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Legends say that they crawl out of the forest, upon hearing the clinking of dragon’s chains as they drag beneath the belly of the ships. That they can hear their crying from miles away, even though the thick fog that sometimes forms on the sea. They pierce the heavens like the wrath of the gods themselves, descending onto the hunters in a white blur. But they are nowhere near as merciful.
The human, at least they think she is, blue eyes covey an iciness colder than the northern lands, her blond hair whips after her, dancing in combat like Freya herself. Her ax slices through them, ignoring their pleas for mercy as the blood stains her hoodie and skin. While the dragon, unlike any night fury they have seen before, with pure white scales, able to shift colors and disappear in the middle of battle, sets the ships alight with just as much malice. In their lands, the hunters become the hunted.
They are precise, the men barely having time to even shoot an arrow before they meet their end. They walk over the dead bodies, focusing on freeing the beasts, who sometimes take out a few trappers themselves before they take flight, both for revenge and in reverence to their saviors.
Very few men live to tell the tale, only spared through the means of sending a message. Even less, dare to sail in their waters unless they seek to feel the whistle of the night fury right before her jaws tear through their throat. The beasts blue eyes the last thing they see.
Hunters and trappers warn of their might weaving, tales of their carnage whenever they could. Suggesting that they were better of hunting in the Archipelago with Stoick’s boy and his Nightfury. At least, their able to return alive, even if their ships are damaged and the cages broken. But not there, there is no mercy on the Valkyries’ sea. The hunters eventually learned to stop begging, there is no use.
He should have listened. Should have believed his fellow hunter’s stories but he was too prideful, too determined to make his money to stop. He swims away from the wreckage of his fleet while his men’s screams are cut short and a triumphant roar thunders throughout the smokey air. He does not look back, running towards the thick woods.
A blast strikes through the air before he can reach the safety of the forest, landing right near his ankle and the heat alone burns it. He crumbles to the ground in pain and a shadow is cast over him. He closes his eyes and whispers a prayer to whatever god can hear him before he hesitantly glances up.
His gaze meets the cold eyes of the maiden, her eyes conveying no emotion but bloodlust. The dragon’s scales are caked with blood, eyes narrowed into slits and its hard to believe that its scales were ever white to begin with. The beast’s chest is heaving from the fight but she is still ready for more, crouched low against the rocks of the shore.
If he wasn’t terrified, he would be disgusted by the action, humans were meant to rule these beasts not work with them. They descend towards him with grace and power. The dragon’s confident paws, barely leaving marks in the snow-covered rocks. The women’s bloodied ax is swung over her shoulder, blood still dripping from it. The moonlight shrouds them, giving them the appearance of ghosts but he knows they are all too real. He is the only one left.
“So stubborn.” the woman says, shaking her head at him mockingly, before getting off of the beast. The dragon’s eyes were staring right through him, tracking every single movement he made, nostrils flaring harshly, and tail whipping dangerously behind it.
“I’m starting to believe we are being a bit too nice after all.” she says, tilting her head at him.
“No, wait you got it all wrong.” He starts, trying to crawl away, to do anything to put distance between them. “I got to support my family this is the only way-”
She moves and in a blink, she has him in her grip by the collar, so he can look her in the eye. “Don’t lie to me.” she hisses. “I know you have no family, captain. ”
She drops him back on the ground, and he grunts at the pain that sends shocks through his ankle. He begins to shiver and it had nothing to do with the cold. She shakes her head in disappointment.
“I left some of your men alive, against her wishes.”
The dragon rumbles low, teeth extending, showing her bloody mouth she had earned after she tore his men apart.
“We gave you a warning and yet you continued,” she says, voice dripping with resentment. “Not even that. Instead, you ran while your men fought for you. Instead, you cower before me. You are no captain.”
This causes a snarl to fall out of the dragons’ throat at his cowardice.
“So you won’t die a quick death, that’s too honorable for you.”
The dragon steps forward, eyes narrowing upon its prey. The man ignores his pain feebly trying to limp away from his incoming demise. There is a high pitched noise behind him and then all his senses are ablaze.
He cannot hear his own screams against the crackling of his skin splitting, burning like the rest of his ships. The light fury chirps, her tongue lolling out her mouth, satisfied at his agony. Astrid watches the man die in front of her and slowly a smile lifts up at the corners of her mouth.
In the morning, the rest of his crew find his ship, his charred head impaled up high on the mast of the sail.
They turn back.