#Dragon Racer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanfangirl-cynicalromantic · 7 months

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All's Fair In Love And Dragon Racing

Happy @httydhiccstridweek everyone! When I saw the alternate prompt 'dragon racing' I just had to do something with it.

Summary:

The Archipelago hosted a prestigious Dragon Race every year. Astrid Hofferson, beloved celebrity and champion of the game, is determined to secure her position this year as the best, and nothing - not underhand tricks, bribery, or irritating rivals - will stop her.

This year was Berk’s turn to host the games. The spectacle of Astrid Hofferson and Hiccup Haddock going at each other in the last dragon race had become the most famous part of the dragon races, much to Astrid’s chagrin.

She was the goddamned champion of the game, one of the best. But of course Hiccup Haddock had to be the other best.

She supposed she hated him so much because she had worked so hard to be the best, but then the stupid heir could just waltz in late on his stupid Night Fury and win the game effortlessly because, yay, an extremely rare dragon had chosen to bond with him and that made him better than anyone else.

This year, though, this year, for sure. She was going to stand on that podium with Stormfly and smirk at the chief as he handed her the prize instead of his son. He could croon all he liked now, but he’d be singing a very different tune soon.

Hiccup Haddock didn't know what was coming for him.

Hiccup and Astrid are The Hidden World age, so 21.

Read on AO3

Dragon racing had become unprecedentedly popular in the few short years it had become an official sport.

They had been mostly at peace with dragons for years. A wild dragon was treated like a wild boar or bear, just a little more dangerous, but plenty of dragons had also sought out Vikings to bond with. They only chose the most worthy, so being bonded was a great honor, and of course, the stronger the dragon, the more glory to the one who was worthy of their bond. Bonded dragons were basically dragons that could be tamed once they had chosen their person. Of course, it was up to the bonded human to train their dragon and adhere to the laws, but the Vikings of the Archipelago and Beyond had found many ways to incorporate dragons in their day to day tasks.

But dragons were not meant to work without play, and after a few disastrous attempts at hosting a Regatta with dragons (those with sea dragons were banned due to cheating and apparently most dragons got seasick), a new game had sprung.

It had started as a small competition when rounding up the sheep, but then the chief’s family had taken the idea, added a few rules and bonuses, and all of a sudden Dragon Racing had become the Archipelago and Beyond’s favorite pastime.

Now, every year a tribe hosted the games, providing various prizes for the competition, a racetrack (the more difficult and flamboyant the better), and used the event to show off their own prosperity and boost their own economy, because it had truly become a business. Merchants flocked to the host’s island and eagerly paid fees to gain access to customers in a spending, indulgent mood. All the attendees paid for boarding, docking for their ships and or dragons, and seats for the dragon races. Bets, of course, were placed on how many points certain riders would score, and who the winner would be. Mead was distributed liberally, and fans would spend a ridiculous amount of coin on various costumes, face paint, or even woven banners to display their support to their favorite rider.

Aside from the economic benefits, it also served as a lighthearted precursor to the Thing later that year, as different tribes approached each other with various treaties, alliances, and overall ass-kissing while they bonded over the mead and games. Her father hadn’t been present for an entire game for three years, as he handled the bargaining on behalf of her clan, and the best contracts were those signed during the games.

Astrid had become a bit of a celebrity in the game, and while she cared little about the fuss of performing or speaking to admirers and more for the thrill of the game, she had to admit that it was the merchandise sales and not the prize money that allowed her family to live as comfortably as they did. So she saved her stories to tell Father at the end of the day, and wore what Mother told her to and smiled when she was exhausted after the games but was still in public. As someone so well known for her performance, the pressure to win was always exceptionally high.

This year was Berk’s turn to host the games, and the chief could proudly show off the project Gobber the blacksmith had been working on for the past few years. Berk was a big island, but with the steady increase in population and dragon bonds, it would have been far too crowded to host multiple other tribes. Plus, there was always the issue when someone’s fields or house that was part of the racetrack got damaged and they demanded extravagant compensation, so Gobber had come up with the brilliant idea to dedicate an entire smallish island to the task. Chief Stoick had readily approved, and now the island was ready. She had never been to that specific island herself, but judging by her chief’s practically giddy manner, she bet it was spectacular.

She climbed the deck and found her way to the mast, trying to see the island as they came closer. Stormfly, her beloved dragon, was still on Berk, and an attendant would fly her over to the new island that night, as her girl got restless if she was forced to stand in a stall for too long. Sadly, Astrid had been forced to come along without her, as her mother had deemed her presence important the first day of the games even if she did not officially participate or even attend. Colorful painted wooden roosts rose proudly from the island. Flocks of dragons were already circling, looking for a place to land. She looked keenly past the dragon stables and tried to guess what the racetrack looked like. There were still trees covering the island, would there be a section where they had to fly around trees? Stormfly and her had been practicing such maneuvers all year.

The stands, she noted, reached all around the island, were built not on the land itself, but extensions over the ocean, and reached around the entire island except for the large stretch of land dedicated to the boats. The island wasn’t big enough to inhabit and live in the same way Berk was, but it was sizable enough that there was enough lodging, meals, and seats for at least ten tribes across and even outside the Archipelago. A good deal of the island’s lumber had been lost, although there was still a forest pathway, Astrid had overheard. The seats were situated over the water in hopes of dousing any wayward fire that might ever hit the wood. Plus, it made that insignificant trash the audience inevitably dropped simply be swept away and save them the hassle of cleaning up as much. The wooden pillars were multicolored with various banners and crests hanging from them, connected to large decks or bridges that the traders walked along, calling out their wares and performing various tricks to catch the eye of a bored spectator.

The docks were already teaming with Vikings bargaining and haggling and the poor council members walking around with their clipboards yelling at the top of their lungs. Fishlegs Ingerman, a young man around her age, was an apprentice who had quickly risen up in the council’s ranks. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement and checked something on his clipboard.

“Ah, Mrs. Hofferson. Astrid,” he greeted them. “It says here you’ve booked lodging on the south side of the island, a luxury stall in the stables, and a docking spot for two boats?” He looked at their one boat and absence of a certain Deadly Nadder with a raised eyebrow.

“My husband and our dragon will be arriving tomorrow or maybe even later tonight,” Astrid’s mother clarified.

“I see,” Fishlegs smiled. I’ll tell the next shift to keep an eye out for him.” Her mother thanked him and handed him a large pouch of coins. He peered into it and nodded after a moment.

“Here is your key,” he handed Astrid’s mother said key. “And here are the documents for your stable and boat reservations. Let me just sign them -” he reached into the pouch belted across his middle for a quill. “And there!” he finished, signing the documents with a flourish. “The lodges are down that way,” he pointed. “And should you appreciate a map, Hoark is at the Hall handing them out.

“Thank you,” Astrid’s mother said gratefully. Astrid smiled as thanks as well and patted Meatlug, Fishlegs’ loyal Gronckle affectionately. His face lit up at the acknowledgement of his dragon.

“Good luck in the Dragon Games, Astrid,” he wished her.

“Thanks,” Astrid replied.

When the Grimborn tribe hosted the Dragon Races four years ago, it had been hailed the most successful race, in terms of profit, aesthetic, and entertainment. That had been the year Astrid had irrevocably gone head to head with a certain heir to her tribe, and their rivalry had gone down in history. Astrid and Haddock had always stood out as some of the best dragon riders, but in their earlier years they had just been considered talented, not prodigies. They also commonly raced in different sections, as Astrid preferred the early morning races and Haddock was always tardy, so he participated in the afternoon set. Until Viggo Grimborn had suggested top flyers of the sections compete against each other in one final, dramatic race. Haddock, who had won the races easily without any true competition, had suddenly been given a run for his money, and Astrid, who was determined to win as easily as she had all the other games with her superior flying, was outraged to find someone who could best her so infuriatingly easily. She and Stormfly worked completely in sync but Haddock and his dragon - they were like extensions of each other with no care of where one ended and the other began. He could just swoop in and steal her target and she wouldn’t have even seen him creeping up on her! She had quickly lost her temper and their trash talking had become as entertaining as the actual flying stunts themselves. The other players had quickly realized they had no chance of winning against the two so they had settled for egging the bickering on.

That had also been the year that brought about the vulgarity restrictions.

Viggo Grimborn had been hailed a genius, and the spectacle of Astrid Hofferson and Hiccup Haddock going at each other in the last dragon race of the event had become the most famous part of the dragon races, much to Astrid’s chagrin.

As she looked around at her surroundings, Astrid had a feeling that this year, Chief Stoick might have outdone Chief Grimborn. She wondered idly how furious the latter would be. No one had ever dedicated an entire island to the Dragon Races. Maybe even next year Berk’s Thawfest would be held here as well, and the island would become an event destination.

The first day was the beginner racers. One could start participating officially in the races when one turned fifteen, but of course the little teenagers had no hope of comparing to the likes of Astrid. There were a lot of young new dragon racers this year. Perhaps she should suggest the idea of a junior league to Gobber or the Chief. Mothers were encouraging their children and Astrid watched carefully for any sign of some exceptional talent. She had started out like this, and she wouldn’t make the mistake some of her opponents had made in her earlier years by underestimating someone due to their age.

There wasn’t much to see. Gustav Larson, who had idolized and hit on her ever since puberty, was sixteen and had finally been allowed to be in the race (he had been suspended last year due to unsavory behavior). He had finally gained some maturity and his bond with his dragon, a Monstrous Nightmare, was stronger. They cooperated better on the turns and he even managed to score a few points. Astrid nodded in satisfaction. He would never make it to the last race and compete with her, but there was hope for him down the line. Probably.

She watched the competition and chose her favorites while her father bargained with various traders for cuts in the profits of distributing her merchandise.

“Astrid! Astrid!” cried a few children, not much older than eleven. She turned and talked with her fans, handing out some dragon advice and handing one shy girl a seal with Astrid Hofferson’s Nadder, Stormfly, carved on it.

She heard nothing about the Heir of Berk’s whereabouts that day, but could have been due to him helping his father set up, negotiate treaties, or simply be too lazy to make it to the first day of the games.

The next day she woke up at dawn and visited the stables. Stormfly greeted her cheerily, and Astrid brought out a leg of chicken she had brought as a treat. She had discovered Stormfly’s speed flourished under her consumption of chicken, and it happened to be her favorite treat, so Astrid frequently indulged her.

They weren’t allowed to ride on the tracks before they were ready, so Stormfly was sadly stuck in her stall. Astrid had insisted on the best, of course, so the stall was roomy and colorfully painted, for Nadder’s liked pretty things.

“I’ll be back, girl, I promise,” Astrid told her when it was time to grab breakfast at the Hall. I’ll see if I can get you out as soon as possible so you can stretch your wings.” Stormfly crooned mournfully but nudged her toward the door. She patted her girl one more time before she slipped out of the stables.

The morning was spent dealing with business, so Astrid snagged an attendant and told them to let Stormfly out to stretch her wings before they prepared her for the race. Then, after lunch, her mother dragged her to get ready for the race. Just because she was a warrior didn't mean she couldn’t look her best in front of everybody. Her hair was undone, brushed, and then rebraided, a few red and blue beads added to the small braids by her temple that merged with the main braid. She had taken a bath the day before, which was the only reason they didn’t chuck in the tub anew, and brought out her riding outfit reverently. They weren’t overly fancy clothes, as dragon racing was a rough sport, so her leggings were thicker than they normally were and a dark navy blue. Her skirt’s spikes were dulled and shorter so it was uncomfortable to sit in her saddle. Her shirt was red then she shrugged on the turquoise vest with tassels on the shoulders because it was the safest place to put them without potentially hindering Astrid’s movement. Her arm bracers were also embellished with iron cuffs and lined with newer fur, and she added her hood from last year because she liked the familiar weight at her back. Her shoulder pads were carved Gronckle iron and lined with the softest layer of fleece. Every year her riding outfit was more and more costly, but Astrid liked looking pretty and the fleece or fur linings were a nice contrast to the hard metal that used to scrape her collarbone and shoulders a few years ago. Then, mother brought out the face paint, and Astrid sat perfectly still as her mother dipped a brush in the paint and began. The cyan over and around the eyes, then a stroke from the brow down the bridge of her nose to rest along her cheekbones, the shape reminiscent of the wings of a butterfly. Her chin was marked with the turquoise and orange was added as another V atop her brow, and then highlighted her eyebrows to curve down and rest on top of her cheekbones on either side of her face. Astrid sucked on her lips as they added a dab atop her chin and then it was time to meet Stormfly.

She walked in the middle of the group so they could ward off well wishes shouting encouragement or, for some supporters of Haddocks, abuse. Father had sold some of their merchandise to merchants, and she saw a few of them peddling flags in her colors and gesturing toward the children.

Stormfly was practically itching with excitement when she reached the stall. She pulled herself up into the saddle and paused to let the attendants hold torches close to Stormfly’s legs to dry the remainder of the wet paint. Then her mother nodded at her and everyone stepped back as Stormfly took off into the stadium.

A cacophony of shouting and bright colors under the harsh sunlight greeted her as they made a lap around the stadium, waving and laughing as they screamed her name and stomped their feet as she pumped her fist in the air. Stormfly shot eight spines in the air, forming a perfect circle and then showered them with blinding white sparks. The crowd applauded raucously. Astrid waved her arms slowly, quieting the roar into a dull murmur until she held everyone’s attention before she performed a backflip on Stormfly and the crowd went wild again.

She flew a quick lap around the stadium, hanging easily off her saddle and reaching her hand out as the stands fought to touch it.

Before their applause had even fully died down the stands registered a high pitched whistle. “A Night Fury,” they whispered in awe and Astrid scowled as she patted her girl’s head and they retreated to their place. The sound grew louder and louder as people began to chant excitedly. A dark figure could be seen in the sky as it hurtled toward them. The children pointed excitedly and some of the newcomer’s eyes widened. Closer and closer they came until they could see the blast building in the dragon’s mouth.

“Get down!” someone cried and it echoed across the stadium, but not in true fear. The black dragon released the shot and it exploded just above everyone’s heads. The sparks winked out harmlessly between outstretched fingertips as some of the young spectators screamed in excitement.

The young man and his dragon landed heavily on the ground right in front of the decks that led to the stands. Some of the traders in the near vicinity jumped in frightened surprise. The sound reverberated across the stands before the Vikings broke into loud cheers.

“The Champions of Berk!” the announcer called.

Astrid made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, too quiet for anyone but Stormfly to pick up on. She was the goddamned champion of the game, one of the best. But of course Hiccup Haddock had to be the other best. He couldn’t have been from another island and let her enjoy her victories in peace, no. He just had to be constantly there, gloating over his wins when he beat her and sulking when she had won that year.

She landed on a thick perch behind the baskets used for scoring. The perch reached from the stands to the docks on land - it was essentially a beam that had never had a bridge built upon it. It was supported by multicolored wooden pillars with various banners and crests hanging from them, connected to the large decks or bridges that led from the land or the docks to the seats around the dragon racing track. She spied multiple banners bearing the Hofferson insignia and Stormfly captured in her majestic flight around the stadium, signifying support for her. A few Vikings had painted their faces or arms turquoise and orange, too. But as many colors she saw for herself, she saw an equal amount of drastic black masks in support of Haddock.

Her eyes drifted to the main dias where the chief sat. As the sponsor of this year’s games, he wore nothing to indicate his preference for any rider, but as Haddock’s father, she can’t help but begrudge him, even though she knows his interference in the game if it is needed will be nothing but fair.

There were five players in the final race. Astrid and Haddock, of course, as the undisputed champions. The announcer read off the names of the three players admitted in the final game, which was considered the greatest honor they could achieve, as no one stood a chance in the wake of Astrid and Haddock’s competitiveness.

“Heather the Unhinged!” the announcer cried and the Berserker tribe jumped up with howls of delight. Astrid allowed a smile to break out over her face. She liked Heather, who had competed in the final round last year as well. At this rate, she was well on her way to becoming a champion as well. The dark haired Berserker waved from atop her Razorwhip and the Berserker chief (Heather’s brother) jumped up and let out a bloodcurdling whoop. She flew to roost on the perch next to Astrid’s.

“Congratulations,” the female champion greeted her warmly. “Nice to see you back again.”

“It’s good to be back,” Heather returned. “Good luck this year.”

“Oh, I’ll get the black sheep this time.” Astrid’s face darkened. Last year she had claimed all of the sheep in her basket save for one. Haddock hadn’t stood a chance for most of the game until he had swooped in and stole the black sheep right out from under Stormfly’s claws. The black sheep was worth ten points, so all her hard work was rendered invalid when the scoring system declared his one sheep worth double the five of hers.

She was still salty about that. And the other time he had beat her a few years back. It just wasn’t fair he could just get as good as he did, but, well, life wasn’t fair.

Heather chuckled as she followed Astrid’s line of thought across her face.

“Lars Grimborn the second!” was the next name called. Lars was a cousin of Chief Grimborn, and was bonded with an enviable Skrill. The only dragon more powerful than the skrill known to bond with a Viking was the one and only Night Fury in their midst. Of course, a powerful dragon was only an advantage to a certain point. Lars was heavyset and his dragon was large, but his weight would be a disadvantage against his opponents whose main strengths were their speed and his dragon’s size would only make it more open for attack. His triumphant expression looked more like a leer underneath his trimmed mustache that was the Grimborn family style (it was an ugly look). He took his place next to Heather, leaving the spot between him and Haddock empty.

“Earmug Micketson, of the Outcasts!” declared the announcer, gaining Astrid’s attention. The Outcast, an average built man in his late twenties pumped his fist and yelled, “Yeah!” so loudly he could be heard over the applauding crowd. Astrid remembered him. His strengths were stamina, as his Gronckle was a slow dragon, but it also was a smaller dragon, and he excelled at attacking his opponents from beneath. He usually waited for someone else to catch the sheep before then fighting them and claiming the sheep as his own. Well, if Earmug thought he could overpower Astrid he had another thing coming.

She chanced a glance at the figure furthest from her. He was patting his dragon’s head and speaking to him. He must have sensed her eyes on him and turned to meet her gaze. A cheeky smirk spread across his face, messing up the red lines painted across his cheekbones just slightly. She scowled at him and faced forward again, fighting the urge to scratch her own painted face in the heat. Mother would kill her if the orange and turquoise swirls were married before the start of the game.

There wasn’t much that counted as cheating. Only killing or crippling a rider or dragon, or injuring one of the spectators. Of course, since the pastime was dangerous in and of itself, it was scarily easy for an opponent to blame any maiming as an accident, so one always had to be extra cautious. Weapons were allowed and liberally used, as was ramming into other dragons, jumping on them, sparring with them in the air, and ambushes. Sometimes riders would team up and sabotage others by attacking the person with the sheep from two sides or more. A lot could happen in one lap around the island. Astrid was a self sufficient rider, so she never worried much about betrayals from a partner.

She allowed a cool smile to grace her face as Mulch stood by the horn that would start the race. Her fans knew her as aloof and most of all, confident, so she hid her nerves expertly.

“On your marks!” bellowed Gobber from the podium. Astrid petted Stormfly’s flank.

“We got this, girl,” she whispered.

“Get set,” continued Chief Stoick, even louder than his friend. Astrid lay herself flat on the saddle to make her and Stormfly more streamlined. The chief gestured to Mulch who was standing by the horn.

Mulch paused and flashed the contestants a winning smile. He was delaying blowing the horn on purpose. Slowly, achingly, he lowered his mouth to the tip of the horn, but didn’t blow. Astrid’s muscles felt they were about to explode from holding their position for so long, even though it had only been a few seconds.

At last he puffed his cheeks and blew. They were off like a shot before the sound even had a chance to register.

The rush of wind on her cheeks and the familiar sensation of her stomach bottoming out felt better than being welcomed home after a hard day. The crowds were screaming as Haddock had already disappeared and strid had taken the lead.

Stormfly swooped left and Astrid immediately cataloged the new track in front of her.

There was a five hundred meter stretch of clear air before the track branched off into two obvious segments. She scanned the land for any hidden catapults. There were no sheep thrown in the first round, but after one rider crossed the scoring baskets for the first time, sheep were launched into the fray. She spotted one catapult, but it looked open and abandoned so she doubted any sheep would come from it this game. She had tried to keep track of the sheep launchers from the other games with little success, but she was pretty sure she recognized a location or two sheep would fly into the sky in the coming rounds.

She had slowed down a little in her quick lap around the track, so as she came out of a half natural half built set of caves she found Grimborn emerging from one of the branches, not too far behind her.

(She’d seen no sign of Haddock in her perusal of the path she had chosen, but there were plenty of other paths he could have chosen and he liked to hide. And she hadn’t really looked for him, just idly wondered where he was.)

Pride dictated that she had to be the first one over the line, so she patted Stormfly behind her crown of spikes and they sped up, streaking across the line in a flash of bright blue. The audience cheered. She nudged Stormfly with her foot and they slowed down almost imperceptibly, waiting for the sheep to go flying. The sheep didn’t always fly, though. Sometimes no sheep were launched during a round, which meant riders had to scour the track looking for them. She calculated the fork in the path in front of her. The one she had taken in the first round had plenty of trees, caves, and colorful obstacles, so a sheep wouldn’t likely hide there. But she didn’t know the other path at all. Did it have the sheep or not?

She heard the telltale whistle of a Night Fury going full speed and felt a whoosh of air go down the unexplored path. Well, if that was where he was going that’s where she would go too. She urged Stormfly on.

“Why hello Milady,” his annoying nasal voice greeted her as she pulled up beside him. “Are you following me?”

“No,” she replied huffily. “I’m looking for a sheep, if that wasn’t obvious, seeing as it’s the point of the game.”

“You wound me,” he snarked. “Implying I’m not smart - how will I ever recover?”

“Hopefully, you won’t,” she replied with sickening sweetness. A flash of paint caught her eye amongst the brush and her hand reached for her ax as she urgently nudged Stormfly with her foot. She would swing at him if he tried to steal her sheep. It wouldn’t kill him, but a few bruises? That she’d gladly hand out for free.

Their eyes met for a split second and she dove. Haddock’s dragon was sleeker and faster than Stormfly when it came to maneuvering (with Stormfly’s careful diet of chicken, her Nadder could beat Toothless’ speed under certain circumstances) but Astrid was a fierce fighter, and Hiccup was too close to her to be able to get away safely if he took the sheep from her now.

Stormfly scooped the sheep with the painted wool up in her claws and the track led them back to the stands.

“Hofferson’s got the sheep!!” called the announcer. “But oh, will she have it for long?”

Earmug tried to sidle up to her dragon but Stomrfly sent a few well-aimed spines immediately. He swerved away from her. Hiccup had disappeared temporarily, but Astrid knew he wouldn’t be gone for long.

Indeed, Haddock and his dragon tried to tuck in their wings and dive under her dragon but Astrid stood up in her saddle and kicked him away from her. He let out a pained ‘oof’ and the crowd screamed in encouragement and outrage. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him for long, and it was difficult to make sure the sheep stayed in Stormfly’s claws: she might let it go on reflex if someone attacked her softer lower belly.

Stormfly zoomed through the air and now Heather was right on her heels. The other girl began to slowly pull up even with Stormfly.

“Hey, girl!” Heather called, addressing Stormfly. “Remember me?” The Berserker pulled out a leg of chicken out of her saddle pouch and waved in enticingly. Stormfly perked up at the sight of her favorite treat.

“Oh, no. Hey, girl,” she soothed her dragon. “Remember I’ve promised you an extra barrel of chicken tonight if you don’t get distracted, yeah?” She patted Stormfly’s left flank, a signal for her to speed up so they could leave Heather and her bribery behind, but the dark haired girl chucked it ahead of them, intending for Stormfly to dive after it.

Unfortunately, her aim had placed the leg of chicken right in front of them so Stormfly caught it in her mouth without straying from their straight line of flight. The stands burst out into delighted laughter and Astrid chuckled in relief.

“And Heather Berserk attempts to play dirty, but is defeated by unfortunately straight aim,” cried the announcer into his horn. “But oh, don’t worry, we like a little extra excitement. Speaking of which -” A huge boulder came hurtling straight at Astrid but Stormfly spun gracefully to avoid it. “And Hofferson twirls out of the way with enviable grace!” he finished.

Next, a bola was shot at Grimborn, a barrel on fire launched at Hiccup, who didn’t even have his dragon move out of the way, he just jumped off of Toothless and glided back down onto his saddle with the help of the wings built in to his armor. Plenty of people who hadn’t seen his armor before screamed in excited fear, but Astrid, who had been subject to his testing out his prototypes all over Berk for the past year, rolled her eyes at his inability to stop showing off.

Her expression of attitude cost her. She didn’t notice the second boulder heading towards her and it crashed into Stormfly right above her right leg. Astrid gave a little scream.

“Stormfly!” she cried, worried her girl might be hurt, but the dragon shook her head and gave her a reassuring squawk as they righted themselves. Micketson, who had been right behind her, had his dragon simply eat the boulder. Stupid boulder class dragons. She had lost her sheep. She narrowed her eyes at Micketson and nudged Stormfly toward him, but before they had even begun to gain on him, Haddock flew upside down and plucked the sheep out of Earmug’s arms.

“HEY!” Astrid’s scream of outrage was louder than Micketson’s. “That’s MY sheep!!!”

“Looks like mine now!” Hiccup called and Astrid growled. He began to speed up but Heather quickly bumped into him and his Night Fury flared his wings. Astrid joined the fray as Heather reached for the sheep but missed. Lars Grimborn, with his Skrill crackling ominously, found that the intimidation factor didn’t work so well on the rider who rode a goddamned Night Fury, and Astrid swung off her saddle to use his helmet as a stepping stone to get back in her saddle because she felt like it.

The Heir of Berk clutched the sheep to his chest with an infuriating smirk and Stormfly sent a stream of spines towards him, which he dodged. Astrid had lost track of the announcer’s comments on the game but she heard the laugh from the crowd at his avoidance of Stormfly’s spines and glared.

They rounded another bend and avoided a few more obstacles. Grimborn threw a hammer but it missed, and Astrid urged Stormfly ahead as she planned her next attack. She and Haddock now were definitely ahead of the others. Hiccup’s head turned to look at her and she had Stormfly slow down slightly so it wasn’t obvious they were doing it on purpose instead of lagging behind. He turned around again and Astrid guided Stormfly up, up, grateful they were flying so that their shadows fell behind them. She stood up carefully, and the audience oohed but Hiccup didn’t notice. Stormfly flew a little bit ahead so that Astrid would land on her moving target but not enough that they noticed her, and then she jumped.

Hurtling through to air was nauseating when she wasn’t attached to a dragon, but she landed heavily on Haddock’s mount, causing them to dip in their flight and Haddock to lose his balance. She leaped on top of him, wrestling his arms to his side and kicking the sheep off of his dragon. The Night Fury tried to follow it but Stormfly was waiting and coasted a little underneath them to catch Astrid. Hiccup tried to reach her and when that didn’t work, he tried to lay atop her to stop her from escaping.

“Arrgggh, get off!” she yelled at him angrily.

“Not a chance, Milady, unless you’d be so kind as to release my arms.” She hissed in response. She chanced a glance behind her, furious to see the other riders speeding up to try to steal the sheep from Stormfly while she and Haddock were occupied. Gathering all her strength, she shoved him hard enough away from her he had to scramble and hold on the saddle while she slipped off his dragon.

She landed on her saddle. “Good girl,” she muttered quietly to Stormfly and the crowd went wild as she deposited the first point in her basket.

Of course, she wasn’t that triumphant all game. There were fifteen total points one could score out of six sheep, and Haddock scored the second point with a mocking kiss he blew at her while she swore at him. He scored the next point too, but Astrid caught the fourth sheep out of the air and flew so fast no one even got the chance to attack her until after she’d deposited it safely in her basket. She’d screamed her triumph out loud and the crowd had roared with her until the fifth sheep was shot up into the air.

This round was tougher than the other ones as the two champions doubled down on their efforts to gain an obvious lead on the other before the break between the painted sheep and the black one. The participants knew this of course, and Astrid had no less than two flaming boulders, a bola, and a barrel of Monstrous Nightmare Gel launched at her before the sheep was even in the air.

Astrid snapped her head round at the sound of a spring and saw Micketson catch the sheep first. She let a slow grin spread across her face as she nudged Stormfly toward him. Earmug’s face was paler than it had been all game, but he flew straight for the path with the forest and wove quickly through the trees while she chased him. He was surprisingly agile with his dragon, Astrid had to give him that.

He was ambushed as he cleared the trees. Grimborn had somehow gone ahead and waited for him to clear the trees. He slammed his Skrill into the smaller Gronkle and the Outcast grunted as he lost his grip on the sheep. Lars caught it smugly and sped off, Astrid hot on his heels.

“Eat my dust, Hofferson!” he snarled at her.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same,” Astrid returned. Not her best comeback, but it irritated him all the same.

He dodged her attempts to sneak up on him, and Astrid growled in frustration. The trick she’d pulled with Haddock wouldn’t do; he’d be expecting that and would probably be able to overpower her. His Skrill was bigger than her Nadder, so she couldn’t bump into him and get him to drop the sheep. She could challenge him to aerial combat but that would be difficult. Maybe if she cornered him into an obstacle? A net came flying suddenly and Astrid barely had time to duck out of the way. The heavier Skrill and its rider were not so fortunate. He tried to keep hold of the sheep, but as his Skrill stopped flapping he cursed and let go of it while he tried to untangle the net around his dragon’s wings.

The sheep bleated pitfully as it tried to find a way off the scary flying dragon. Astrid flew to Grimborn’s side, sliced a sizable hole in the net, and reached for the sheep. It shied away but not before she grabbed a firm handful of wool and dragged it forcibly off onto her dragon.

“Haha!” she crowed just as Hiccup appeared, aimed a kick at her ribs, and snatched the sheep.

“COME BACK HERE!!!” she screamed furiously. “YOU SON OF A RAT-SHITTING, TOE LICKING, TROLL EATING MUNGE BUCKET!!!!!!!” She heard the audience’s amusement at her rage. Haddock simply cackled.

Stormfly flew up beside them and Astrid reached over and grabbed the sheep’s hind legs.

“Hey!” the Night Fury rider snapped. “Get off of my sheep!” He pulled at it.

“It’s my sheep!” she argued back. She pulled on her side of the sheep harder.

“Let go!” he cried.

“Never,” she sneered back at him. He glared at her and tried to fly off in an effort to make her let go. Astrid held tight as Stormfly banked alongside them.

“Stubborn woman,” she thought she heard him mutter. “Toothless, roll!” Astrid tugged suddenly at her side of the sheep as they rolled over and pulled the front legs out of Haddock’s hands. Unfortunately, the momentum cost her her grip on the animal as well and it flew back in the air.

“No!” she cried. Haddock righted himself beside her and tried to reach it, but it was plucked out of the air by none other than Heather and she dumped it swiftly into her basket.

Astrid pulled up short. The last time someone had scored a point other than her or Haddock during the last game had been years ago. Her jaw fell open in outrage, surprise, but admiration, too.

“Would you look at that!!” the announcer cried. “Heather the Unhinged of the Berserker tribe scored a point!!!!”

Heather let out a battle cry, thumping her chest and her tribe followed suit. “That’s my sister!” Chief Dagur screamed. Astrid heard a small laugh beside her and turned to look at Haddock.

“Would you look at that,” he marveled. “We were so busy fighting over the sheep we gave her the point.”

“Would have been avoided if you had just given the sheep to me,” Astrid said nonsensically, but in truth she was quite proud of her friend despite the wound it caused in her pride.

“Haddock and Hofferson remain tied for first place, Heather the Unhinged in second,” the announcer declared. “But there is hope for Micketson and Grimborn yet: next round we have the black sheep!” the crowd oohed with him. “But first, let’s have a break! Rest our dragons and sore rumps!” the adults laughed with him. “And we’ll see you again in an hour!”

His hips pinned hers to the wall as he devoured her mouth. She moaned quietly and arched her back, fingernail scrabbling to find purchase on his leather armor, finally retaliating by biting his lip as he tried to pull away. Hiccup growled as he surged back towards her and hefted her right leg to set it on his waist as they met in another clash of lips.

“You bastard,” she growled as she nipped at his lips to punctuate her words. He hissed as she ran a tongue over the sting to soothe it. “I’m still angry at you for stealing my sheep.”

“Which one?” he taunted, dipping down to suckle at her collarbone, his smirk pronounced against her sweaty skin. One of his hands slipped under her skirt, hastily folded so as to not stab anyone with the metal spikes. It trailed up her thigh to squeeze at her ass appreciatively, drawing a moan from her throat as she ran her hands over his shoulders before pulling him closer.

“Nnnngh,” she shot back eloquently as he licked a hot wet strip up to her ear and made her buck her hips into his involuntarily. “The last one. Oh, and those two sheep you scored with too, of course.”

“Weren’t yours once they were in my basket,” he remarked casually, pressing her further into the dark walls of the empty stables.

They had an arrangement. Dragon Racing was thrilling, and with the adrenaline came a rush of. . . other hormones. Astrid’s parents would never allow her to go acting on such impulses unless she was properly tied to the person, but Astrid wasn’t ready for anything of that sort yet. She was content solidifying her career in racing and perhaps living out the rest of her days as a shieldmaiden. Luckily Hiccup was looking for a person with no commitment to suit his needs as well - as the heir of a prominent tribe, it was a risk that any girl he dallied could end up with enough incentive to force him to marry her - so it was a mutually beneficial agreement for both of them. A way for them to blow off steam and cool off - or heat up, which was the case more often than not.

The bagpipe players changed their tune, signaling it was time to start getting ready to head back. Hiccup let out a groan of frustration as he pulled away from her lips, making a satisfying smack. He leaned his forehead against her heaving chest for a minute, trailing light fingers along the strip of exposed midriff above her waistband while they caught their breath and attempted to steady their breathing.

“Better go draw those red lines on your face, Haddock,” Astrid said at last, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, you’ll need them,” he retorted. “You already miss me plenty with the helpful red marks giving you a perfect target.” She hissed and bared her teeth.

“If you think you’re going to win this year, you’re wrong,” she threatened. Hiccup cocked his head mockingly.

“Tell me, who was taking your sheep in that last round, huh, Astrid?” he asked infuriatingly.

“I was winning it back,” she sniped back at him. “So I actually have the most claim on that sheep out of the both of us.”

“Before you threw the sheep away from you and let Heather catch it,” Hiccup reminded her.

“It was your fault,” she insisted. “I had to win it back from you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hiccup cut in. “I’ll get the black sheep, and that will be the end of your delusions about winning.”

“You’re not gonna get the black sheep,” she scoffed.

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “If I win . . . I’ll do that thing you like afterwards.”

Hiccup’s eyes darkened and then he shook his head. “You’re not going to bribe me into losing,” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s not bribery, it’s consolation for when you inevitably lose and I’ll be in a good mood,” Astrid said with mock innocence.

“I’m winning this game, Astrid,” he warned her, although she could see lust warring in his eyes. “But, if we’re doing things that way,” he stepped forward into her space again and rested one of his arms on the wall above her head, smiling down at her wolfishly. “If I win, I’ll do that thing you really like,” he breathed into her ear. Astrid tried to feebly suppress her shudder but he sensed her tingling nerves and pulled back with a self satisfied smile.

He might have had a point about being bribed to lose.

No, she felt anger rise up at the part of her that dared to consider the possibilities of her losing. No matter how fun their little arrangement was, she was not going to give up enviable glory for a whole year in favor of a few minutes of pleasure.

. . . Well, it was usually more than just a few minutes.

“Fuck you,” she spat, mostly at herself, not that he needed to know that, and pushed him away from her.

“Is that an expletive or an intention? Because if it’s the last, then please, by all means.” Ugh, she hated when he got all smug and snarky like that. Probably because it usually made her want to crack a smile against her will. She forced her face to look angrier than she was and turned to face him again.

“It’s a fucking threat, asshole, so stay out of my way,” she poked his chest. “I’m winning this thing.”

She brushed past him, pulling her skirt back down and fumbling a little as she tried to tuck her shirt back in. Her clandestine encounters with Hiccup - he always insisted she call him by his name when they were together - usually gave her a mix of satisfied, shy, and increasing irritability at his insufferability that never failed to draw her back in. Their covertness was almost laughable because the only part of their antics their parents would disapprove of was the secrecy, well, and the debauching. But as much as they enjoyed the other, they didn’t like each other, which was why she didn’t like herself starting to understand him (because that would lead to liking him, and she couldn’t have that).

She heard a low whistle behind her and rolled her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to be truly offended.

“See you from the podium, Astrid,” he crooned as she reached the end of the tunnel. She turned around to give him a double middle finger. He could croon all he liked now, but he’d be singing a very different tune soon, because she was going to win. She was going to stand on that podium with Stormfly and smirk at the chief as he handed her the prize instead of his son. She was going to grin at Father tonight and tell him all about her victory, and Mother would give her an extra helping of dessert.

And then, after the evening was over and everyone had gone to sleep, she was going to wake the Heir up and give him the ride of his life.

#HiccstridWeek2024 #dragon racing #Freeform #Hiccstrid #Hiccstrid au #Hiccstrid rivals to lovers #Astrid and Hiccup are rival racers #rivals with benefits #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #HTTYD #HTTYD au #Competitive!Astrid #my writing

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