~ Astrid ~

"Raaah!" I roared as I swung my axe at the training dummy, chopping its straw-filled head clean off without even breaking a sweat. I balanced my double edged battle axe in my hands as I admired its sharpness and agility, running my fingers across its smooth, but sturdy wooden handle.

"I see the axe is working as it should?" A familiar voice echoed through the tunnel leading down to the arena as a grin involuntarily started tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"It's amazing, dad, thank you so much." I couldn't hide my excitement over my new axe any longer as a wide grin stretched across my face and I once again found myself admiring the perfectly balanced weapon in my hands.

A deep grief flashed across my father's face as he watched me with heavy eyes and a weak smile. "Your mother would be so happy to hear that, my darling."

At the mere mention of my mother, time seemed to slow as my surroundings changed from a warm and sunny day in the arena, to a grey, cloudy and downright gloomy winter morning on the docks. It wasn't my clearest memory, I was pretty young after all, but I was certain that I would never forget the sight of my father on that day.

My father's already pale skin had blanched even further on that day, resembling the pure, untouched snow that rested beneath our feet. His eyes, which were usually the vibrant color of the skies on a sunny day had grown dark and stormy as his bushy eyebrows weighed heavily upon them. His gaze on the lone ship that sailed painfully slow towards us was unwavering and with every inch it crept closer, I could feel his grip around my tiny fingers tighten more and more.

I remember wondering why his eyes never left the ship, wondering what was so important about it that he couldn't pay any attention to me, but as I focused on the memory and remembered all the little details about it ... perhaps it wasn't so strange after all. From the way his shoulders trembled to the way he subconsciously played with the bark brown braids in his beard, it was much clearer to me now than it had been when we were standing there on the docks.

I closed my eyes for a brief second and when I reopened them, I found myself back in the arena on a delightful summer's day, a gentle breeze blowing past me as I took a deep breath and shook off the memory of that day on the docks.

Suddenly, a rough, strong hand weighed down my shoulder and I turned to face my father, whose face was still set with the same grief from before, only this time his eyes had grown bright and his smile was now genuine. "Gods, you look just like her."

I studied my father's face, taking in the markings that had been left not only from the many battles he had participated in, but also from the heavy grief that had been weighing him down for the past years. He looked 7 years older than he was supposed to be and although the loss of my mother had not been easy on either of us, my father had taken it especially hard. I mean, how could he not? She was the love of his life after all.

I filled my lungs with the fresh air that filled the arena, tucking a loose strand of my long, blonde hair behind my ear as I became painfully aware of my braid which was in the process of falling apart. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind as I set my focus back on my axe — my mother's axe — and traced the freshly carved runes on the handle. 'Astrid'. "You didn't really come here to watch me test out my new axe, did you?"

A deep sound, similar to that of thunder, echoed through my father as he rested his heavily calloused hands on his hips and slowly shook his head, his dark, bear-skin cape flowing in tact with his movements . "Is it really that obvious?"

Instead of answering, I instead leaned down to pick up the hay-filled head of the dummy I had beheaded minutes before, secretly hoping that my father would drop whatever he wanted to tell me and just leave me be. Unfortunately, I was not that lucky. "Astrid, I came to inform you that our guests will be arriving shortly, so if you could please clean up after yourself and go back to the house and change into something a bit more suitable, that would be appreciated."

Change into something a bit more suitable? I arched a brow as I glanced down at the leather armor that covered my dark blue tunic and matching leggings. "Why can't I just wear this?"

My father's expression grew hard as he bored his bright eyes right into me and made me feel as if I had just taken a dip in the ocean in the middle of winter. No longer was it my loving father standing before me, now it was the Great Chief of Averon, a fierce and fearless warrior feared by many a tribe in the archipelago. To say that I felt like a helpless little lump of nothing beneath his gaze was an understatement.  "Because you are not a common soldier, you are the daughter of a Chief and you will dress accordingly whenever we have visitors."

There was no point in attempting to resist his orders, it would only end in argument after argument and I wasn't really in the mood to spend the rest of the evening getting heavily reprimanded by my father for my bad behavior, which is why I did as I was told and began the process of cleaning up after myself, mumbling little words that would get me grounded for life every once in a while just to rebel a little. Because what is life without a little danger?

~A~

Thick, grey clouds had settled over the once blue skies and deprived the island of the warm rays of sunlight that had blessed us throughout most of the day. The warm breeze I had felt earlier that day had been replaced by a chill gust of air that not only sent shivers down my spine, but also undid the braid I had worked so long on perfecting.

I crossed my arms over my chest in a feeble attempt to shield myself from the sudden drop in temperature, but it was of no use. Had I been in my armor, I wouldn't have been half as cold. I silently cursed my father and all of my ancestors for coming up with the ridiculous tradition of wearing a light dress for formal visits and made a mental note to myself that when I one day became Chief of Averon, that rule would be abolished on the spot.

I felt my entire body tense as another one of those freezing gusts of air blew past me, ruffling my dress and leaving my ankles feeling like they were about to turn blue and crumble right off.

A huff escaped me as my patience grew thin. Where the hell was my father? And why in the name of all that is holy did I have to wait outside in the freezing cold instead of inside in the toasty warmth? That was the thing about summer in the north, there was no point in ever putting out one's hearth seeing as even the hottest day of the year could quickly drop so far in temperature that by the evening it would be full-on snowing.

I glanced up at the house that loomed over me, high, mighty and worthy of being the permanent residence of the Chief of a warrior tribe. It was the house in which I had been brought to life and it was the house I intended to die in, should I survive the many battles I hoped to face in my future. The love I had for that house was one that had evolved and drastically changed over the years. As a child, it was a place purely of love and happiness, but since the death of my mother it had felt ... empty and much colder than it had been before.

Thick, ornate pillars of dark oak framed the double doors that marked the entrance and supported the curved roof that covered both sides of the house. Right beneath the peak of the roof the beautifully carved, blue and yellow painted head of a Deadly Nadder flashed it's white teeth menacingly at the world. The figurehead had been there long before I had and it would probably be there long after me. When I was young I remember having asked my father why any of us bothered with those figureheads, seeing as we had enough dragon-action to last us all a lifetime.

"Well, it is there for our protection!" My father had explained to me as we stood in the very spot in which I was standing right now and studying the Deadly Nadder that guarded our home.

"But how does Dennis protect us? I've never seen him fight!" I had pointed out, to which I had earned a chuckle from my father as he had placed those rough and strong hands upon my tiny shoulders.

"Dennis protects us from evil spirits, my dear. He keeps them all from entering our homes and poisoning our minds into doing evil things. And as you can see, he hasn't failed our family yet." It was then that I gained immense respect for the dragon, although he hadn't the fiercest of names in my opinion. For years, it had been Dennis I had looked to whenever I wondered if it was worth it to keep fighting and for years he had inspired me to never give up. Because if Dennis could ward off evil spirits for hundreds of years, then I could fight whatever was plaguing me in that moment.

"And this is my daughter, Astrid. You've met before, remember?" My father's voice rang through my ears, momentarily startling me as he and his guest came made their way over to me.

"How could I not remember? She is my betrothed after all!" Lust filled dull, blue eyes as the man that stood a good two feet shorter than my father eyed me like a hungry wolf eyed a raw piece of meat.

I had to physically restrain myself from gagging as the heavily scarred, red-headed man with an unhealthy obsession with his own pecks (which he had already admired several times over the past few seconds) shot me a greasy smirk which made my stomach turn in on itself. With a deep breath, I forced a smile before curtsying to the man before me. "Dagur."

A heavy weight seemed to have been lifted from my father's shoulders as he looked to have breathed a sigh of relief, shooting me a quick, but grateful look before turning back to our guest.

"It seems you've finally taught the girl some manners, took you long enough!" Dagur commented as he calmly crossed his arms, looking bored by this entire interaction.

I could see the way my father's shoulders rose as his entire body tensed, hands itching to wrap themselves around Dagur's neck and squeezing until he was no longer a problem, but somehow, my father managed to keep it together. "She's grown a lot since you last saw her at 13."

A sound that resembled the rumbling of a boulder escaped Dagur in the form of a chuckle as I once again found myself to be the subject of his interest. "Believe me, I noticed."

Steam could've been shooting out of my father's ears as his face turned a deep crimson. My father was mere inches away from reaching for the dagger he kept on his side and burying it in Dagur's skull, but regardless of my distaste for my betrothed, I stepped in to save his life nonetheless.

"What brings you to Averon, Dagur?" I asked before remembering that Dagur wasn't supposed to be our only guest. "And where is Oswald?"

"Oswald!" Dagur spat. "Oswald this and Oswald that! 'Oh Dagur, where's your daddy? He's so sweet and kind and gentle and completely unfit to be the leader of the mighty Berserker Tribe !'. Odin, I am so sick and tired of everyone asking about that old fart! He's dead and now I'm the Chief of the Berserkers, deal with it!"

I caught my breath in my throat as I slowly turned to exchange a look of worry with my father, who had considerably blanched at the realization that the greatest Berserker fanatic to have ever lived had just taken over the Berserker throne. To say that this was simply worrisome was a massive understatement.

"How absolutely tragic that is, my deepest condolences, Dagur." My father attempted to sympathize with the new Berserker Chief, who brushed him off like speck of dust on his armor.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, my reason for being in this hole today has nothing to do with my father, but rather, my people. I'm a young Chief and my people wish for an heir, preferably before I die in battle for them, which is why I've come to fetch my betrothed." Dagur explained casually as a shiver ran down my spine, taking with it all the color from my face.

"W-Why, she's only 19, she won't be the perfect wife for you before she's at least 21!" Panic filled my father's every word as he attempted to reason with the Berserker Chief, having absolutely no desire to marry me off to that potentially cruel and awful man so that I, his only child, would live out my days in absolute misery.

A huff escaped Dagur as he rolled his eyes. "She'll just have to learn on the job, like the wife of a good friend of mine. The two of them have been married for no longer than a year or two and at the age of 15 she's already birthed him two healthy baby boys. She's also become the prime example of what a housewife should be in this day and age, doting, obedient and a brilliant cook!"

There was absolutely no way in Hel I was going to become some slave to Dagur for the rest of my days, absolutely none.

The sheer thought of ending up like the wife of Dagur's friend sent a wave of terror through me so strong that I found myself shooting my father a rather desperate look, which was probably not even received considering how deep in thought he looked to be.

Then, a grin (which must've been false) pulled at my father's features as he placed a hand on Dagur's shoulder. "Listen, Dagur, you've had a long day, how about we get you settled in and then discuss this matter over dinner? Who knows, if we're lucky, perhaps we'll even get to go dragon hunting afterwards!"

"Fine, but don't think for a second that you can avoid this topic, unless you wish for another war with the Berserkers?" The smug look on Dagur's face nearly had me reaching for my own weapons. The Berserker Chief knew exactly how to hit someone where it hurt most, but fortunately for the entire island of Averon, my father somehow managed to keep a straight face as he guided Dagur into our home. Gods, was this going to be a long day.