Prodigal Son 32

Astrid adjusted her headband, stealing a moment of peace from what she knew would be an exhausting experience. Within the great hall, she could hear the sounds of drunken… revelry was far too charitable a way to think of it. Debauchery, perhaps, was a better suited descriptor.

Well, she thought, here goes nothing…

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. As was usual for late afternoons, the village was starting to gather, their work finishing for the day. Yet it would be a while yet- an hour or so- before the fishing boats made it back in to dock for the night.

A few Vikings sat in groups around their usual benches. The Barrasons, Brenna and her son Bard were there, along with Vikings from the Saemingrsons, the Thorstons, the Karsons, the Sigurdsons, and many others. Yet Astrid's target was the short, burly, spikey-haired hooligan who was sitting in Stoick's chair, with his feet up on the table.

Snotlout, his entourage gathered around him, had commandeered the centre of the hall. Empty mugs were scattered around them in dense clusters. Snotlout himself had been drinking. She could tell by his awkward sway, and the way he slowly blinked as he tried to focus on her.

He was drunk. That was good for their plan. Hiccup's plan, rather, but thinking of it as their plan made Astrid feel less used. It was also a completely mad scheme, which seemed to be Hiccup's forte. She prayed that it would work out, because if it didn't… she would never forgive herself. Or him.

"Astrid Hofferson," Snotlout slurred, waving his mug at her.

"Snotlout," she responded tritely.

"Come to join us?" he offered, "I got a seat for you right here." He patted his lap.

I'd rather swallow a bucket full of fish offal. Astrid gave him a tight smile. "No thanks."

Across the great hall, ears were perking up. Vikings from clans all over the island would bear witness to this. She saw a few of the same parents who had kept their children indoors that very morning, and felt a sick, deep wave of satisfaction, knowing what was coming.

She said, "I actually have a favour to ask."

"A favour?" Snotlout burst out laughing, mead spilling from his mug. His entourage tittered dutifully. "Oh, Astrid, I always knew this day would come."

"And what day would that be?" She asked, her teeth clenched. Everyone in the hall was listening.

"The day you came crawling to me of course. All that pride in the way but in the end…" he slapped his chest, "…Everyone comes to the Snotman. Don't be scared. It was always meant to be, babe."

Astrid shut her eyes and let out a sharp breath, violent fantasies playing themselves out on her inner eye. She said, "I need you to teach in the training arena."

The hall burst into whispers. Snotlout's gang fell silent, and he was watching her with his slack jaw hanging open. His wasn't the only one; several parents seated amongst the crowd- ones which had condemned her in front of the entire village- were suddenly looking very worried.

Snotlout leaned forward. "You… want me… to teach?"

Astrid nodded.

The idiot kept gaping.

"Please teach in the Kill Ring."

Snotlout's mouth slowly closed, and he sat back with a conceited smile. "Well, well, well…"

Astrid winced, wondering what the arrogant bastard was about to do.

He turned to his entourage and grinned. "And what shall I ask in return for this… princely… favour?"

A few of them chuckled.

By all the gods in Valhalla I am going to end you, Snotlout. I am going to drag you out the door, take my knife to your hairline and cut off your scalp in front of the entire village!

"Who, Astrid, is the best dragon killer on the island?" Snotlout asked loudly.

"The best?" she asked. All socializing in the great hall had ended. Everyone's attention was focused on them.

"The best Viking on Berk," he elaborated.

"Stoick the Vast." It felt like an honest answer to her, though it made her feel all the worse for the apparent differences between herself and her chief.

Snotlout scowled. "I meant between us!"

Astrid kept her mouth shut.

"C'mon." he coaxed eagerly, leaning towards her. "Who's the better Viking, Astrid? You, or me?"

"You are," she mumbled as quietly as possible.

He held a delicate hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but who? I'm not sure the entire hall could hear you, Astrid."

"Snotlout Jorgenson."

"Louder please," he requested, idly swirling the mead in his mug.

"Snotlout Jorgenson!"

His entourage jeered before he shushed them into triumphant silence. "Oh, babe, I am so glad you're finally willing to admit the truth. Humbleness suits you, Astrid. And who's the best dragon killer?"

"Snotlout Jorgenson."

"The most skilled warrior?"

"…Snotlout Jorgenson."

"The best sailor?"

"…Snotlout Jorgenson."

"The most eloquent poet?" He waved his mug with a flourish as he delivered this last question.

"Snotlout."

"The best lay?"

Once again silence fell. Everyone was listening, and Astrid felt trapped. Panicked and enraged like a hunted boar. This was how rumours started. She already had an erstwhile affair with the chief's son, or so it was thought. If Berkians sensed even the slightest hint that she had lain with Snotlout Jorgenson as well, then no social or political rope would be long enough to drag her out of the pit she would find herself in. She would be labelled a whore; utterly worthless, even more than now.

"Hiccup Haddock, maybe?" Snotlout challenged, to the howls of his ghoulish companions as she stood there, seething.

Perhaps Fishlegs would have found a way to turn the whole thing on its head. Perhaps Hiccup would have some snarky remark ready. Something to show the audience what a witless, cowardly worm Snotlout truly was. Yet Astrid lacked Fishlegs' snake-like brain, and Hiccup's biting wit. All she had was her axe, and the realization that there were some depths to which she would not sink for either of those two men. She decided to solve the problem the only way she knew how: by hitting it repeatedly until it either surrendered or died.

As her problem was Snotlout Jorgenson, she sincerely hoped for the latter. She moved immediately, launching herself onto the table, and planting her heel in his face. The feeling of his nose crumpling under the sole of her foot was among the most satisfying she had ever experienced. It was something she had waited years to enjoy, and oh, but she savoured it!

Snotlout cried out, tipped backwards and tumbled onto the floor. Standing above him on the table, Astrid waved her axe at his friends, all of whom backed away immediately. "Who's next?" she demanded, feeling the familiar blood rush. "Who wants some?"

"Wha' da hell is wong wiv you?" Snotlout managed, clutching his nose and staring up at her in astonishment. Blood was pouring down his face. The great hall filled with commotion. Many Vikings were genuinely shocked by her aggressive reaction. Others were entertained; first by her humiliation, then by Snotlout's. It didn't matter to them in that moment that Astrid had invited a dragon-loving foreigner onto the island: no one liked Snotlout, everyone enjoyed a good fight, and the feud between Astrid Hofferson and Snotlout Jorgenson was a thing of Berkian Legend. This was long overdue, and everyone knew it.

"You and I never slept together, Snotlout," Astrid explained. "Tell them!" She thrust her axe towards the watching crowd. "Tell them the truth!"

He stayed silent, whether out of shock or anger she couldn't tell. She didn't care, either. "I'll cut off your thumbs. Or worse…"

"We'be neber slebt togeber."

"Louder!" she ordered.

"We neber slebt togeber!" The Jorgenson warrior was struggling to his knees, but Astrid didn't give him the chance to rise. She slung her axe across her back and hopped lightly to the floor. Snotlout made a futile effort to back away, but she dodged around his fallen chair, caught him in two paces and lifted him up by the scruff of his neck. He made to grab her wrists, and one of his hands balled into a fist.

She slammed her forehead into his nose, revelling in the sudden pain and dizziness, and letting it fuel her anger. Snotlout yelped like a wounded hound and slumped in her grasp, so she stepped around behind him, lifted him as high as she could, and let out a battle cry as she rammed him into the table.

Snotlout lay there, bent over the table, coughing and sputtering. She held him fast, his arms twisted behind his back. Beaten and embarrassed where all of Berk could see him. Astrid smiled: for all Hiccup's derisiveness, the Viking Way still held its charms.

"Hear me now, Snotlout!" she said, speaking up so that everyone could hear her. Snotlout's entourage, loyal to a fault, had all backed away into the crowd, leaving their valiant leader exposed to her wrath. Astrid leaned over him and said, "These idiots think I'm stupid." She caught sight of Ragnar and Runa Ragason, who had claimed that very morning that their son was sick. "They think I'm a flake. That I'm crazy. I tried to honour my debts and now they don't want me teaching in the arena. That's fine. I won't. You're going to do it instead."

In the crowd, the various parents who had dismissed and insulted her, were suddenly looking very worried.

"Nod if you understand." She prompted. Snotlout didn't move, so she grabbed him by the hair and, nodding his head for him, slammed his forehead into the table twice. "Good boy."

She let go and he slid groaning to the floor.

Astrid stepped back, breathing heavily, and smiling viciously. She felt renewed. Cleansed in a way that only violence had been able to do for her. Violence, and flight. And Astrid knew that she was still a Warrior. Not a poet, or a witty prodigy, but an old fashion skull-cracker, like her uncle Finn. All of the politics, the grey morality, and new discoveries hadn't changed that and they couldn't. She was, at her core, a Warrior. She knew her duty, and her goals. They could be the same as Hiccup's, but she would approach them her way. She knew herself, and no gossip, no village politics, no Viking rumours, no conniving poets, or wandering heirs could take that away from her.

She paced hotly, back and forth, swing her axe to and fro. She had no memory of taking it off her back, but she didn't care; war was instinct.

"Dawn tomorrow, Snotlout," she declared. "You and the kids in the training arena. Be there or I will find you, and when I do I'll start cutting bits off with a hot knife. Starting with your tongue."

Astrid strode confidently into the cove. Stormfly rushed up to greet her, and she threw her arms around her nadder, feeling her best friend's thrumming excitement in the dragons' rippling muscles, and across her scaly blue hide.

"Hey girl!"

The nadder let out a long, lyrical string of chirps in response, and Astrid tried to imitate them, feeling absolutely silly, but so elated that she hardly cared. Snotlout had pursued and harassed her for a decade, his wholly unwelcome advances culminating in their horrid marriage arrangement. She could still feel Snotlout's nose breaking against her heel again and again, and it was so great! Despite all that had happened between Astrid and Berk, despite the horrible way the morning had started, with her dismissal from dragon-training, she felt happy. Truly happy, as if a shroud had lifted- if only temporarily.

"Arrch-arrroooo-ooo-ooo-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh!" she chirped, trying to get as close as a human could to the dragon's bird-like vocalisations.

Stormfly's eyes widened, and she let out an alarmed screech, batting her wings and landing a few feet back from Astrid, where she cast a worried gaze upon the Viking shieldmaiden.

"Whoa, I'm alright, Stormfly!" Astrid laughed, spreading her arms. "It's okay, girl."

Yet the dragon kept her distance, sniffing at Astrid's scent, and surveying her suspiciously.

"Stormfly…" Astrid scolded lightly, feeling a little more hurt by the dragon's caution than she'd care to admit.

"Oh, it'll be a while before she gets over this one." That was Hiccup's amused voice. Astrid turned and found him, as usual, sitting on a nearby rock. He was lounging on a deerskin, with a strange scroll lying next to him. Toothless was dozing, slung bat-like over the branch of a large nearby tree. The cove looked otherwise quite empty, though beautiful in the evening, with orange and purple clouds painted in the sky above them. Astrid itched to hop on her dragon and soar up past them to watch the sunset.

"I doubt Stormfly's ever heard a human speak Dragonese," Hiccup explained lightly, grinning. "Well done."

"Dragonese?" Astrid gaped, glancing back at her winged companion. "They have a language of their own? That's…incredible! They're way smarter than I thought! What did I say?"

"Um… I think you said: The fish are dizzy flying weather"

"The fish…" Astrid's brow wrinkled. "What in Hel's name does that mean?"

Hiccup shrugged, teasingly in retrospect. "Don't ask me. You're the one who said it."

"Well yeah," she babbled, "but I didn't even know I could speak dragonese, I mean that is soo…. not… true. At all. You are pulling my leg aren't you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he promised warmly, rolling up the scroll and stowing it in a long cylindrical wooden case.

Astrid crossed her arms and glared at him, but found that his doofy, harmless grin was worryingly effective at draining her annoyance. She glanced back at Stormfly, who was still watching her with wide, paranoid eyes. She decided to give the dragon some space to cool off, and moved towards Hiccup, climbing the wide, flat boulder to sit with him.

"Can Toothless understand what you say?"

"I'm never quite sure," Hiccup admitted, reaching out a hand for her to grasp as she clambered up, "He mostly just does what he wants. Sometimes it's what I told him to do. Other times…"

Astrid snorted and lowered herself down beside him, feeling wonderfully at ease. She let go of his hand a moment later than she needed to. The contact felt good. Especially after her alienation from the village's social sphere. She had a friend and a confidant, and it meant a lot more than she was willing to admit out loud. Hiccup didn't seem to notice at all; he was giving his snoozing dragon a fond look. "Toothless knows when it's important."

Hiccup was dressed in a simple red shirt and brown leggings, a far simpler, more practical outfit than his leather riding gear, which was likely stowed in the bulging rucksack near the fire pit. He had washed recently as well. She could smell the soap. His hair was different was well, instead of sticking out in a wild, feathered, sweat-soaked mane, it hung about his head in soft strands. Even as she watched, a breeze blew a few loose strands of hair across his forehead.

"So…" he grinned cheerfully, "You're looking a lot better than this morning…"

Astrid slouched back against the rock, leaning on her elbows. "The meeting with Snotlout went very well, I think."

Hiccup's brows furrowed, his sharp eyes growing unfocussed. She knew he was reviewing their plans. "So he's going to teach. That's good. I hope he didn't make you beg or anything."

"Yeah…" Astrid shifted guiltily. "Kinda."

Hiccup shot her a sharp look. "You begged?" she heard a hint of disbelief in his voice. "You?"

"Sort of…" she said awkwardly.

"Oh?"

"Not begging, really."

"Really?" Hiccup's brows were rising ever higher.

"More… sort of… breaking his nose and threating him." She grinned and lay back, resting her head on her hands, and staring at the gloaming sky.

"Ooookay," Hiccup groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. She was learning a lot about how he used that word. Its length depended directly on how exasperated he felt in any given situation. This time, he really let it linger.

"Don't you get all high and mighty, Haddock!" she warned. "It's easy for you. You haven't had to talk to him in eight years."

"Oh that's right. Almost a decade without Snotlout… and yet still not quite long enough a break."

They both laughed.

"You know… a great man once said that use of force to solve our problems is for the Lion, trickery for the Fox. But we are human and we should use reason."

"What's a lion?"

Hiccup gaped at her. "It's…a …sort of a… bear… sort of thing."

"Well that sounds like a compliment to me," she said proudly, "being compared with a bear! I am Bear-like."

"No you're not. My dad is Bear-like: Eat fish. Grow hair. Be angry."

"Ha!"

"You? You're…"

Astrid glanced over to see him staring at her with a… a look she couldn't really read. It wasn't bad, though. And that same warmth flushed through her as she met his eyes.

She smirked. "I am what?"

Hiccup just sighed and shook his head, smiling. "Something else entirely."

"What? Tell me!"

"So demanding."

"I'm warning you, Haddock!"

He rolled his eyes. "…Vikings…"

Astrid turned and punched him, but lightly.

"Ow! Aaaand again with the violence. Love it."

"Good because there's a lot more where that came from."

"Gets better every time. Look, I just wanted the plan to work, you know?" he said earnestly, rubbing his side. "You gain back public sympathy by asking for someone to take over dragon training. It shows you still care about the village. Everyone realizes they'd rather have you in the ring than Snotlout. Prometheus rides in and saves the day, opening the doors for me to start teaching some of them about Dragons. It's a win-win-win."

Astrid sat up, wincing as she recalled a cold, misty morning, and a blackened corpse spread across the arena floor. The day she had asked Stoick to make her his heir; gods… that seemed an age ago. "Hiccup, it's not that simple. The last time my students were in the ring with Snotlout, one of them got killed."

"It won't come to that."

"You can't know that!"

"So little faith in the Dragon Master…"

"Master?" Astrid asked incredulously.

"You're right. Far too grand. What about Shyster?"

Astrid raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Hiccup Haddock the Dragon Shyster?"

"Huckster?"

"You aren't selling them!"

"I kind of am, though."

She opened her mouth to fire back, and then thought it through. "Kind of," she agreed carefully.

"Dragon Huckster it is!"

"Look, Hiccup, you can't control every variable in that ring." Astrid gazed fondly at Stormfly, who had calmed down, and was sipping from the nearby pond. "I know dragons aren't the enemy, but they're still dangerous and they can be unpredictable, and my students-"

"Were trained by the greatest warrior on Berk," Hiccup finished stubbornly. "We have nothing to worry about, Astrid. Everything will be fine. Just …trust me, alright?"

"Okay guys, remember: we're here to embarrass him," Fridleif reminded his fellow students. They were gathered that early morning at the entrance to the Kill Ring. All of them remembered what had happened the last time Snotlout taught them. All of them remembered Brynjolf Barrason's death. All of them hated their new teacher, and they looked to Fridleif, their leader, for guidance.

Much of Berk had gathered around the edge of the arena, including the Jorgensons, in support of Snotlout. Brynjolf's family and their friends were there as well, looking grim and holding their weapons too tightly for idle thoughts. The parents were there as well. All of them remembered Brenna Barrason's horrid scream at the sight of her son's broken body. Every mother on the island had slept poorly after hearing it, and now? They were living a nightmare.

Astrid stood above the ramp leading into the arena. Her legs were wide, arms crossed. When she met the apologetic gaze of the parents, her expression was merciless. She felt betrayed by them. They understood that, and they were stunned that this was the price she was making them pay, handing their children's lives to an incompetent fool. But they couldn't say anything: Snotlout's skin was as notoriously thin as his skull was thick. He took offense easily, but he also belonged to a powerful family with powerful friends. A dangerous combination.

Fridleif met his teacher's gaze, and for a moment, her stone glare softened. She gave him a respectful nod, and he nodded back. Snotlout was crossing the bridge towards them at that very moment, followed by his regular retinue. Mostly Jorgenson warriors and a few groupies, hoping to share in his limelight.

They drew to a halt beside Astrid's class. Fridleif smiled when he saw that Snotlout's eyes were still blackened, his bulbous nose twisted and bruised. The Story of Astrid's attack had spread through the village like wildfire. Even those who disagreed with her entirely, and felt she had gone mad, shared in the collective schadenfreude. Most of them had dreamt similar fantasies themselves, and envied the mad woman for her freedom.

"Snotdwops!" Snotlout greeted, waving at them with a formal air. His broken nose was still impeding his speech. "It pweases me gweatwy that I, Snowout Jowgenson am once again called to do my noble doody fow Berg."

The class sniggered, Fridleif the most loudly, and Snotlout's face reddened, twisting with anger. It was made all the worse by Astrid's smirk. She was watching him as much as them. No doubt he was planning a reprisal of some sort, and if he did, Friedleif swore silently to find a way to make the Jorgenson pay. For his best friend Brynjolf, and for Astrid, their fearless teacher.

Several members of Snotlout's gang were at the cranks, opening the arena doors. As they clanked and shuddered, Snotlout spoke.

"My Snotdwops, wast cwass you wearned how do defend yowsewfs. Undew my bwave and carefow teaching, you wearned to kill a gwonkle. As dat went so well, I fink its time to move up der wadder. Wast nighd my warriors and I wend and caught you a special dwagon-" Snotlout smiled a vicious smile of his own and looked up at Astrid. He called out: "A Monstwous Nighdmare. What do you fink, Astwid? Dat oughta teach da kids."

Her sassy smile vanished, and her crossed arms dropped to her sides as she fixed him with a thunderous, murderous glare. Behind the largest cage door in the arena, the Vikings heard the tell-tale almighty roar of the beast. All around the arena, the gathered crowd began to whisper fearfully to one another.

"Snotlout!" Hafgrim Hallkelson, father of the twins Osmand and Hallfrid, Astrid's eight-year-old students, fought his way to the front of the crowd. "Snotlout, you can't put my children up against a Nightmare!"

"Dey gotta learn someday." Snotlout replied.

"Astrid!" Hafgrim turned to the watching warrior. "Astrid, please!"

"What?" she snapped shortly.

"Stop this! You're the teacher!"

"You dismissed me yesterday," Astrid reminded him.

"I'll let you teach!" Hafgrim announced desperately. Many of the parents were nodding in agreement. "I take it all back! I want you to teach!"

"Hey!" Snotlout shouted indignantly, planting his hands on his hips.

Astrid slapped Hafgrim. Silence fell across the watching crowd. Event Snotlout stopped to watch. The youngsters Osmond and Hallfrid were both following the proceedings with wide-eyed fear. Fridleif stood with them. He reached over and rested a reassuring hand on each of their shoulders. At the top of the ramp, Astrid had grabbed the front of their father's tunic.

"You can't sacrifice my children just because I was a fool!" he pleaded.

"You dishonored me, yesterday. You insulted me. You left me standing out in the cold, and you took away the thing that mattered most to me, but above all, you made a choice! Don't whine now! At least have the balls to stand by it! I have a job to do, Hafgrim! To see that the next generation of Berk is ready to fight dragons. As I am apparently no longer fit to teach, I gave the class to the next best fighter on Berk."

"You broke his nose yesterday!" Hafgrim said weakly. "Why would you give him my kids?"

"That was personal. And fun. But this is business! Someone has to train the next generation. If you have an issue with lesson plans, take it up with him!" Astrid gestured down at Snotlout. Hafgrim stared at her in horror. The crowd too was looking shocked by her cold dismissal. More than a few were looking quite guilty.

"You can all take it up with him!" Astrid stepped back and crossed her arms, glaring down half of Berk.

"Ye-yeah!" Snotlout agreed, not sure whether he had been insulted or not. "I'm da teacher now!"

Hafgrim stepped back, withering under Astrid's icy gaze, and called to his children. "Osmand, Hallfrid, come over here!"

"Stay wight dere!" Snotlout replied as the twins made to step out of line. He turned to Hafgrim, looking offended. "You don't twust me?"

The father shifted uneasily, very aware of the stern-looking Jorgenson warriors which dotted the crowd, as were all the other parents.

"Dat's what I thought," Snotlout said with immense satisfaction. He turned back to the class. "Da Monstwous Nighdmare is the most powerfow of all da dwagons. Bud id's jusd ad edemy. If id hids you, you hid back! If it bites you, you bite back. Avoid da fire, ad always remember: your most impordant weapon is your axe!"

"Astrid taught us that our most important weapon is our shield!" Fridleif shot back defiantly.

Snotlout turned on him angrily. "Astwid isn't teaching you anymore! Udderstand? You'we mine!" To make his point, he stepped forward and jabbed Fridleif in the side, right in the youth's healing ribs. The young Viking turned stark white, but snarled in rage and punched Snotlout right on his broken nose. They both staggered back, Snotlout stumbling to one knee and clutching his face. He had turned bright red, his already tested temper bubbling, and as he rose, he pulled out his axe.

As one, Astrid's class raised their shields and stepped to Fridleif's flanks, swallowing him in a protective shield wall.

Snotlout waved his axe threateningly, and the small formation was suddenly bristling with child-sized weapons, all still razor sharp. Tiny defiant faces peered out through the shadowy gaps.

"Advance!" Fridleif ordered, just as Astrid had ordered them to during practice sessions. They took a step forward, as one unit. Snotlout took a step back, onto the arena ramp. On the ramparts surrounding the arena, the Jorgenson warriors began to push their way grimly through the crowd towards Snotlout and his rebellious students.

"Fridleif!" Astrid's voice cut through the foggy morning air like a cold, sharp wind. All at once, the formation broke, and Snotlout found himself menacing eight-year-olds with an axe. An image he realized would be burnt into the minds of every Berkian who saw it. Yet the class's attention was focused on Astrid, who stood on the rampart above his head.

"Snotlout is your teacher now, as the Village wants it," Astrid called out. All around her, there was much mumbling, neck rubbing, and uncomfortable shifting of feet. She ignored them. "You honor him. Respect him as you would me."

"He's sending us against a Nightmare!" Fridleif protested.

Astrid, for a moment, dropped her cold façade, honest fear showing in her eyes. "I know. Remember your training: Noise distracts them. Keep your head down. Approach from behind. Cut the wings and attack the joints. Your most important weapon is your shield."

Fridleif stared up at her. He knew the village had dishonored her, disgraced her, but he also knew that Astrid Hofferson cared about her students. She wouldn't let this happen without a plan of some sort. No matter what, she wouldn't sacrifice them to prove a point, even over something as important as honor.

He chose to trust his teacher. He pulled out his sword and raised it to her in salute. Then marched past Snotlout and through the open door into the arena. The other students followed him uncertainly. They could hear the roar of the Monstrous Nightmare, trapped behind the thick wooden door at the back of the arena. This was it, he knew; the final Test. If he made it out, he would be a warrior, like his heroes.