Prodigal Son 31

Astrid had to navigate the last half-mile back to Berk by memory and the light of the half-moon. After she emerged from the woods just east of the great hall she stood at the edge of the pastures, staring down at the shadowy village ahead. It had never looked less welcoming. A question occurred to her that she hadn't given much thought to: Where would she sleep tonight?

Her parents would let her back into their hall, she knew, but it wasn't an option. With her reputation so low, Astrid wanted to put as much distance between herself and the Hofferson clan as possible. Contact would be toxic, and there was no reason to drag the rest of her family into this insanity

A cold bench in the great hall would perhaps work for a night or two, but she knew that all through the night and every morning Vikings would pour in and give her those looks of compassionless judgement. Sleeping on a bench would only solidify her new identity as a reject and a vagrant.

Gods above… more than anything else, Astrid just craved stability. Protect village during a dragon raid? Reputation up. Help Stoick conduct a raid on the nest? Reputation down. Get shipwrecked and miraculously find one's way home? Reputation up. Get accused of theft? Reputation down. Reason for theft: long lost love? Reputation up, and the chief's favor. Try for another attempt at the nest? Reputation down. Actually make it? Reputation up. Can't fight the monster? Reputation down. Found someone who could? Reputation up… until everyone realizes that his method is unorthodox… then down again.

All that within a few weeks. Perhaps there was something to Hiccup's decision to simply up and leave. The more twisted Astrid got in Berk's politics, the more insane the island looked. She did not really want to spend her time around people who were so bloody temperamental.

She pondered for a moment simply vanishing back into the woods and spending the night with Stormfly. That would only make things worse. People would say she had spent the night with… with Him. Because of course they would.

Eight Years…-no! Nope. Nope nope nope.

Anyways, what had happened to Viking loyalty? Wasn't that supposed to be something that mattered? Not on Berk. People were only loyal until it became inconvenient for them. Couldn't they see that in everything she had done, every decision she had made, she was only trying to help? Only trying to solve the problem which had plagued them for centuries…?

Where to sleep? Once again, the light of the smithy shone like a beacon. Astrid stumbled despondently towards it, sticking close to the shadows, and actively avoiding the fellow villagers she passed along the way, her determination to evade them often forcing her into long circuitous routes through the town.

She finally stepped into the light of Gobber's forge. The smith had his back turned, and he was hammering away at a long, red-hot piece of steel which Astrid recognized as a half-finished sword. He pushed it back into the hot coals, and pumped the bellows a few times, then turned towards her, wiping his brow. The smith gave a start as he caught sight of her, then he sighed. "Oh, it's you. Wha' do yeh want, then?"

"Can I stay here, Gobber?"

"No." The blacksmith turned back to his forge.

Astrid stared, genuinely shocked at the burly old Viking's curt dismissal. "…Please?"

"No."

"I need somewhere to sleep."

"Try Sven's barn, you traitor."

Astrid flinched at the insult. "Traitor? You're the one who told me to go to Gothi!"

"Look, he saved yer life an' so yeh didn' want'im dead. Fair enough. And I know Stoick can be a righ' arsehead, bu' I didn' know you were going ta' go and give that crazy fool a boon!"

Astrid needed his help too much to argue. She tried to figure out a way forward, but conversation wasn't really her forte. What would Fishlegs do? Play the villagers off against one another for his own interests. What were Gobber's issues? He didn't get along with Stoick. She knew that much. Gods, this was a bad idea. She said, "Stoick doesn't like me any more than you do."

"And?"

"And I doubt he'd be happy with you if you'd let me say here."

Gobber's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she knew her gambit had failed. So much for Fishlegs' methods. Apparently they only worked for Fishlegs.

"What are yeh up to?" The smith asked suspiciously. "Never mind. I don't want ta know. As fer Stoick, can't say I blame him. Actually I'm relieved that after all this time he and I finally agree on something again. Neither of us want that crazy man or his Gods—forsaken dragon anywhere near Berk. You went and handed him a fancy invitation." His voice went shrill and witless. "Oh sure mister dragon rider here yeh go! Have a nap in the village square! Go get a meal in the Great Hall and take yer monster with yeh, why don't yeh? I'm sure he won't eat any of the kids…"

"It hasn't eaten him," Astrid shot back, her fists itching. "It lets him ride it around!"

"Yeh can't train dragons, Astrid. Anyone who thinks tha' needs ta get some sense knocked into 'em."

"You've tried?"

The smith waved his stump. "Ridin'em? No. But do yeh think I lost an arm and a leg pickin' daisies? Anyone who thinks those beasts are anything but feral monsters is crazy. "

"The rider saved us! He hasn't done anything to threaten us!"

"Yet…" Gobber grabbed the cold end of his sword blade and shifted it in the coals. He turned back and shook his head. "Just yeh wait. Just yeh bloody wait."

"I know what I'm doing, Gobber!"

"Ha! Sure yeh do."

Astrid's blood boiled over. "The rider's killed less children than you, you know."

Gobber halted and turned, slowly rotating as if propelled by hidden motors. He squared his shoulders, mouth twisting into a horrible scowl. "Yeh want ta say tha' again, lass?" With his one good hand, he reached underneath his workbench and produced an axe, which glinted in the light of the forge. "I'm no' sure I heard yeh the first time."

"Brynjolf was Snotlout's responsibility. You want to call me stupid? No kids died in the ring. Not on my watch. Sluglout died on yours."

"I see…" Gobber said slowly, rage building behind whatever paper-thin mental dam he had constructed. He laid one large hand on the axe handle. "Yeh'd best walk away, lass, before I cut yeh down ta size. Yer nae welcome here."

Astrid's eyes fell on Hiccup's broken grinder in the shop behind him. Gobber had tried to repair it again, with no success. A new tactic occurred to her. It was manipulative, and horrible, but it felt so damned good to say. "What would Hiccup say if he saw you turning me away when I needed help?"

The smith froze. His face had turned bright red, and his mouth was twisted in a snarl, made all the more menacing for his scars and stone tooth.

"Yeh…yeh can't… Don't yeh dare-" he sputtered.

"What would he say, Gobber?"

She strode past the furious Viking, stepping into his spare room and turned, taking a seat on the bed, daring him to kick her out.

…But he didn't. Instead he stood in his shop, glaring at her. "Yer Hel's whore, Astrid Hofferson!" he spat, "I don't know wha' he ever saw in yeh."

"You have no idea what Hiccup Haddock saw when he looked at the world! No one did," she shot back defiantly. Her right hand snuck around to her axe, expecting violence from the blacksmith, but he just looked shocked. So she stood up and dropped the curtain between them, giving herself a little privacy. This was low, she knew. Using the blacksmith's love of Hiccup against him, but she didn't feel like she had much choice.

All of a sudden, she heard Gobber's enraged yell:

"It coulda bin tha' dragon, Astrid! There was a Night Fury around back then! It coulda bin the dragon tha' killed'im! It coulda bin tha' one!"

Astrid stayed silent, biting her tongue as hard as she could. On the other side of the curtain she heard the blacksmith roar. Wood splintered as he planted the axe into something breakable. After that there was silence. A few hours later the stairs creaked as the old blacksmith found his way to bed.

Astrid awoke with a start, feeling a miserable knot in her gut. Once again, pre-dawn light was shining through cracks in the smithy's back wall. Yet that waxing sunlight failed to lift her spirits. Above her head, Gobber was still asleep. She could hear him snoring.

Astrid was more than a little shocked her gambit to abuse his emotional connection had worked, and she felt all the more guilty for it. Gobber was a good man, she knew. Sluglout's death had hit him hard, and Hiccup's death -for lack of a better term- had hit him harder. She had to remind herself that everything would work out in the end. Hiccup was alive, and the boy owed her! Repairing things with Gobber was one of the many ways she resolved to have him pay back his debt.

She rolled out of bed and yawned, pulling back the curtain and leaving the forge, and her guilt, behind as fast as possible. There was supposed to be dragon training today, thank Thor. That, at least, would not change. She started into her familiar route, stopping household by household.

Though the horizon was pink, the sky above Berk was still cloudy and dark, screening the fading stars. A harsh wind, the first real winter wind pierced her threadbare clothing, wicking away her heat as she stomped across the frost-ridden ground. Hoarfrost had crystallized on the trees, bushes, and buildings, outlining every edge in the village with glittering white crystal. Winter had arrived, she realized. The first snowfall would be in a day or two. Astrid hugged herself to keep warm, and struggled onwards.

Her first stop was at the Ragason farmstead on the border of Berk Village. It was a modest building, belonging to one of the smallest clans on Berk. Yet their child Rangvald was among her most devoted students.

Hefting her axe in one hand, Astrid stepped up to the door and knocked on it three times. Voices echoed from within, but no tiny, helmeted figure appeared.

"Dragon training!" Astrid announced, stomping her feet to keep out the chill. A minute passed, and she slung her axe across her back so she could hug herself closer. She could hear more voices inside, including consternated whispers from Ragnar and Runa, the mother and father, and stifled protests from young Rangvald himself. Something was wrong, she realized. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she watched the closed doorway, and the shadowy buildings all around her.

Astrid stepped up to the door again and hammered against it as hard as she could. "This is Astrid Hofferson! Is everything alright?"

The door opened a moment later to reveal Runa and Ragnar, the mother and father, both looking extremely put out. Ragnar in particular was giving her a loathsome glower. He said, "Rangvald won't be attending yer class, Hofferson. He's …unwell."

"…Unwell…?" Astrid repeated slowly. A sinking feeling overtaking her.

"Yes," Runa insisted, following her husband's lead. "Unwell."

The door slammed shut so fast that she rocked back on her heels.

"Mum and dad, I'm fine!" came the child's angry rejoinder from within the small homestead. He was promptly shushed into silence.

Astrid glanced to either side. A woman's face appeared in an open window two doors down. She surveyed Astrid with a look of disgust, right before the shutters slammed closed. The sound echoed across the empty street. Hostile eyes watched her through cracks in each hall. Every family was watching her standing alone in the cold. She felt so very exposed, and isolated.

Smarting from the Ragason's cold dismissal, she moved onto the Hallkelson household, which lay a little further into town. Halldis and Hafgrim were the mother and father. Their twin children Osman and Hallfrid, both eight winters old, were new to Astrid's class. Indeed it had been young Osmand who had shown her Hiccup's sketches and notes in the book of dragons.

She stepped up to the door and hesitated for but a moment before she knocked three times. She stepped back as the door opened, revealing Hafgrim, their stern father. He crossed his arms and stood in the doorway, giving her a haughty look.

"Dragon training," Astrid said shortly.

"They're sick," he replied.

"Bullshit. This is about what happened yesterday. Isn't it?"

Hafgrim opened his mouth, a denial on the tip of his tongue. Then he shrugged nad nodded. "It is. Now get out of here, Astrid. I'll have my children raised the Viking way."

Astrid huffed in disbelief, her worst fears confirmed. Please no, Odin, Thor… don't take this from me! Anything but the teaching!

"Just a week ago, you were so glad that Stoick made me his heir…" She hated how pathetic she sounded, but it was true. The Hallkelsons had been furious with Snotlout for the risks he took with their children's lives. They had always gotten along well with Astrid's family. Hafgrim himself had chopped wood for her mother, and Halldis' paid Astrid's lessons in delicious baked pies delivered to the Hofferson door once a week.

"That was before yeh gave a Dragonfriend a free pass to wander Berk."

Astrid's fists curled. "A debt was owed!"

"And it's that bloody simple, is it?" He demanded. "Letting a dragon into the village? Honor yer debts. Never mind my kids? Next time yeh need ta fuckin' think. Yer not fit ta be chief!"

"I… you… you can't just…" she spluttered. He turned around and slammed the door. Astrid hung her head, her breath freezing in her lungs. She felt ready to weep. She could hear the whispered conversations behind closed doors all around her.

Still clinging to faint hope, Astrid moved on to the next house, which was a few properties towards the central square. She paused outside the Hallason door, hand raised. She could hear feet creaking on the other side of the thin wooden panel. All along the empty street, Berk was silent, watching her with cruel, unforgiving eyes.

Astrid lowered her hand and stepped down from the stoop. A strange lethargy swallowed her, and she couldn't quite help dragging her feet as she made her way down the center of the unsteady road, heading in no direction in particular.

So that was it, then. After a full decade of loyal service, after braving every attack, weathering every storm, after killing and hunting and fighting and teaching alongside her fellow villagers… Berk just shut her out. How could one mistake take so much away from her? Did she really mean so little to them?

She wondered what her old uncle Finn would have said, then shut out his memory. It was too painful for her at that moment. She felt as if she had fallen down to the bottom of a hole. As if she were being smothered by her own stress, pushed out of her own mind, being compressed into a smaller and smaller space, locked in by other people, almost maliciously forced to suffer there alone in that emotional hell.

Feet trampled the ground behind her and she turned, expecting an attacker. This village was capable of anything.

It was Fridleif Finnason. The young man who had been wounded during Snotlout's training session. He was panting, and moving gingerly. His broken ribs were clearly still causing him pain, and would continue to do so for some time to come.

"Ma'am! Ma'am!" He scrambled to a halt and stood stiffly in front of her.

The wind bit at them as they stood there, eyeing one another.

"What?" she asked sourly.

"Dragon training," he answered, his voice chipper.

Astrid stared. "…Fridleif… there is no dragon training." It hurt so much to say that.

He stared back, uncomprehendingly.

"You saw what happened yesterday. The village hates me now." Astrid explained.

"I don't care. I'm ready to train."

The halls around them creaked. The families were watching and listening, she knew.

"There's loyalty, and then there's stupidity." Astrid hissed fiercely. "You're risking your reputation, Fridleif."

"Your training saved my life." he said shortly. "I don't care about reputation!"

Astrid's world seemed to light up, color seeping into what had been bleak, depressing grey. Not everyone thought she was a traitor. Her students, at least, were loyal! Gods… she wanted to embrace him. To laugh, to jump for joy, but she had sunk so deeply into that lonely, desolate emotional pit that she could barely manage a smile.

Then she heard the whispering. Tittering and hissing gossip behind the plank walls and closed doors all around them. The stupid idiot was going to ruin himself, she realized, all of her elation draining out, leaving behind a weak emptiness. She was toxic. Her mere presence, her company, was toxic. But she could still save him. The last person in the entire godsdamned village who understood what loyalty meant.

She said, "You were wounded saving Hallfrid and Osmand during Snotlout's training session, yes?"

"If you call that training." Fridleif shot back, with all the cockiness of youth.

Astrid frowned at him. "That Gronckle hit you hard. Have your ribs healed?"

"Healed enough."

"Really?" She pressed two fingers into his side, applying only a small amount of pressure. The color drained from Fridlief's face, and he gasped, falling to his knees.

"A warrior should know when he's fit for battle and rest when he's not," Astrid told the kneeling youth. "There's your lesson for the day."

Trying desperately to ignore the look of betrayal on his face, she turned away and trudged back through the village. She passed by her own home, and Stoick's Hall, though she could look at neither of them. Her stomach felt uncomfortably empty, and the cold was eating away at her, so she wound her way toward the Great Hall, that enormous door set into the cliff itself, towering over all of Berk. It too was covered in a layer of frost, making it appear an ethereal portal, leading to Niflheim, perhaps. Home of the ice giants.

She trudged up the steps and pushed the massive doors open. Warm air engulfed her, and she heard the comforting hum of cheerful conversation, as she had a thousand times before. Yet the moment she stepped inside, all talking ceased. The room went still with an uncomfortable silence. Vikings looked up from their tables, watching her. Their expressions ranged from disinterest to distaste to disgust. Fishlegs was there too, sitting with Ruffnut and her brother. He was nursing a small bundle with tiny, tiny waving hands. He spared her barely a glance. He couldn't do any more, of course. Astrid had spent enough time with the man to understand how he operated, and what his plan was, but his coldness hurt nonetheless.

She raised her head up proudly and brushed through the tables, dodging a few legs which Viking warriors, most of them Jorgenson, conveniently left in the aisles for her to trip over. The lunch line was fairly short, and as Astrid entered she gave the older woman in front of her a nod. The Thorston matron responded with a glum, closed look, and turned away.

Astrid sighed and held her tongue. All around the hall, quiet conversation resumed. Perhaps it was paranoia at this point, but Astrid could well guess what they were all whispering to one another.

The line moved slowly, and at last she found herself standing in front of Iona the cook, who had greeted her with a smile every morning for years. She was always willing to talk. Yet today the young woman kept her eyes down, and carefully ladled Astrid a modest helping of stew into a wooden bowl.

"Hello Iona."

The cook ignored her greeting and carefully slid a piping hot bowl of stew across the counter, though an embarrassed blush filled her cheeks.

"How is Styr?" Astrid tried again.

Iona swallowed stiffly, but kept her eyes down. Astrid could feel the eyes of the surrounding Vikings on the back of her neck. Those standing behind her in the lunch line stamped their feet and huffed impatiently.

"…You too, huh?" Astrid asked.

"I'm sorry," the young woman whispered, plopping her ladle back into the hot stew pot.

Astrid stood in silence for a moment, watching the young cook's face go red. Finally out of patience with the entire damned village, she swept her arm across the counter, making Iona flinch, and tossing the bowl onto the floor. Stew landed in a dirty arc across the carefully laden cobbles, and the wooden bowl clattered loudly as it landed, rolling to a halt by the nearest table.

The hall once again fell silent as every Viking looked up to see what the commotion was. Astrid glared at Iona, who had turned a shade of bright red, but finally met her eye with an apologetic look. Without saying a word, Astrid turned on her heel and stomped out. Meeting every hostile look with a matching, murderous glare of her own.

The hall's enormous door slammed shut behind Astrid, and she stood at the top of the stairs, taking in the entirety of her home village. She could see Gobber's forge across the town. The smith was outside, angrily turning his spare bed into kindling, sending a clear message to her, and everyone else in the town.

Astrid's angry breath crystallized in the air before her. At that moment, she couldn't stand the sight of Berk. Every shadow now held menace. Every darkened doorway was an insult. Even the whistling wind was a malevolent force, crushing her humanity.

At that moment, she desperately wanted to see Hiccup and Stormfly. Her dragon was a safe companion, free of judgment. And she hoped- she knew that Hiccup's sarcastic humor would draw something out of her, help her unlock her own mind and allow those burdens to come pouring out. She would have room to breathe again. She set off into the forest at a jogging pace, partly to keep warm, and partly to speed up her escape.

At the Cove, Hiccup was nowhere to be seen, but Stormfly greeted Astrid with enthusiasm, and confusion. The nadder chirped and flapped around her, sniffing at her clothing. Astrid managed a smile, quite a feat after her rage-fuelled march through the wilderness.

"I'm sorry girl. I didn't bring any fish today."

The dragon rumbled in disappointment, but nuzzled her closer, sensing Astrid's distress. Astrid wrapped her arms around Stormfly and stood there for a second, thankful for the dragon's warmth and companionship. Stormfly crooned and wrapped herself around her, raising her wings to shield her underdressed rider from the elements.

Hiccup and Fishlegs had turned the Cove back into a proper campsite. They had blankets, skins, and a proper firepit. Astrid retrieved a thick sheepskin coat from their supplies, and mounted Stormfly, shutting her eyes as she felt the dragon's powerful legs launch them both high into the air. She relished the way she was pressed her back into her seat, and the rush of the wings beating on either side. She could already feel her mind clearing, her problems melting away before the miracle of flight.

They flew for an hour or more, whipping through the seastacks and racing down the mountainside. Eventually they landed on the far end of the island. Before flight, the trip would have taken several days on foot. Now? Twenty minutes on dragonback.

Astrid leapt from Stormfly's back and shucked her sheepskin coat. Even wearing it, the flight had been bitingly cold. Astrid had dealt with cold her entire life. There was no better way to warm up than movement, and she felt ready to train. She started with stretches, making sure she was limber enough to move without damaging her muscles. It was one of the first things Fearless Finn had taught her. Plenty of Vikings practiced with weapons, and worked out but few of them stretched beforehand, preparing their bodies properly to make the most of their training regimen.

After she had finished her stretches, she hefted her axe and shield across her back and started jogging across the uneven terrain, running along roots and hopping from rock to rock to practice her balance and coordination. Stormfly followed, chirping in confusion; her rider was moving as if they were under threat, but the dragon couldn't smell anything or anyone around them.

Astrid launched her axe into a nearby tree, aiming for a knot, which she hit dead-on. Stormfly let out a high-pitched trill in triumph, having finally found their enemy, and sent a hail of tailspines at the trunk.

Astrid froze, staring at the peppered bark. Too many times, she had seen those same spines flying at Berk's shield walls, at her comrades, at her students… the poison tipped darts were among the most deadly things in the dragons' arsenal. True, Nadders had the hottest flame, and true, Night Furies aside, they were the fastest dragon, but both of those were manageable.

Young Vikings could be taught how to deal with quick opponents, and how to avoid getting burned on approach, but the spines were unpredictable. Astrid had seen Nadders fire single shots in precision strikes, slipping through the gaps in shield walls, and she had seen cornered, wounded Nadders fire off every spine in their tail at once, filling the air in every direction with poison-tipped projectiles.

The Viking warrior had to work hard to contain her sudden disgust and anxiety. She shut her eyes, gritting her teeth against the flurry of memories, and when Stormfly nuzzled her, she flinched. The dragon let out a worried chirp and backed off, sensing Astrid's hostility.

Astrid regretted the move almost instantly, fear sweeping through her; she did not want to drive the nadder away. Not when she felt like the dragon was her only friend in the world. "I'm sorry girl. I'm sorry…" she stroked Stormfly's scales and laid her head against her snout.

Stormfly responded with a gentle coo, and settled down around Astrid, her warmth providing a comforting balm against the chilly air, feeling colder since she had stopped moving.

"I'm done." It was a spontaneous decision, and a choice she had never actually made before; to leave her workout routine half finished. But her heavy heart seemed to sap her very strength, and her will to work. She had always done it for Berk. She kept herself in shape, practiced with her weapons to defend Berk, to provide a good example for the children she was no longer allowed to teach. Now her loyalty to her town tribe was at an all-time low, the motivation to train was just… gone.

She settled under Stormfly's wing, keeping herself warm against the dragon's belly, and wrapping herself in the wool coat she had brought with her. Astrid gently drifted off to sleep in the wilderness, far from her home.

Time passed, but it didn't seem to matter too much. Her thoughts, all as dreary as the grey sky, drifted in and out of one another without beginning or end. There was a strange comfort in her emotionless resignation. Something would happen eventually, she knew, she just couldn't really care less what it was. If night fell, it would find her lying there on her side, with her dragon, having fallen victim to that all-encompassing lethargy. She settled in to wait.

"Lo, bear witness to the acts of Astrid Hofferson: her enemies laid to waste and driven before her, the air filled with lamentations of her conquered foes, the mighty warrior and her ferocious steed rest their weary limbs and settle down… for Nappy Time."

Astrid cracked an eye and quickly spotted Hiccup Haddock. The lanky young man had settled himself on a nearby log, and was grinning from ear to ear. His messy auburn mane was windswept, tangled, and dark with sweat. Astrid wondered how long he'd been searching for her. Toothless was snuffling around behind him, poking through the mossy undergrowth. Against her back, Stormfly shifted and trilled quietly.

Hiccup slid off his log and landed lightly on the forest floor. "Feeling hungry? Fishlegs mentioned you missed lunch." He was carrying an uncorked flask in one hand, and with the other he was lifting a basket of fish up for Stormfly. Hiccup had carefully wrapped the flask in a layer or two of sheepskin, to help preserve the heat. Now uncorked, a layer of hot vapor rose from its mouth.

Astrid forced herself onto her butt and leaned back against her nadder, who adjusted quickly to her the new position. The shield maiden nodded at his basket. "Stormfly didn't smell you coming?"

"Oh, she did," he told her, "She's been watching me for the last half hour, but you were asleep, so she didn't move."

Astrid felt a sudden burst of fondness for the creature, and she wiggled herself a little closer to Stormfly's warm hide. A delicious, savory smell wafted from the flask as he approached, and she suddenly realized how hungry she felt. She reached out and took the flash without hesitation. Hiccup planted the basket before Stormfly's nose, and the dragon dug into it immediately.

He had cooked Astrid a thick broth, with finely-chopped vegetables, and bits of meat in it, though all still thin enough to drink from a flask. It was filling food, the sort which sat in one's stomach and kept the innards occupied all day long. Astrid had eaten food like it all her life, though there was something different about this particular dish… A subtle flavour. Warm and… a little minty. It was pleasant, and very different from the bland stews which fueled Berk's population. Even her mother Brunhilda had never managed to work such wonder with a meal. It tasted… luxurious.

Of course Astrid had heard of spices. The Gothi's medicine cabinet doubled as a repository for rare herbs. But Berk's unique situation had forced them to give up such non essentials. Spiced dishes were served at Snoggletog, and other holiday events, as well as banquets for visiting noblemen, but for the general population, just having a meal was something to be thankful for.

She frowned up at him, smacking her lips. "What's that? What did you put in it?"

"Marjoram and Thyme." Hiccup told her. "The word Thyme is derived from Thumos which is Greek for courage. And smoke. But in this case courage is probably…." He shrugged. "I thought it seemed appropriate given your… hobbies." He glanced at the tree. Her axe was still buried in it, as were Stormfly's spines.

Astrid took a long swig and let it linger in her mouth, enjoying the taste. When she swallowed, the heat crawled up her spine, all the way into her ears, and down to the tips of her toes. She smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem. Just kind of… whipped it up, you know?"

Astrid smiled. "Your dad said you could cook."

"Really? He ah… didn't mention the time when I poisoned both of us, did he?"

Her smile turned to a grin. "No."

"When I was younger I saw… who was it now…? Old mama Thorston cooking with mushrooms in the great hall." Hiccup had a wry smile on his face, lost in a fond memory. "She put mushrooms in her stew, and I decided to try it at home."

"Oh no…"

"Oh yes. Went out and picked a few mushrooms at random from the forest. Came back and dumped them in dad's stew."

"Heh."

"Our statue of Odin would not stop dancing."

Astrid burst out laughing.

"No matter how much I asked it to. It ignored me completely. It was very rude."

"And how-" Astrid bit her lip, shaking her head. She was amazed at how much lighter she felt already. "How was your dad?"

"Oh, looong gone." Hiccup waved his hand. "He had wandered out into the village. Picked a fight with a yak, apparently."

"Oh, Thor…"

"Gobber recognized what was going on. Fed us both some ungodly brew. We spent a half-hour puking into buckets, and then we got better. So there," he shrugged merrily. "Happy ending."

"Happy ending." She raised her flask in salute. "I don't remember anything like that. How old were we?"

"Six or seven? I think you were out training."

"Probably."

"Speaking of training, can I ask you a personal question?"

She shrugged noncommittally.

"Did a tree once eat your siblings?"

Astrid stared at him. Hiccup raised a hand and gestured towards the trunk her axe was lodged in.

"I was… training…"

"And thank the gods you were," he said earnestly, "everyone complains about the dragon infestation, but no one ever talks about Berk's true enemy: the local flora."

She glared at him. "It's easier than dragons."

Hiccup snorted. "Yeah. Trees tend to be all bark, no bite."

"Ugh. Do not make me get my axe."

"You can try, but it's stuck in there pretty good." He eyed her weapon, wedged in the hardwood.

Astrid sighed and looked down at the brown, frost-lined bed of leaves beneath her feet. She rubbed her hands together slowly, feeling the weight and loneliness of her position bearing down on her.

"Astrid?"

"Mmm?"

"Is everything alright?"

Astrid hesitated before answering, but they were the only two people for miles, and she knew she could trust him. After all, they both carried the same weight. She said, "I just… I can't believe how screwed up my life is! I can't do anything right and no one cares that I try. Doesn't matter what you believe. The moment you start thinking outside the box you're not a Viking anymore... I was just trying to help!"

Hiccup leaned casually against a nearby tree trunk, his arms crossed. "Hello fourteen-year-old me. Thought I should warn you, you're going to meet a dragon in a few weeks. And it won't try to kill you. It'll be a life-changing moment."

"They took my kids away."

His clownish tone vanished immediately, replaced with honest worry. "Kids?"

"I was training them in the ring. Like Gobber trained us." Astrid told him miserably. "It was… how I help Berk. I had a place, you know? I had purpose. And they… they took it away for helping you. Now Snotlout's going to be chief. My kids aren't going to be trained properly. Berk's a mess. We had a plan, you know? Fishlegs and me. It wasn't great, but now you're back, and the ground's shifted. I just… it's all… I dunno…"

Hiccup slid down the tree until he was sitting at its base, his legs out, mirroring her. He picked up a twig, twirling it idly through his fingers. His expression was sombre, his brows, thick yet fair, furrowed in thought, and his green eyes soft with sympathy. She wondered for a moment if she had offended him. "I don't want you to leave," she added quickly.

"I got you into this," he said.

"I got myself into it."

"It is my fault," he admitted quietly. "I just wanted you to know that I'm really sorry."

"Don't listen to Fishlegs," Astrid replied. "He's a snake."

"He's on our side though, right?"

"I hope so."

He smirked. "…Brilliant."

"Hiccup," she prompted. He looked up at her, and as she met his gaze, a warmth flushed through her, comfortable and relaxing. She said, "It's not your fault."

He flashed her a faint, crooked smile, and she could tell he didn't believe her. All the same, he was thinking. Hard. She could practically hear the gears turning as he stared down at the twirling twig.

Suddenly, in mid-spin, it halted. He smirked again, a fire in his eyes as he stared blankly at his own hands. Astrid found herself staring, fascinated by his ferocity. It wasn't the violence, or the blood rage of the regular Berk Vikings, but an entirely different animal altogether. Controlled, cunning and strategic.

He said, "I have a plan."

"Really?" Astrid leaned back into Stormfly's flank and crossed her arms. She wanted… she wanted that look, that intensity focused on her. She would never have imagined that gaze coming out of walking fishbone Hiccup Haddock, but this auburn-maned adventurer was a different Viking altogether. Like nothing Berk had ever seen. Like nothing she had ever seen. She found herself wanting to challenge him. To test him. To get him to smirk like that again. "Last time we followed your plan, you ended up dropping me in the middle of the ocean. I'm not going to like this one any better am I?"

"Nope." He grinned mischievously at her. "Not at all."

Once again I want to extend my appreciation to Midoriko-Sama for being an extra pair of eyes on this chapter. Her input helps me bring you all the best product possible so please, go drop her a line, or give her stories a looksee.

Also, discovered that Word actually saves the changes one makes to a document when you edit it. Apparently FF. net picked up on that and inserted both the edits, and the original text. What a mess… thanks for your patience.