not any of Fishlegs slop. That is the Poetry of Battle."
"A lot of dragons will die that way."
"Ha! You said that like it was a bad thing!"
Had she? Astrid made a mental note to keeping a tighter grip on her own impulsive mouth. Stoick lifted a mug to his lips and took a long deep draught of the mead within. He set it down and let out a satisfied sigh, staring happily at the sketches. An image exploded into her mind: Stormfly caught in a razorwire net, struggling to escape the pain, and in so doing shredding the very flesh from her own bones. Astrid felt sick.
"You know," Stoick said sadly, "I never really told Hiccup how proud I always was of him. I thought he knew, but…" he shook his head. "I've never been quite sure. That's the worst part of losing him. The bits I'm not sure about. The things I didn't say…" he looked back up at her. "Did he ever say anything to you?"
HE'S A MILE AWAY! Astrid wanted to scream it, YOU SAW HIM EARLIER TODAY AND NOW HE'S ON THE ISLAND! JUST PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR-
She bit her tongue for a moment, and centered herself, pushing the handsome auburn-haired dragon rider out of her mind with limited success. She tried to remember what she could of the little kid who had hated everything about his own people. "He… enjoyed that." She pointed at the sketches, "Drawing and working in the forge with Gobber. I think he… found ways to make himself proud."
Stoick nodded sadly. "Thank you, Astrid. You know… you would have been really good for him. A great influence. No more hunting for trolls. You would have made a man of him."
"Thank you, sir." She once again tried to banish the new Hiccup Haddock from her mind. Stoick was discussing the fourteen-year-old fishbone, not the twenty-two year old daredevil. It wouldn't do to confuse the two of them. All the same, perhaps it was time to bring up the Big Meeting.
"And what about the Dragon Rider?" she asked carefully. "He's coming back tomorrow."
"Ah, yes. What was his name?" Stoick responded thoughtfully. "Proma? Promee? Prah… I can't bloody well remember. Some foreign tripe."
"I can't remember his name either." Astrid admitted, and that much was absolutely true.
"No matter." Stoick shrugged, raising the mug to his lips. "When he lands, we'll give him a day to explain why he's a traitor to our entire species, then we'll plant an axe in his chest."
"No!" the word escaped before she could clamp her own mouth shut.
Stoick thumped the mug down on the table and fixed her with a suspicious look. "What is the matter with you today, Astrid?"
"He… He saved my life, sir! I owe him more than an axe blade." She said rapidly realizing that she'd have to commit. There was no backing off.
"He rides dragons, lass! He's no friend of ours!"
"We're not killing him! I owe him a blood debt! Every person on that expedition does!"
"Blood debt!" Stoick spat, "He rides the devils! I'm the chief, and blood debt or no if he's friends with the beasts that killed my son, if he's their master, I'll cut him down where he stands."
"I'll take it to Gothi!"
"I am the Chief!" Stoick thundered, red-faced and snarling. He slammed both fists onto the table with a thud that shook the cutlery.
"And I'm your heir!" Astrid challenged, "I'm looking out for Berk. You want to forswear a blood debt, and anger the gods? I bet they'll lead that Jotun's spawn straight back here as retribution! This is the second time I've escaped certain death. I'd be a fool to spit on their favor, and I'm not going to let you do it either!"
"What if he controls them, Astrid? What if all along it was him behind the attacks?"
"He's not!"
"How do you know?"
"I…" Astrid gaped, her mind racing to catch up with her tongue. "The only dragon I've seen actually cooperate with him is that night fury. That giant on the beach seemed bent on killing him, and the Nadder that carried me off was none too happy either." Gods above, lying was becoming far too easy.
"Shall we just open our doors and let a night fury wander into our village? Wait until it gobbles up a child before we decide it was a mistake?"
"You can't just lump things into two categories, sir. There might be middle ground here, that's all I'm saying."
"Middle ground!"
"Alright!" Astrid slapped the table, terrified and exhilarated at the same time, but she remembered her mother's advice: keep your head on your shoulders. "You want a bottom line? The Rider rides Dragons! Either he's a god or a man. If he's a god, then attacking him with an axe will end badly for us. If the Rider is a Man, then he's already trained that Night Fury not to eat people or it would have eaten him."
"Train a night fury?" Stoick demanded incredulously, "Would you listen to yourself, Astrid? You've gone mad!"
"What other explanation is there, sir?"
Stoick scoffed. "This entire conversation is absurd! I think I'll eat alone tonight."
They stared at each other, both red-faced and scowling. All traces of warmth and humor had vanished. Only once had she ever seen him this angry: six and a half years ago, right after his argument with Gobber. Stoick's fury was a terrible, oppressive force, and the very air inside the room felt toxic to breathe. Even so, Astrid was a Viking, determined and stubborn as an ox.
"Don't kill him." She said defiantly, "You'll anger the gods-"
"Any god who would weep at the death of a dragon rider, doesn't deserve our worship." Stoick replied angrily. "Now get out. This house is for true Vikings."
Astrid collapsed against the door of Haddock Hall, breathing heavily and trying to collect her scattered thoughts. Stoick's glare had hit her with the force of an axe blow, and with his declaration she realized she had effectively ended their relationship. It would be a long time before Stoick the Vast looked upon Astrid Hofferson with a friendly eye. If he ever did again. No wonder Fishlegs was always skulking in the shadows. Stoick met force with force, and there was no one on the island who could match him.
With a shock, she realized that she had lost an ally in her fight to avoid marrying Snotlout. In her fight to save Berk. She felt cast out, flapping freely in a cold, harsh wind. The Island, with its darkened doorways and shadowy streets looked foreboding and unwelcoming.
Where could she go? Not to Hofferson Hall. Astrid didn't think she could handle the shame of walking through that door at that moment. She fumbled blindly down the path, feeling lost and terribly alone.
On the far side of the island, she saw a light. The Forge was lit. smoke billowed from the chimney, rising up and away, silhouetted for a moment against the dwindling evening light on the very edge of the horizon before joining with the darkness of the night sky above.
It looked like salvation, and she headed towards it, tripping over unseen roots and rocks. As she neared the building, she could see Gobber moving about inside, his face grim and determined, focused on his craft.
She reached the forge's open doorway and leaned against the thick timber frame.
"Astrid. What are you doing up at this hour?" The smith spared her barely a glance, caught up in his work as he bustled from the forge to his workbench and back. A large chunk of metal was heating in the forge itself.
"I just had a fight with Stoick." She said, surprised at how plaintive her own voice sounded.
It took a moment for those words to sink into Gobber's busy head, but suddenly he was all concern, his work forgotten. He swept a pile of dirty rags off a tall stool and pulled her into the comforting heat of the forge, setting her down upon it. His voice was gentle and friendly, in complete contrast to his coal-blackened, bear-like appearance. "Wha' happened, lass?"
"Its…" Astrid stopped, unsure as to how much she could say. Argument or not, Stoick was still her chief, and she didn't want to disrespect him.
Gobber smiled sympathetically. "This isn't the first time someone's wandered from Haddock Hall down here to the forge, Astrid. Hiccup used to spend every second night here up until he disappeared. I'm well acquainted with Stoick's faults."
The Forge hissed and spattered, and Gobber paused a moment, hurrying back to check on whatever half-baked creation was cooking within it. He scooped up some coals from a pile nearby and mixed them into the heat. Being a blacksmith was hard work, and one's attention could never be one hundred percent off-task, but his absence gave Astrid a moment to ponder just how much her life had grown to resemble the younger Hiccup's last months on Berk.
"Alrigh'." Gobber pumped the bellows five or six times, and the heat seemed to increase tenfold as the cooler coals inside ignited. "Wha' happened?"
"You know I was saved by a dragon rider?"
"Aye. I know. The entire island knows the story. Strange days, eh?" The smith gave his bellows a few more solid pumps and pulled out the glowing hot chunk of metal, giving it a quick examination. "And he's comin' for a visi' tomorrow, I understand. Stoick'll give him a day. It was discussed at the meeting."
"Stoick plans to kill him in the end."
"Our illustrious leader can be a little boar-headed at times." Gobber said, stuffing the metal deeper into the hot coals. "I'm going ta assume yeh have a problem with his plan?"
"Yeah. I'm afraid it'll anger the gods." Not true, but a useful fiction. Gods… Astrid had spent far too much time around Fishlegs.
"Best take it to Gothi, then. She speaks for them." Gobber suggested, huffing as he pumped the bellows. The coals in his forge grew red hot, and a small flame danced along the edge of the glowing metal bar within. "She might be the only person on this island he still fears. And the only person who doesn't fear him."
"He said that Gods who would worry about him killing a dragon rider don't deserve our worship."
"Heh heh heh! What a load'a hot air. These'd be the same gods who've kept you alive then, eh?" Gobber laughed, and the sound was as comforting his forge's glow in the darkness. "Yer not one of Loki's creatures, Astrid. Yer a daughter of Thor, and Stoick might bluster but he would'na dare spite the God of Thunder. Take it to Gothi and she'll put the fear back into him."
Astrid felt considerably more cheerful at this pronouncement. She had felt so rudderless, wandering down to the forge, but her feet were once again on solid ground. "Gobber… I appreciate it, but we weren't exactly on good terms before. Why are you being so friendly?"
The smith shrugged. "Because I've been on the wrong end of Stoick's stubborn mouth meself once or twice. Because I don't want tha' boulder-brained yak to rule this island without someone around to second-guess him. Because wha' he done to yeh tonight, he done the same to Hiccup far too bloody often. And because if Hiccup were here now, lie or not I'd never hear the end of it if I did'na help yeh." He shot Astrid a smile. "I'd do damned near anything for tha' lad, and he'd forgive yeh anything. Now, you run off to Gothi, and tomorrow the old hag'll set Stoick straight and proper for yeh."
"Old hag?" Astrid exclaimed, horrified, "You can't call her that!"
"I can and I will!" the smith shot back, playfully defiant. "Every week she gives me some witch brew ta keep my stumps from achin', and I've never tasted a fouler drink in my whole life. She's a terrible hag and the best, smartest damned woman on the island. Now you go off to her, and when yeh come back I'll set yeh up in the back of the forge. Kept a cot there from Hiccup's days. It's as god a bed as any."
Gothi's hut was built on stilts at the edge of a high, windy cliff outside Berk's defenses. Yet despite the wind, it had never fallen over, and despite the dragon raids, it had never been burned. That alone was enough to convince most of Berk of Gothi's divine connections.
Gothi was a mystery to most Berkians. A figure shrouded in myth and fable. She presided over Berk's most important religious and social events, yet kept herself to herself. She was Berk's healer, and as such, was in high demand, with an entire hierarchy of pupils to help her deal with the scrapes, burns, and other wounds Berkians sustained on a regular basis.
As a young child, Astrid remembered playing with her friends (most of whom had died over a series of brutal raids), daring them to climb the staircase up to Gothi's hut. None of them had made it, of course. They all lost their nerve after a short way up the long, winding staircase. Stories circulated forever about the horrible things Gothi did to misbehaving children.
As an adult, Astrid had never required the Gothi's services. She had never been seriously wounded, and while she believed in the Gods, she was not as diligent a worshipper as some on the island. Astrid believed firmly that the best way to honor Thor and Odin was to train and fight, as she had sworn to do at the holy temple of Uppsala, all those years ago. She was a guardian, and why sacrifice goats and pigs and sheep and yaks when every drop of dragon blood could be spilled in Odin's name.
As she climbed through the darkness, up the rickety stairs, Astrid realized that this was the first time she had ever sought Gothi out. It was a slow climb. Night had fallen and despite the brightness of the stars above her head, Astrid still had to feel out every treacherous step. She paused at the top, wondering if it was rude to knock at this time of the evening, but she remembered that Hiccup's life was at stake, and pounded on the door.
It opened a moment later with a loud creak. Gothi was standing in the doorway using her staff for support. She looked slightly put out as she glared up at Astrid. Her shoulders were hunched and wizened with age, and her face was as wrinkly as a tortoise. Yet her eyes were as deeply intelligent as an owl's, and as sharp as a hawk's.
Astrid fell to one knee immediately, head bowed. "Gothi, forgive me for waking you, but I seek your counsel."
She heard the clack of the Gothi's staff hitting her wooden deck, and the rattling of the dried, seed-filled pods she hung from it. When she shook her staff, it sounded like rain, Astrid knew. She felt gnarled fingers wrap themselves in her hair, and Gothi pulled her head up to stare searchingly into her eyes. The witch's hawkish brows furrowed as she turned Astrid's head to and fro, examining her from all angles. At last she let go and stepped back, clacking her staff twice on her deck and pointing into her hut, prompting her visitor inside.
Astrid obeyed, rising to her feet and stepped across the stoop as modestly as she could. Gothi's hut was a rickety place, yet quite cozy on the inside. There was not much floor space, but the ceiling was high and every wall was covered in shelves full of herbs and salts and other potion ingredients. A few candles provided a meager light.
Gothi shuffled in behind her and shut the door.
At the center of the room was a wide pit, filled with a thin layer of sand. Gothi directed her to take a seat at one side, tapping the floor insistently until Astrid lowered herself to her knees. The old witch pulled up a low stool and took a seat on the opposite side of the pit. She reached out with her staff and traced a rune into the sand between them.
Speak! It read.
"Wise Gothi, a visitor is coming to Berk tomorrow."
The witch nodded expectantly and drew a stickman atop a dragon, moving her staff with surprising grace and precision considering her age and outward frailness. She gave her drawing a slight smile and looked up at Astrid.
"You already know about him?"
Gothi nodded.
"Then you know he saved my life in the heat of battle and delivered me back to the fleet. I owe him a blood debt."
She nodded again.
"I thought so…" Astrid let out a long breath. She owed Hiccup Haddock, Berk's talking fishbone a blood debt. How the world turned… And he wasn't exactly a fishbone anymore. She said, "Stoick wants to kill him."
Gothi rolled her eyes.
"Yeah. I guess that's not exactly surprising news…" Astrid muttered. "It's very …Stoick."
Gothi nodded, a hint of amusement twinkling in her eye. Astrid suddenly felt far more at ease, wondering why she had been so terrified of speaking with the witch when she was younger.
"I owe the Rider a blood debt, Gothi. I cannot let him die. I'd have no honor, and it would anger the gods, but I cannot fight my chief! Gothi, help me. I need a third option."
Gothi stared down quizzically at the stickman in her sketch. She looked back up at Astrid and tilted her head to the side, giving her a thorough examination. Her hawk eyes bored right into Astrid's soul and she felt as though her secrets were being extracted and dissected one by one. Everything from her taking the extra slice of bread when she was five, to the image of Berk's sweat-soaked, auburn-haired heir, relaxing against his night fury. She wondered if Gothi already knew Hiccup's true identity, and his plans for the village. Had the Gods told her yet?
"Gothi, if the gods speak to you, then you know how important this is that he survive. I can't stop Stoick, and Gobber said you'd help me. Please."
Satisfied, Gothi blinked and looked back down at the sand pit. Astrid felt like a trout have just been released and tossed back into the river. The witch traced out a set of scales beside the drawing of the stick figure.
"Balance? You want a trade?" Astrid asked.
She nodded.
"What can I do?"
Gothi circled the stick-man in her drawing of the dragon rider, and tapped the floor beside her sand pit.
"Bring him here?"
She nodded one last time and pointed at the door.
"I will, Gothi. Thank you for your wise council." Astrid rose to her feet and bowed at the older woman. She strode towards the door, but as she reached the threshold, her steps faltered and she turned back. "Do you already know who he is, Gothi?"
The old woman's wrinkled face was completely unreadable.
"He's proof that we can train dragons. Everything we know is wrong. Berk will come apart at the seams."
Still Gothi remained immobile, but the flickering candlelight granted her stare an ethereal, uncomfortable quality. Astrid found herself babbling, all of her fears and worries rising up and bubbling out in one great outburst. "We're Vikings through and through, but that's not enough to beat that monster at the Nest. I want what's best for my tribe, but I don't want to lose everything we value in the process. Hic- I mean, the Rider laughed it off, but I don't know what to do. How do I know what's right?"
The Gothi sat in silence for a long time, watching Astrid, who didn't have the strength left to look away. She had nearly slipped up. Gods… this was why people feared talking to the Gothi; her silence prompted others to talk as they tried to fill the void. A Viking could spill her guts in seconds. Every secret she had laid bare. It was downright dangerous.
Eventually the older woman looked away. She put her hand over her mouth and stared blankly into space, her hawkish brow furrowed. She motioned Astrid over with one craggy finger, and brushed the sand around in her pit, wiping out the previous tracings. When the pit was clear, she began to write, brushing new blocky runes into the sand:
Figure out what you can't live with. Do the opposite.
According to my (admittedly limited) research, reading was largely a male activity in Viking culture. This is another instance where I'm bending history a bit to fit the story better. I think this Berk is a more adult take on the Berk from the movies and the shows, so when it comes to this place, I'll go with movie and show logic before I reach out to real Viking culture for my answers. Women can read in the show, so they can here too.
And how great is RTTE? Seriously? Gets better every time I watch it.
"Table Boy, thih water ih luke-warm! We pacifically akked for caulding if I'm not mikayken."
"Fine! Toothleh, plamah blah!"
Ooh, also I have a tumblr page now, which I have no idea how to use. If anyone could lend me a hand I'd appreciate it... :/