Chapter Text
Prologue
Silence.
Bard Gunnarson blinked, his eyes throbbing with searing pain, feeling at once the dreaded effects of remaining awake for over two nights straight. His aching muscles and burning eyes had proven to be a challenge to stay still, and he leisurely stretched his arms in front of him, frowning when his limbs seemed heavier than ever before. Throwing another log into the lively fire at his feet, he winced at the pain that shot up in his back. He was too old for that. And too tired.
He squinted his grey eyes to look at what was above him. No clouds covered the tranquil sky, letting the stars shine brightly as they lined up in various shapes and constellations. For a split moment some of them faded, hiding away from him behind a lone cloud. Hard to distinguish feeling settled in his stomach but before Bard could identify it properly, the stars reappeared, shining the exact same way they had been just a short moment ago. He blinked again, leaning back, the unexplained feeling gone for the time being.
It was a beautiful night.
He was, despite his best intentions, momentarily hit with the somnolent memory of all the nights he had spent under those same stars, dreaming and making impossible plans. While a true Viking warrior on the outside, he once had a softer, more gentle and patient, side to him, now mostly lost within battles fought and pains endured. But then, those many innocent winters ago, after training, Bard would spend his evenings in his usual spot in the Bjargey forest, letting his mind drift islands, archipelagos, away. And allow himself to fantasize – of a world where he did not have to sleep with an axe tightly tucked under his thin pillow, on yet another bed in yet another house that would be turned into ashes before his heart dared to call it ‘home’.
Oh, how unthinkably young and how unbelievably naive he had been.
A deep snore to his left pulled on him sharply like a heavy chain, thrusting him back into the real world. An owl hooted from the small holt not far away. Air smelled with smoke. Bard hoisted his old axe and unceremoniously shoved the handle into his companion’s stomach. The reaction was immediate and, not to lie, quite satisfactory. Sven Ahlberg, a lad no older than twenty winters, shot up from his seat. He held his rusting family sword in front of him, arms pulled forward, precision of a drunk Terrible Terror almost laughable. His movements were drowsy, his gaze absent as he looked around.
“What-?” His long blond braid whipped the side of his young face as his eyes swept over the sleeping village. He then turned to the older man with a questioning gaze. “What’s going on?”
“Ye fell asleep,” Bard answered gruffly, putting the axe back in place. “Again.”
Sven’s shoulders slumped as he took his spot by the campfire again. He kicked the ground with the tip of his worn-out boot. Bare toes wiggled out from the hole in the other one. Bard grimaced and looked away.
“Why not just leave me be?” Sven muttered, drilling a small hole with the full shoe. No wonder lad had holes. Shooting a brief glance at the empty sky above him, Sven frowned. “There’s nothing there.”
“Ye’re on yer guarding shift,” Bard responded drily, daring to throw a look his way. “Ye’re supposed to look out fer any danger.”
“Really?” The boy asked skeptically as he raised his head and stopped digging in the ground with his boot. His eyebrow quirked and corners of his mouth lifted just slightly, in a challenging way. Sven didn’t seem fully aware of doing so. “What would attack us? What would they steal? And the dragons-“
“The dragons can come back any moment,” Bard cut him off and spat in the grass angrily. He glared at the shallow hole made by Sven. The scar on the side of his neck tingled.
“Not that I would mind gutting one, or two, but they haven’t attacked for some time now. You don’t see the village complaining.” Sven took a lone stalk and started playing in the mud, drawing aimless patterns, finding some mercy for the dirty shoe. Blood rushed to Bard’s face. His fingers clenched into a fist almost on its own.
“And it makes ye think they won’t attack eva’ again?” The older Viking shook his head in disbelief, throwing a sharp look the fire’s way. One of the planks slid to the side with a crackle, flames idly dancing in the wind. Bard felt his body shake with anger. “Ye’re much more foolish than I thought.”
Uncomfortable silence fell over them as Bard tried to calm himself down. The crackling of the fire and their steady breathing filled the empty void around them as the village had long since fallen asleep after yet another hard day of work. The old man’s tired eyes kept flickering to the young Viking, making sure he had not made the mistake of falling asleep again. Sven failed to notice the looks thrown his way, his focus on the flimsy stick in his hand and the so-called ‘piece of art’ carved out in the muddy ground. Bard caught his lip between his teeth, the angry fire in his chest growing stronger each time he glanced at the lad. His hand itched to wake up the boy properly, like it was used to be done when he, Bard, was still no more than a brat himself.
His head shot up when the doors shut loudly somewhere close to them, followed by shameless shouts and curses. His fingers, instinctively, wrapped themselves around the axe’s handle, a brief shot of adrenaline rushing in his veins. Sven, whose eyes shot up to Bjargey’s town square discernible in the distance, jumped in his seat slightly when something heavy fell to the ground and the sound of the doors closing filled the silence in the small village. He sat upright and eyed the buildings in the distance for a moment longer before going back to his previous activity.
It was quite warm, considering the time of the year, so close to when Devastating Winter tended to start.
Letting his erratic heartbeat slowly calm down, Bard closed his eyes and let the soft air wash over his wrinkled and scarred face. He wished, oh how badly he wished, he could go back to being as careless as his twenty-winters old self again. To spend his evenings laying on the grass, studying the night sky without the brusque voice of his late father at the back of his mind reminding him to stay aware, “for the dragons, son, they always, always go for the kill”.
In some ways, he could see himself in Sven, a fact that did not fill him with any confidence whatsoever. Tentatively opening his eyes, he looked at the man to his left. His face was smooth, free of years of worrying and fighting. His hands were nimble, his legs fast, his body young and full of energy. He was a dreamer, an idealist. Like Bard so many years ago.
Perhaps it was why he was so harsh with the lad. Sven Ahlberg needed to wake up and face the real world before it killed him like it did many others before him and will many more in the future.
Bard shifted in his seat with a tired sigh. Adding a bundle of dried-up twigs to the campfire, he let his eyes wander to the stars above him once again.
Something bright flashed in the sky, and his heartbeat picked up.
“Have ye seen tha’?” Bard propped himself on the axe, leaning in. Heat from the fire rose to his face, intensifying the sensation of burning around his eyes. Sven ceased to doodle and looked at the older man. He shifted sideways to face the dark void beyond the cliff.
“Have I seen what?”
“Somethin’. In the sky…” Bard replied slowly, scanning the stars carefully. He pulled away from the fire and blinked again.
“Your old eyes are playing tricks on you.” The blonde said with a crooked shrug, though he stayed seated facing the sky. Bard mustered the strength not to hit the foolish boy, instead he rubbed his eyes with a free hand and looked towards the dark abyss again. Whatever it was that caught his attention before was gone. The late shifts he had for the last couple of nights must have taken a toll on him – yes – but surely not to the point where he could see things that were not there.
Right?
He glanced at the sky again. Nothing.
Bard sat back up, letting his body settle in more comfortably.
The stars were brighter than ever before tonight, Bard mused with a tinge of unexplained worry still in his chest. One of them particularly stood out among others, its glow much more vivid and radiant. The realization hit him suddenly, catching him slightly off guard.
Sly, little devil, Bard thought as his hands began to tremble. Anger, or excitement, he couldn’t tell.
Sven noticed the unusually bright light as well. The young man stood up slowly, throwing the stick aside, and narrowed his eyes at the phenomenon.
“Dragon…” He whispered to himself, staring at the flaming Monstrous Nightmare coming the island’s way. Bard sprung up and gripped him roughly by the shoulders, almost making him fall to the ground.
“Stop gawking as if ye’ve neva’ seen a dragon before and get the Chief!” When Sven didn’t move, the older Viking turned him around and pushed towards the centre of the village. “Now!”
While Sven ran to Egil Hofferson’s house, Bard grabbed the axe from the ground and ran towards the horn to pound the alarm. He kept craning his neck to see the sky. As the Nightmare got closer to Bjargey, the Viking saw other dragons following it closely. A Dragon Raid… first one in such a long time. He felt it was going to happen, gods knew he felt it in his old bones. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, a part of him missed it dearly. He reached the hill with the horn. With his eyes locked on the attackers in the sky, now plainly in view, he blew with as much strength as his tired lungs could muster.
A loud, deep ring echoed through the village of Bjargey for the first time in almost six moons.
Bard repeated the warning signal one more time, his hands trembling as he did so. Groups of Vikings started to rush out of their homes just as some dragons, with the flaming Monstrous Nightmare in the lead, flew above the wooden buildings. Even though nothing had been set on fire yet, it was only a matter of time. Noticing chief Egil running his way, Bard jumped from the hill, securing his axe on his back. He saw the local baker immediately taking his place by the horn, passing a quick nod towards him.
“How many?” the Chief asked, looking at the sky. His eyes, bright blue even in the dark, narrowed in determination as he analyzed the current situation.
“I’ve seen three so far, chief,” Egil Hofferson made the smallest of nods, urging him to continue while his eyes stayed on the sky above. The dragons disappeared for the moment, but they both knew it would get much worse before it got better. Bard fixed the helmet on his head in a rush. “One Monstrous Nightmare and, from what I’ve seen, two Deadly Nadders.”
“And a Zippleback with a Snafflefang.” The Chief nodded to himself as he saw more dragons coming their way. He turned towards the rest of the village. “Get into positions! Prepare te fire on mah mark!”
Bard moved to rush towards a catapult and help when he felt a warm hand grip his shoulder. His eyes met the chief’s.
“Go find mah daughter and son. Tell them where I am,” Bard nodded quickly. Egil was silent for a short moment before looking up. The twinge of worry, the line that caressed his forehead felt alien on the warrior’s otherwise stone cold expression. “Keep’em safe.”
On his way to find his Chief’s children, the silhouette of Sven Ahlberg appeared among other men. The lad was busy helping with moving the catapults into position, careless attitude long since gone, thank the gods. He bowed his head in a silent sign of respect when Bard rushed pass them.
To his utter embarrassment, the old man felt his knees slightly buckling underneath him once he heard a familiar whistle. It had been a while since the last time the devil graced them with its presence.
“Night Fury!”
“Get down!”
The offspring of lightning and death itself flew right above the rooftops, almost daring the Viking to try and shoot it down. It didn’t fire, gaining more speed instead. The beast quickly disappeared from Bard’s line of view, hiding itself in the dark night sky as it usually did before it shot. Mothers and children were being led out of the village with a group of warriors by their side to keep them safe. Some baby’s screaming and voices of men rushing the others out of the way filled the air as the column moved down the path into the forest. Bard’s eyes swept over the group, a heavy sigh of relief when he saw a small girl with eyes that matched his own.
“Fire!” Egil’s deep voice reached him even as he was a mile away, and Bard reminded himself what he was asked to do in the first place. He elbowed his way through a group of Vikings rushing towards the catapults. A flash of blonde hair caught his eye.
He found Astrid Hofferson busy instructing the Fire Brigade what to do once the fires started. At the mere age of fifteen, she already looked and behaved like a true Viking – she was undoubtedly much more mature than Sven. The sharp blade of her trusty double-headed axe glinted in the fire from the torches held by the Viking youth. She had her hands placed on her hips, self-confidence and authority radiating surprisingly strong from such a small body. Bard gripped his weapon tighter as the memory of his late wife resurfaced for a short moment when he looked at the young girl before him – fierce, stubborn and impatient.
Astrid's younger brother, Gunnar Hofferson, was among others in the Brigade, a bucket full of water in his hand and an axe of his own strapped to his back. The five other teenagers there, ranging from the age of ten to fourteen, armored and seemingly ready to die for the greater cause as they were taught to do, looked at the heiress with respect.
It was high time the Hoffersons got some of that.
“Miss Hofferson,” He called loud enough to gain her attention. The girl turned around to face him. A brief look of worry crossed her face before it was replaced with the stony expression that he had seen her wear far too often for his liking. Her piercing blue eyes flickered to the sky for a short moment - always aware, always ready to fight, no surprise there. Bard took a few steps forward. “Your father asked me teh inform ye of his whereabouts.”
Astrid tilted her head just slightly, a silent sign that she was listening. Bard only managed to open his mouth when he felt himself being thrown backwards. He landed hard on his back, facing the night sky and the bright stars. His arms shook as he tried to push himself upwards. Dark spots danced before his eyes, his head spun uncontrollably. Suddenly everything went quiet. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat, blaring and filling the void.
Thump-thump… thump-thump…thump-
Once he finally managed to turn his head a little, grimacing at the horrible pain in his neck, everything seemed to be happening in slowed down motion. He saw fire… bright and angry flames traveling and eating up one side of a house in front of him. Young Vikings from the Fire Brigade rushing with their buckets full of water… Dragons… dragons flying in the sky…in the…
“…sir!” A female voice rung to his right and a blurred face of Astrid Hofferson came into his line of sight. He craned his neck a little, in too much pain to move it any further. He felt…. He didn’t feel… No, this was – impossible. His legs, his arms, they all refused to obey him. He tried to speak, but what left his mouth were only incomprehensible, strained noises, quickly getting lost within all the chaos around him.
One of the dragons must have fired. He didn’t notice it. He should have. He should have.
“Someone get ‘im out of ‘ere!” He heard someone shout out. Were they talking about him? No, they couldn’t have… He was alright, he would make it… he could still-
He saw the Night Fury flying above him and he looked, really looked. The dragon was smaller than everyone thought it would be. As the black reptile shot towards the other end of the village, Bard noticed something else.
Someone else.
Loki’s spawn, he wanted to shout out so desperately. His numb fingers barely moved when he tried to raise his hand and point at the dragon and the devil riding on its back in the distance. He felt a pull on his legs. Pain shot up through his whole body. He wanted to yell, rip them off. He managed to grunt barely audibly, though he doubted anyone heard him. Even if they did, it was no time for empathy.
“Move it, Ahlberg!” a voice to his right reprimanded the person to Bard’s left. He was harshly lifted from the ground. His body swayed to the sides motionlessly as he was being moved somewhere else, maybe to the healer, maybe just out of the way.
The voices started to fade into the background. His vision blurred again but not enough to miss the humongous fire that broke out in the distance. The Training Ring, Gods, they blew up the ring… Dozens of dragons escaped the cages and filled the night sky, covering all the stars he loved so much.
It was not a normal dragon raid.
This… this was something far more dangerous.