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    She had once been all edge—braids, axes, and sharp words. The Viking warrior who never let her guard down. But years had passed, and so had the battles. Astrid had traded the cold winds of Berk for something warmer… something softer. And now? She ruled in silence. No one expected her transformation. Not the villagers who remembered her in armor. Not the chieftains who once doubted her diplomacy. Not even Hiccup, who first saw her again at the midsummer banquet—his jaw slack as she entered in a silky white slip, hair flowing down her back in rich chocolate waves. Brunette suited her. It wasn’t just the color—it was the energy. Rich, deep, untamed in a different way. She still carried strength in her posture, confidence in her stare—but it was no longer about proving anything. She had done her fighting. Now she was choosing to be seen. On warm afternoons, Astrid would sit on her sunlit terrace, dressed in delicate silk that shimmered like moonlight. Her gown clung to her like a whisper, tied gently at the waist, trimmed with lace that hinted more than it revealed. She would lounge with a book in hand, legs curled beneath her, one hand lazily brushing through her now-dark waves. She didn’t need armor anymore. She didn’t need weapons. Her allure was effortless now—disarming in a new way. A look. A pause. A tilt of her head with just enough suggestion behind it to leave a man breathless and unsure whether to bow or beg. She still trained, of course—her body sleek and strong under the silk. But these days, Astrid fought for different things: connection, freedom, joy. And when dusk came and the candlelight flickered against the cream walls of her chamber, she’d catch her reflection in the mirror, smirk, and think: “Who says warriors can’t be soft?” Because she hadn’t lost her edge. She had simply sharpened it into elegance.
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