Chapter Text
Runa was ten years old when the Bersekers came. Her mother had roused her early in the morning and demanded she dress in her finest clothes. She didn’t own many dresses, so she put on a gray skirt with a matching blouse. Her mother tied her black bodice and brushed her long brown hair. She would’ve braided it, but they were interrupted by their father.
“They’re here,” he said solemnly. Her mother’s face fell and she grabbed Runa’s hand. Both girls were ushered outside where the chief of the Berserker tribe was waiting. The man had a thick black beard and harsh eyes, but he smiled kindly at Runa.
“You must be Runa,” the man said. He pushed a redhead boy forward. “You’re the same age as my son.” The boy stared at her for a moment until his father nudged him again.
“Hi. I’m Dagur.”
His father eyed him, “And what else?”
Dagur sighed dramatically and stepped closer. He held out a bundle of cloth. “The Berserker tribe would like to bestow this gift on the princess as an act of goodwill.” Runa’s father sucked in a breath and fixed the man with a hard look.
Runa unwrapped the cloth and picked up her gift. It was a silver dagger with a Skrill carved into the hilt. This would be the first weapon that belonged to her, not just her father.
“Thank you!” she said brightly. Dagur smiled back. It was a wide, mischievous grin.
“Runa,” her father said tersely. “Why don’t you show Dagur around the island?”
“Okay!” both kids said. Runa grabbed Dagur’s wrist and dragged him off. She took him to the armory, the arena, and the little bakery by the docks. Dagur was an easily bored boy so they never stayed in one spot long before he was sprinting off in another direction. The only spot they hadn’t been was the clearing in the woods. Makeshift targets were hung on the trees and old arrows were still embedded in the bark.
“This is where I train,” she said proudly. Her new dagger was haphazardly tucked in her bodice.
Dagur’s eyes lit up. “Do you fight dragons here too?”
Runa raised her chin, “Yup. I killed a Deadly Nadder just last month. I shot it with my father’s crossbow.” Runa neglected to mention that it took her nearly six shots to actually hit a killing mark. She had killed it and that’s what mattered.
“That’s so cool. I bet you’ll be an awesome dragon hunter like my dad.”
She sat down in the grass, not caring about maintaining the state of her dress. “How many dragons have you killed?”
Dagur flushed. He sputtered a moment, “I.. I’ve.. it doesn’t matter!”
“Have you not killed one yet?” she pressed. Dagur didn’t reply, kicking a pebble into the nearest tree.
“My stupid dad says I’m not ready for raids yet,” he mumbled.
“You know, I always thought I wanted to fight dragons too,” she ventured. “But then I actually fought one and I was terrified. So maybe you should be happy that you haven’t had to kill one yet.”
…
“Nope, I still really want to kill a dragon.”
Runa rolled her eyes at his complete dismissal and shoved him over. Dagur shoved her back. And soon they were full-on wrestling in the grass. Hair was pulled, clothes were dirtied, but they were laughing. Dagur had never had a willing participant in his wrestling matches before.
As the sun began to set, they were interrupted by Runa’s father calling her name. They hastily untangled and got to their feet. Runa was trying to shake the dust off her skirt when both chiefs emerged from the treeline.
“Runa,” her father scolded lightly, grabbing her wrist. “You’re a mess.”
“We were just–”
“Dagur. Back to the ship. We are leaving.”
Dagur gave his father a defiant look, “But we were having fun!”
“Now.”
That seemed to snap him to attention. His father had never sounded so angry before, and Dagur made him mad OFTEN. He cast one last look at Runa before shuffling off to the dock. Runa was picked up by her father and carried back home.
“Asmund,” her mother said timidly, rising from her chair. “What happened?”
“There will be no peace with the Berserkers,” Asmund said grimly. He unceremoniously dropped Runa onto the couch. Her mother knelt down and started fussing over all the dirt on her dress. The door slammed shut as her father disappeared to the Great Hall.
It was late that night when Runa was once again roused by her mother. Except her mother looked terrified, and her face was streaked with ash and tears.
“Mama..?” Runa mumbled sleepily.
Her mother roughly took her by the shoulders and shook her, “Runa. Listen to me. You need to run. Run out the back door and don’t stop until you reach the other side of the island. Mr. Gunderson left a little boat there for you.”
Runa was suddenly much more awake. “Why?”
Her mother didn’t answer. A single tear trailed down her cheek and she kissed Runa on the head. She pressed Runa’s dagger into her hand and pulled her up. The heavy smell of smoke lingered in the air and an orange light came through the window. The ceiling creaked ominously as Runa got out of bed and ran downstairs. She skidded to a halt at the sight of a man in the living room. He wielded an axe with a Skrill carved into the hilt.
Runa turned on her heel and barreled out the back door. She kept running, even when flaming arrows sailed overhead, adding to the raging fire that seemed to have engulfed her whole island. Even when she heard the roof of her home cave in as it caught fire. She tried not to think of whether or not her mother made it past the man downstairs, or where her father might be.
Tree branches whipped at her arms as she stumbled through the woods. Something sharp pierced her foot, a discarded arrowhead, and she limped for another mile. Her muscles burned and she crumpled in the clearing. Her hand still clenched around her new dagger.
Then she heard branches snap.
Runa weakly pushed herself into a sitting position, scanning the trees for vikings that might have ventured into the woods. But what she saw instead was a large dragon. It had a frilled head and sleek scales that rippled through several different colors before settling on a deep purple. Runa’s shaking hands raised her dagger, pointing it at the beast.
But the dragon didn’t attack. Didn’t shoot fire or bare its teeth. It crept closer and tilted its head curiously. Its scales turned green.
Runa slowly lowered her weapon, too tired to fight. “Are you.. Friendly?”
The viking from her house burst through the bushes, throwing his axe. Runa screamed and ducked her head. The dragon turned red and jumped on top of her, spitting molten fire at the viking.
The next thing Runa felt was claws wrapping around her waist as she was hoisted into the air and away from her home.