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Four years ago the Dragon Master came to the Archipelago, flying astride the Night Fury. At first the Hooligans thought he was the demon that would lead the dragon raids to leave the village scorched and full of death, but it appeared the mysterious entity that somehow tamed the unholy offspring of lightning and death was not their enemy.
Sure, every time he appeared in the skies over Berk during a raid there would be no killed dragons, neither there would be any captured ones, but there also wouldn’t be any slain Norsemen and their store rooms wouldn’t be as depleted as any other time. The Dragon Master would destroy catapults and watch towers, yes, but he would also ensnare the attacking animals in whatever enchantments he worked and lead them away, towards the snowy peaks of the mountain in the distance. After a raid, one brave or stupid enough to go into the forest could spot the reptiles waiting for their commander for a day or two, but afterwards the woodlands would be almost entirely empty of the creatures. It was rumored the Master led the beasts away to a hidden domain or a sanctuary far from the inhabited islands. None of those brave enough to go into the wilderness to spot the beasts would find any traces of the Master or his mount.
Traders brought rumors from neighboring islands, where the Master showed up as well, interrupting the vicious raids and once even preventing the swarm of dragons from descending on a fresh haul of fish meant to sustain a small peaceful village for an entire winter.According to the tale he just appeared out of thin air above the ships that had been recently returned and not yet unloaded, right in front of a big Zippleback, his Night Fury roaring and a eerie whistle coming from the entity in the saddle. The dragons then followed the Master like an obedient flock, not even once looking back at the stunned villagers holding weapons and tools to try and protect their livelihood.
Another rumor said that he was partial to sinking ships, especially those adorned with bones or hides of slain dragons. If someone tried to hunt or transport captured beasts the Master would show up and leave nothing to be buried of those daring to bring harm to his subjects.
Some said he was sent by the gods to battle the dragon plague on the human kind. Others said he was a demon merely biding his time before he turned on the Vikings with the force of the dragons he was capturing in his thrall. No one knew what kind of magic he possessed or how he looked, since he never landed and when he appeared on his Fury he wore a mask and dark armor to hide his face. Some said that he had no face at all.
Due to the sudden appearance of a strange, unknown entity that helped to lift the burden of the dragon raids, not many noticed that on the island of Berk a new heir was appointed, since the previous one was lost and presumed dead. The new heir was the current chief’s nephew and was rumored to be strong and proud. What the rumor omitted was his arrogance and stupidity, but frankly not many even spoke of him, more interested in stories of the otherworldly man that could allegedly make all kinds of dragons do his bidding.
Soon enough the tribes started to try and grab his attention and favor. Everyone wished to be rid of the dragon plague for good and to have the master prevent all the raids on their village while they didn’t really care for the others. So, it was no surprise when the villagers started to leave offerings to the Dragon Master, calling up to him when he would appear during a raid, placing circles of torches around their treasures to grab his attention and show off their offerings.
Every tribe seemed to have its own opinion on what the Dragon Master was and what he wanted. Some left luxurious furs and others gems and precious metals in big chests. Livestock was always a good idea.
Nothing seemed to work, nothing grabbed his attention as he flew overhead, deaf to the calls of his title, as if he couldn’t see the offered riches and the Vikings both asking for his protection and thanking for his assistance.
It was during that time when the short spring exploded in the summer on Berk, when bog roses bloomed and weather was actually pleasant, when Spitelout, the brother and right hand of the chief, acting in his stead whileStoick was visiting with a neighboring tribe to renew a treaty, it was when he had an idea. One that, he was sure of it, would definitely win Berk the Master’s favor.
In short - Spitelout decided to offer the Dragon Master a bride. And he had just a girl. Pretty, brave, strong. And, above all, overdue on punishment for scorning his son’s proposal some months prior. If Astrid Hofferson wished not to be the wife of the future chief Snotlout, he, Spitelout, would give her away to the Dragon Master and see how she’d like to be married to a creature that was allegedly part dragon himself. That would teach her to slight Jorgenson name.
The acting chief used the recent raid, one that had not been made easier to bear by the presence of the NIght Fury rider, to sway the council, leaning heavily on the aid of certain members of the council that weren’t fond of Astrid and her independent warrior woman lifestyle. Snotlout tried to intervene, but he was easily ignored, so were others that spoke up against the idea. Berk had suffered a big loss in the recent raid, a few warriors wounded and permanently injured, a storage building burned to the ground, a staggering amount of sheep spirited away. Mead was flowing like a river that evening and aided in Spitelout’s ende avor. Soon enough the decision was made and Astrid was seized, just so she wouldn’t try to run away. After all, Spitelout argumented, the Dragon Master would most certainly protect Berk diligently if his wife hailed from there. It was an honor to be offered to him and to ensure the prosperity of the community. And Astrid already had rejected all the eligible men of the tribe anyway.
To say Astrid Hofferson was not amused would be like saying Thor was just a tad ginger. She was livid.
Alas, despite her struggling and yelling, despite her friends trying to save her, Astrid ended up in the most unlikely predicament.
She stood there, tied expertly to a pole, a big bonfire providing light and warmth in the crisp spring evening, twilight painting the sky with purples and star filled blue, orange and pink bleeding from the western part of the sky that she was facing. The pole was located a bit away from the village, in a big field that sprawled over a gentle hill, where children liked to play and teens sparred often with wooden weapons. The villagers gathered in a crowd a small distance away, appearing like spooked sheep and casting glances between her and the sea that looked exceptionally lovely this fine evening.
Astrid glared. It wasn’t like she could do much more, bound at her ankles, knees and waist, her pale blue gown crumpled under coils of rope holding her against the pole. She couldn’t even insult the idiots leading this whole ceremony, because some bastard had tied a piece of cloth over her mouth.
This was no honorable sacrifice to ensure the fidelity of the Dragon Master to her tribe, this was insanity stinking of mead and spite. Oh, how much she itched to leap towards Spitelout and smash him over the head with his own weapon.
She wasn’t sure how they had divined that the Dragon Master would be near Berk tonight. It wasn’t like the weather was indicating a high possibility of a raid. There was no way to contact the man - if it was a man - or summon him. Briefly, she wondered what they would do if the bloody bastard didn’t show up. Would they untie her at dawn and say sorry, can you be here next time so we can tie you up again? Oh, she was going to have such a lovely time explaining to chief Stoickhis brother and his followers were insane.
She was already seeing the look on the chieftain’s face with the eye of her imagination. The man had aged over the past few years and had gotten more solemn, silent and less inclined to laugh, so she supposed he wouldn’t chuckle at his brother’s antics. Oh, she’d love to point out all the council members who agreed with Spitelout and all the house heads that nodded like dumb village idiots instead of speaking with reason against this outlandish, doomed to fail plan.
That was when Astrid noticed the crowd growing deathly still and silent. In the quiet of the evening she heard on the breeze from the sea a distinct, faint noise. A whistle. Someone gasped and pointed towards the South West, where over the sea one could spot a few dark dots against the darkening skies. One of them, flying in front of the rest, had to be the Night Fury. The Dragon master was leading another group of dragons to the wild forests of Berk to rest before they’d join his flock, wherever it resided.
All the rage and indignation left her, her body tensing as she locked her eyes on the rapidly approaching black shape.The Fury seemed to dance like a leaf caught by wind, spinning and diving, rising in steep arcs and looping as if to show off its power and agility. The dragons that followed it at a slower pace just flew in a straight line, content to let t heir leader frolic in the air. Astrid couldn’t imagine any mortal willingly subjecting themselves to such activities.
It was plain to see that the group would fly over the Hooligan village without gracing the gathering on the hilltop with their attention, but that was when Spitelout gestured to one of his followers to approach. The balding man nodded anxiously and approached the acting chief, holding a bag that moved like there was a chicken stored inside. Spitelout reached inside and pulled out a small Terrible Terror, tied and muzzled, its wings wrapped tightly and tail flailing helplessly. Astrid felt what the little beast felt, its big eyes darting around as if it tried to find a way to escape. Spitelout put it under his arm and tugged the muzzle, aiming the little animal in a way that it couldn’t bite him, his body facing the direction of the approaching dragons.
And then the Terror shrieked.
Astrid didn’t notice the balding Viking dashing back to the safety of the crowd, nor the group led by Gobber that was running towards the hilltop from where they had been locked in the empty barn. She didn’t hear the calls of her friends, nor the worried whispers of the onlookers.
The black dragon came out from a spinning dive and flapped its wide wings hard to gain altitude, then it rushed forward at a speed far greater than before, leaving the other beasts far in the back. Astrid felt her throat go dry as she heard the whistle again, approaching at deadly speed, the Fury no longer cartwheeling across the stars, but flying directly towards the Terror that shrieked again, urgent and scared.
It was between one blink and another of her eyes that the NightFury landed on the hillside, wings flapping as if to steady it after its dash. Four muscular legs hit the grassy field with force, claws digging in the dirt. The acid green eyes with slitted pupils glared balefully at Spitelout and the practically legendary beast let out a hiss that promised pain and death.
The man in the saddle remained eerily quiet, his face covered by a mask fashioned to resemble the face of his mount, leather hood hiding his hair - if he had any - and black armor adorned with scales hid his body. According to some rumors it was his actual skin, but most agreed that it was just a covering. He looked intimidating either way and Astrid belatedly realized that it was the first time anyone had a good look at the fabled dragon tamer.
As the black wings folded and the Fury stomped in place, the rider shifted on its back to keep balance with the moving animal. A hand lifted from where it rested on the thick neck of the dragon, long fingers pointing towards the Terrible Terror still held tightly by Spitelout.
The crowd that had started whispering in wonder and anxiety at having their first look at the man fell silent again, awaiting if he would speak like a human.
“You gonna get the pest, just hear me out,” Spitelout said, adjusting his hold on the Terror that tried to wiggle its way to freedom. The Dragon Master lifted his head, as if to indicate he was listening, his hand lowering and hovering near a weird cylinder strapped to his thigh. The dragon behind him let out a slow, irate noise, but remained motionless.
Astrid felt her heartbeat picking up. This was the moment. Now, Spitelout had the entities’ undivided attention. Her friends were still ways away, separated from her by a multitude of people who had followed Spitelout’s lead and had put her in binds.
“We, Hooligans of Berk,” Spitelout puffed out his chest as if he was the real chieftain, proud of his tribe. “We greatly appreciate all your good deeds, Dragon Master. To show our gratitude and facilitate good relations, we wish to give you,” he gestured towards Astrid with a flourish of his meaty hand. “The best of our maidens as a bride.”
Dragon Master’s eyes were bright green, shining in the dark mask he wore like shards of jade, like a forest in the zenith of summer, when the sun never set for days. A part of her mind wondered if the entity was putting her under an enchantment like he did with the dragons, because for a short moment she felt an inkling of something familiar and forgotten poking at her thoughts. Before she could focus on that though, the entity turned to stare back at the acting chief.
The crowd gathered behind the wide area lit by the bonfire remained surprisingly quiet, enthralled by the Master standing on the edge of the shadow, his dragon-like night incarnate at his back. Spitelout smiled and it looked only a bit forced.
“Her name is…” he started, but got cut off.
“Astrid Hofferson,” the Dragon Master spoke, his voice muffled and hard to distinguish through his mask. There was a sense of disbelief in his tone though. “You’re what, sacrificing her to me?”
“W-Well, yes” Spitelout sputtered, shifting anxiously where he stood near the fire. “She’s the best Berk can offer. A good wife material.”
Now, Astrid knew, now things were on the tip of a spear. Now the man commanding dragons would decide what to do. He could climb on top of his Fury and fly away, or he could take offense at the fool in front of him and attack them all. Or he could take Spitelout up on his offer, spiriting Astrid away, to where he had his lair. She glared at the faux chief then at the Dragon Master, silently urging him to just go away; she had every intention to fight for her freedom the first chance she got.
The Dragon Master let out a short snorting noise that made the Night Fury rise to attention, the frill around its head standing up. The first snort was followed by another and then the mysterious entity started to laugh, shaking his covered head in apparent disbelief. The Fury warbled at him quizzically and the Master waved a hand towards where Astrid stood, still tied to the pole, still glaring, but now more in confusion than promise of pain.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Spitelout asked, losing all the self important air, glancing towards the warriors, who shifted uncertainly as well. The crowd seemed to draw closer to each other, as if they could make a smaller target in case the capricious creature decided to attack. Astrid was vaguely aware that the dragons he’d been leading were now circling overhead, curious croons faint from the distance they kept from the Vikings.
The man in black took a step back, throwing one arm over the broad neck of his mount, the disbelief in his laughter shifting to something sour and mocking, and annoyingly familiar. Astrid was sure she’d heard this laughter somewhere before.
“Where is chief Stoick?” the Dragon Master asked. “Does he know you’re bargaining with his best bet for an heir? What, can’t Snot get the title by his own merit?”
“Oi!” Snotlout, standing near Gobber and Fishlegs, voiced his displeasure with that comment. The Dragon Master glanced at him, but didn’t do more, choosing to point a finger at Spitelout.
“Or are you planning to have her kill me in my sleep?” he asked, his tone no longer amused and light, notes of suspicion and loathing seeping into it like blood in a pond.
“No,” Spitelout shook his head violently. Probably realizing now that his plan wasn’t too smart. Now the Dragon Master could leave Berk without his occasional help. “Astrid, tell him you volunteered to marry him.”
Astrid rolled her eyes and frowned at the Dragon Master, who started to walk towards her. She tensed, dreading what he planned to do. There was deceptive power in his wiry frame, the odd tools on his belt could be both weapons and innocuous items. He even moved much like his dragon, who kept pace with him, staying a step behind and spreading its wings as if it needed to intimidate the Norsemen more. If he wanted her dead, she couldn’t stop him, bound and lacking any weapons herself, even her armor was denied her. All she had was her glare and it was far too meek a weapon against a being that was said to hail from Helheim itself or be part dragon.
“Release the Terror, Spitelout,” the Dragon Master commanded and Astrid heard the small beast chirp happily as it scurried away. She would have been delighted to taunt Spitelout for how readily he followed the Dragon Master's orders, but her full attention was on the man standing far too close for comfort. She could see the details of his garb, the neat rows of round black scales mimicking the pattern on the Fury’s flank, the strange flaps adorning his sleeves and the mask that offered no emotion, sans those that brimmed in the green gaze studying her carefully. Was he debating taking her with him despite how he’d reacted to Spitelout’s words? She’d been under a momentary assumption he was going to reject the offering, but the longer he stared at her, the more uncertain she was getting again. And she hated to feel uncertain. She was always sure of who and what she was, what she could do and what she expected from life.
So she glared back at him, fierce and unwilling to yield, trying to tell him with that look alone what she felt about her current situation. Those green eyes, familiar somehow, were not cold, neither were they otherworldly. No, they looked weirdly normal, warm and fond, for some reason. Before Astrid could really ponder that gaze, the Dragon Master tilted his head to peer behind her and he made a sharp gesture with his hand, crooning like a beast. The cold realization that the Night Fury was right behind her made a ball of cold stone fill her gut. There was a noise as if a claw tore into wood and three subsequent tugs, before the ropes holding her against the pole went loose and fell down in a heap. She stumbled forward, suddenly free and experiencing the pain of her stiff muscles finally being free to move again.
Before she could tumble undignified to the ground at the feet of the entity, he reached out and grabbed her by her arms, stabilizing her just for a moment, enough to plant her feet firmly on the soil. Then he pushed a dagger in her flexing fingers, wrapping them securely around the handle.
“A shieldmaiden should never go without a blade,” he murmured. she instinctively curled her hand around the hilt, feeling much more like herself with a weapon in hand, despite the whole situation. Who would have thought the mysterious entity would arm his almost sacrifice.She felt a spark of gratitude for his action and something akin to giddiness when she thought about turning her ire and blade at the fools ruling the villages while the chieftain was away. . . “I’ll be cross if you stab me with this,”
With a gasp Astrid looked up again, seeking those emotive eyes for answers. She caught a glimpse of wary fondness and longing before the Dragon Master stepped to the side and onto the back of his waiting beast.
She glanced down, to the blade in her hand. It was nothing spectacular, a knife a child could carry, too short for an adult. It looked old, but well maintained, obviously of good quality.
It had the crest of Berk etched on the handle, just where her palm curled around it.
She knew that dagger. Just like she knew the green of those expressive eyes. Just like she knew that not quite happy laughter.Frankly, she was almost upset with herself that she hadn’t recognized those before she saw the emblem.
Next to her the Night Fury opened its wings, crouching low to jump in the skies. Spitelout and many others were yelling something, but Astrid paid them no mind.
Years ago there had been a boy, a scrawny runt with ponchon for daydreaming just insane enough to do and think no Viking Before him had.One that had wanted to slay a dragon for years, but had never harmed a one during training, before disappearing like fog in the forest.
Like the elusive Dragon Master was about to disappear, flying away never to land on Berk again.
She lunged.
Just as the black dragon made to leap in the air, its wings beating strongly to lift it and its rider, she collided with the menace on top of the animal. She cringed when she hit the sturdy body, gripping at the leather of his robe and using her momentum to push him off the saddle. They fell in a heap on the other side of the Night Fury, the surprised cry of the man mixing with the outraged call of his mount. The other dragons roared overhead and the Vikings shouted, but Astrid was too focused on her task. She reached up as soon as she was certain she was pinning the Dragon Master to the ground and tugged the mask off of his face. Then, for the first time ever, a Viking peered at the face of the Dragon Master.
Freckles covered his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, much like his father’s nose. Stubble covered his jaw in patches that seemed uncertain if they wanted to be brown or ruddy. Those damn green eyes that had once glanced at her shyly and nervously blinked up at her dazedly, before a look of resignation came over them.
“Hi, Astrid,” said Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, third of that name, his voice a bit nasal and much lower than it had been years ago. There was no stutter, no underlying anxiety to his greeting.
She wanted to whisper his name, as if voicing it would make this reveal real, as if it would solidify in her mind the fact that the lost heir was not dead, that…
That was when she realized she had the blasted gag still in her mouth. With an unintelligible noise of anger she tore at it, taking a deep breath as soon as she spat the cloth from her mouth.
“Hic-”
That was when a paw hit her side and sent her sprawling just next to the man, their legs still tangled. She blinked trying to gather her wits about herself, but before she could sit up the same paw pushed her into the grass, sharp talons piercing the fabric of her dress, a maw full of sharp teeth dangerously close to her face, acid green eyes promising her swift death.
The Night Fury’s wings covered the sky like a stormcloud. She just realized that she’d dropped the knife in the tumble and wondered if she could fight the dragon off with her bare fists like Stoick, when a hand with long fingers splayed wide obscured her view of the beast intent on mauling her.
“No,Toothless, it’s okay,” the Dragon Master, who was also the lost heir, soothed and stroked the cheek of the Fury as if he wasn’t aware of its fangs.
Astrid, still winded and confused, watched how the slitted pupils widened and the dragon tilted its head towards the caress, lowering it when the man gripped at it to lift himself back into the saddle. Only then the terrible pressure of its talons was lifted from her stomach and she could inhale fully again. The black reptile let out a sound that was like a purr of approval and turned to face a mayhem of noises behind its back..
“Hey, hey, hey, guys, it’s okay,” Hiccup called out and waved his hands over his head, hair sticking out in all directions. Astrid sat up to peer around the bulk of the Night Fury to see what happened while she’d been focused on the Dragon Master.
The other dragons had landed in the space between the Hooligans and the Fury, all hissing and flaring their wings, tails lashing and fire burning in their opened mouths. The Berkians smartly gave them space, some reaching for weapons, but reluctant to attack since there was no leader to give clear orders. Spitelout lay sprawled out near his warriors, shaking his head as if he’d been hit. The Fury barked and Hiccup shifted with it as it stomped its feet to draw the attention of the other reptiles. The lost Haddock crooned and made soothing noises and to Astrid’s bewilderment the raging beasts seemed to calm down, folding their wings and crowding around the Fury, stealing wary glances towards the humans gathered on the other side of the field. Hiccup smiled widely, easily and reached towards the offered snouts to scratch them, unafraid and relaxed as he petted the fire breathing predators like one would a house cat.
“You’re alive,” Astrid dared to stand up, refusing to crawl under the feet of the dragons. They gave her a big berth of free space, but none looked about to attack her. “You’re back.”
“No,” the man rubbed at his temple. “I’m not. I swore not to come back before I freed the nest from the Red Queen and ended the raids.”
”
The Night Fury shuddered at the sound of the name, the other dragons lowering their heads in fright.
“What?” she frowned and reached to grab him, just to make sure he was there and that he wouldn’t just fly away. Not before he answered her questions. Not before the chief got to see his son well and alive.
“There is a giant dragon at the nest and it forces the rest to raid Vikings,” Hiccup said as plainly as if he was telling her that sheep give wool. “They don’t fancy getting slain by Vikings, you know. If she was gone there will be no more war, no more loss.”
Herhand touched one of the leather straps that went across the Fury’s chest and secured the saddle on its back. The black scales her fingers brushed over were warm and dry, smooth to the touch.
“So what,” she said, gripping at the smooth leather. “You learned how to tame the dragons and went on a quest without telling anyone.”
It wasn’t a question, not really. Hiccup stared at her from where he sat, his hands lowering to rest on the front of the saddle. A saddle, she realized, he had designed and created by himself.
“As if anyone believed me if I tried to tell you guys,” he shrugged and there was truth to that. He’d been a nuisance, always tinkering with things that no one understood and which rarely worked, trying too hard to fit the mold that was far too big for him, annoying people with his outlandish ideas. People had worried for the future of the tribe with a chief like him, one too focused on impractical things, unable to fight like everyone else, seemingly oblivious to the damage he did while experimenting.
Now, astride the legendary Night Fury, dressed in fantastical armor, years removed from that runty teen and surrounded by giant beasts of fangs and fire, Hiccup Stoickson Haddock seemed to lack all the anxiety and replaced it with silent confidence. All the air of nervous energy hanging from the younger Hiccup’s shoulders like a tattered mantle was gone now, he held himself Much like his father/ Like a leader that had come into his own, no longer picked on by his peers and no longer bound by traditions and prejudices. No one waited to see him stumble, no one pushed him to be something he wasn’t, no one questioned his choices.
Somehow the boy who barely had lifted weapons in the smithy years ago now commanded dragons and waged a war against the enormous dragon in the nest, both to save the people of Berk and the animals he clearly was fond of. Instead of fighting to convince the Hooligans and ask for their help in this endeavor the foolish boy had gone off on his own to complete this task, more suited for a hero than for a smith’s apprentice.
He should’ve been dead for years, but he was still alive, defending Viking villages, executing some mysterious plan to bring down a titanic tyrant, standing with the dragons in this war, not with the humans who had shunned him for so long. Astrid felt a heavy sourness stir in her at the thought that she had been one of those who had dismissed the runty heir. Would he have asked her to help him in this quest, seeing her as the closest Berk had to a hero in their generation instead of leaving alone?
Astrid tore her eyes from the stomping beasts and Hiccup crooning at them to look past the scattered and dying down bonfire to where the Berkians stood, stunned and confused, Spitelout now on his knees and trying to gather his wits about himself to deal with the problem he himself brought onto his head.
She could see all those people who had not opposed the stupid acting chief when he attempted to offer a human sacrifice to an allegedly capricious non-human entity that was already helping them. It could have so easily backfired, offending the Dragon Master. Instead, it turned out the Dragon Master was the most human one of them all, releasing her and giving her his own weapon so she could stand and fight with the pride of any daughter of the Hofferson house. The Dragon Master who was Hiccup, sworn to self-appointed quest to end the war and bring peace on the wings of the Night Fury he apparently named Toothless.
She wasn’t too keen to interact with them, she realized. Even her friends, who had tried to fight for her, could be a band of obnoxious scatterbrains. while the elders were insufferable traditionalists who were far too cozy upholding customs that had almost ended in Astrid losing her honor or life. None of them tried to find a way to end the war, focusing only on repelling the raids and spending resources on futile missions to find the nest.Most of them recognized her as a splendid warrior but thought she should become a wife and rear kids. Even Ruff couldn’t understand Astrid’s refusal to settle down. Once, years ago, there had been one who had seen her beyond her pretty face and gender, but all she had of him were sketches nabbed from his little workshop in the forge while Gobber wasn’t there. Now she knew those weren't mementos of a dead daydreamer, no. Those were shards left behind when the fledgling hero had spread his wings and had flown away, off to challenge the monster at the root of their problems.
And, even as he was back on Berk, Astrid knew he was going to fly away again. She wondered if he could use some help with that outlandish quest of his.
The Dragon Master let out a startled yelp when Astrid jumped on top of his dragon again, but this time not to tackle him off the saddle. No, this time she settled just behind him, comfortable on the leather covering the Fury’s scaly hide.
“A-Astrid…?” she almost snickered at the high pitch of his voice and the round green eyes he turned on her. Toothless under them shifted on his paws, tilting his head and flashing deadly fangs as he measured her with his otherworldly eyes. She smiled at the two green eyed and black scale covered males, ignoring the anxious trills of some of the dragons around them. A lesser woman could have quivered at the animals’ reaction, anticipating an attack, but Astrid was courage and confidence personified, plus she trusted the Dragon Master wouldn’t let his beasts actually attack her. After all, he had made it plain to see he wished for fighting to end.
“Can we make a stop at my house? I really need some real clothes and armor. And my ax. I’m real fond of it, you know,” she informed Hiccup, trying not to grin at him too widely or to look for logic in getting onto the dragon she’d been afraid to be spirited awayon not an hour ago.
“What…?”
“Shouldn't we get going before someone recognizes you? R attacks the dragons?” she prompted and grabbed at the back of his belt. Hiccup blinked. “Listen, I really don’t fancy staying on Berk right now, you know. And you may use some help with that quest of yours, too. So, let’s go, yeah?”
An uncertain, wobbly smile, so much like ones she’d seen in the past, graced his lips before he nodded once and turned to face forward, leaning over his dragon’s head. He made a soft noise and pointed to his discarded mask, and one of the wild dragons grabbed onto it.
Then Astrid’s attention was stolen because the Night Fury’s wings started to spread on both her sides, rustling like sails about to catch wind, big and intimidating. She could feel the animal shift under her, gathering himself to jump in the air again.
And then, without any warning, the wings snapped down, the muscular body launched up and the ground sped away from her like a landslide going downhill. Astrid gasped and instinctively wrapped her arms around the lanky man in front of her, all but plastering herself Across his back, legs trying to hold onto the far too broad back of the dragon like she would a horse’s sides. Air blew her hair back from her face, cool and damp, rushing past her in a hurry. It almost stole Hiccup’s words before she could register them.
“Toothless, I said gently!” he sounded fondly exasperated.
She dared to look down and saw the field rapidly going smaller, the humans agitated and yelling after them, alarmed. The dragons from the Dragon Master’s escort followed the Fury into the sky, roaring in delight.
Her heart beat fast, lungs struggling to draw breath as the Fury ascended. Then, suddenly, the black dragon came to a hover above the field, almost invisible against the night sky. The wing beats of the reptile sounded much like heartbeats, strong and steady. And Astrid knew she’d been scared to leave Berk, to be handed over like a trophy or a sacrifice, she had loathed the mere idea of being like this, suspended in the air and holding onto the Dragon Master. But now, she was excited. A new adventure awaited and being in the air, holding onto the no longer lost heir of Berk, it was freeing, it made her feel alive and Not for her was a repetitive flow of days dealing with obnoxious close minded arrogant assholes that tried to put her down, no. Now she literally rose above all that,.curious what the future will bring. She was about to leave Berk, but not as a sacrifice, but by her own free will.
“Any last words?” Hiccup asked, observing the gathered Vikings, who seemed torn between starting a fight or asking for another chance to talk. She sought the small group of her friends, Gobber the only older person among them, all of them staring at the sky . She noticed that the old smith was covering his mouth with a hand and his hook like he was trying to hold in a gasp. Briefly she wondered if he recognized the man in front of her, but she supposed not, it was pretty dark and far after all. She waved at them, daring to let go of Hiccup with one hand and trusting his dragon wouldn’t throw her off like a wild horse.
“”Don’t burn down the village before we come back!” she yelled at them, delighted when she noticed the twins already bickering to whom she was directing those words.
A”A tall order, milady,” Hiccup noticed.”It may prove to be too much of a challenge.”
“You have no idea,” she nodded and then hurriedly replaced her hand across his waist again when the Fury banked towards the village and the roof of her house. She had stuff to pick up before the villagers came back.
And then, Astrid looked up, up where the sky sparkled with the stars too numerous to count, where she was not beholden to elders that tried to force her into a mold that she couldn't - wouldn’t fit.
They had taken her weapons and armor, had forced her into a dress and her hands into ropes. They had degraded her from a warrior to a mere sacrifice, a tool for their stupid game. And yet she felt like she was leaving that field as a victor, carried off for adventure and quest not by a winged Valkyrie, But the Dragon Master and his companions.