Prodigal Son 34

Astrid thundered through the forest. Branches tore at her clothing. Brambles and prickles scratched her legs, but she kept running. Her lungs burned with every breath, but she didn't stop moving, racing along fallen logs, and vaulting over boulders.

Her face, hair, and tunic were still sticky with nightmare blood, but she did not have time to wash. She had minutes. Probably less, if she meant to catch him. Hiccup's look of utter betrayal was etched across her mind's eye, and a great fear gripped her: that everything she'd been through, everything she fought for, would all fall apart if he left. There was no way she could make Berk listen to her. There was no way she could protect Stormfly. There was no way she could end the war – truly end it- without him. So she ran, thanking the gods that she had tread the path to Raven's Point so often she could run it blindfolded, and praying to them that she would find Hiccup Haddock there.

Astrid didn't know why she would. For all she actually knew, he could have simply flown straight from the arena into oblivion. It wasn't like there was anything stopping him. Yet from the very moment of his incredible exit, only one thought had possessed her- that if he left, it would all fall apart.

She was terrified of the damage she might have done. Killing the nightmare was a necessity- it was heading for Fridleif and Stoick with intent to kill- but it also destroyed any credibility Hiccup may have earned with the village – not to mention his opinion of her.

Strangely that second possibility hurt more than the first.

Astrid reached the cove, and didn't slow down. A set of roots had grown over the side, reaching nearly to the ground. She grabbed them as she passed over the edge, and half slid half swung to the mossy bed below.

Relief poured over her as she spotted Toothless watching her patiently from the other side of the pond. The sleek black dragon was spread straight out, tip to tail and Hiccup was there beside him, running his hands along the saddle and the various mechanisms attached to his prosthetic. Nearer to Astrid, Stormfly trilled a greeted and waddled over to nuzzle her shoulder, yet Astrid's attention was focused entirely on the lanky rider.

"Hiccup!" Her legs were burning, and her lungs cashed in their cheques. She bent over, hands on her knees as she gasped for air. "Hiccup!" she wheezed.

He didn't answer. His mask was still up, covering his nose and mouth, but he had pulled his hood down, revealing his tangled auburn hair. There was something withdrawn and mechanical in his movements as he traced leather straps down the length of Toothless' tail.

"Hiccup!"

He moved on to the fin itself, testing it by pulling a cord which ran the length of the dragon's body, opening and closing the prosthetic.

"Answer me, damn it!" Astrid picked up a small stone from the narrow riverbank, and tossed it across the water, hitting him squarely on the side of the head. He looked up, met her eyes, and she immediately regretted the action. There was such a coldness in his gaze as he took in her blood-masked face and stained tunic.

With the pond between them, the mask covering half his face, and the blood caked over hers, Astrid had never felt more distance between him. She opened her mouth, realizing too late that she had nothing to say. Don't go! That was too much like begging.

He pulled his mask down, revealing a look of disgust; exactly what she had feared. Shame swept through her, and she was tempted to look away, but she didn't, meeting his eyes instead.

"You going to wash that off… or do you just like the look?" he asked witheringly.

Stormfly was standing beside her, crooning quietly, and sniffing at the blood which was caked in her hair.

"I did what I had to."

"You didn't have to."

"It attacked us."

He shook his head. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I don't know what I was expecting. I mean… This is Berk. Of course you just kill it..."

"It's not that simple."

"It's not that complicated, Astrid. Either you either choose to kill them or you don't."

"I didn't mean to kill it."

"That looked pretty deliberate to me."

"I mean I didn't want to! But it was after my student. I did what I had to."

"What if it was Stormfly, Astrid? What if it was your dragon? What if you had to choose?"

Astrid glanced at the Nadder beside her. It tilted its head to the side and chirped, still curious about the blood. "Her or the students?"

"Yeah."

"My students." Astrid said, rubbing Stormfly's snout. "Always. I'm sorry, girl. That's just how it is."

"Not how it has to be." Hiccup told her angrily. "There's a third option, Astrid! That's what I was showing them before you went and… and…" he sighed and threw his hands up, turning away from her. Toothless rose beside him, moving with catlike grace and subtle intelligence. The dragon could sense his friend's distress.

"Look, I want things to be different too, Hiccup, but we're not there yet. I did what I had to, and if it came down to it, I'd do it again."

"It can't be this way! Is this going to happen every time a dragon gets rowdy?"

"It was dangerous."

"It was scared and confused."

"Not my fault. That was Stoick."

"You swung the axe!"

"He would've if I hadn't." Astrid crossed her arms. "And then he would have moved on to the next threat to his village: you."

"There's always another way!"

"Bullshit. What if you had to choose between Toothless and your dad?"

"The whole point is to make sure that never happens."

"What would you pick?"

"I'd find another way."

"Say there isn't another way."

"Well then I…" He huffed and ran his hand through his hair, staring down at Toothless. "I think I'd rather step between them. I can't make that choice."

"Well today I had to. You didn't. So don't judge me! Especially when all you've ever done is run away!"

Hiccup flinched and turned away from her.

For her part, Astrid felt a stab of pleasure at having gotten under his skin. His self-righteous platitudes were just a little more than she could take.

Hiccup sighed, giving Toothless a bittersweet smile. The dragon sat up on his haunches, rubbing the tip of his snout against Hiccup's nose, and cooing softly.

"Oh, bud…" Hiccup whispered sadly, gently scratching behind the dragon's earflaps. He turned back to Astrid, Toothless taking up station at his shoulder. Hiccup shifted apologetically as he said, "It's been a long time since I saw a dragon die, Astrid. I guess… You just shocked me. I was expecting my dad to try the old way. Or Snotlout or… maybe your students. I just wasn't expecting you to kill him. I'm sorry. I thought you were different from them…"

Astrid took a deep breath, recalling her Uncle Finn's death, and her oath to the Gods. "I'm a warrior, Hiccup. It's who I am. I took an oath."

"Then why…?" he gestured at Stormfly, and around the cove. "Why all this? Why ride dragons? Why keep my secrets? Why help me? Why-why are you on my side at all?"

"I swore an oath to defend Berk. To protect it." Astrid thumped her chest. "To me, that means ending this war. Before you swooped in on Dragon Island, ending the war meant finding and killing every single last one of the demons. Now I know a better way and I'm trying, but I don't think like you. That's why I need you."

"Ran all the way here just to tell me that?" he asked glumly.

"And to stop you."

"Stop me?" he looked genuinely confused.

"Last time things got tough, you ran."

"I-" Hiccup looked for a moment as if he were going to protest, but instead he just glanced at Toothless and stared at the ground in shame.

"And you're about to run again." She accused.

No response at all. Yet his face grew red, and he scowled at the ground.

Astrid felt a twinge of anger rise within her; what right did he have to judge her anyway? The coward had run away, after all. He had never faced the hard choices. He had never watched his own student's flaming corpse totter out of a burning shack. Had never watched his own beloved family members get bitten in two. He thought it was wrong to kill the beasts but what did he know? What did he actually know about life with them? About living under their shadow?

She said, "I'm not going to give you any apology, Hiccup. I did the right thing. You think I failed your test or whatever, well that's fine. I never needed your damned approval. But I'm Berkian to the bone, and I'm staying here to uphold my oath until I die. There are hundreds of my countrymen depending on me to end this war. I need to know if you're still in this fight. Quit moping, get off your sorry ass, and help me! We need a plan C!"

"Where can we possibly go from here?" Hiccup laughed. "That was plan C, Astrid."

"Well… figure it out, Dragonboy." She started backwards, making for the root system she had swung down on. "I gotta get back. People are going to be suspicious enough as it is."

"Astrid!" Hiccup's voice was strong and steady. She turned, one hand on the roots. Hiccup stood on the opposite bank, that strange, foreign, golden disc clutched tightly in one hand. He was running his thumb along the outer edge.

"I wasn't going to run," He told her.

She just shook her head and climbed hand over hand up the vines and out of the Cove.

Astrid was becoming quite practiced at slipping in and out of Berk unseen. Upon her return she visited the mead hall first, and found it abuzz with conversation. The noise faltered for a moment as she stepped inside, yet it quickly resumed and a few of the practiced warriors gave her a short wave; a far cry from the cold treatment she had received over the past few days.

Fridleif was in a shadowy corner on a pile of furs, being tended to by the same Thorston girl, Lifa. They were both smiling and giggly, yet grew quiet as Astrid approached.

"Ma'am." Fridleif tried to sit up on his cot, but winced and dropped back down. Lifa rose to her feet, hands clasped respectfully at her waist. She hurried awkwardly away, leaving Fridleif and Astrid alone.

Astrid knelt beside him. "Just wanted to check in. How are your ribs?"

"Hurting." Fridleif admitted. "I'm going to be out of it for a little while."

"You poor soul." Astrid said dryly, glancing at Lifa's retreating silhouette.

Fridleif turned bright red. "Well I didn't… I mean she's just… it's not… we're just…"

"Take the rest. You've earned it." Astrid ordered, cutting the poor boy some slack.

He fell silent for a time, then said, "Did you plan for him to show up, Ma'am? The rider, I mean."

Astrid scratched her head uncomfortably, unsure how to answer. "It was that or actually let Snotlout teach and I'd ride a dragon myself before I'd let that happen."

"Haha! You shouldn't have broken up the shield wall. We could have taken him." Fridleif grinned.

Astrid smacked him gently upside the head. "Idiot." She winked.

"And then the rider! I've never seen a dragon act like that. It liked him. It trusted him. Like a dog or something. It was really weird…" he searched her face for an answer. "Have you ever seen that, Ma'am?"

"No. He's… a resourceful guest."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know." Astrid lied, "But he knows a lot about dragons. And some stuff which isn't in the Book of Dragons."

"You taught us the Book of Dragons had everything."

"Well I don't know everything either, Fridleif. But you do the best you can."

"Yes Ma'am."

She clapped him on the shoulder. "You did great in the ring today, Fridleif. That was a good plan. Well executed. Thor and Odin would both be proud. The children trust you and you lead them well. You'll be a great warrior."

"Thanks Ma'am."

She squeezed his shoulder and rose to her feet, crossing the hall towards Iona's cooking station. A few warriors gave her grim nods of solidarity, and when she slipped into the lineup, a few farmers made room for her. She took guilty pleasure in the normalcy of it all: Astrid Hofferson was a warrior again. A dragon killer, whose skill was recognized across the island.

Iona scooped generous portions of stew into Astrid's bowl, her smile a little too sunny and cheerful; she still felt badly over participating in Astrid's previous humiliation. "Hello Astrid! I heard there was quite a battle in the ring today."

"You could say that."

"You killed a nightmare in a single swing. That's impressive. My husband Styr says it usually takes teams to kill them."

Astrid shrugged coldly.

Iona nodded at her. "Are you going to wash that blood off your face?"

"I kinda like it." Astrid admitted. She knew Hiccup would be horrified, but she was still a Berkian warrior. She had spent many nights drenched in dragon blood, many mornings washing it out of her hair, massaging stiff muscles, and cleaning her weapons. It was as familiar to her as the heat of a fire, the crackling of flaming thatch, and the smell of burnt flesh. She had been at war since she was a child. There was familiarity in it, and she found comfort there.

Astrid tore a large chunk off of a nearby loaf of bread and dipped it in her stew. She spread her arms wide. "Seems some people can't recognize me without it." She had meant the comment as a joke, a light jab at all those who had forgotten exactly who she was, and what she had stood for since Fearless Finn's death, yet the cook still took it as a personal jab. Iona stared guiltily into her stew pot and bit her lip.

Feeling only a little sorry, Astrid took a seat on a nearby bench –warriors shuffling over to make room for her- and smiled, for a moment putting Hiccup and Stormfly and every uncomfortable truth about dragons out of her mind; she was home again. Then she remembered how hurt he had looked, and her smile vanished. A knot formed in her chest. She stared into her stew, trying to convince herself she was feeling hungry.

It was late in the sunlit afternoon. Astrid had washed the blood away, changed her tunic, and propped herself up against the side of the arena, eyes shut tightly as she let her hair dry, and mulled over everything that had happened that morning. Hiccup's look of betrayal was still plastered across her inner eye. His derision echoed in her ears.

His coldness afterwards had hurt her. She hadn't realized just how much she had invested emotionally in her budding friendship with Hiccup Haddock. When the rest of her Viking life seemed to be falling apart, he had been a source of levity and solace she had come to rely on. To have him treat her as he had, with such hostility even for a moment, had once again thrown a pall over her day, despite the sudden acceptance she had gained with the village.

It was all made worse by the fact that she hadn't steeled herself for it. She wanted to get along with him. She was annoyed at how simple he felt the situation had been, at how judgmental he was about her killing despite the fact he hadn't lived through eight seasons of raids. He hadn't seen friends and relatives die, or watch the village wither away. His psyche hadn't suffered that slow death, that loss of hope which came each spring at the first raid of the season. He had not lived into adulthood with dragons as his enemies. Yet it was precisely that perspective which the village needed so badly, and she knew there was nothing keeping him from leaving save for nostalgia and his goodwill. The whole situation suddenly felt so much more delicate than she had first assumed, and more than anything else she was tired of the stress it was causing. Fixing things, really fixing things, was difficult.

A shadow fell across her, blocking out the sun.

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested." She grunted absently.

"Get up, Skoldmo."

Astrid's eyes snapped open and she sprang to her feet, axe in hand. "Chief!"

Stoick the vast was standing before her, shield slung across his back, his face stern, and arms folded across his massive chest. Astrid closed her mouth and met his gaze evenly.

"Follow." He ordered shortly. He turned away, and she fell into step behind him, watching his braid bob against his black, bearskin cloak. She wondered vaguely what he wanted her for. He marched her through the village and stopped outside of his house, opening the door for her.

"In." Stoick ordered.

Astrid stepped over the mantle and was once again in Haddock Hall, complete with layers of dust and that tiny horned helm.

Stoick passed by her and pulled a chair out from the thick wooden table. "Sit," he instructed.

She obeyed, still feeling terribly flummoxed by the whole event. Given the terms on which they'd parted, she had expected it to be a long time before she'd be sitting at that table again, if ever at all.

"Would you like some water, Astrid?"

"Please." She watched him pour a glass, and was surprised at the mighty warrior concerning himself with such a mundane, domestic task. He plonked her glass down in front of her, poured another for himself, and sat himself down at the other end of the table, palms facedown before him. "Astrid, we need to talk."

"Yessir." She said obediently. What was it to be, then? Condemnation? A reprimand for her little war with Snotlout? Was she to be cast out a second time for her relationship with the dragon rider?

"First of all, I want to congratulate you."

"Oh." Astrid gaped. "Oh? What? Um… what for, sir?"

If Stoick took notice of her surprise, he didn't show it. "Your students stood against a Nightmare. You trained them well."

"Umm… thank you, sir."

Stoick nodded curtly.

Astrid bit her lip. "Was there… anything else?"

"You know, Astrid, over these years, I've learned a lot about pain."

"I'm…sorry. Sir." Astrid tried politely.

Stoick seemed caught up in his own thoughts. "Did you know you can hurt someone without ever laying a hand on them?"

Astrid frowned and took a polite sip from her mug, feeling more and more unnerved by the second. She wondered where this could possibly be going. "How do you mean?"

"I mean…" Stoick ran a hand down his beard, struggling to vocalize the concept. "Look, I can take my axe and hack a tree down, or plant it in the skull of a deadly nadder, and that's harm. I'm harming them. Well not the tree, obviously…"

"Obviously, sir."

"But you can do the same thing to a man's soul. When the demons took Valka from me, they hurt me as sure as if they'd planted a spear in my heart. It was even worse after Hiccup died." He drew his hands together and stared somberly into space.

"Grief is like the ache of a stump in mid-winter." He murmured. "Even when the wound is healed, you still feel it."

Gods… wasn't that the truth! And it was strange what little things brought it forward… a fishing vessel on the horizon, the sound of the smithy, and the smell of a campfire… little things would remind her of her Uncle Finn, and her grief would rear its head again and again no matter how much time passed. Its sting lessened only with familiarity.

"I can feel it even now, my wounded heart, but that doesn't make sense to me, Astrid. My thoughts, my spirit… they aren't physically here. They aren't objects in the world. How can they be hurt?"

"If you can feel it, it must exist somewhere, sir." Astrid reasoned. "We can't hold the wind in our hands either. Or cold. Or sunlight."

Stoick seemed to come back from wherever his ruminations had taken him. He gazed at her with warmth and softness in his eyes. "You're a smart lass, Astrid. I think Valka would have liked you."

Astrid was once again taken aback. "Thank you, sir."

Stoick nodded congenially.

"Sir… with all due respect… I thought you had cast me out. What am I doing here?"

"A man- a warrior- never changes his mind, Astrid."

"Or hers."

"Or hers," He agreed, "he makes his choice and he sticks to it. To the bitter end. The first choice he ever makes is the choice to become a warrior: to die. Not that day, but some day, on some bloody field in some bitter fight with someone or something. The first and most important choice a warrior makes is his willingness to forfeit his life for his village, for his fellow warriors, for his chief, and for the gods. It defines him. The rest of his life rests upon it, is dictated by it."

They were familiar words. Finn had told her something similar after giving Astrid her first axe. Yet even her uncle had spoken partially in warning. It was a sacrifice which few were willing to make, and a challenge to which even fewer were willing to commit. It had set her apart from the rest of her family. Connections were a double-edged blade. They could motivate one to fight, but the fear of leaving family behind could just as easily paralyze. Astrid had distanced herself from her family, from her peers deliberately, to save them the mourning, and herself the fear and hesitation.

The price for such a life was heavy. Astrid couldn't deny her loneliness. The comradery of her fellow warriors before and after battles, and the trust and blood brotherhood which formed within every shield wall were a different breed of companionship than that which she saw in Iona's relationship with her husband Styr, or her own parent's quiet confidence and reliance upon one another.

Astrid missed it, on dark and lonely nights. She wondered, on the darkest, quietest watches, when she had nothing but her own thoughts to listen to, what it would feel like to be wed, to start her own hall, to hold a child of her own. Yet whenever she considered stepping back, or straying from her course, she remembered the way her uncle Finn had died, and how so many others had died before and after him. She remembered what she was fighting to prevent, and fighting to protect, and her Warrior's spirit, her oath, was renewed. Her vows unbroken.

Stoick was watching her patiently. "You made that choice at Uppsala when you knelt before Thor and Odin, Astrid. I've watched you for years. I remember you swearing your oath after your uncle died. I remember you working twice as hard as all the other children. Training constantly. You came in second to my own son. You took over training when Gobber retired. After Snotlout proved his incompetence, you told me to make you chief." He leaned forward eagerly. "Near on a month ago I chose to make you my heir. I paid a hefty bride price so that you could one day sit upon my throne and lead my people. I felt you were the right choice. You can bear the burden, Astrid Haddock. You proved that in the ring today. You killed that Nightmare without a moment's hesitation! You'd already made your choice! I can trust you with Berk's future. I know that. You were always someone going somewhere and I can see the arc. The whole story of your life from beginning to the bitter, bloody end, clear as day…" his brow furrowed. "Except for this dragon rider. This… Prometheus."

"Sir?"

"A warrior doesn't back down from his choices, Astrid." Stoick said grimly. "I chose to make you my heir with good reason, and I reprimanded you with good reason. But I still feel you owe me an explanation. Why is this stranger in our home? What is he doing here? What does he want with us?"

Astrid found herself drawing a blank. She realized that she had never actually expected Stoick to let her explain anything. Not only that, she had never come up with any real cover story. She had befriended a dragon out of necessity, followed Hiccup's trail out of curiosity, reconnected with him through pure dumb luck. What followed after were the choices, and like a warrior she had stuck to them, but she had no clear line of reasoning, no false simple explanation of the sort Stoick was seeking. Merely events.

How to answer…?

He's your son! No.

Everything we knew about dragons is wrong! Definitely not.

At a loss, she stalled. "I still don't… You were so angry, sir. I thought that was all done with. I thought… I thought I was one step away from being Outcast…" She admitted, though it pained her greatly to say.

Stoick waved a hand. "We had a disagreement, yes, but we're still warriors. We have to stand together against threats to our village! I'd treat you the same if you broke formation during a battle."

"Is he an enemy, sir? Is Prometheus an enemy?"

"He rides the beasts, doesn't he?"

"Well yes, but-"

"That mere fact alone is an insult to all of us. Every single one of us who ever lost family to the monsters." Stoick eyed the tiny, horned helmet. "It's an insult to my son! My boy! I know where I stand and why but what exactly are you fighting for, Astrid?"

"Peace."

"The only way there is to find and kill every last one of the demons. Every. Single. One."

"I'll settle for them not attacking us anymore." Astrid muttered, lifting her glass to her lips.

"Ahhh. There it is." Stoick leaned back in his chair, nodding sagely. "I used to think that way. You haven't seen enough death yet, Astrid."

She planted her mug on the table with a loud clop. "They killed my uncle."

"And my son. And my wife. And dozens upon dozens of my villagers. My kin."

Astrid bit her lip and looked down into her cup.

"Help me understand this, Astrid. You're still one of my finest warriors. You deserve a chance to explain yourself."

"He…knows things about the dragons, sir. You saw what happened in the ring."

Stoick scowled. "What happened in the ring was an insult to our ways!"

"Maybe," Astrid admitted, "but what about that monster at the nest… he hurt it. Insulting or not, he can help us."

"We can beat it without his help! Hiccup's drawings are the key, Astrid! Hiccup's the key! His war machines can hurt the creature at the nest. This village will be saved by my son's hard work. Not some dragon-loving freak. Gods only know what kind of parents would raise a boy like that…"

Astrid screwed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a breath. "Sir… His dragon hurt the nest monster. Made it bleed. Knocked it out of the sky. If we-"

"We don't need him!"

An argument occurred to Astrid, and she ran with it, fueled by honest frustration. "Would you deny spears to a shield wall? Would you send us to battle ill-equipped? With no swords? No shields? We have to press for every advantage! Use every strategy if we want victory. Gods do I ever wish we were like Beowulf, facing the monster in Hrothgar's Hall, and denying himself a weapon just… just for the challenge! Just to make things even, but we're not! That's a lie, sir. We're out matched. The dragons fly. They breathe fire, and their hides turn our blades aside. We can't afford the luxury of an honorable fight. I'll do anything. Any weapon. Any ally. Anything I have to do to make sure that there are no more Byrnjolfs, no more Sluglouts or Sigerichs or Hiccups. No more death. Whatever it takes."

Stoick sat back and studied her, stroking his beard. "So you're using him."

"I'm a Skoldmo. Tribe first, sir. He knows a lot and he can help. He proved that in the ring. I want him here. I want to know what he knows."

He hummed and fell silent for a while, still searching her with those cold, beady eyes. "I paid a hefty bride-price for you, Astrid Hofferson."

Astrid slapped her mug down on the table, glaring at her new father. "So trust me, sir! Trust my judgement!"

She watched helplessly as the corners of his eyes crinkled… but then he broke into a smile "…and it was worth every penny." Stoick picked up his glass and downed it in one gulp. "Alright Astrid, you're my heir. Do what you feel you have to. But be careful. Don't get drawn into his… his madness."

"Never, sir." Astrid promised, standing up.

"Astrid…" Stoick rose to his feet as well. He planted both knuckles on the table. "What if Beowulf never left Heorot? What if he never left Denmark? What if he came out of nowhere, saved the villagers, and then took the kingdom for his own… what if they thanked him for it? For turning them into just another Geat Kingdom? For destroying all that was Viking in them?"

Astrid stared.

"Take care with this stranger. Earlier I spoke about pain. About how to hurt someone without ever laying a hand on him? This man, this… Prometheus… could hurt us, Astrid. You and I and Berk. Destroy our village as surely as any dragon by changing who we are at our very core."

"If he tries, I'll slit him from crown to crotch and leave him for the carrion eaters. That's a promise, sir." Astrid told him grimly, hoping the violence of the statement hid the reluctance in her tone.

Stoick gave her another moment's examination, then sat back down, satisfied with the answer. "Carry on, Astrid Hofferson."

I'm still here. Just doing a thousand things at once. :)

Fallout is coming along. I'm even working on an entirely new story. A Far Cry 3/Tomb Raider 2013 crossover.