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p-artsypants · 10 days ago

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The Pale Rider (1) The Curse of Berk

The Isle of Berk is cursed. Like, extremely cursed. It has been for generations. The extent of the curse has been forgotten over time, but no descendants of the original village are able to leave the island, lest they suffer a gruesome fate.

Three years ago, the Blacksmith invited the Pale Rider to town. He’s a creature that’s haunted the forest and childhood campfire stories for centuries. Now, he arrives every day at noon. One day, Astrid Hofferson decides to be brave and talk to him. He’s actually really nice…for an eldritch abomination.

A Beauty and the Beast AU.

Ao3

Astrid had grown up on the isle of Berk. Born and raised on its cursed soil. She knew the best trees for climbing, she knew every name in the five hundred or so people that roamed the village. She swam its waters, explored its caves. She knew not to eat the dark purple berries on the thorny vines, and she knew not to make fire from black wood. She knew it was bad luck to wander into the bonefield, and that only people with a death wish went out at night. She knew that the trade ships that came in refused to stay more than one night on their soil, and that no ‘blood of the island’ was able to leave the isle’s waters.

And she knew not to approach the Pale Rider.

Life on Berk was not really all that different from life on any other island or village. There were a few things to get used to, but all things considered, life was fine.

Almost idyllic.

They had farms, they had a baker, a blacksmith/butcher/dentist, a tailor, and a medicine woman. There was a large field of wildflowers. And the cliffs that overlooked the ocean offered beautiful views.

What was odd was that they didn’t have a mayor, or chief, or any kind of ruler. There was Oswald the Agreeable, the richest man in town, who had the money to sway most decisions, but he wasn’t looked at for leadership.

And the land was cursed. Oh, extremely cursed.

The extent of the curse was not fully known. It had long been set into the island for many generations. The inciting event had wiped out a large amount of the population, that included the witnesses.

Thus the boneyard and the forbidden, crumbling castle on the mountain.

Besides a few stray quirks of the island, the main effect of the curse was that no one born of the descents of the original village was able to leave. The curse feasted upon the life of its inhabitants and leaving the waters a few miles out would find one drained of energy before they perished.

That’s how her father died.

A fisherman, out alone on his vessel, just trying to go out a little farther to look for a better spot. The medicine woman stated that he had succumbed to the curse before he could even turn around. That was, of course, several days after he hadn’t come back and his ship finally floated back.

So if you weren’t the adventurous or vacationing type, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Oh right, there was also the Pale Rider.

When she was a child, stories of the Rider would instill fear into the children of the village. He was responsible for the missing livestock, for the trails of blood, and piles of bones. It was only a matter of time before his hunger would turn to those who he cornered in dark alleys at night.

Things changed a few years ago. Whereas the Rider had only ever been talked about, and stood as an urban legend of the town, he was still a mystery. Parents made up what he looked like, how he acted, what he wanted. There was occasionally a sighting. Someone would come ranting and raving in the village square that they saw the Rider running across the ocean or some other flight of fancy. Others still swore they heard the whinny of his horse. Although when asked to describe it, they ended up mimicking the sound of a bear or a mountain lion.

It all started with Bucket. He was another fisherman, and had a lightning bolt strike him on the head one day, causing a delay in thought process. He wore a bucket on his head to protect his soft skull, hence the name ‘Bucket’. Casually, one night at the Great Hall, he stated that he had caught someone trying to steal from the fish barrels.

“Who was it, Bucket?” Asked Mulch, his fishing partner.

“I don’t know. Didn’t ask his name.”

“Well, what did he look like?”

“Oh…tall fella. Recon 7 feet tall. Had a long black cloak, a deer skull on his head, oh! And when I yelled at him, he flew away on a horse!”

There was a moment of silence as everyone thought that through.

“Do ya think it was the Pale Rider?”

“Oh, I bet it was! Didn’t say a word though!”

Apparently, that was all it took for one man. The village Blacksmith/butcher/dentist, an eccentric man named Gobber, gifted with a backbone made of steel, decided he had enough. He called everyone together in the village square and announced, “I have invited the Pale Rider to come to my shop tomorrow, and he accepted.”

Horrified murmurings fell over the crowd.

“You did what?”

“Aye! You heard me! I got tired of the creature snagging my chickens! Pickin’ them off one by one…terrified them out of laying eggs! The last time he took one, I nearly caught him in the act. I yelled ‘well at least pay for the bugger!’ and he threw a gold coin at me.”

“…so you invited him into the village?”

“Yes!” Gobber exclaimed. “But you’re looking at it all wrong. I invited him to come and run his errands like a normal person, instead of him stealing like a horrible raccoon!”

“He’s no horrible raccoon! He’s worse! He’s a demon!”

“An abomination!”

“The curse that walks!”

“Death incarnate!”

“Now now,” a voice called out among the crowd. This belonged to Dagur, son of the richest man in town, Oswald. As the richest family, the Berserker clan had some power, and opinions. “I’m sure Gobber didn’t mean any harm in inviting…an eldritch monster into our sweet little village.”

“It’s jus’ as much his village as everyone else’s! He’s been here longer than all of us. A little goodwill won’t hurt nobody.”

“You better hope it won’t, old man.” Dagur poked him in the chest. “Or I’ll make sure you suffer.”

Astrid remembered the day the Pale Rider came to town for the first time. She was only 14, still a child. Her father was still alive. That day was sunny with big pillowy clouds. Many folks would claim that he arrived on a gray, rainy day, but that simply wasn’t true. It was sunny, and lovely.

The caws of ravens preceded him. A flock of five swooping in. Then a horn from the watchtower alerted an intruder.

The black shadow appeared at the edge of town, opposite to Gobber’s forge, at the gates. People screamed and ran inside, while others coward in alleyways, terrified but curious to see what would happen.

Astrid had been pulled into her house by her father, but still peered out the door to watch.

The Pale Rider made his way through town, the clacking of horse hoofs and the calls of the ravens the only thing to show life in the village.

He was not what she was expecting, but much worse. His horse, if you could call it that, was a black beast with leathery wings. It had tusks and fangs and its hooves morphed into talons. Its eyes glowed an acid green and it breathed fire from its nostrils. Its shape was unnatural. The neck looked like it was made of only bone, and its joints were spindly and narrow.

The Rider himself was tall, too tall. His neck was elongated, as were his black and blue fingers. He wore an animal skull mask over his face, but his own violent eyes still burned with visible green flames through the sockets. He had antlers like an elk, and wore a long, draping black cloak that fell open just enough to reveal his chest.

His heart was on fire inside of him, and the flame illuminated it through the skin, only obscured by the form of his rib cage.

Astrid’s home wasn’t too far from Gobber’s shop, and she slipped out to watch the Rider arrive.

Gobber waited for him, hands on his hips and smiling. “There you are! I wondered if ya’d show. And ah, sorry ‘bout the cold reception! I told the other folks that you were comin’ and well, maybe one day they’ll come around.”

The Rider didn’t respond.

“Right, so come on in…” Gobber beckoned him into the forge.

The Rider ducked his head, entering the forge, horse and all. His antlers scraped against the doorframe.

He stayed for about an hour. Then, just as he came, he left. Silent, slowly, just rode down the hill and out of town, leaving everyone behind to deal with the aftermath.

That was three years ago. Every day since then, without fail, the Pale Rider would arrive at noon. For the first year, the guard sounded the horn at his approach. But after a while, he went unannounced.

People still halted in the streets and let their conversations go silent. They watched him go, no longer terrified, but cautious.

No one said it, but everyone agreed one day he’d snap and kill them all.

Not Astrid though. She had come to see the Rider as a part of village life. Just as the rooster signifies dawn, so does the Rider declare noon.

Each day, he went to the blacksmith’s shop, taking his horse in with him. Some days he left with a paper package, and some days he left empty handed.

One night at the Great Hall, the topic of the Rider was broached.

“I’m telling ya Gobber, inviting that thing here everyday is wrong! Simply wrong!” Said the farmer, Sven.

“Oh?” Asked Gobber. “How so?”

“How so?! Are you daft, man? Can’t you see the terror you have caused this town? We were happier when the boogie man was a rare sight! Now we have to see him every day!”

“And?” Asked Gobber, pointing an accusing finger at him. “He’s a wee spooky, yeah, but what else has he done? Hmm? Lose anymore livestock since he started comin’ round?”

Sven screwed up his lips, but didn’t answer.

“Gobber,” a woman asked. “What does the Rider do when he comes to your shop? I think if you can answer that, we’d all feel a bit better.”

Gobber then noticed how many people were interested in hearing this information, as they turned to look and listen.

He held up his hands. “Alright, I’ll only talk about it once, because it’s not my place to divulge the lad’s business.”

Astrid took particular note of the word ‘lad’. The Rider was several centuries old by now, but Gobber spoke as if he were a boy.

“He’s just…well, doing business! Somedays, he gets some cuts of meat. I’ve re-shoed his horse a few times. First time was a doozy, I’ll tell you that!”

“That horse wears shoes?” Astrid found herself asking.

“Aye lass! He’s very particular about it! Brought me this fancy black metal to use! Never told me what it was…”

“And?” Someone else asked. “What else?”

“Oh not much, really. He’s real quiet, doesn’t talk much. Not at all if he can help it. But I think he’s lonely.”

Lonely? Astrid wondered. Did a creature like that actually have feelings?

That was a rather cruel thought, considering the Rider had been completely harmless for years now.

“Yes,” Gobber continued. “Some days, he lets his horse out back to graze and then just sits and keeps me company. I’ve even taught him a thing or two about smithin’. ‘E seems to like it.”

Sven scoffed. “Teaching the devil how to make weapons? You’re daft! Daft I say!”

“Oh like his horse couldn’t kill a bear with a single swipe!” Gobber waved him off. “He has a talent for it too. I think at one point, he may have had some skills! But…whatever happened to make him this way, it’s stolen life and memories from him.”

“He used to be someone?” Astrid asked, horrified.

Gobber shrugged. “At least I think so. That, or he just popped out of the ground one day, like a very scary tulip.”

Gobber had to have such a unique perspective on the Rider to describe him as a ‘Tulip’.

Astrid decided she also didn’t want to live in fear. Her life had been a hard one, personally. Her childhood wasn’t so bad, but after the death of her father, it seemed like the blows kept coming.

If she could have the peace of mind that this monster was nothing like the childhood stories, that was one less thing to worry about.

Near noon the next day, Astrid went over to Gobber’s shop.

He seemed somewhat surprised to see her there. “Astrid? Uh…how can I help you, lass? Are you here to pick something up for ye mum?”

“I would like two pounds of stew beef, please.”

“‘A course. It’ll take me a moment to cut that up. But I’ll have it all ready for you if ya want ta come back later.”

Astrid frowned. “But can I not just wait here?”

“Sure,” he chuckled. “But the Rider will be here any moment.”

“So?” She crossed her arms. “He can wait his turn.”

Gobber barked a loud laugh and wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh that’s a good one. He’d love to hear that! Nothing says ‘part of the village’ like having to wait yer turn at the shops, eh?”

The telltale shush fell over the village from outside, and Astrid heard the caws of several ravens. Goosebumps raised on her flesh, and she started shaking, but she refused to leave.

“This’ll be interestin’…” Gobber said darkly, a little grin on his face.

The clack of horse hooves outside told her all she needed to know. She had but a few seconds to dart out the back now.

But no, she was determined to see this through.

The Rider bowed, entering the little shop, before raising up to his full height. He was even more terrifying close up. His black cloak almost seemed to emit smoke.

His horse sniffed her, embers flying out its nose.

Astrid stood still, petrified, and unmoving as two sets of acid green eyes stared at her.

Gobber cut the tension with a razor sharp knife. “Afternoon lad! What can I do for you today?”

The Rider whipped his gaze back to Gobber, silent for a moment. Then he dismounted his horse.

He was still tall. Maybe two feet taller than her. But he was thin and gangly. He leaned to one side, and Astrid could now see that he only had one leg. One side wore greaves made of a dark metal, while the other leg was made of twisted black wood.

Once off, the horse walked past her, leisurely making its way to the back pen, and snacking on grass.

Astrid only now noticed the singed spots of grass out there, as the grass smoldered under the horses hooves.

The Rider just stood there, not saying a thing, but staring at her.

“Well lass, guess I’ll get that beef cut for you,” said Gobber. “You’ll have to wait, Rider. She’s ahead of you in line!” He laughed.

Astrid swallowed hard, and then raised her hand to the apparition. “Hello, I’m Astrid Hofferson,” she spoke, perhaps louder than intended. But her voice trembled mightily. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The Rider tilted his head, then looked down at her hand.

“Ohhh,” said Gobber.

“What?” Astrid panicked. “Should I not have offered to shake his hand?”

Before she could change her mind, fingers as cold as ice wrapped around her hand and squeezed. She looked down, searing the image into her mind. His hands were dark gray and shiny, like they were covered in graphite, and then slowly turned dark blue down at his fingertips. His nails were long, black, and pointed, almost like claws. He squeezed, sending a ripple of tingling energy up her arm.

“You…” he spoke, his voice deep and gravelly, like it hadn’t been used in years. But there was a nasally quality that threw her off. Almost made him sound more human. “...are not afraid of me?”

Oh she was. She was a hair away from crying, but she just smiled back and said, “should I be?”

He shook his head.

A wave of relief went through her as she sighed.

“At least,” he added. “Not now.” Then he released her hand.

The hair on the back of her head raised, but she did her best to just appear calm, cool, and collected.

The Rider turned to Gobber. “I will wait.”

“Alrighty! I’ll be right back with that beef! It’s in the cold storage,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder and headed into the back.

Astrid wanted to protest and ask him to wait and help the Rider first. She desperately didn’t want to be alone with him!

But words stilled on her lips and Gobber was gone.

Silence stretched between them as Astrid awkwardly raised her arms to hug herself. “Uh…” She began. “I never got your name.”

He was quiet, and Astrid thought he wouldn’t answer, but ultimately he said, “I don’t remember it. Rider is fine.”

Her heart flipped, a pang of another emotion than fear finally making itself known. “You don’t remember your name?”

He shook his head. “Or many things. A result of…” he raised his hands, then gestured to himself.

“Are you cursed?”

He glanced her way, and though she couldn’t see his expression, she could feel his eyes boring into her, like she had asked a really stupid question. “Yes.”

“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Do you…remember your horse’s name?”

“Toothless,” he said easily, no hesitation.

Astrid looked out to the pen, studying the horse. The only horse she had seen with more teeth than could fit in its mouth. “Oh, it’s an ironic name, right?”

He bowed his head, thinking. “When I met him…he…could retract them.”

“So he’s also cursed? Package deal sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

“I see…” she gnawed on her lip. “He seems pretty well trained.”

“Yes.”

Now it was getting awkward. She had questions for him, but wasn’t sure if this meeting was the proper place to ask them. Maybe she could come back, gain some confidence, lull him into a sense of friendship and security like Gobber had.

“Here we are!” Gobber announced, slab of beef in hand. He wrapped it up in paper, and rang it up. “One silver piece please.”

“Gobber, you’re undercharging me,” she stated, with a frown.

“Maybe a little, but I know money is tight for you an’ yur mum. It’s no big deal.”

Her face heated. “We’re getting by just fine, Gobber. The floral business is doing well.”

Gobber sighed. “Fine, two silver pieces.”

As she took out her coin purse, the ice gray hand deposited two silver coins on the counter.

Astrid whipped her head to look at him. “You…you really don’t need to do that. I’d really prefer not to be in debt to people.”

“I owe you,” he stated firmly. “For your kindness.”

Astrid felt that lurch in her chest again. “You don’t owe me for that. Certainly not two silver pieces.”

“Please,” he said softly, almost a lilt. “Let me.”

Who was Astrid to deny the Pale Rider of anything? “I suppose…thank you.”

He hummed, scooting the coins towards Gobber.

“Oh a lad paying for a lass’s groceries? How sweet!”

Astrid didn’t know how to express the very clear doubt she had about this ‘lad’. It was fair that the Rider had good intentions, but making any sort of romantic insinuation about it was just plain unfair. And wrong.

Astrid took the package and backed away from the counter, allowing the Rider room. But she didn’t leave. Not yet.

“And for you, Rider? What’ll it be?”

“Chicken. Alive.”

Gobber swallowed. “A…live chicken? Well, sure. Egg layer?”

“Whichever has the most personality.”

Astrid’s skin crawled. What was that supposed to mean?

“Why don’t we go look at them, and you can choose?” He pointed outside, where the horse was grazing.

The Rider listed to the side and walked with a shambling gait towards the back door.

Astrid tiptoed after, just watching with a bit of horror and a lot of curiosity.

Gobber gave the Rider a handful of chicken feed and stepped back.

In turn, the Rider sprinkled the feed at his feet, and waited.

One lone chicken was either brave enough or stupid enough to approach the Rider and started feasting.

He watched it for a moment, then stated, “That one will do.”

“Alright, I can get a box for her? Or if you want to just carry her by the feet—“

The Rider scooped the chicken up with both hands, awkwardly, like he had never held a chicken before. He tucked the bird under his arm and beckoned his horse over.

Then he shoved the chicken in his saddle bag, rather roughly, with a flurry of feathers cascading down around him.

“How much?” The Rider then asked.

“Oh, five silver, please.”

The Rider deposited the coin in the man’s hand, and then began to lead his horse back inside.

Astrid scrambled back, standing in the corner, and pretending not to have watched.

He led Toothless through the forge, nodding his head at her as he passed. Then he mounted up once outside, and departed.

Astrid rushed to the counter. “What is he doing with that chicken?!” She asked, horrified.

“Lass, I can’t begin to know.”

“Is he going to torture it or something? Why did he want one with a personality?! That’s so creepy!”

“Maybe he likes fresh eggs in the morning. I know I do.”

“Gobber! You know damn well that’s not what he wants.”

Gobber shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know what he’s up to.”

“But you know him better than anyone!”

“Aye, but that’s not saying much. In three years, I’ve only learned scant little things about him. I didn’t know the name of his horse! I was never brave enough to ask him!”

“Really?”

“Of course! I thought for certain the name was going to be something so ancient that it made your ears bleed when he spoke. But Toothless? Never saw one coming.”

Astrid went to the front door and peaked out, wondering if she’d catch a glimpse of the Rider retreating.

But he was gone. Just as he came, he was gone.

#fanfiction #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup #hiccstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #beauty and the beast #snotlout jorgenson #tuffnut thorston #ruffnut thorston #heather httyd #dagur the deranged #fishlegs ingerman #toothless #the pale rider

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