Prodigal Son 38
The afternoon had reached its peak, yet the sky had merely grown even more grey and dour. The chill of a full snowfall could be felt, causing most of the Vikings gathered to wrap themselves up tightly in their cloaks. The group of warriors were sitting in a circle at the centre of the training arena, with Hiccup – with Prometheus and Astrid together on one side.
Toothless was lounging around the circle. Sometimes the dragon would curl up within it, and sometimes he would snuffle around the outside. The acclimatization of the Viking warriors was a slow, gradual thing. At the beginning, the Vikings would tense up whenever the dragon neared them, glancing constantly at their weapons, which were sitting in a carefully organized pile several yards away, but over time they had grown more relaxed around the creature. Cautious, but not terrified and mutinously angry the way they had been at the start of the exercise. Fish were passed around by Hicc – Prometheus, and the Vikings would take turns tossing small treats and snacks to the dragon.
Over time a large crowd had formed around the edge of the arena. Berkians, both idle and curious were staring down at the gathered warriors. Many of them were the working women of Berk, finding a moment between their chores to stop in and observe the lesson. Astrid could see her Mother and Brenna Barrason standing side-by-side near the gate, watching quietly from the background.
The very moment the circle had formed, Prometheus had immediately started into an enthusiastic explanation of dragon behaviors, diets, temperaments and within seconds the crowd's mood began to sour. Only Fishlegs and Sirnir, the old giant, seemed genuinely interested. The twins were bored. Everyone else was at best impatient, and at worst, angry.
Hicc-Prometheus said, "I just want to make sure everyone is comfortable. I thought we'd simply sit and talk about Dragons for a while. Start with the basics and work our way up…"
"I don't want to hear about dragons," a Jorgenson spat. Many of his fellow Thorston and Jorgenson warriors nodded their heads.
Prometheus' mouth shot open to respond but Astrid cut him off, "Well I'm sure the women are teaching their daughters weaving and milk churning back in the village. Perhaps you'd like to try your hand at that?"
There was a round of laughter from Sirnir, the Karson twins, and a few others.
As a group the Jorgensons and Thorstons all glared at her, but they kept their mouths shut.
Even so, Astrid understood Hiccup's intent with this first meeting: Vikings – Berkians – could spend time in close proximity to a dragon without it killing them. The information he was so eager to impart to them could wait. For now, just being near it was enough. She turned to Sirnir and said, "tell us some stories."
The giant leaned back and smiled at her beneath his enormous wiry beard. He said, "sorry Hofferson, I've got some questions too."
In the corner of her eye, Astrid watched Hiccup tense up underneath all of his armour. She sighed.
Sirnir turned his attention directly on Prometheus, "Where are you from, Rider"
Astrid bit her lip and prayed Hiccup had spent some time building up potential questions and answers; the last session had gone so well, afterall…
Prometheus said, "I come from far, far south of here. From a place where it is too warm to wear furs, the oceans are made of sand, and snow only appears on the peaks of the highest mountains."
A rehearsed answer. Most of the Vikings present just looked curious, but Astrid watched the way Sirnir's eyes narrowed, and knew the huge old Viking hadn't bought it. Berkians were stubborn in their thinking, but that wasn't always the same thing as stupid. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
The giant said, "then how do you know the customs of a Holmgang Challenge?"
Prometheus stared, "What?"
"When Jerrick challenged you this morning, you said that a Holmgang challenge is supposed to wait three days," Sirnir reminded them all. "You were right. It is supposed to be three days. How did you know?"
"I…" Prometheus glanced at Astrid as if for guidance, but she kept her gaze on Sirnir, trying to read the old warrior's intentions. Yet between his massive blond, greying beard, long tangled hair, and wiry, bushy brows, very little of his expression could be read at all.
"I… am a student. A traveler." Prometheus told the crowd at large, "I know many customs from many cultures. I've been to lots of places."
"You keep your face covered." A Jorgenson warrior named Knute barked.
"It's cold here." Hiccup shot back.
"Foreign dogs can't grow beards like real men?"
Astrid heard a quick intake of breath from Hiccup, and gritted her teeth, wondering what insulting comment he was about to mindlessly blurt out. The man's tongue truly did move faster than his incredible brain.
Yet Hiccup was silent, for a moment, and said, humbly, "I fear I'd only embarrass myself in the attempt."
She smiled.
"All the same," Sirnir said, "You have a young man's voice, and a young man's face, no doubt. Why hide it? Hofferson has no beard, yet she is an honorable warrior and does not cover her face."
"…You haven't been up on a dragon. The air is much colder up there."
Astrid cleared her throat and said, "Sirnir, can I speak to you for a moment?"
The giant tilted his head and watched her with cold grey eyes. After a moment, he nodded and rose slowly to his feet.
Astrid did the same and said to the circle at large, "if anyone attacks my guest or his dragon you will face me on the skins before the whole village and I will see to it that sagas are sung for a hundred years of your embarrassing end. You will die with no weapon in your hand."
The circle tensed, but they had all watched Jerrick's humiliation, and so they all understood two things: that none could match Astrid Hofferson in combat, and that she was not in the mood for idle threats.
Sirnir followed her to a storage alcove in the area wall. Astrid made sure she could still see Hiccup, and the circle, and that they could all see her. The crowd around the area all craned their necks and ears, as she knew they would. She looked up at Sirnir, speaking softly so that only he could hear her, "if you have suspicions about our guest, out with them now."
Sirnir stared down at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
Astrid raised an eyebrow.
He kept his voice equally as soft when he said, "we aren't allowed to ask questions, Skoldmo? I thought that was the reason you brought him here."
"This is a…" Astrid paused, unused to having to search for the perfect words. What would Fishlegs say? "a …delicate… situation. You're making things worse, not better."
"The same could be said of your guest, Hofferson." The old giant told her, "befriending dragons is a big change for us. We have the right to know who he is. Where he comes from. What he wants. We have the right to see his face. You ask us to trust him-"
"I ask you to trust me." Astrid replied shortly, "you've seen my face. Haven't I proven myself yet?"
"Have you seen his face?" Sirnir asked, studying her closely.
Astrid opened and shut her mouth a couple of times. She sighed, "yes."
"…and? Who is he? Why can you see him and not us?"
She huffed in frustration, "I can't say."
He shrugged, "then I have to speak up."
Astrid thought quickly, asking herself what she would say to her students; "I'm Stoick's daughter. I'm going to be Chief. That means I'm going to make certain decisions sometimes. I need strong warriors standing behind me, Sirnir. I need you to have my back, as we do on The Wall every raid. And I need you to trust that I have yours."
"Aye, you kill many dragons." The old viking stroked his beard, "But are we supposed to be blindly loyal to leaders, or is it supposed to be Village First, future wife of Snotlout Jorgenson?"
Astrid stared, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. It was easy to forget sometimes, in the heat of the moment, that every helmeted face she fought beside had a story of their own. Thoughts and a life and history of their own. She hadn't expected the massive, lumbering old man to so neatly skewer her with her own hypocrisy.
He continued, "don't forget I was fighting on the wall when Stoick himself was still gathering mushrooms for his mother's stew. You're a chief in training, Astrid Haddock. Stoick's daughter. His heir. Not mine. Nor the Jorgenson's."
She looked down at the stone cobbles of the arena. The stones had been smoothed to a shine by generations of trainers and trainees, all living decade after decade, century after century through Berk's violent cycle for longer than any of them could remember.
Sirnir said, "I trust you to have my back on The Wall because you've proven you can protect it. But this Prometheus is an unknown. He's not being truthful with us, and you're protecting him from us. I need something, Hofferson. What's going on here?"
She tapped her foot impatiently, and stared out at the circle, arms crossed. Voices were starting to rise in the circle – no doubt Hiccup had said something stupid. She realized she would have to make a call, and quickly, "fine. You're right. He's lying. I'm lying. A bit. There's more to this. But I can't tell you anything yet."
Sirnir shrugged, "I am sorry, but that's not good enough, Skoldmo."
"It ought to be. You were on the wall before Stoick. How many of your friends have you watched get burned, or chewed to pieces and torn apart? How many children's funerals have you attended? How many homes have you rebuilt?"
Now it was the old giant's turn to shift uncomfortably.
Astrid pressed her point home, "do you want that for your children? For their children's children?" she jabbed a finger at the circle, "He can stop it. We can stop it. Here. Now. This generation. The entire bloody thing!"
The man's face was unreadable. "So Jerrick and the Jorgensons are right: it ain't just learning about the beasts. You mean to change the village. Turn us into him."
Astrid's mouth clamped shut, and she stared up at him, her blue eyes wide.
Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!
Her throat bobbed as she stared up at him, all her words and passion draining as she realized that her reaction alone was an admission, and that she may have just ended everything.
Sirnir took another moment to examine her stubborn face, and the defiant way she had stuck her chin out. The corners of his eyes crinkled into a small, smile. "A 'delicate' situation indeed, eh Hofferson?"
She took a deep breath, defeated. "You've been here longer than me. Longer than almost anyone. You know what's happening."
He crossed his arms, "and what is that?"
"When you first went on the Wall, how many young men were there with you?" she asked.
"Hundreds."
"And now?"
The old giant blinked.
She said, "Half that? The beasts take more than we can resupply. We're limping, Sirnir. Berk is a wounded deer and the wolves are circling. We're barely holding on. Do you think Berk will last long enough for your children's children to even go through Dragon Training? Wield a blade? Stand on the wall? I just…" she threw her arms up, "I just want to find a way out of this… to protect Berk."
The voices in the distant circle were growing louder.
The giant stared at the slowly boiling crowd, whom the Rider was failing miserably to calm. He said, "you know the great rotted stump behind my homestead?"
Astrid nodded impatiently, her heart pounding She could hear the trouble brewing in the circle, but knew she could not intervene – Sirnir was more important; If Hiccup was in trouble he would simply take off. They could try again, but if word got out of what she intended – if Sirnir told anyone what she had said, it would all be for nothing. Gods damn it all, she should have kept her fucking mouth shut! No wonder Fishlegs almost never spoke.
The old warrior spoke slowly, as aware of her precarious situation as she. Yet he seemed content to stand and let her stew, testing her resolve. "my great, great grandfather planted that tree when my mother was pregnant with my older brothers. He never lived to see its shade. Neither did they, but he knew he wouldn't. He planted it for my children to sit under. But a dragon burned it down in my twenty-sixth winter. Two years after my brothers died on the wall not ten feet from your uncle Finn. My old Gran was heartbroken. Old Olga – you wouldn't remember her…" his eyes went misty, and for a moment he had gone far, far away.
Someone at the circle was shouting. Prometheus was talking in a calm tone, and for a moment, things quieted. From the circle, Fishlegs shot Astrid a quick, worried look and she returned it in kind.
"I planted one for my grandchildren." Sirnir told her. He tilted his head to the side, "a dragon burned that one, too."
"I don't give a shit what you believe, you piece of dragon-loving, foreign clod of fish-offal!" an angry Jorgenson snapped, loud enough for it to echo around the arena.
"You follow the Jorgensons and your grandchildren won't live to plant their own!" Astrid hissed angrily. People were rising to their feet in the circle. Hiccup- Prometheus, was backing away towards Toothless. The dragon looked ready to pounce, teeth bared.
Sirnir's eyes were thoughtful as he considered his position.
Her fury abated as quickly as it had arisen, drowned by panic, "please, Sirnir! Berk needs this! please!"
The old giant finally seemed to come back to earth, eyes focused on the circle. He glanced once more at the circle, watching the temperature rise. "Let me see his face."
"Sirnir!" Astrid pleaded, watching as distant viking hands landed on distant viking weapons.
The old warrior raised an unyielding eyebrow at her.
"Fine!" Astrid said, loudly enough for the word to echo around the arena. Everyone paused and glanced over at her and the old veteran warrior. She quieted immediately, "fine. I'll make it happen just… just help!"
"Swear it!"
Astrid stared at him, pale with fear and fury. She pulled out her dagger, hesitated for but a moment as Toothless snarled a warning, ignoring Hiccup's attempts to calm him as several armed Jorgensons approached, shields raised.
The Gods were with Hiccup, she reminded herself. If he could do it, if he was right, and their power did not just belong to the Gothi, then maybe…
She planted the tip into the wall, took a breath, and scratched three rough triangles. The Valknut, calling Odin's eye to them.
White-faced with shock, the old warrior stared at the symbol. He snapped around back at her, "you're gambling with the entire island, Lass."
Astrid tried to hide how much she was shaking, "Warrior's honor. For your grandchildren."
Sirnir was staring at the symbol. He gave her one more glance and let out a single huff of air, blowing his long moustache out before him. "alright, Skoldmo. But you better keep your end of the bargain."
He did not look back at her, or wait for her to respond, instead marching angrily towards the circle, bellowing at his fellow warriors from the top of his lungs and pointing at them with a sturdy knife-hand, "whadda think you're doing, you gobshites?! SIT! DOWN!"
Astrid let out a long sigh of relief and sagged against the alcove wall. It took her a few seconds to gather herself and shamble out of the alcove, back towards the circle. In those few seconds, the enormous old warrior had turned things around completely. Many of the warriors heard Sirnir's tone and dropped immediately. The Berk Guard was a well-trained, well-drilled, and very experienced force. When a senior veteran like Sirnir spoke, they obeyed without question. Even the dragon hopped backwards in surprise, eyes wide and ears up as it watched the warrior approach.
Well… most of the warriors responded as Astrid had hoped. A few senior Jorgensons ignored him, choosing instead to continue yelling at Promethus, "We don't need your new ideas, traveler. We need to strengthen our warriors. Sharpen our blades, and return to a time when Men were Men-"
"-and sheep were nervous." Prometheus shot back without missing a beat.
One man raised an axe. Sirnir's fist hit him in the jaw and he went down without a sound, crumpling beside his comrades. The other Jorgensons stepped back in shock.
"Who in Hel's name do you think you are?" the old Viking bellowed at them, his voice filled with so much rage that even Prometheus flinched. "We are Berk's Guard. The First and Last line of defense for our tribe! We, who stand against teeth and claw because we love what's behind us too much to do anything less! And yet here you are acting like bratty children! You make me ashamed to be counted among you!"
Most of the younger warriors stared down at their feet, shamed. A few even dropped back to the ground; one of the oldest fighters in the Guard thought poorly of them, and that was enough. The impulse to earn respect from the older warriors was such a powerful thing.
The crowd around the edge of Berk were stunned. Sirnir continued, pointing to Astrid, "Your Chief's Heir, our Leader – Astrid Haddock – who speaks not only for us but for those we defend, has asked us to listen to this man." He pointed at Prometheus, "not attack him. Not kill him! If I can't trust you to follow the orders of Berk's Heir here and now in the light of day, how can I trust you on The Wall when the beasts are bearing down upon us?"
Astrid let out a long sigh of relief as she reached the circle's perimeter. She felt – rather than saw – Hiccup's concerned gaze upon her. It was no more than the faint rustling whisper of his leather clothes and hood, but she knew his eyes were upon her, big and green and beautiful no doubt full of concern for her. A part of her ached to look back at him – if only to smile back even as her own cheeks turned scarlet for being put on the spot. She hoped he would be willing to uphold the secret bargain she had just struck.
Fishlegs was looking relieved as well, though he hid it very well from everyone. Astrid had expected nothing less. By this point she knew him better than almost anyone on the island – though that meant nearly nothing when it came to Fishlegs – and she knew that no one else would be able to catch the subtle relaxing of the jaw muscles under his baby fat, and the slightly loosening of his fingers.
"Sit down, or your wife will be feeding yeh soup with a spoon!" Sirnir ordered, standing between Prometheus, Toothless, and the last, angry Jorgensons. They stared suspiciously from Sirnir to Astrid and back.
"Make your choice." Sirnir challenged, towering over them.
One of the Jorgensons sheathed his blade and slung his shield over his shoulder. He took a few steps towards Prometheus and glared at the rider.
Hiccup stared back up silently.
The man snorted and horked up a disgusting ball of phlegm, which he spat at Hiccup's feet. Prometheus stared down at the insult and said weakly, "that's… that is an unhealthy shade of green. You ought to go see the Gothi-"
"You and your madness isn't welcome on our island, stranger." The man shot a venomous glare at Astrid and Sirnir, then turned on his heel and marched to the gate.
The next one approached with an arrogant swagger. "Yeh oughta be drawn and quartered. I got oxen waiting in my field once Hofferson's come to her senses."
"Aye," added the man behind him, "or Snotlout's beaten her into line."
Astrid felt white hot rage flow through her, and she clenched her fists, knuckle white as she resisted the urge to rip both men to pieces.
Both Jorgenson warriors added their own spit to the pile, followed by other warriors as one by one the arena emptied. Bard Barrason did not spit at him, but he still collected his weapon, shooting Astrid an apologetic look
"Bard!" she glared at him.
The young man shook his head, "I'm sorry, Astrid. They killed Brynjolf. They killed my brother. I can't forget that. It surprises me that you can."
She opened and shut her mouth helplessly as grief and cold guilt mingled painfully with her frustration. She wanted to shout at him. To scream, or argue, but knew it would only look worse before the gathered crowd. Kolfinn and Kolbeinn Karson followed apologetically, collecting their weapons and walking out without a word to the Rider. A few others came after them.
Hundolfr Hrolfson was the last, and something in Astrid's soul died as she watched the man's tired features. He did not spit at Hiccup, who had long since fallen silent. But the aging warrior was deadened by grief, and when he spoke it was with a cold and toneless voice, "a Monstrous Nightmare murdered my family. Burnt them in their beds. Every father in this village mans the wall at night, fearing that he'll one day feel what I do when the dawn breaks every morning. I don't know how you can do what you do, but being friends with your …monster… it's an unnatural, foul thing." He turned to Astrid, "shame on you, Shield Maiden."
Astrid felt tears well up, and she looked away as Hundolfr shuffled towards the gate.
Silence fell across the Arena. Their group, which before had numbered in dozens, now numbered less than ten.
Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Sirnir, Astrid, and a couple younger warriors, looking very much on the fence.
Fishlegs rose to his feet, clearing his throat. "This has been an …education." He said formally, his squeaky voice echoing around the Arena, "thank you, Prometheus, but I must get back to my daughter, and to a proper Viking way of living."
Astrid's jaw dropped and she felt her hand close around the haft of her axe as rage overcame her. Traitor! The word was on her lips, and yet hiccup's hand was upon hers, gently but firmly keeping her from lopping Ingerman's head off.
"It's okay." Prometheus replied loudly, letting go of Astrid's hand, "honestly you've got nothing to fear; any dragon which took a bite out of you would surely suffer a heart attack."
Fishlegs went bright red as those who remained in the arena burst out laughing. No one laughed harder than Ruffnut. The enormous man turned stiffly on his heel and marched out with as much shattered dignity as he could collect. Astrid glared at Fishleg's back, damning him for every step he took.
And then there were nine. Astrid felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise and she glanced over her shoulder; Fridleif Finnason was there in the crowd, watching her with a hurt expression. She felt yet another emotional punch to her gut as she met his confused gaze.
"Anyone else?" Sirnir demanded, "or have we finally parted the wheat from the chaff?"
The remaining warriors glanced uncertainly at one another, minus Ruffnut and Tuffnut, both of whom were grinning evilly.
"Good." Sirnir said, his voice thick with satisfaction, "then perhaps we can get back to business."
"like what?" Prometheus asked, his own voice sounding horribly frail.
"Hofferson requested a story," Sirnir said, taking a seat on Astrid's other side, "so prepare yourself for the Thrymskvidha," the old warrior began easily and calmly, even as Toothless, Astrid and the others settled to watch him, "Or how it came to be that Thor, mightiest of the Gods, drank with the giants in the greatest hall of Jotunheim… dressed as a Bride."
The few warriors around the circle smiled and relaxed a little; this was an old favorite, told many times over the firelight during the long, night watches. Many set their weapons aside.
Keeping her eyes on the circle, refusing to look up at the gathered crowd, Astrid snapped her fingers at Hiccup, who surreptitiously handed her a fish while Toothless was distracted. Even so, the dragon's ears turned backwards, listening to the sound of the scales on her skin. She held it out and the dragon gobbled it out of her hand, settling down happily between her and the Rider.
Afternoon was slowly turning to dusk as Prometheus mounted Toothless and exited through the hold in the top of the Arena, flitting into the sky like a bat and vanishing. He had stayed very quiet for the remainder of the day, a motionless, cloaked statue.
The rest of the day had passed calmly. Sirnir had told more stories while each Viking took turns handing raw fish to Toothless, or just laying their hands upon the sinewy dragon's scaly hide. Even the crowd around the arena had grown bored and left.
The group had resolved to meet again in two days' time to continue with 'training'.
Ruffnut kicked Tuffnut to wakefulness and they both scampered off. The youngest warriors rose and stretched, gathering their weapons and tromping off to the village. Astrid gathered the empty fish baskets, tying the handles together and slinging them over her shoulder. Sirnir stayed behind a moment, as Astrid had expected.
He said, "our bargain…?"
"Tomorrow," Astrid promised heavily, wondering how on earth she was going to convince Hiccup to honor the deal. The viking warrior gave her a curt nod, and strode away.
"Sirnir," she called out.
He turned back.
"Thank you."
He smiled and nodded at her.
Walking heavily, her mind full of questions and worry, she barely noticed young Fridleif's presence at the top of the arena's entrance ramp. The young looked nervous as ever, chewing his lip, yet he held his ground, legs wide and arms crossed, squarely in her path.
"Ma'am?"
She met his gaze evenly, "…Fridleif?"
He opened his mouth, lips twitching as he tried to form whatever was on his mind into a coherent question. He said, "what's going on?"
"With what?"
He gestured at the arena, anger and confusion seeping into his voice, "with that? What in the Gods' name was that?!"
Astrid sighed, "that was… something new."
"There was a night fury right there. Right there! And you didn't kill it!"
"…and?"
"It can hurt the monster at the nest."
"You've trained me for years to kill the dragons! The threat is deadly. Always deadly! But…?" he waved his hands helplessly at the empty arena.
She said, "I've also taught you to think and plan ahead. To approach situations with a strategy."
"Your strategy is all of a sudden to not kill dragons?" he stamped his foot and winced as the shock ran up his side and caused a protest from his healing ribs.
"My strategy is to save Berk."
"Yeah!" he said snidely, "Save Berk from the dragons!"
Astrid raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
"They're calling you a traitor in the Great Hall!"
Astrid fought down her anger, "who?"
"The Jorgensons."
Astrid sighed, "do you think I'm a traitor?"
"I don't know what to think. You're not doing what you taught me to do. You're breaking your own rules and I… I don't know how to help I don't… I don't even know if I should help!" he stuck out his chin defiantly and crossed his arms again. "I don't understand what you're doing!"
A gust of wind hit them, bringing the evening chill with it. They both shivered.
"I'm exploring a tactical contingency. If you want to help me, then don't get involved, Fridleif," she told him, "We keep training as usual."
"And you think the other kids' parents are going to let you train us after today?"
Astrid blinked, recalling how she had felt the last time she had been prevented from training them. She said, "If I'm not allowed to teach you then Snotlout will."
"So you're going to let another one of us die like Brynyolf?"
"I-" she stared, taken aback.
Fridleif's expression was tortured. He looked close to tears, "you're playing with our lives!"
"Your teacher is your parents' choice, not mine." She told him coldly.
"But not killing dragons – that is your choice."
Astrid sighed, examining her prize student. She was tempted – sorely tempted – to simply dismiss him. But that had never been her way with her students. She taught because… because in its own way, knowledge was power. That was the whole point of the Book of Dragons: to pass on vital information to new generations. Preserving and expanding the knowledge of how to kill the monsters was vital to Berk's survival.
Besides, if she didn't explain herself to some extent, if she insulted him by not showing any trust, then he'd be in a position to believe whatever the Jorgensons told him. She said, "the situation is complicated. That monster at the nest stands taller than the doors to the Great Hall and none of our weapons can touch it. Fridleif, we need a plan for the future or this damned village is going to rot out from underneath both us."
"So teach me!"
"I can't yet." Astrid grimaced, "not yet. Just… please trust me. I have a plan."
"What you're doing is dangerous!"
She shrugged, "we're warriors, Fridleif. Danger comes with the territory. Go home. Tomorrow morning I'll be by to pick you and the others up for Dragon training."
Fridleif hesitated one moment longer, but Astrid was unyielding and so he turned and stalked away back to Berk.