Archive of Our Own ^beta

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With the thick fog clouding their vision and general surroundings, the dragon hunters couldn’t even see the outline of the horizon, much less the tall rocky towers that the large hunting ship just narrowly avoided. They were like slices of cliffs jutting out of the water, tall and imposing—the perfect place for a dragon to be stalking above, waiting to strike—or, as they say; waiting to be struck down. 

Ødger Grimborn barked out orders to his men, his voice loudly echoing into the morning air, bouncing off the tall rock formations, as the ship once again steered right, successfully evading another pillar that towered over them. The ship creaked as the waves of the cold, salty ocean rocked against the ship in a rhythmic fashion.

Opening the cabin door, seventeen-year-old Ryker Grimborn, heir to the Grimborn family, stepped out onto the deck from the captain's quarters. He was closely followed by fourteen-year-old Viggo Grimborn, the little brother and very much not the heir to the tribe.

Ryker placed his hands on his hips, confident and sure of himself, more than ready for the day he takes over the family business. Viggo stayed halfway in his big brother's shadow, sending bored glances to the hunters that ran around, working tirelessly under his grandfather's command. 

The patriarch of the Grimborn family, the boy's fǫður-afi, their paternal grandfather, had decided to make it a habit to bring his grandsons on his extensive dragon hunting trips, in hopes that they’d learn from him, becoming the heirs he’d always hoped they’d be. As the boy's primary guardian, they had to comply, going on long trips that lasted weeks whether they liked it or not. 

The older of the two was far more cooperative with their grandfather's views and expectations, wanting to be the best of the best, whilst the younger one knew of his place in the hierarchy. Despite his grandfather's affection for him, Viggo knew he could not fight the way things had played out. Urðr had played its cruel tricks, having him be born three years after his brother. He was born the youngest, therefore, he was not directly next in line for inheritance. The only way that would happen is if Ryker abstained from his hold on his ‘rightfully’ earned birthright—and even the gods knew he wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon. 

Viggo was reluctantly fine with that. He could manage working in the shadows, playing the game from the sidelines, using what he has as pawns in the background whilst his brother did all the heavy lifting. It’d be a game. Much like one of his favorite pastimes; Maces and Talons. 

The large hunting ship creaked, a deep moan rumbling from its structure as it slowly drifted through the unfamiliar waters. Ødger Grimborn has had his eyes on the specific passage for a while now, and this was the expedition where he finally put it on his map.

In the distance but close enough to make out against the fog was a dragon that flew like a tribal banner in the wind, its long tail flowing behind it like the waves crashing against the ship. It was quickly identified as a Razorwhip—a dragon known for its sharp silver scales that sold well on the market. It was a fairly large dragon, a female by the looks of it. 

Ryker smiled, grabbing the hilts of the two swords on his back, ready to fight. Viggo smiled at his older brother's relentless ambition. He always did love to go head to head with the scaly beasts. 

The dragon overhead quietly roared, still unaware of their looming presence. That was good. It made things easier. Razorwhips were a notoriously hard dragon to take down—but it only made it more entertaining for the Grimborns. The Razorwhip was flying towards them, either unknowingly or out of pure arrogance. The hunters set up their catapults and arrows. 

“Take it down, men!” Ødger commanded, holding out his hand and grasping the image of the Razorwhip before him, figuratively crushing it as he tightly closed his fist. At his word, the hunters dispatch their weaponry, shooting down the dragon within a few moments. The long, enforced ropes that tied themselves around the dragon's legs pulled the Razorwhip down onto the deck of the ship and the creature let out a panicked screech. 

Ryker runs down to the second deck and with the rest of the men, they rush forward with their weapons and nets to subdue it. Viggo stays on the sidelines, watching closely—studying them.

When the dragon is almost chained down, Viggo excitedly runs down the steps of the upper deck to join his older brother, almost tripping on his way down, still keeping his distance but far closer than he was before. The dull mood the ship's atmosphere provided flipped on its back, boisterous laughter overshadowing the dragon's harrowing cries. 

In an instant, like a sudden flash of lightning, an unrecognizable spear flew down from the skies past the clouds, breaking the chains that held the dragon down, shattering them. The Razorwhip suddenly broke free from its bounds and rampaged throughout the ship. The crew panicked, running to avoid the series of shape scales shot at them in opposition to their violent assault.  

Viggo stumbled back, frozen in fear. He had never been so close to a non-caged dragon before. All the dragons he ever met were always in chains, unable to get to him—a childish fear he still secretly held onto.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ødger saw him backing away. He noticed how the young boy was getting closer and closer to the edge of the ship. “Viggo, get away from the railing!” He yelled, but his cries fell on deaf ears. Viggo did not move from where he stood, paralyzed. 

The Razorwhip twirled around, its sharp tail slashing anything in range, causing Viggo to take another step back. The dragon abruptly leapt into the air, causing the ship to shake vigorously.

Viggo felt his entire body fall backwards, as if he was suddenly weightless. He saw the sky first, then his legs as he fell straight down, plummeting into the dark, cold ocean, his vision going black—but not before hearing his grandfather call out his name one last time. 

“Viggo!”

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Fourteen-year-old Atali observed the hunting ship from a safe distance while the older members of her tribe approached from their own hiding spots, totally unseen to the hunters eyes. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be out here at all—but she had a childish tendency not to listen to her superiors.

She carefully crept around her hiding spot on the rocky tower, watching the hunting ship closely. She could hear the faint voices of the men on board, and she could see them pulling dragon sized cages up onto the deck. The infant Razorwhip on her back cooed nervously. 

“I know, boy.” Atali whispered softly, comforting the small dragon. “But I’ve got to see this!” The baby dragon squeezed its purple eyes shut at her enthusiastic exposition. He didn’t like this one bit, evident by the way his sharp tail tightly dug into her abdomen. But she just couldn’t help herself—she had to see what being a real Wingmaiden was like! 

Her tribe was a mix of two things—devote followers of Freya herself, defenders of the Razorwhip hatchery and protector of the wonderful, magnificent species. But under that, they were fearless warriors, with the ability to strike down even the most ruthless of enemies. They mercilessly fought against anyone that dared to threaten the existence of the Razorwhip mind. 

And Atali wanted to be ready for that responsibility—and she needed to get out there to prove to her fellow Wingmaidens that she was just as capable as they were. 

So… she may or may not have sneaked out on a mission, successfully following behind the Wingmaidens without getting caught—and now here she was. She was breaking the rules tremendously, the very special rules that all Wingmaidens must oblige to and follow without question, but she wouldn't get caught. She knew she wouldn’t. She was pretty good at this whole sneaking around thing. She has been for years now.

She continued to watch the hunting ship and things were just getting interesting. She watched in horror as they shot down an adult Razorwhip, the beautiful creature crying out in pain as she was dragged down. Her pain didn’t last long though. Atali noticed a fellow Wingmaiden throw down a spear with an alarming speed and strength—there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that it was Revna, she was the strongest Wingmaiden of them all—when the spear struck the chains which held the Razorwhip down, the chains shattered, and the dragon was set free. 

The Razorwhip gave the hunters a good scare before leaping into the air with a flap of its large, metallic wings. She should feel happy about the dragon was free, but something else caught Atali's eye.

It was a boy. He let out a scream before falling over the side of the ship and plunging into the water. She watched intently as he didn’t reemerge, eyes never leaving the spot where he disappeared. Atali didn’t even think when she leapt from her hiding place and flew after him, wind rushing past her, zooming into the water with a sharp splash. She was nothing but a blur to the hunters on the ship.

The water was dark and murky without the glares of the morning sun shining down on it. It was freezing—ice cold this time of year—but Atali ignored the fierce temperature of the water and the stinging sensation in her eyes, and continued to swim after him, heart pounding in her chest and mild discomfort throbbing in her head.

The boy continued to plunge into the depths, eyes closed and mouth agape, and just before he was gone forever, lost in the darkness of the ocean's embrace, Atali grabbed him, arms wrapping around his torso and she kicked back up. She struggled against his weight at first, but the Razorwhip on her back helped her out, and as quickly as she had flown after him, they resurfaced. Atali gasped, coughing up some of the salty water that burned at the back of her throat as she did, blinking desperately to regain her sight.

She looked around at a fast pace, trying to keep both her, her baby dragon, and the unconscious boy above water. The ship wasn’t far if she yelled for help, but that would reveal her position, reveal her entire existence—to both the hunters and her fellow Wingmaidens. Revealing your existence to an outsider was strictly forbidden, and that would get her in far more trouble than sneaking on another mission.

Her gaze fell upon a nearby island—more of a large rock formation than anything, but it had a small cove and beach where she could hide them in. She swam against the waves and she didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally reached the shore line.

Pulling the boy onto the beach, Atali gave herself a moment to breathe, her wet hair sticking to her face, before pressing her ear to his chest, trying to see if his heart was still beating. His breathing was faint, but he was still breathing—which Atali was strangely glad about.

Atali brushed a strand of hair behind her ear to get a better look at the boy. He had pale skin that seemed almost gray in some areas, dark brown hair that glistened with the water droplets and a youthful yet mature face—as though his budding features were to hide an age-old wisdom he held. 

He was kinda cute.

Not that Atali would know anything about that. Wingmaiden island didn’t really care for physical beauty because their work was the most beautiful in their lives—nothing could compare. Plus, Atali hadn’t seen a man in years, not since late her brother and father—but the shipwreck that tore them apart was a long time ago. She can hardly remember their faces anymore. 

But according to the older Wingmaidens, the ones who were recently recruited into their ranks, or those who still had memories of the mainland and other islands that inhabit the Archipelago, who secretly told her of all the men they had loved once, people were loved for how they looked on the other islands across the seas. She wonders if he looked like the men they had described—strong and handsome. He looked the part. 

The boy's eyes flutter open, and his irises are a dark hazel color that matched his hair. And they were beautiful. Atali had to pull herself back so as not to get pulled in. The blush on her face immediately cooled when the severity of the situation kicked back in. Smaller boats had been dispatched to search for the boy but they were going in the wrong direction, searching the waters to see if he had somehow resurfaced. If they didn’t find him in time, he might die—and Atali didn’t like the way that made her feel, the way her insides burned at the thought. 

Atali whistled, a high-pitched sound that sang through the air, reaching the search and rescue boats, getting their attention. She ducks behind a large boulder before they can see her—but they do see the boy laying on the shore and they quickly dispatch and row towards the beach. Once she knew that the boy would be saved by his people, she lifted into the air, wings carrying her to the high altitudes of the top of rock towers, ready to return to her own tribe back on her own island. 

She’s had enough observing for today. 

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Viggo woke up without any warning, throwing up the water that had replaced the air in his lungs, the taste of salt burning on the tip of his tongue. It had been so still before he had woken up, they had thought he was dead. He heaved and wheezed when he felt multiple hands on him at once.

Reality came crashing down on him all at once. He recognized his older brother's strong grip on his shoulders—and he heard Ryker's voice in his ear, yelling at him to “stay awake.” And begrudgingly, he did. He’s not exactly sure how he managed to keep his eyes open, when all he wanted to do was close them. What happened? Viggo didn’t remember much, other than falling into the water and—

A girl. 

A girl with red hair and curious emerald green eyes. The image was blurry but he knew what he saw. He could’ve sworn it was a Valkyrie sent by Odin himself. He was sure he had died, yet here he was, among the living. And painfully aware of it. His lungs burned and his throat ached, every part of his body regaining feeling instantaneously. His eyes finally opened fully and remained so, lazily darting around.

“The currents must have carried him to shore.” The hunter that was tending to him said. 

“No…” Viggo mumbled. He knew what he saw. It was a girl. A girl had saved him. Sent by the gods themselves to rescue him from an untimely death. 

Taking his little brother's word into account, Ryker huffed quietly. He still wasn’t talking directly to Viggo. In fact, something seemed off with Ryker. He seemed… nervous? Tense, as well. “Then he must have swam to shore.” Says Ryker.

Viggo spoke up again. He wouldn’t let the image of the girl vanish from his memory, he needed a witness. “No, I swear, it was a Val…” the word Valkyrie died in his mouth when he noticed the many winged humanoid creatures surrounding them. 

The winged women stand around the hunting ship, perched on whatever could give them the highest vantage point. They were silent, and you couldn’t see their faces behind their masks, only their eyes, which were as cold as the water Viggo had found himself in moments prior. So, this was why his usually fearless older brother was so tense and fidgety. 

Viggo's gaze turns to his grandfather, whose hand grips the hilt of the large sword on his hip. The older man’s eyes were wide and his shoulders were hunched and tense—something Viggo had never seen before. He’s never seen his grandfather afraid so before. He’s never seen his grandfather afraid, period. He never thought that was possible.

Because it wasn’t. 

It was impossible for his grandfather to be afraid, even if the situation that called for such a reaction was rather… unusual. He was known for his fearlessness, his inability to flinch at even the most gruesome of sights. The strangest part was that he only looked afraid for a moment, long enough for the crew to notice his untypical fear before fixing himself the facade of a man who feared nothing, returning to the man Viggo knew so well. 

A winged woman landed on the deck gracefully but she stood tall and imposing. She was older than the other women, perhaps as old or even older than Viggo and Ryker's grandfather. She was dressed differently, more regal, with a light gray cloak and staff. All of the winged women set their sights on the older women, standing idly by for her command. She must be their leader. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ødger demanded to know. His usual strong voice didn’t waver. 

The old woman scowled, her light blue eyes narrowing in disdain. “You have entered our territory with ill intentions,” the winged women’s chieftain began, voice stately and grandiose, with an edge to it as sharp as a sword. “You have struck down a protected creature under our care. There will be no forgiveness for this.”

“Forgiveness? Well, if we can’t find that, how about we strike a deal, then?” Ødger pitched, slipping into the business man persona Viggo deeply admires. He slams his sword into the floor of the ship, and leaves it there; a display of peace. “No need for bloodshed on both sides when we can find some middle ground, yes?”

The old woman's face contorted slightly, studying him closely for any signs of deceit. “What kind of deal?”

“One that benefits both of us,” Ødger explains with poise. “I’m simply a humble business man, a trader with a quota to fill. If I can find something in my shipment that interests you, then perhaps you will allow me to continue using these waters without any further resistance?”

One couldn’t tell if the winged women’s chieftain was entertaining the idea or not, her gaze as cold and unmoving as it had been when she arrived. “And,” she began, “what do you think you have that I could possibly want?”

Ødger smiled, knowing he had succeeded in winning her over. He smiled as though he knew he always would. 

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Atali held onto the edge of the ship very carefully, nails and feet digging into the wood as a reassurance she wouldn’t fall—even though she had a set of wings on her back. She thinks she’s at the bow of the ship, although she wasn’t too sure of naval anatomy. It’s been a while since she’s stepped foot on a ship.

Now, technically she was supposed to be getting back to Wingmaiden Island, but her curiosity was driving her crazy. Seeing a good portion of her tribe flocking to the hunting ship like birds flailing over a rotting corpse had caught her attention, forcing her off her original path. Wingmaidens never reveal themselves to other people, much less dragon hunters who had successfully managed to catch a Razorwhip. 

A Wingmaiden revealing themselves to someone not affiliated with the all-female tribe was a mark of death. They kept their existence very secret and there were no exceptions when it came to who could live to tell the tale of ruthless winged women.

Atali was deeply confused that the crew hadn’t been killed yet and that the ship wasn’t currently sinking to the bottom of the ocean. That was the appropriate reaction the Wingmaidens took anytime a hunting ship had captured a Razorwhip. 

They never went after ships that carried other dragons—taking care of Razorwhips was their sacred duty, their only duty. They didn’t concern themselves with the safety of other dragons. 

In this instance, a Razorwhip had been captured and the Wingmaidens took charge. But the hunters weren’t facing the usual repercussions. That is what confused Atali the most, and what urged her to seek out why action hadn’t been taken yet. 

She peeked over the edge, scanning the ship's deck. She counted several Wingmaidens and pulled back slightly so as not to get caught. She sees an old man speaking to her chieftain; Vanadís. The old woman seemed vaguely interested in what the man had to say despite her stone cold expression. Atali knows even the slightest bit of interest from the high priestess of the Wingmaidens was a feat, one that she has never seen a human beyond their tribe accomplish before.

Her hands trembled, no longer able to hold her weight. Atali fumbled, digging her boots into the side of the ship. “Woah!” She yelped, praying she didn’t fall into the water below. She was still sopping wet from saving that stupid boy. 

The slight commotion caused one of the Wingmaidens to look overboard. The Wingmaidens' eyes widened. “Atali?”

Atali smiled sheepishly at the dark haired women. “Eira…! How’s it going?”  

“What are you doing here?” Eira asked in an angry whisper. She was a stickler for rules—except when Atali dragged her into things. “You should be back on the island!”

“I know, I know,” Atali fought the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance. Atali could see the frustration building up behind Eira's mask. Eira's pale fingers dug into the railing, then loosened when she sighed. She always did have a way with quickly settling her emotions. Atali forced an innocent smile. “But just… don’t say anything. Please?” 

“This is not the time for games, Atali.” Eira expressed in a disappointed tone. “This is serious.” 

“I know!”

Eira’s frown deepened. “You clearly don’t if you’re here.”

“Would you just—help me up?” Atali held out her hand for Eira to take. Atali felt half compelled to use the other Wingmaidens black hair as a rope and pull herself up if she didn’t help her onto the boat. 

“Ugh, fine. But I won’t save you from whatever the high priestess deems a worthwhile punishment for your misdemeanors.” 

In that moment, Vanadís turned and her pale eyes focused on Atali instantaneously. Atali felt her confidence completely vanish, freezing in place. The chieftain of the Wingmaidens had told the young girl time and time again not to pull such reckless stunts—like sneaking out on mission—and this would no doubt lead to a harsh punishment. Atali's eyes fell to the wooden floorboards, ashamed for her disrespectful behavior towards her tribe's rules and equally so that she got herself so easily caught. 

Vanadís gestured with a long stroke of her hand to bring Atali over. Eira's hands tensed on Atali's shoulders. Hesitantly, Eira complied and brought Atali to Vanadís’s side. The other Wingmaiden flew back to her perch, a pitiful look in her blue eyes. A new hand found Atali's shoulder. Vanadís pressed into the young girl's shoulder and eyed her reaction carefully. 

Then the older woman's attention turned back to Ødger and the two boys at his side—specifically the younger one. 

“Now what?” The boy—Viggo—mumbled quietly behind him, posing the question to his grandfather, sounding sarcastic. Atali's eyes went wide when she saw him, realizing who he was the second she laid eyes on him.

Ødger didn’t register Viggo's question, not completely. He had caught the old woman's gaze and instantly understood what kind of ideas were forming in her head. He forced a smile. He didn’t hate the idea as much as he should. Viggo's presence behind him suddenly became apparent, like a burning hut in the harsh white winter, and for the first time—Ryker faded into the background, no longer a thought, his little brother stealing the spotlight. 

Viggo felt his grandfather pull him to his side before he could even think, the older man’s hand heavy on his far shoulder. Viggo met the other girl's eyes. 

They were a color of green that felt familiar to him. 

Then his grandfather began to speak, his grip on Viggo intensifying. As the words fell from Ødger's mouth, Vanadís smiled for the first time since she landed on their deck.

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“Marriage!?” 

Viggo had to restrain himself from screaming at the top of his lungs as he followed his grandfather into his personal quarters, with Ryker not far behind. The Grimborn patriarch didn’t respond to the boys' outraged questions. He wouldn’t, not until they were alone. Ryker shut the door behind the two and their grandfather rounded his desk, where a large map was sprayed out. 

“You can’t be serious!” Viggo's hands curl into fists at his sides, tone sharp and voice shaking. Ryker's not sure he’s ever seen his little brother so angry before. “We hardly know those—those people.” He shuts his mouth before he can say anything unsavory. Five minutes ago, he had admired his grandfather for his way with words. Five minutes ago, he thought they would get out unscathed due to his grandfather's wit and intelligence. 

Five minutes ago, he wasn’t engaged. 

He was only fourteen! Sure, he was ‘technically’ a man now, but marriage was the last thing on his mind. And especially not to some—some girl with wings whom he’s never once met or spoken to! 

“Oh, pipe down. Besides,” Ødger said as he marked down the territory with the Grimborn insignia in red, dragon's blood, ink. “The wedding date’s set for your twentieth birthday.”

“When was that decided?” Viggo probed, not remembering when that was discussed in the conversation with the winged women’s leader.

“Just now.” Ødger declared calmly, moving his stamp back to its rightful place. Viggo glared at the object, for a moment wishing he could throw it across the room—or into the ocean for good measure. Ødger looked up at the boy, meeting his hard gaze. 

“It’s not fair.” Viggo spat, crossing his arms defiantly. “You can’t do this.”

Ødger leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable in the large wooden chair. His eyes and small, tactful movements are fueled by a dim fire, one set ablaze long ago by decades of experience. His response to Viggo is prudent, and up until now, Viggo would have called him wise, hanging upon his every word like a dragon to dragon bait. “Boy, what have I told you about business?”

Viggo’s stance wavered and his shoulders tensed. He replied quietly, almost mumbling. “…you have to use all the cards necessary to keep the client and the profit.” 

“Speak up, boy.” Ødger snapped, his sharp tone making the room drop a few degrees. 

Viggo scowled, and he didn’t hide it well. “You have to use all the cards necessary to keep the client and the profit.” 

“Exactly.” Ødger abruptly stood. “We must do what it takes to keep up good business.”

“But it's my life!” Viggo broke, hands curling into his chest. “You can’t just marry me off for the sake of business—“

“Please,” the older man scoffed. “It’s hardly a real marriage!” Ødger bit back, and hard. “It’s a show of trust! It binds us. They won’t turn against us and we won’t turn against them. It means nothing behind that. You’ll hardly have to worry about this, Viggo.” 

And then he went back to his maps and papers, and that’s when Viggo knew the fight was useless. He had been dismissed, easily too, and there wasn’t a point in trying to press further. Holding his tongue and swallowing his pride, Viggo turns on his heel.

Ryker tries to stop him, reaching out hand but he was swiftly shut down. The younger Grimborn brother pushes past him. “Shut it, Ryker.”

Ryker doesn’t say anything else as he leaves, turning back to his grandfather. He opens his mouth to speak, even though he doesn’t know what to say, but his Ødger beats him to it. “Anything to say, my boy?”

Suddenly in the spotlight, Ryker hesitates. “Uh, no sir.”

﹏𓊝﹏

Atali has never been so quiet before. It caught the attention of her fellow Wingmaidens, but no one dared to reach out to comfort or reassure the young girl that everything would be okay. Because if they did that, it would seem that they were defying Vanadís, an act similar to defying Freya herself. 

So, they stayed quiet, and Atali lived in her own silent misery. Her fingers were curled into light fists, the prints of her fingers rubbing against one another anxiously. 

“Marriage.” She whispered under her breath. 

The meaning behind the word didn’t register for her until they were halfway home. She had nearly forgotten the purpose of a marital union. There was no such thing as marriage on Wingmaiden Island. They didn’t have a need for such things, not when they had their divine duty and maidenhood. The last time she ever met a married couple was years ago, the memories of her late parents fading every day. 

When the old man first suggested it, Atali was confused. Then it clicked in her head what the word truly meant. And then Vanadís agreed with him and she’s never felt so… so… she doesn’t know how to feel. It wasn’t angry, she could never really be angry at Vanadís. But she didn’t like the situation she’s been put in either. She’s never felt like this before, not since… not since she was ripped from her little brother's arms by the unfeeling ocean, being swept away into its cold, consuming embrace. Except she couldn’t blame the ocean for where she ended up. 

When they arrive back on Wingmaiden Island, the news quickly spreads. It sparked some argumentative conversations that were quickly shut down, but some were brave and angered enough to confront Vanadís during their mission debrief. 

“Sacrifices must be made for our survival!” The high priestesses voice rings out throughout the large, crowded room, bringing them all to silence. Her hand falls upon Atali's head, fingers settling into her hair, and Atali wishes she could lose the ability to feel. “Our sacred duty,” Vanadís spoke, voice proud yet strained, filled with emotion. “Is our greatest purpose in life. We cannot allow anything, or anyone, to sullen it. If this union can save our tribes eternal honor, then we shall not turn the opportunity away. This—this is a blessing from Freya herself! It is her telling us to continue at any and all costs!” 

The Wingmaidens mutter among themselves, doubtful in the logic, but chose not to fight against it. The debrief moved on as Vanadís finished explaining all that they would gain from the deal she struck with the Grimborns. Then they moved on to dinner, but Atali could not bring herself to enjoy it. 

She was seated beside Vanadís, an honor that should fill her with pride, but it does quite the opposite. She was finally being recognized for her efforts, but she also… wasn’t. Nothing she had done today earned her any rightful praise. She just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. She should have listened. She should have stayed behind with the rest of her tribe. Then none of this would have happened. 

Trying her best not to sulk, she forced a spoonful of stew into her mouth, trying not to think about the events of today.

The Norns have decided, her future was in Skulds gentle hands, and there was no fighting against the sea of destiny. But despite knowing her fate had been decided, Atali still whispers out a silent prayer.

Oh, Freya help her. 

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Weeks pass before Atali and Viggo meet again, this time under completely different circumstances—one that didn’t involve their tribes nearly ripping each other to pieces. 

Vanadís and Ødger wished to meet in person again. Their envoys assemble near the rocky towers where the arrangement was first made, meeting on the cove that they had found Viggo on when he nearly drowned. They brought little backup, each side having their own entourage of armed guards. 

Viggo kept his arms behind his back, hands clasped together tightly. He’s been putting up a fight for weeks, but his grandfather has refused to move his stance on the matter. It seems he’s to be married after all—but he supposed it wasn’t exactly a normal marriage. Ødger insisted time and time again that this was a business contract, hardly a marriage. Viggo wishes they could just call it a business contract. 

Ryker had given him the ‘talk’ before arriving—which was more like a series of debatable ways to woo a girl. Viggo was never a people person, so he’ll take his older brother's word for it, but only a select few passages of the so-called advice. Not that he’d be taking any of it to heart. He wasn’t here to woo anyone. He didn’t even want to be here, not entirely.

He was dressed in his best—polished armor and fresh dragon scales, the family crest branded on his belt. He was cleaner than he had been in weeks, doused in familial pride and artificial scents. He was a staple of the Grimborn legacy, an example of power. Another one of his grandfather's pieces in his lifelong game of business and profit. 

Viggo’s Valkyrie—the girl that had saved his life, the reason he was still standing here now—was dressed exactly the same as she was weeks prior, in her dragon scale armor that was slightly dented and scraped in some areas. The fierceness of her getup was displaced by her nervous expression, which paralleled Viggo’s internal emotions. 

He wanted to talk to her, only to thank her for saving his life and all. But the whole engagement made it… awkward. Viggo swallowed his pride. If it was going to happen anyways, he may as well not act like an immature child about it—a quote pulled straight from his grandfather's mouth during one of their many arguments on the issue. 

Vanadís and Ødger met deeper within the small cove, speaking privately, leaving their people behind—despite slight protest from their respective parties. The hunters hesitantly glanced up, spotting the several Wingmaidens that hide in the crevices of the rocks, higher than the hunters can reach, their metal masks showcasing a display of mystery that made the hunters incredibly uneasy. 

With both leaders gone, it leaves both Viggo and Atali alone. Ryker could sense the two's hesitation to speak. He playfully slaps his little brother's back. “Go get ‘er.” He says with a snarky smile.

Viggo scowls up at him. His shoulders level when he feels Ryker's hand leave his back and he finds himself once again staring at the girl who stood only a few feet away. He was secretly grateful for the slight distraction Ryker had provided with his short-lived joke. Now he was back in reality, and he was severely disappointed. He exhales deeply out his nose, and takes a step forward, which attains the girl's attention. 

Her deep emerald eyes find his, and the two freeze, standing quietly. Viggo blinks, and he doesn’t know why he feels so… surprised. 

He regains his posture and clears his throat. He realized they hadn’t properly been introduced. He didn’t even know her name. “I’m Viggo.”

“A-Atali,” she replies after a moment. There’s another pang of awkward silence that’s excruciating. Atali's eyes flash towards Ryker and the other hunters, then back at Viggo. “Aren’t you a bit young to be a hunter?”

Viggo’s eyes widen slightly, and he’s a bit flabbergasted at the question. No one’s ever asked him that before. All Grimborns start hunting young. Their births are celebrated by a grand hunt—the bigger the dragon that’s killed in their honor, the better the blessing for the newborn. It was natural for their family for the younger members to begin hunting in their younger teen years. And most people knew it, so it was… strange to receive such a question, and he wasn’t sure how to answer it. 

“Hardly,” he responded. “It’s an honor to accompany my grandfather on his voyages.” But as of late, he wished he could chain himself to his homeland and never return to the seas.

Atali's eyebrows raise. “Your grandfather? Is that who that man is to you?” She asks, referring to Ødger. Viggo nods. It raised more questions than answers. Atali was surprised a close family member would put their own kin up for barter so easily. But she hasn’t had a family besides the Wingmaidens in a long time. 

They go quiet again. The waves crashed into the rocky shoreline, blurring into the background, mixing with the quiet murmurs of the hunters. 

“How old are you?” Atali asks, curiosity returning to her eyes. 

“Fourteen.” He says. “And you?”

Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she mumbles; “O-Oh, same. Is that too young to get married?” She asked. It sure felt like it. Marriage is still such a foreign concept to her. 

Once again, she shocks Viggo with her questions. It makes him wonder how much she knows about modern society outside her own. “We aren’t getting married today,” Viggo says. He doesn’t like the way his stomach turns when he says it. “It’s just a… prolonged engagement.” 

“I-I see…” Atali turns away, looking out towards the sea. Viggo doesn’t look away. Being tied to someone for the sake of a business didn’t sit right with him, and he was going to miss his plans of solitude in his adulthood, but at least she wasn’t horribly bad to look at. 

After a moment, Viggo asks; “I’m assuming you were forced into this too?” Atali nods, biting her lower lip. 

Vanadís and Ødger return after their meeting concludes. Ødger looks proud, pleasantly surprised with the way things have turned out, while Vanadís looks as she always does—stone cold. But Atali noticed the way her staff lightly touched the ground with each step. She too was pleased with the circumstances. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Vanadís.” Ødger says with a sly smile. “I see a bright future for our tribes, and my exploits.” He adds pointedly. 

Behind him, Viggo rolls his eyes. He is still annoyed by his grandfather's grand plan. Atali sees this, and stifles a laugh, which grabs Viggo’s attention. His cheeks flush. He’s never made a girl… laugh before. Their eyes meet, and he quickly looks away. The look in her eyes was warm. 

He didn’t need to be getting attached. Especially not to her. 

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