Astrid's Point of View
The Great Hall had never felt so quiet.
Firelight flickered across the long wooden table, casting tall shadows on the walls. Plates of untouched food sat cooling between mugs that no one drank from. The hearth popped and cracked, its warmth failing to thaw the chill that clung to the air like a second skin.
Astrid sat stiffly, arms crossed, back straight, but her muscles ached from more than sparring. Her axe rested at her side, but it felt pointless now. What use was a weapon when the real threat never needed one?
No one spoke.
Outside, the wind howled across Berk's rooftops, rattling shutters and whispering through the old beams like ghosts. Inside, six Vikings sat around the table—six warriors who'd once laughed at fear, who'd charged headlong into dragon fire without blinking.
Tonight, not one of them could look the others in the eye.
Gobber was the first to break the silence. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, cradling a half-empty mug like it could anchor him to the moment.
"He didn't say it," he muttered, voice low, "but he looked at us like ghosts. Like we were already dead to him."
Astrid swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. The fire cracked. Snotlout shifted in his seat, his arms wrapped tight around his chest.
Gobber stared into his mug like it held the answers. "I've seen dragons torch villages. I've seen Berserkers rip men in half. But I've never felt a chill like the one in that arena today."
Fishlegs gave a hollow nod, wiping his eyes again, though they were already red. "It wasn't the Gronckle. It wasn't even his swords. It was… it was the way he looked at us. Like we weren't even worth hating."
Tuffnut opened his mouth. Ruffnut jabbed her elbow into his ribs before he could speak. He closed it again. The twins sat unusually still, backs pressed against the bench like they were trying to sink into the wood.
Astrid clenched her jaw.
She remembered how he'd stood there, shirtless, scarred, swords gleaming like dragon eyes in the sun. How he moved—fluid, perfect, untouchable. He hadn't just fought the Gronckle. He'd commanded it. Like it was his equal. Or maybe… his lesser.
"He was holding back," she said quietly.
Snotlout scoffed, but the sound lacked conviction. "You think?"
Astrid turned toward him, eyes sharp. "No. I mean he always was. Even before. He let us think he was weak. He let us humiliate him."
She swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. "He let me look at him like he didn't belong."
No one argued.
Because it was true.
Gobber sighed heavily. "I thought he was just getting older. Toughening up. I saw him limping once last winter—figured he slipped on ice. Now I wonder if he was dragging himself back from wherever he trains in the dead of night."
Fishlegs nodded slowly. "His scars… they weren't clean. They weren't healed by a healer. Some were jagged. Infected. Like he patched them up alone."
Astrid felt her stomach twist. Every scar, every mark—they weren't just battle wounds. They were proof. Proof of suffering. Proof of silence.
And she'd looked away.
They all had.
Snotlout let out a bitter laugh. "I always thought he was a joke. The chief's embarrassment. I thought pushing him around made me strong." He looked down at his shaking hands. "But I'm the joke."
Ruffnut muttered, "We weren't strong. We were just… lucky."
Tuffnut nodded beside her. "He let us feel safe. Because we weren't worth the effort."
The room fell silent again.
Astrid stared into the fire, watching the logs shift and collapse inward. Her throat burned with words she didn't want to say. But they pressed against her ribs until she had to let them out.
"I want to bring him back."
Everyone turned to her. Gobber raised an eyebrow. Snotlout blinked. Fishlegs sat up straighter.
"I'm not talking about making him soft again," she said quickly, meeting their gazes. "I'm not that stupid. That version of him is gone—if it ever existed."
She paused, voice quieting.
"But I want to bring him back. The part that still cared. The part that didn't look at us like we were strangers."
Snotlout looked at her like she'd grown another head. "You saw what he did out there. What makes you think he wants to come back?"
"I don't know if he does," she admitted. "But I know he's not lost. Not yet. You don't walk away like that if you're truly gone. You don't leave people alive if you've stopped caring."
Gobber nodded slowly. "He gave you all mercy. That's something."
Fishlegs looked uncertain. "But… how do you reach someone who doesn't trust you anymore? Who sees us as part of what broke him?"
Astrid didn't flinch.
"By earning it. By showing him we know what we did. That we're sorry. That we're not going to make excuses or run away."
Tuffnut raised a hand tentatively. "Or he could gut us anyway."
Ruffnut elbowed him again, but Astrid just nodded.
"He could. And if he does… maybe we deserve it."
Snotlout looked away.
Gobber stood, the firelight glinting off his metal leg as he stepped forward.
"If you really want to bring him back," he said, voice firmer now, "then you'd better be ready to walk through the same fire that forged him."
Astrid stood too. "Then that's what I'll do."
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Gobber gave a slow nod. There was something like pride in his eyes… and sorrow too.
Astrid looked toward the doors of the Great Hall. The shadows beyond them stretched long and dark, whispering with the cold wind of a village that hadn't yet realized what lived among them.
A boy forged in silence.
A warrior shaped by pain.
A dragon in human skin.
"I don't care how long it takes," she thought. "I'll train harder. I'll watch him. Learn from him. And when the time comes… I'll prove to him that he's not alone anymore."
She turned back to the others.
"Tomorrow, we start training again. Harder. Smarter. Like him."
They nodded. Hesitantly. Quietly. But it was a start.
They didn't know if they could ever be equals.
But they could try.
And Astrid would lead the way.
Not because she wanted to be the best anymore.
But because she wanted to bring back the boy they had all lost—and the warrior he had become.
Before it was too late.