AN: Not sure what I'm going to do with this at the moment, but I wanted to get the idea out there. Though it borrows significantly from TESV: Skyrim, the lore is changed so much that I can't really call this a crossover (example: Alduin, is not the antagonist, but is rather the Master of the dragons' pantheon of gods). The closest we'll probably get to crossover status is that I'm using the isle Solstheim as a major location, and even that will have major changes. That said, don't expect me to update this much, as my priorities right now are work (bills) and my massive TF fic.

It wasn't until Stoick returned that they realized that Hiccup had vanished.

After the incident with the Nadder, he simply stopped attending Dragon Training, spending his time in the forge, or vanishing elsewhere. The trainees didn't care; he was out of the way, but Gobber took notice of the changes. The boy's eyes had turned cold, and he had lost his sarcastic snark. When Gobber lectured him on his attendance, he simply stood calmly and waited until the older blacksmith paused in his speech to monotonously ask, "Are you done yet?" Gobber had been shocked into silence, and noticed with disturbed trepidation that the one thing he feared would happen had finally happened. The smith loved the boy like a son in his own, albeit Viking-mannered way. He even admired how Hiccup had shrugged off the insults and degradation that the village consistently threw his way. But something had changed so drastically that it made Gobber feel like his leg was trying to grow back.

Hiccup Haddock had finally broken.

Gobber tried to keep an eye on him, but between training the teens and trying to keep the village intact while Stoick and Spitelout were away, not to mention Hiccup's newly acquired skill of being able to disappear in plain sight, he simply couldn't keep up. He tried to keep Hiccup from using the forge, only to realize that the boy was perfectly capable of getting in and out and doing his work while Gobber had his hand and hook tied in some other business. By the time he realized that, it was all too late. Gobber stormed into the back room, only to find it completely empty, when it used to be filled with sketches and diagrams that even the master smith had trouble reading. Following the ache in his missing leg, he rushed to Hiccup's bedroom to find it equally barren of anything Hiccup, and a single paper on the bed bearing the one word that sealed Berk's fate.

Goodbye.

With the expedition due back in only a few days, Gobber tried to organize search parties. Most of the villagers who stayed behind scoffed, some even cheered the idea of Hiccup being gone for good. Even though he did manage to rope the trainees into searching with him (claiming it was part of their training), the only two who actually did try to help were Fishlegs and Astrid. Roughnut and Toughnut couldn't stop fighting each other to do a decent search and Snotlout spent most of his time looking casually while trying to flirt with Astrid. Fishlegs, he knew, liked having Hiccup around even though they weren't friends. The blond boy was actually the only one that could probably call himself Hiccup's friend, if only because Hiccup was the only one who listened to his consistent babbling of dragon statistics. Astrid helped because she respected Hiccup for his skills in the forge, even though she would deny it if asked. She never berated or bullied him like the rest of the village, but she was as tough on him as she was on herself. Gobber could also tell that while she wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, Astrid was helping because she blamed herself for his disappearance.

"Figure out which side you're on!"

For years, Hiccup's choice had been Berk, and Berk had rejected him over and over again. Gobber had overheard Astrid mutter to herself that if Hiccup became an enemy of Berk, it would be their own stupid faults.

When Stoick did return, he was not pleased that Hiccup was gone and that the effort to find him was minimal at best. He was even less pleased that the village was planning a party to celebrate! He had taken many of them to task, with some of them nursing broken bones and injured pride. Mildew was said to have been kicked so hard that the old curmudgeon couldn't sit for a week. Dragon Training was canceled and new search parties were organized, this time decently. They combed every inch of Berk until the fury of winter storms forced them to stop.

Every search came up empty.

That winter was easily the worst in known Berk history, and that was saying something for a place that has three seasons of winter, with one aptly named "Devastating" Winter. Stored crops became frozen solid and had to be removed from storehouses with picks. Sheep, yaks, and chickens died from exposure. More than a few fingers and toes were lost to frostbite. Some tables and stools were also lost in order to compensate for low stacks of firewood. Mildew earned another bruised rump, and a few missing teeth, by suggesting that Hiccup had cursed them before he left. Though those with sober minds scoffed at him, the village as a whole began to get paranoid. It was with a heavy heart that Stoick consulted Elder Gothi, fearing the response she would give him. The reply she gave was both better and worse that Stoick expected. Hiccup had not cursed him, but he was the cause.

Hiccup, she had explained through her writings, had been a gift from the gods. They had great plans for him, and gifted him with unique power and authority that would have changed our world. We rejected their gift.

Gothi further explained that the fury of the gods towards Berk could be calmed, but at great sacrifice. They would have to give up one of their own. This wasn't to be a blood sacrifice, but one of bond. A Viking of Berk would have to willingly sever all ties to their family and become Clanless. They could still live on the island, hunt, fish, work, barter, and even aid their former family and friends; they wouldn't be forced to go live with the Outcasts, but they would forever be a stranger, a foreigner on the soil they were born on. That was the fate that Hiccup faced every day for years when he woke up to the village's scorn, so the punishment would fit the crime. The only condition was that it couldn't be Stoick himself. Stoick had no illusions that he was blameless, having looked down on his own son for so long, for never listening to him, or putting aside his duties as Chief for a day to be a Father. But that was why Gothi said it couldn't be him. He had made his bed, choosing the Chiefdom over his own son. Now he had to sleep in it.

When Stoic delivered this information to the rest of the village in the Great Hall, shock and disbelief were the primary reactions. Hiccup, a gift from the gods? Maybe Loki. Was Gothi finally going senile? Who in their right mind willingly become Clanless? There must be another reason. Maybe it was the twin's constant pranks? What about the Jorgenson grip on the Thawfest Games? Mildew's constant complaints? Gobber's obsession with the non-existent Bonenapper? Arguments, and possibly a few blood feuds, were on the verge of erupting across the hall when a single voice rang out.

"I'll do it!"

Astrid Hofferson stood in plain sight before the Chief and Gothi both. Her head was bowed, her shoulder's squared and fists to either side. A trained warrior could easily see that though she tried to stand strong, her lithe frame shook with what was clearly fear. But her voice didn't quiver or break as she spoke the damning words again, words that Vikings would swear forever echoed in the Hall.

"I'll do it."

Her father yelled. Her mother cried. Gobber and others protested. She was the best warrior of her age group; the Pride of Berk, regardless of Spitelout's insistence that his son was. But the offer had been made publicly, and it couldn't be taken back. The Hofferson's were still suffering the loss of Finn. Their honor couldn't survive the blow of a promise not kept.

When winter finally died down and preparations for the Thawfest began, the usual joy was muted. Astrid packed what she could and headed out to the forest to begin her new life. Though offers were made to give her a home, and even let her stay with her parents, she rejected them all. She needed to be all in, she reasoned. She either did this alone, or not at all. It wouldn't be a sacrifice otherwise.

She did, however, accept the offer to complete the final exam of Dragon Training, since she had earned it, Clanless or not. This lead to the surprise that all the dragons in the Kill Ring were gone, and had probably been missing before winter. This didn't go over well with Stoick, who had not only lost his son and Berk's best upcoming warrior, but one of the only outlets for his grief that he was looking forward to as well. A new nest hunt was organized immediately, and it returned more empty handed than normal, having never been attacked by a single dragon.

The strange events didn't stop there either. Some were rather telling. For the entire year, not a single dragon raid occurred. In fact, Berk was lucky to even see a single Terror. The Hofferson's also experienced a magnificent boom in their wealth, as the few chickens and fields they had (the rest having been burned to a crisp the year before) produced more than any other clan. There was no doubt in most minds by the end of that first year that Gothi was right, and that thankfully the Gods accepted Astrid's sacrifice. Some even began saying that she was changing the term "Clanless" into a title of respect. Others began to fear that while the Gods seemed to be pacified, further retribution would come.

In some ways, they would all be right. But it would be a few years before they would discover what happened to the "Hiccup Who Would Be Heir".

Five years after Hiccup vanished, the boat appeared. It had a small design, clearly meant to allow one person to travel long distances alone. People first thought it was Trader Johan, but that thought was dashed once the boat grew closer. The design was incredible, as much of a work of art as it was functional. The sails were spread out like a dragon's wings, and the hull glimmered with what closer inspection revealed to be a layer of multicolored dragon scales on the outside. If the ship wasn't interesting enough to tickle Viking curiosity, the lone occupant certainly was. Though her clothes were somewhat patchwork, the embroidery on them made it clear that it was more out of choice than necessity, like how some Vikings were reluctant to give up that old pair of comfortable boots in spite of how ragged they got or how bad they stank. Two belts made from fine leather, and bound with gold buckles wrapped around her waist and over the shoulder. The waist one carried a short blade, while the shoulder belt held a bag at her side and an interesting shoulder pad in perfect position. An odd looking instrument similar to a lute hung over her opposite shoulder. Her black hair was mostly unbranded and hung loosely on her shoulders, earning a few catcalls from the more drunk/hungover fishermen at the dock, catcalls that were quickly silenced by a sharp green glare and a hand to the blade at her side. Those that weren't silenced by the glare were silenced instead by a warning hiss that left many a Viking's mouth hanging open in surprise.

Perched on the newcomer's shoulder pad was a small, green Terrible Terror.

Though the Vikings of Berk hadn't relaxed their guard in the last five years, they had shifted their attention from now non-existent dragon raids to more immediate dangers. Dagur the Deranged had unexpectedly taken over the Berserkers from his father, Oswald the Agreeable, and was itching for an excuse to start a war. Many on Berk felt the insane Chief had murdered his own father, and that kept them keeping an eye on the horizon for the Berserker fleet. The Outcasts also proved to be a thorn inside the boot, though there were rumors that the last time Alvin and Stoick engaged in fisticuffs, it ended with the two of them shaking hands. So while Berk was prepared in case of an attack, the sight of a dragon, even a small one, after so long left them stunned. That it was perched on this newcomer's shoulder like a hunting companion only added to the stupor.

When looking back, Astrid would honestly believe that one of the gods had a hand in the timing, ensuring that the traveling woman reached port while she was there working with the other dock hands. The traveler wisely stayed on her ship, but called out to Astrid as if she was an old friend. "Excuse me, but is this Berk? I have a message to deliver to Chief Stoick Haddock," she explained, patting the bag at her side. Astrid reflexively replied she would go get him, her feet moving before her mind was able to work past the strange sight that was another human being with a dragon on their shoulder like it belonged there. Once her mind had caught up, her steady jog turned into a full on sprint.

To say that the years had been kind to Astrid wouldn't be true, and yet not entirely false either. Weathering through the seasons on her own had both increased her strength and taken their toll. Her refusal to rely on aid from the village unless it was fairly earned had left her with patchwork clothes of wool, leather, and animal hide. She had gone hungry on more than a few nights, and while she was still one of the best warriors on the Isle, occasional nutritional lack meant that she wasn't as strong as she used to be. Still, she had done everything she could to adapt to her new life, successfully building her own hut shelter in a cove near Raven's Point. She scavenged and hunted away from the usual hunting grounds of the village so that she didn't make game scarce, trading what she couldn't use for things she couldn't obtain on her own, such as tools and their repairs. Gobber would occasionally repair her axe for free, something she only allowed because it was his own way of remembering Hiccup. Last year, she had even managed to plant and maintain a small garden, using seeds from vegetables she traded for.

She never told anyone the real reason why she lived in that cove, why she gave herself up as the sacrifice to become "Astrid the Clanless". During the first searches for Hiccup, when only she, Gobber, and Fishlegs were actually looking, she had found the cove. At first struck by it's beauty, her duty found other details catching her eye. Signs of what might be a campsite, an area of scorched ground, and a broken tree branch next to what looked like a giant's doodle in the dirt. In the shallows of the pond, she found a slightly rusted dagger, and scattered around the entire cove where what seemed to be small black river stones. It took her a moment before she realized that they were not stones but scales, and the knife in her had used to be the one that Hiccup carried with him everywhere.

"I hit a Night Fury!"

Dread filled her, as she began to realize the implications of what she was seeing. She began to frantically search the cove for any sign that Hiccup was still alive, that he hadn't been eaten, or wounded and left for dead by a vengeful dragon. The only things she could find were the campsite remains. Even more interesting was that she couldn't find any signs that a struggle had taken place here. And yet there were dragon scales, enough that the dragon was certainly here for some time, but the campsite wasn't brand new either, and looked like it had been used a few times before the attempt to sweep it away and leave it behind had been made.

Astrid collapsed to her knees as she realized what had happened, and dread became pure horror. This was her fault. She did this. True, the rest of the village hadn't been any better, but it was her actions, her words that had been the final push.

"Figure out which side you're on!"

She never told anyone about what she found, only stating that she found what appeared to be an old campsite, and that if Hiccup had been there, it was too long ago to be of any worth to the search. Gobber, and later Stoick, had believed her without question. Hiccup would have easily moved on to another part of the island. It wasn't worth the time to rehash a cold stomping ground, and winter rolled in before search parties could begin retracing old search areas. Now she lived there, so as to never forget that one's inaction mattered just as much as one's actions. She may have not scorned him, but she never tried to help him either, and in a moment of anger when such scorn erupted from her lips at him for the first time, he broke.

It was her fault, but she was determined to never make the same mistake again.

The new Forge was where she found Stoick, who was talking quietly to Gobber. Out of all the other residents of Berk, only these two men suffered more than she did. When the search parties were still looking, the two of them had several arguments that surpassed the fights they got into trying to solve that Treasure Map they sometimes talked about. It actually unnerved some villagers that the loss of Hiccup could also mean the loss of the friendship between the two. Astrid didn't know the full details of the fights, but she did know that in the end, the Chief and the Blacksmith were only still friends because they blamed themselves for Hiccup's disappearance more than they blamed each other.

Gobber never took a new apprentice, and thankfully never really needed one now that the dragon raids stopped and he wasn't constantly backlogged with weapon repairs. Unfortunately, he had also taken to drowning his sorrows in drink, and had accidentally set his old Forge on fire one night after a few drinks too many. The new Forge was larger and more open, but Gobber made sure there was an empty back room that stayed locked and untouched. He just couldn't have a forge anymore unless it had Hiccup's room.

Stoick's beard had now earned a significant number of grey hairs, and he now looked less gruff and intimidating and far more tired and world weary. The shadows under his eyes told of too many nights spent awake and wondering about the "what ifs". His eyes also no longer glinted with pride for his village, only sorrow and loss. The biggest strain on Berk's Chief was Snotlout, who was now next in line with Hiccup gone. While Hiccup had often been underfoot and in the way, he never stopped trying to help his dad, or learn the duties that he would inherit, if only so that he could learn how to prove himself worthy of inheriting the Chiefdom. Snotlout had never learned anything of what it meant to be Chief, meaning Stoick had to start from scratch, and had to try to teach Snotlout more, in less time. "Try" was currently the most important term. Unlike Hiccup, Snotlout had delusions of what it meant to be Chief, and had no desire to learn now that his cousin was gone and he had the Chiefdom "in the bag". He didn't know - or if he did, he didn't care - that the only reason he was still named Heir was his own father's dwindling support on Berk's Council, which was slowly growing as tired of the arrogance of both Jorgensens as Stoick was. Astrid gave them another year before they finally agreed with Stoick and kicked Snotlout to the dirt so they could find someone else.

In all honesty, Snotlout was one of the main reasons why Astrid stayed away from the village and roughed it on her own, her own sense of honor aside. Over the years he had grown more boastful, arrogant, and - in Astrid's opinion - had become the most useless Viking in all of Berk. Hiccup would at least try to find a way to complete a task, even if it often ended up with a backfiring disaster of a contraption that just made more work for everyone else. Snotlout, on the other hand, would find excuses and reasons to not do a task in the first place. It was a cruel irony that everyone considered Hiccup to be useless, and yet his disappearance found all of Berk learning otherwise. A good way to rile up Snotlout these days was to compare him to his cousin, with Hiccup as the better example. He had also grown disrespectful towards Stoick, often trying to use Stoick's name to get his way, and then later complain when Stoick countermanded him.

He also continued to relentlessly pursue Astrid, in spite of the fact that she had no interest in him. His flirting had gotten so bad a few years ago, that Stoick publicly declared that Astrid was allowed to retaliate without retribution in spite of her "Clanless" status. It was the only time in Astrid's memory that the Chief had ever talked about his wife, Valka, and how she was gentle and loving, but could also use her staff to knock you over the nearest bench or table and give you the spanking you deserved if you earned her ire, even if you were a full grown man. If Snotlout really wanted to bring Astrid back to Berk as a Jorgensen, Stoick reasoned, he had better get used to being on the receiving end of her wrath. Though Astrid liked the fact that she now had permission to use Snotlout as her personal punching bag, he had grown to become someone no one really wanted to be around, and he never got the hint, so when she got to the Forge to find out he was shadowing Stoick, she groaned internally. There was a messenger at the docks with a dragon on her shoulder. Snotlout was going to give Stoick a few more grey hairs for sure.

Thankfully, it was Gobber who noticed her first, so she could easily avoid Snotlout's "Hey, Babe!" if she talked fast enough. "Astrid! Good too see you! Why are you in such a hurry? Problem at the docks?" Good old Gobber, always looking after the village like everyone's favorite Uncle.

"Hey, Gobber. Whether there's a problem depends on the Chief." She turned toward him quickly, aware that Snotlout was about to open his mouth, "A ship just pulled into port, sir. There's a woman on board saying she has a message for you, and she has a Terror on her shoulder like a hunting falcon. I came to get you as fast as I could before someone did something stupid."

The Chief's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, but he quickly recovered, "Sorry to cut this short, Gobber. I'll be right back."

"Like Hel you are!" the smith shot back. "I want to see this." Having Gobber with them slowed them down a little bit on the way back to the docks, but Astrid was secretly thankful for this, as it let her recover after her sprint. If there was going to be a fight at the docks, she wanted to be ready.

"Don't worry, Babe. If that assassin attacks you, I'll protect you." Snotlout just had to make the mood worse, "Neither her, nor her dragon, is getting past me."

"We don't even know if the person at the docks is an assassin, Snotlout," Stoick reprimanded. "And I highly doubt an assassin would openly announce themselves at the docks, even with a dragon on their side. More than likely they are, in fact, exactly what they claim to be: a messenger."

"Of course they're an assassin! Why else would they have a dragon on their shoulder?" Snotlout scoffed.

Stoick scowled, fixing Snotlout with a glare as he growled, "That is exactly what I intend to find out, which is why you will not do anything stupid, follow my lead, and keep your mouth shut." Snotlout turned an interesting shade of red, but stayed silent the rest of the way.

"If a dragon attacks you, Snotlout, I'm rooting for the dragon." Neither Stoick nor Snotlout could tell if that was muttered by Astrid or Gobber, but Snotlout was too angry to call either one out, and Stoick didn't care.

To Astrid's relief, no fight had broken out on the docks. Most of the vikings had returned to their tasks, but were working slower, keeping an eye on the newcomer. Said newcomer was doing the smart thing in turn, staying on her boat; equally guarded, but respectful. The dragon had yet to leave it's perch on her shoulder, and though it hissed at Stoick's approach, it instantly calmed at the newcomer's raised hand. She approached the side of her boat, standing before the Chief who stayed on the dock. "I am Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk. I am told you have a message for me."

"I am Heather the Siren, from the Isle of Solstheim," the newcomer said, nodding her head in respect before pulling a package from her bag and holding it out for Stoick to take. "I come with a message from my Master, inviting the Chiefs of the Archipelago to Raven Rock for a celebration, and hopefully to open diplomatic ties."

"Celebration?" Stoick asked, not yet taking the package, and eying the Terror on her shoulder. "I'm not sure I believe that, considering the demon on your shoulder."

Heather turned her head towards the dragon, "Sharpshot was assigned by my Master to come with me, as bodyguard, companion, and distress signal. I understand your skepticism though. The invite is to celebrate two events, one of which I am certain you noticed you have already benefited from. The first is to celebrate the Master's triumph over the Red Death five years ago, ending the Dragon Raids."

"Red Death?" This time it was Gobber who interjected, causing the others two turn to him, and Heather to give an annoyed glare.

"May I please finish?" Gobber nodded, slightly embarrassed, and Heather continued, "Yes. This creature, the Red Death, was responsible for the Dragon Raids, and it is my Master's hope that by opening diplomatic ties, the Dragon War itself can come to an end. The second reason for the celebration is to commemorate the Master's defeat of Drago Bludvist the Mad last year."

That was a name that Stoick hadn't heard in a long while, and while he knew the others were too confused to notice his sharp intake of breath, if Heather noticed, she didn't comment. She simply kept the package held out to him. Upon hearing from Astrid that there was a messenger with a dragon, he was certain that the messenger worked for Drago Bludvist. But this... "Drago Bludvist... he is dead? Can you give me proof of his death."

"He is not dead," Heather admitted, but Stoick could see the dark pleasure in her eyes, that let him know she was telling the truth. No one could fake that. It was the look of revenge fulfilled. "He is in irons, in the prison at Raven Rock, and said irons have been grafted to his skin and bolted to his bones to ensure he will never escape. He will die there, hatted, suffering, and forgotten. My Master felt that death, even by Blood Eagle, was far to merciful for him."

"Why do you keep calling this guy your 'Master'? Why don't you tell us his name? Or are you his whore or something?" Snotlout interrupted, annoyed at all these things that he didn't understand. Astrid and Gobber both bristled. Even though the two of them didn't understand half of what Heather was talking about, they knew this was a delicate situation and needed to be handled carefully, and Snotlout had just insulted both Heather, and this mysterious 'Master' she was working for. If the desire for diplomacy and treaty was genuine, Snotlout had just caused a major amount of damage to Berk and it's reputation. Stoick's face turned a color it never turned even during Hiccup's worst blunders, and he looked about ready to strike Snotlout. He would have too, had Heather not spoken up.

"His name and title are one and the same: Dovahkiin. Since it is a term that means nothing to you, I need to use a term that properly conveys his position and respect," the woman explained, her glare at Snotlout only matched by the angry hiss of the Terror she called Sharpshot. "Since he is not our 'Lord', nor our 'Chief' nor 'King', 'Master' is the best term. You would do well to hold your tongue and remember your place."

"I am the Heir of Berk!" Snotlout challenged. "You're the one forgetting your place! You're on our land now! You answer our questions!"

"And as the Heir, you should not be insulting an emissary who is delivering a message to me and answering my questions!" Stoick bellowed. "Leave, Snotlout! You will not be shadowing me any more today, and I will be speaking to both your father and the council about this!" Snotlout looked ready to argue, but thought better of it and stormed off, muttering darkly the whole way. Sighing, Stoick rubbed his temples and turned back to Heather, finally taking the package she offered. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Will you be leaving soon?"

"If it's possible, I'd like to stay the night to refresh, and possibly get an idea as to whether or not you'll be coming to the celebration." Heather patted her instrument, "I am talented in my trade, and can earn my keep with songs and stories. All I ask is that no one tries to hurt me or Sharpshot."

Stoick nodded, and then turned to Astrid, "Can you keep an eye on our guests? I'll tell the kitchens to arrange meals for the both of you." Astrid was surprised at first, but quickly agreed. She still had very good relationships with most of Berk, which combined with her "Clanless" status and gave her a lot more flexibility in troubled, diplomatic situations. She was perfect for the job.

Astrid was glad that Heather wasn't lying when she said she was good at her work. She knew that if it wasn't for the other woman's skills, she'd be bored to death by now. Her title of "Heather the Siren" was well earned too, having explained that a siren was a creature that sang so beautifully, that sailors would become mesmerized by the sound and shipwreck. Heather's voice reached notes with such purity and clarity that Astrid's jaw dropped more than once, and she knew she saw Sharpshot swaying to some of those melodies.

No, Heather was not Astrid's problem. She rather enjoyed spending time with another girl her age, even if she was keeping an eye on her. No, the problem was the kids, of which some of them were young enough to have never seen a dragon before. News of the messenger with skills as a bard and a dragon on her shoulder had spread fast, and while more than a few parents were grateful that their little ones were occupied, it seemed that every time Heather finished a story, they would demand to hear it again. The dark haired woman continued to show off her skill by telling the same stories from a different perspective each time, enhancing the narrative. The younger ones remained enthralled, and thankfully the older ones didn't call her out on the changes.

As the day wore on more adults began to show up. Stoick's promise to not have Sharpshot harmed had passed through the village as well, so while some Vikings seemed to have itchy fingers, they kept away from any weapons. Many requested specific songs and Eddur, and Heather obliged them where she could. Stoick and several council members poured over the pages that were in Heather's delivered package, no doubt including maps on how to get to this "Solstheim" place, though some of the mutterings that reached Astrid's ears told her that there was more in there that made several of the council members uneasy. She was able to pick out some small phrases like: "Don't kill dragons?" and "Faster the long way?" Stoick seemed to be handling their concerns calmly, but firmly. If Astrid focused, she could see that there was a spark of life in Stoick's demeanor that had been missing for a long time. If there was one thing that Vikings liked more than a good fight or a good party, it was a good adventure. Even Astrid could feel the stirrings, especially as she watched their foreign guest, wanting to know more about this land she'd never heard of before, where apparently no one cared if a dragon sat on your shoulder.

It was near the end of the day that Gobber, half drunk, gave a shout out that no one else had, "Hey! Lassie! You've been giving us all these stories and songs we all know! How about something we don't? Something new! Something from your home!" Jeers and laughter were thrown Gobber's way, but the entire hall, now filled with Vikings finishing their dinner, quickly began to agree. Astrid couldn't see well enough to count, but she was pretty sure that Heather had the attention of all of Berk at this point.

"Something from my hometown?" Heather laughed, letting the Vikings cheer her on as she thought for a moment. "All right. I think I've got a good one." Voices began hushing one another as she began plucking at the strings of her instrument, testing their tune and her chords. The melody she began to play was slow, almost sorrowful, and yet included enough bright notes that it didn't sound sad at all, but mysterious. Then she began to sing:

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.

With a Voice wielding power of the Gods' gifted art.

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.

It's an end to all evil; and end to all woes.

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.

For the darkness has passed, but the legend yet grows.

You'll know, You'll know the Dragonborn's come."

Heather ended her song with a flourish of cords, and the village stared at her in silence, unsure what to make of her... unusual song. Slowly, they turned to their own meals, conversations started back up, and nodding children were ushered to bed by their mothers. Setting aside her instrument, Heather sighed, and massaged her throat as she turned and smiled at Astrid. "Well, they asked," she commented, her voice now raw from constant use with little relief. "Maybe now I can enjoy the hospitality of your Chief."

Astrid snorted into her mug.

When morning came, Astrid accompanied Heather to the dock, having kept to her duty and maintained a watchful eye through the night. She almost hadn't needed to bother, as Sharpshot proved to be a good bodyguard and alarm, especially in the mostly dark and empty Mead Hall where Heather slept on a bench. Stoick had offered to let Heather sleep in his hall, as she was a guest, but she thanked him and declined, stating that she didn't want to make the village any more uncomfortable with her dragon. Even at night, there would always be someone in the Mead Hall, so there would be more than one pair of eyes on her. Only Snotlout had come by that night, drunk and complaining that he wanted some kind of revenge for Heather's earlier dismissal and disdain. Astrid sat and pretended to polish her axe, while reminding Snotlout of Stoick's promise that neither Heather nor Sharpshot were to be harmed, and that he had "hired" her, Astrid, to keep the two out of trouble. All the while the little Terror curled up protectively on Heather's torso, hissing in warning. His self preservation won out over his anger and arrogance and Snotlout retreated, which is why Astrid was initially surprised to see Snotlout waiting for them at the dock with Stoick, before she mentally slapped herself. Of course Snotlout would be there. He still had to shadow Stoick; he was still Heir. Hopefully, he would keep his mouth shut this time.

Snotlout did glare, but it was Stoick who spoke, "Lass, I thank you for coming and delivering the information you have given us. I'd like you to tell your Master, Dovahkiin, that we will indeed be attending the celebration, and I hope it will open up the chance for a peace treaty between us. I understand you have been delivering this invitation to all the Tribes, but have you been the the Berserkers yet?"

"I'll relay your message, and I'll be glad to see you come," Heather smiled. "I haven't been to the Berserkers yet, but they are my next stop. They're my last stop in fact, before I head for home. Oswald the Agreeable is the last Chief."

"Skip them. Oswald is no longer Chief," Stoick warned. "His son, Daggur the Deranged now controls the tribe, and it's no secret he's looking for any excuse to go to war. He would view your invite as excuse enough. If you must invite another tribe, I would actually suggest the Outcasts. While there is no lost love between them and the rest of us, Alvin has become more and more open to a truce. Since they have their own unique dragon problem, the invite could go a long way."

Heather's brow furrowed in concern, while Astrid and Snotlout looked at Stoick in confusion. What was in those papers that made Stoick suggest that? "My Master didn't want to invite the Outcasts, so I'll have to consider that. Thank you for the warning, Chief Stoick."

"No, thank you," Stoick smiled. "My wife, Valka, she knew the stories. She told them to me, even though I didn't believe them. I knew you were telling the truth when you told us who your Master was, for no one else could defeat Drago Bludvist on his own terms. I may have many regrets, but that the peace my Val sought may yet be obtained, brings peace to me."

Though Astrid didn't completely understand, she realized that Stoick was trying to honor the memory of his wife, and possibly Hiccup as well. So she stood at the docks in respectful silence as Heather's boat pulled away, in contrast to Snotlout who muttered under his breath about "letting a dragon lover get away". Stoick ignored him though.

"Chief Stoick, when you go to this 'celebration', I would like to go with," Astrid finally spoke up. "What would you require of me to earn the honor?"

"I think," he chuckled, "That we will be needing Vikings like you on this trip."