Chapter Text
The Captain of the Guard is meant to train new recruits every spring; the weather is just shy of cold and perfect for long days of training with sunlight to last for hours. Still, that doesn’t mean many recruits are actually placed on the royal guard. Astrid Hofferson may invite anyone to try their worth at surviving her drillings, but at the end of the season, not many are given the honor of patrolling the mighty castle of the Isle of Berk. Not many are chosen to protect their king.
Unfortunately, the current batch of recruits is less prepared than last season, and that means that Astrid’s training sessions will be all the more difficult. Managing about twenty or so of seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen-year-olds is no challenge for the week.
One thing that has not changed since Astrid’s knighting is that no Berkian has ever underestimated her strength and worth; she may be twenty-three, but she has fought with the valor of the experienced. Growing up in a family responsible for the safety of the kingdom has shown her all the horrors this realm has to offer.
Astrid is awake the moment any warmth is introduced into the air, and she looks forward to wearing softer, leather armor for today’s excursion instead of heavy, metal armor meant for battle.
Sunrise was about three hours ago, yet her trainees act as though they’ve just awoken. Unlike Astrid, her recruits wear too comfortable clothing for their difficult exercises. Warming up includes jogs around the castle walls and organizing satchels for resources.
“Your belongings should always be light,” Astrid informs her students, pacing in front of them as they stand in a straight line, “but you should always ensure you have what is needed to survive.”
After the recruits gather a leather skin for water, bandages, salve, and a small knife, they trek away from the comfort of the village. Into the forest they go.
Astrid leads them to a rocky beach where everyone is ordered to scale the cliff where she will watch them. The cliff isn’t too high to cause death should any of them fall, and while the sand is harder than snow, it won’t seriously endanger any of their landings. Astrid can advise and suggest all she wants, but what makes a lance united is by first figuring out an individual’s strengths and limitations. That way, the Captain can decide who does what.
Even with gloves and thick boots, the group is slow to learn. Despite dressing lightly, they struggle to hoist themselves up from one rock to the next.
By the afternoon, only one boy makes it to the top. Astrid has mercy on her pupils and allows for rest at the beach. Today there is damp weather with misty clouds rolled out over them, illustrating a gray blanket of chill.
In efforts to clear her mind of irritation, Astrid separates from the dull bunch and pulls away to a secluded area in the forest. The tired trainees are still within earshot, but Astrid has to fixate on their muffled conversations if she needs to hear them.
Pulling a waterskin from her belt, Astrid sighs, slowly uncapping the thing and bringing it to her lips. Reflections, thoughts, and regrets fight for control of her attention. She smooths her fur and leather skirt, picking away at any knots in it. Her blue tunic is sleeveless, showing off arms that have been carefully carved by years of hard work and training.
Astrid Hofferson has earned her title as Captain of the Royal Guard, and since being knighted, she has sought out to undo the damage to the Hofferson family that her late uncle caused many years ago. The king may have legally pardoned the Hofferson uncle, who soon inadvertently killed himself, but Astrid and her family know that their rapport has struggled to recover since the incident.
Soon, the blonde realizes that everything has gone still.
Normally, the woman supervises her lance, although considering they are well within the isle’s borders, even in the forest, there is little risk leaving them alone; Astrid needs the silence anyway. The beach faces away from the Jotnar bridge, signifying safety. No creatures ever come close to Berk’s waters, yet on the rare occasion that they do, their presence is swiftly noticed by guards.
The wind keeps the environment alive, and faint rays of light shine into the forest, almost illuminating a path back to the recruits. Astrid scrutinizes the windows of light, looking for any indication of movement along the beach. She’s tucked herself a little too deep into the forest, so she meanders back to the shoreline. Still, the ocean waves crash into the sand, and nothing else is heard. Astrid’s walk breaks into strides.
She starts sprinting when she hears the infamous pan flutes playing. With a hand clenched around a small dagger from her toolbelt, Astrid begins targeting. Two of her recruits, one male and female, are knee deep in the ocean. One girl has her feet wet ashore, and the rest of the people clench their eyes shut and cover their ears with hands.
“Throw rocks at them!” Astrid screams.
The young recruits are too scared to listen. Astrid cannot blame them; the war between Jotuns and Berkians has thankfully dwindled, and it is rare to see even the smallest of non-human creatures wandering astray near Berk.
Astrid raises an arm, happy that her usually heavy armor isn’t a part of her today, and chooses who to strike. She’s out of the forest by now, boots already meeting stones, and fires. Her dagger is shot out from her hand, dead set on meeting the forehead of a cursed Nixy that now has his webbed hand on a recruit’s arm. He falls back, screeching with moss-for-hair whipping back and forth. The other Nixies wail and hiss, reminding the humans why these particular Jotnars cannot use their hideous voices to lure souls in for eating.
The pan flutes retreat with the horrid spirits into the water, while Astrid’s recruits fall back with wet thuds. Her orders are slow to be obeyed, but soon, the few that were out at sea are pulled up along the shore and rest near the cliff that only one person climbed.
It takes a moment for the group to recollect themselves, and today’s session is adjourned after a needed lecture about the power of man-eating water spirits called the Nixies. The group follows after Astrid in loose formation, and she delegates the sole winner of the rock climbing to guard the back of the group.
While the recruits gossip about Nixies, Astrid is more concerned about the giants that follow the water-spirits. In the symbiotic relationship, Nixies supply giants with food they do not want, and are returned protection and resources. Nixies, whether male or female, are not physically skilled and rely on attractive appearances and heavenly instruments to lure in their prey.
But they shouldn’t be anywhere near this side of the island, let alone in the waters of Berk.
As the group enters the forest, heading back to the castle that Astrid should have never left, it begins to drizzle. Sure, the day may have been gloomy, but there is always a damp scent in the air that preludes a wet day. There was no indication it was going to rain. This rainfall is too sudden….
“Form a line! Hands on the shoulders of the person in front of you,” Astrid demands, unsheathing her axe from the back of her harness. “Prepare to move without sight! Do not let go! Remember what I told you!”
Astrid positions herself in the front, waiting for hands on her shoulders. She takes one step, waits for her squad to find their balance, and then continues. She orders complete silence because words indicate personality, and the Nixies can manipulate their songs to better attract any individual.
She’s met with dozens of questions about the situation, but Astrid cannot answer. The rain picks up, and figures begin to form. Water droplets do not crash into the ground, but they hover in the air and fly around until they form shapes. The shapes morph into figures. The same Nixies appear, all with brown, dull moss for hair and aquatic plants that hug their frames –some lean, some muscular (it depends on the preference of their prey). Their eyes are a deep yellow, watching with such intent that Astrid has to force herself to look away.
All they can do is find their way out of this water-spirit-created rain and make it to the outskirts of the village. Nixies are not bold. They are stupid, scared creatures that play on the desperation of mankind. Even the strongest-willed humans cannot resist a perfect manifestation of their desires.
Astrid prays there aren’t any giants to accompany the odd emergence of the sea creatures.
The sweet-sounding pan flutes ring in her ears. Thoughts of desire and lust flash through her mind, and she breathes heavily to break her focus off the Nixies. She hopes her recruits have their eyes shut, because listening alone to these enchanting melodies is enough to be captured.
The Nixies don’t do much. They don’t need to. Their figures are formed by the mist from the rain, and they look otherworldly. They smile and gesture with their heads to be followed, but none of them dares to open their mouths. They can’t afford to scare off their food.
Astrid continues walking, looking around for familiar markings on the trees that show they are on route home. She finds a cluster of stones near a boulder: that is one indication she is on the right path.
The Nixies approach her, knowing that they cannot be touched in this mist state. Astrid looks back at her line of young recruits, relieved that her pupils are all still accounted for and haven’t broken away to be led back to the ocean. The Nixies can only keep this rain up for so long. Their power cannot move too far from large bodies of water.
When she looks back in front of her, a male Nixie stares at her. Astrid must look through him; she cannot admire his sharp features or large frame. She has to look for more indicators along the forest path, not at his shining, glowing eyes.
His lips fold over the pan flute, playing a gentle tune that makes her heart sing. Slowly, her steps halt, and one recruit dares to ask why they’ve stopped. Someone else chimes in, and soon, the recruits open their eyes out of habit.
Someone shakes Astrid’s shoulders, but thereafter, the young recruit is silent after finding love in the soulless, manipulative eyes of a Nixy. Astrid straightens, and the grip on her axe subsides. The Nixy holds his hand out to her, his hand more solid than she’s ever seen any mist be.
Astrid swallows, clinging to her last bits of will. She looks to her side, watching her recruits take the hands of other Nixies.
Her eyes go wide, and she raises her axe.
“Stop!” Astrid yells.
She swings at the air, clearing the area of mist. She hacks Nixies in two, freeing several recruits from the forces of soul-eating sea spirits. But it isn’t enough. As quickly as she displaces the mist-forms, they reappear beside her, taunting her with a smile and returning to the recruits.
Astrid is yelling whatever she can to irritate the Nixies, because their ugly voices are sure to screech if she does enough to cause it.
To her left, Astrid sees another male Nixie, but his hair is darker than the rest. From the shadows, he already looks too formed to be a part of the mist, and Astrid fears evil has truly been unleashed.
Nixies can fully form out of water when there is a third party to strengthen their power –that only happens when evil descends from its prison, and war usually ensues. Who is strengthening the power of the Nixies this time, and for what gain?
The king must hear about this.
Astrid races to what she knows has to be the strongest Nixy. Yet, instead of a misplaced, kind smile, this Nixy frowns. His eyes are a softer yellow, with hints of green entwined. A large shadow hangs behind him, further alluding to his power because transparent mist figures cannot have shadows. The Nixy, in his disgusting, malicious, charming appearance, tilts his head to the side. He must be trying to appeal to the likes of pity, as most Nixies try to look innocent and in need. Even in the thrashing rain with her own strands of hair plastered over her face, Astrid can make out the features of this creature. How dangerous that this mist-figure is almost solid.
Amidst the now roaring winds and heavy rainfall, Astrid misses when she swings for the Nixy. Her single, heavy braid thumps on her back when she lands on her feet, and it bounces around her neck when she spins back around to find the creature that has moved.
It jumps to the right, now in the clearing of the forest. Astrid screams to get any of the Nixies to wail and scare the recruits into reality.
But now with less trees looming overhead, Astrid realizes this isn’t another Nixy. Its features are unmistakably different. It has no gray or green moss for hair. It isn’t bare-bodied, no. The eerie eyes are still a yellow-green hue, but they are noticeably different from those of the water-spirit. Over wet feathers that sprout from its shoulders, a sleeveless tunic hangs over its torso, reaching a wide belt. Baggy pants hang low enough to cover most of its legs, except for the very clear indication of large, birdlike talons for feet. Feather hang out under the pants. Its feathered wings, which are arched over it, cast a clear shadow over the Nixies. It is trying to look human; maybe it thought it was clever enough to fool the humans.
Harpies are among the most hunted Jutnars near the Isle of Berk, both for personal reasons and the very simple fact that it is too easy for the creatures to snatch up children and the meek for meals. Any Harpy shot down is a huge win for humans that shouldn’t have to look up to the sky in fear.
Astrid gives a battle cry, once again raising her prized possession in the air. But the Harpy leaps away, and closer to the recruits. Astrid cannot risk throwing her axe and hitting her own.
Then the Harpy digs in a belt pouch and closes its clawed hand, forming a tight fist around whatever its pulled out from the bag. It brings his fist up to his mouth and blows on a quickly opened palm. Dust sways in the way of the Nixy, making the water spirit screech and disappear. The rest of the Nixies screech along with him, and in an instant, the rain stops, and the wind dies. Clouds abandon the area, and the sun shines through.
The Harpy crouches, leaning away from recruits that cough and fall to the floor with a single thud. Those who do not lose consciousness are too disoriented to notice the very real Jotun beside them. The creature watches as though a jester wishing for a part in the feast, not like some revolting creature that shouldn’t dare be near Berk.
It has been a while since Astrid has seen any Harpies, let alone a male. Its long jaw and sharp facial features may make him look somewhat human, but Harpies are anything but that. Still, not many Jotnars wear clothing as elaborate as this, which is really only an olive green tunic, a wide brown belt, and baggy, dark pants, which says a lot about the situation. This Harpy is definitely a bad omen.
Its wings, wet and unfurled, are touched by the sunlight. Familiar tan spots and markings pattern the feathers, and Astrid recognizes them. The same auburn feathers match its reddish hair, something she hadn’t realized the first time she saw his wing markings as a young girl.
This cannot be him.
Astrid blinks away her confusion and targets the Harpy. He coils his wings together, and large, feathered ears rise to their fullest height. Eyes dart around, and the Harpy leaps to his left. Astrid doesn’t care whether he runs or flies away; she is not going to lose him.
It is wrong for the Captain of the Guard to abandon her recruits and pursue a personal affliction, but Astrid knows about this creature. The Harpy she chases down in a dense forest is known as the one that killed the heir to the throne. This creature knows that he, of all disgusting things, should be dead.
Astrid Hofferson has made it her mission to slay this creature and bring its head on a silver platter to show her condolences for her king.
He flaps his wings, but heavy rainwater bounces out of his feathers. They are too wet and heavy to save him from Astrid’s will. He leaps to a tree, gaining an advantage when his talons help him climb to the very top, and soon, the tree beside this one moves, and then another.
Astrid knows she’s losing him.
She keeps track of what trees move, and she follows his path. Soon, the trees stop moving when they reach a stream of water. Oh gods, he’s lured her to a trap. How could she be so stupid? This is the kind of impulsive anger she has worked to stifle. Her uncle, the one who had ruined her family’s name and let the king’s son die, had taught her to channel her anger into logical passion that ignites might. Astrid should have been angry enough to make a plan and ensure she traps the Harpy, not for it to trap her.
Turning around with the intent to return to the sheltered forest, Astrid mentally slaps herself. Her recruits are once again alone, and she’s back to another body of water that could be infested with Nixies. Out in the open, the rain could catch up even faster than before. The Castle is still a speck of black in the distance, and there are no guards who roam this far out in the forest.
She hurries back to the trees, but the Harpy returns. He stands in the way between her and the forest. In his own clawed hand, he holds a piece of parchment. Astrid pants heavily, raising her axe to aim it at him again. Abruptly, he holds his arms out, widens his eyes, and his wings unfurl. Shaking his head, he mouths, “no”, over and over. He may be able to mimic the human language, but it will never be anything more than hell’s spawn.
Astrid is ready to throw the axe, but the hilt doesn’t even leave her hand. The Harpy –in the blink of an eye– springs forward, and grabs her by the shoulders, forces his own claws on Astrid’s axe, and stares at her.
His eyes, almost human were it not for the yellow instead of white behind green irises, are too aware. His brows knit like he’s studying her in her struggle. Faint freckles are painted around his nose, and a white scar is marked on his chin.
For a split second, the scar reminds her of a young boy she’d spoken to maybe a handful of times in her youth, but she hardly remembers the king’s heir now. No one but the king himself really remembers the little kid that was taken and murdered by the same Harpy she’s looking at. Harpies live longer than humans, so Astrid is very sure that this is him. He might look young, but Astrid knows this creature was present the night of the murder.
She kicks and trashes when the Harpy rips the weapon from her grasp and lifts her off in the air.
As a young girl, Astrid had been terrified seeing this Harpy hunted in her village. She was terrified of all the Jotuns in general, but after the heir’s death, she’d have nightmares about being stolen from her family –of hideously large talons gripping her by the shoulders and taking her to the last days of her life.
Odin’s ghost, she hadn’t been afraid of this nightmare since becoming a knight. Only now, that nightmare has been fully realized.
The Harpy tosses her inside a cave, but does not enter with her. Astrid retreats to the very back of this small opening in the cliffside, wanting to create enough distance between herself and the creature outside.
Having flown over the ocean, opposite in direction to Berk and away from the bridge to Jotnar, the Harpy has brought her to a rather lonely little island much smaller than Berk. Because she is now inside a cave, Astrid cannot hear anything past the echoes of her own panting.
The Harpy is not inside, but Astrid hears the rocks that fall from wherever he’s perched. Astrid crouches, flexing muscles in preparation to move and jump from the cave. It is much taller than the one her recruits just climbed, but she knows how to land properly, and a broken bone or two will not stop her from fleeing.
Astrid knows she can break off branches and create a shaft in no time; she knows she can sail back to her home. Making a weapon will be more than easy–
The Harpy appears at the cave opening. He is upside down, with hair no longer than his shoulders hanging freely below his head. His sharp jaw tilts to the side again, like he’d done when Astrid first noticed him. What imitate normal ears sprout into feathers that elongate into a bird-like shape, which are usually around an owl’s eyes. When his arm extends into the cave, Astrid notices the same auburn feathers that sprout from his shoulders and new ones that grow from his elbows. In his clawed hands is a piece of parchment.
He bites his lower lip, shaking his arm.
Astrid steps forward and extends her arm out. The Harpy even leans in to give her the parchment.
Instead, Astrid grips his arm and pulls him down, not caring if he’s actually forced inside or just falls off the ledge. He flips when he falls, landing on the edge of the cave opening with a silent reaction. His huge feathered wing breaks the fall, most likely saving his spine. Astrid doesn’t see him roll down the rocky cliff, but she sees him lying motionless at the bottom of it.
Blood stains the rocks that have sliced his torso open, and his poor imitation of clothes is now ruined.
For some reason, maybe because of all the times she’d been scolded to clean up after herself as a young girl, Astrid picks up the parchment on her way out. She hoists herself to the top and peers below the cliff, staring at the still frozen body of the Harpy. He’s far enough from the water, but later on in the day when the tide rises, he’ll be swept off –unless she can find a weapon and kill him now; oh yes, that can be arranged.
Astrid turns around, thinking about which natural tools can create weapons. As she walks, angered that her beautiful axe is gone, Astrid decides to look at the parchment the Harpy had held. He has already tried to look like a human, because many Jotuns and Harpies do not wear clothes, which is why she keeps thinking of it as “he”.
The parchment is crumbled and torn in half, but it has runes written inside. Astrid can hardly believe it. She scoffs when she realizes she can actually read the runic writing; that means the Harpy definitely did not write this. No Harpy possesses the intellect to write (or wear clothes, nor not kill her, but Astrid hasn’t thought of the full picture yet).
It says:
“This is hard to believe, but I need your help. Fenrir is returning, and he has his eyes set on your kingdom. He’s been unleashed by a few people, which I’ve been trying to figure out. But I don’t have the means to defend Berk. I need the help of the king, and to whoever reads this, I need–”
It cuts off after that, and Astrid is repulsed. This Harpy intercepted a valuable warning! Why was it going to give it to her? Never mind that! She needs to return to Berk and warn her king of this. Yes, it could be a hoax, but the first thing she needs to do is get off this tiny island.
Astrid growls. She runs off into the forest in search of a stick.
What she finds instead, is a very angry Raven.