Each horizon is a new beginning
〰〰〰𖠳 〰〰〰
𝕊𝕋𝕆𝕀ℂ𝕂'𝕊 voice reverberated through the great hall, filled with villagers eagerly listening to his proposal. "Either we finish them or they'll finish us! It's the only way we'll be rid of them," he declared with a sense of urgency. His eyes scanned the faces before him, seeking solidarity. "If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They'll find another home!" With determination burning in his eyes, Stoick grasped his knife and drove it into the map, the blade piercing the image of a dragon. "One more search before the ice sets in," he proclaimed, his voice ringing with resolve.
A skeptical voice cut through the tension. "Those ships never come back," a Viking man remarked.
Stoick's response was swift and firm. "We're Vikings. It's an occupational hazard. Now who's with me?!" he challenged, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Murmurs and hesitations filled the hall, but Stoick wasn't deterred. "Alright. Those who stay will look after Frida," he conceded, a hint of disappointment in his voice. However, as hands rose in agreement to accompany him on the perilous journey, his confidence returned. "That's more like it," he declared, watching as the villagers began to make preparations.
But Gobber, always the voice of reason, interjected with a touch of humor. "I'll pack my undies," he quipped, only to be halted by Stoick's serious tone.
"No, I need you to stay and train some new recruits," Stoick instructed, moving closer to his friend. Gobber's sarcasm persisted. "Oh, perfect. And, while I'm busy, Frida can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, lots of time to herself. What could possibly go wrong?" he remarked dryly. Stoick's concern for his daughter was palpable as he sought guidance. "What am I going to do with her, Gobber?" he questioned earnestly. Gobber's response was pragmatic. "Put her in training with the others," he suggested, but Stoick's worry persisted. "No, I'm serious," Stoick insisted, his thoughts consumed by the dangers that awaited Frida.
"So am I," Gobber retorted, meeting Stoick's gaze steadily.
As the two friends debated, Stoick paced the hall, his mind racing with parental concern. "Listen, you know what she's like," he began, his voice tinged with frustration. "From the time she could crawl, she's been... different. She doesn't listen. She has the attention span of a sparrow. I take her fishing and she goes hunting for trolls!" Gobber listened, but his demeanor remained unchanged. "Trolls exist. They steal your socks. But only the left ones. What's with that?" he mused, before returning to his drink, momentarily distracted by a wayward tooth. Stoick's reminiscence turned somber. "When I was a boy..." he started, only to be met with Gobber's knowing interruption.
"Here we go," Gobber muttered, bracing himself for the familiar tale.
But Stoick pressed on, his words carrying the weight of experience. "...my father told me to bang my head against a rock and I did it. I thought it was crazy, but I didn't question him. And you know what happened?" he asked, seeking understanding. Gobber's response was laced with sarcasm. "You got a headache," he quipped, before securing his tooth with a swift tap of his cup. Stoick's gaze bore into Gobber's, his determination unwavering. "That rock split in two. It taught me what a Viking could do, Gobber. He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas!" he declared, his voice filled with conviction.
As Stoick settled back down beside Gobber, his resolve remained unshaken. "Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become. Frida is not like that," he admitted, his concern for his daughter etched upon his features.
But Gobber offered a sobering perspective. "You can't stop her, Stoick. You can only prepare her. I know it seems hopeless, but you won't always be around to protect her. She's going to get out there again. She's probably out there now," he reminded his friend, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air.
↟↟
Frida ventured through the dense forest, her notebook clutched tightly in her hand. She meticulously marked the areas where she suspected the dragon might have fallen, frustration evident in her furrowed brow. With a heavy sigh, she drew a cross on her makeshift map, exasperation evident in her movements. "The Gods hate me," she muttered bitterly, her voice laced with frustration. "Some people lose their knife or their mug. Not me. I managed to lose an entire dragon."
Her annoyance was palpable as she pushed through the foliage, slapping a branch out of her path. But her luck seemed to sour even further as the branch swung back, striking her squarely in the eye. "Ow! Sweet mother of Thor..." she groaned, rubbing her injured eye. As she inspected the fallen branch, her keen eyes caught sight of a peculiar trail leading through the underbrush. Intrigued, Frida followed the trail, her senses alert.
Carefully navigating the forest floor, Frida eventually stumbled upon the Nightfury, ensnared in her trap. She watched the fearsome dragon cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Oh, wow. I did it. I did it. This fixes everything, yes!" she exclaimed triumphantly, her voice filled with disbelief and awe. "I have brought down this mighty beast!" But her jubilation was short-lived as the dragon stirred, growling menacingly. Startled, Frida quickly retrieved her knife, preparing to defend herself.
"I'm going to kill you, dragon. Then I'll cut out your heart and take it to my father. I am a Viking. I am a Viking," she muttered, steeling herself for the task at hand.
With determination etched on her face, Frida raised her blade, ready to strike. However, as she looked into the dragon's piercing green eyes, a nagging feeling tugged at her senses. Shaking off the unsettling sensation, Frida pressed on, poised to deliver the fatal blow. But just as she prepared to strike, something shifted within her. She hesitated, uncertain of her next move. As the dragon lay still before her, Frida's resolve wavered. "I did this," she whispered to herself, a pang of guilt gnawing at her conscience.
With a heavy heart, Frida began to cut the ropes binding the dragon, her movements hesitant yet resolute. As the final rope fell away, the dragon surged forward, pinning her to the ground. Panic surged through her veins as she stared into the dragon's mesmerizing green eyes, the forest reflecting off their depths. But amidst the fear, something else stirred within Frida-an inexplicable connection to the creature before her. Before she could comprehend what was happening, the dragon roared deafeningly, its breath hot against her skin. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the dragon turned and vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving Frida panting and bewildered on the forest floor.
Slowly picking herself up, she watched as the dragon disappeared from view before the overwhelming sensation swept over her, causing her to drop her knife and collapse unconscious onto the forest floor, her mind swirling with questions and uncertainties.
↟↟
As Frida pushed open the door to her hut, she found her father, Stoick, diligently tending to the fire. Determined to avoid any conversation, she made a beeline for the stairs, but her intentions were interrupted as Stoick called out to her.
"Frida," her father's voice resonated through the room, halting her ascent.
"Dad...I... I have to talk to you, Dad," Frida replied, her tone carrying a mixture of apprehension and resolve. She paused on the step, awaiting her father's attention. Approaching her with a serious expression, Stoick mirrored her sentiment. "I need to speak with you, too, daughter," he said, his voice tinged with gravity. They both took a deep breath, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of their impending conversation.
As they began to speak simultaneously, confusion momentarily clouded the air. "I don't want to fight dragons," Frida asserted, her words filled with determination.
"It's time you learn to fight dragons," Stoick countered, his tone firm and unwavering.
Their eyes met, exchanging a silent understanding before Stoick gestured for Frida to speak first. "What?" they both exclaimed in unison, their surprise evident.
"You go first," Frida insisted, shaking her head slightly.
Stoick nodded in agreement. "Alright. You get your wish. Dragon training... you start in the morning," he declared, a hint of pride in his voice at the prospect of his daughter following in his footsteps. Frida looked at her father, a mix of disbelief and apprehension flickering across her features. "Oh, man, I should have gone first. Cause, uh... cause I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough bread-making Vikings or small-home-repair Vikings?" she rambled nervously, trying to lighten the mood.
Stoick handed her a hefty axe, a symbol of the path ahead. "You'll need this," he stated simply, his gaze steady upon her.
"I don't want to fight dragons," Frida repeated, her voice tinged with stubbornness as she held the weighty weapon in her arms. Stoick chuckled lightly, dismissing her concerns as mere jest. "Come on. Yes, you do," he asserted confidently, turning away to tend to the fire. Undeterred, Frida descended the steps, determined to make her stance clear. "Rephrase. Dad, I can't kill dragons," she insisted, her voice firm.
Stoick turned back to face her, his expression serious. "But you will kill dragons," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"No, I'm really very extra-sure that I won't," Frida countered, her resolve unwavering.
Closing the distance between them, Stoick approached Frida with determination. "It's time, Frida," he insisted, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. Frida met her father's gaze head-on, frustration evident in her eyes. "Can you not hear me?" she pleaded, desperate to make him understand. "This is serious, daughter. When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you," Stoick emphasized, picking up the axe and showing it to her as a symbol of their shared legacy. "Whichmeans you walk like us, you talk like us... you think like us. No more of... this."
Frida rolled her eyes, feeling the weight of expectation pressing down on her. "You just gestured to all of me," she remarked sarcastically, a hint of defiance in her voice.
Stoick held her gaze with unwavering resolve. "Deal?" he asked, his tone leaving no room for refusal. "Thisconversation is feeling very one-sided." She spoke a he looked at her more sternly, "Deal?"He asked once more
Feeling the weight of her father's expectations, Frida sighed in resignation. "Deal," she conceded reluctantly, accepting the terms of their agreement. With a sense of finality, Stoick shouldered his basket bag and prepared to depart. "Good. Train hard. I'll be back. Probably," he declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And I'll be here. Maybe," Frida muttered under her breath as her father left, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air.
〰〰〰𖠳 〰〰〰
By: SilverMist707
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