Someone once said, "You don't need to get hit by a brick to know that it hurts. But you do have to get hit by a brick to know just how it hurts." Dagur had said it a few times himself, usually before he was about to throw a brick at one of his more incompetent underlings. He liked to give his victims a little philosophy to mull over before sending them into throes of agony, but he himself had never taken the time to think hard about that phrase.
That all changed the day Shattermaster was shot down.
Dagur had hurt people before. Sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of anger, and once or twice, simply for the fun of it. He figured it didn't matter too much what the person in question thought about it. He was Dagur the Deranged. He could do whatever he wanted and kill whoever tried to stop him.
One thing that had never crossed his mind, though, was how he hurt more than just one person by throwing a single brick. Certainly, he had felt loss and pain before. Oswald's disappearance had cut him deeper than he liked to admit, and before he and Heather reunited, he occasionally woke in a cold sweat after dreaming about the day he abandoned her. But he had never really made the connection in his head that other people could experience similar things. Loss was something that, in his mind, only happened to him. He also could not remember a time when anyone cared if he was hurt or upset. So he never really knew what it was like to watch someone you loved suffering and be completely helpless to aid them.
But when Fishlegs said the dreaded words, suddenly, his entire worldview came crashing down around him, and he was left with a bitter understanding of just how much damage he had caused whenever he threw a brick...or anything else, for that matter.
"Dagur..." he said as gently as he could, sorrow etched in his chubby face. "Shattermaster is...He's going to survive, but...he'll never be able to fly again."
At first, Fishlegs wondered if Dagur had even heard him. The Berserker Chief's face remained unchanged, frozen in the same expression of anxious attentiveness. After a very long moment, he realized that, while Dagur's face stayed the same, his fists were shaking as they clenched tightly at his sides. Fishlegs took a step back, just in case Dagur decided to punch him in a fit of grieving rage. Fortunately, the only thing he did was take a very, very deep and unsettlingly long breath before closing his eyes and nodding silently. Really, Dagur wanted very much to strangle him, or Ryker, or...anyone who would just hold still long enough, but his anger management training had given him a much needed boost in self-control. Instead of seriously injuring Fishlegs, he swung around suddenly and slammed his fist into the wall, biting his lip as he felt rough splinters dig into his knuckles.
Everything in him was screaming in denial. Shattermaster couldn't be hurt that badly. He had survived flying headfirst into an armada of dragon hunting ships, for Thor's sake! His dragon was a fighter. Besides, what did this beefy hunk of geek know about Berserker dragons? Nevermind that Shattermaster was technically from Dragon's Edge. He was different from all the other dragons. Stronger. Faster. Braver. Just like Dagur was different from all the other Riders.
But looking back at the Gronkle's sad eyes and tired expression, he knew that there was no way his dragon could have escaped unscathed from a blow like that. Even Shattermaster seemed to know it. He rested his chin on his paws, his face a perfect window of dejection and pain. If his fierce and fearless companion had no hope, then Dagur couldn't even try to fool himself into having any.
"Dagur...?" Fishlegs inquired hesitantly.
"Could I have some time alone with him?" Dagur blurted. Truth be told, with such a storm of emotions raging in his chest, he was not sure that he was entirely safe to be around at the moment. That, and he was dangerously close to crying. Fortunately, Fishlegs did not question him, and instead simply nodded and left without another word. Dagur heard him conversing with Heather in a low voice outside, but could not find it in him to care that they were probably talking about him.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, he approached Shattermaster and knelt down in front of him, laying both of his trembling hands on the dragon's bruised and scarred snout. He swallowed a few times against the burning sensation welling up in his eyes before speaking in a hesitant, tremulous voice, such as he had not heard from himself since he was very young.
"H-hey, buddy," he whispered. Shattermaster pushed against his hands affectionately. "How're you feeling?" A high-pitched whine and a soft sigh were his only answers. "You got hit pretty bad back there, didn't you?" Dagur went on, praying to Thor that his voice would stay steady. "You fought like real Berserker out there. I'm proud of you." The Gronkle huffed again and closed his eyes. Dagur ran his hands over his rough, bumpy skin for a few silent moments. Then he swallowed again and gripped his dragon's head desperately between his palms. "When I first met you, I would never have imagined that you were such a brave and formidable warrior." He choked on a sob and felt a tear roll down his cheek. "You and me, we've been through just about everything together...but it's time for you to rest now." Another sob, and two more tears blazed trails down his face. "All great heroes must earn their rest. And Shattermaster, you've more than earned yours.
"I kn-know you'll never be able to fly again," he gasped. "But you need to know that I will n-never abandon you. We're brothers, you and me, and I-I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you never want for anything again." He laid his forehead on Shattermaster's nose. "I promise."
With a groan, the injured dragon heaved himself up on his front paws and shoved his head against his rider's chest. Dagur wrapped his arms around him as best he could. His back heaved like a stormy ocean and his arms trembled, but Shattermaster never pulled away, even when Dagur's salty tears fell onto his nose and dripped off of his chin.
"All that t-time," he sobbed. "I n-never understood that stupid kid. Why he'd give s-so much for his dragon. But y-you taught me how to feel again. How to care about someone so m-much that I'd die for them. I...I can't th-thank you enough. You helped me find my sister, you l-led me to my friends, a-and you rebuilt my tribe with me. Y-you've given everything for me. I swear on the blood of my Berserker forefathers that I will repay you...somehow." Silence fell again, and slowly, Dagur felt his raging soul begin to calm. Somewhere in the back of his mind he made a mental note that crying was actually very cathartic, even if it was somewhat unmanly, and it might be useful for achieving emotional stability again in the future. But only Shattermaster would be allowed to see him do it.
After a while, his back stopped heaving and his arms stopped trembling, and his breath no longer came in ragged pants. Glancing down, he realized that Shattermaster had fallen asleep in his arms, and was snoring softly. Dagur smiled. The dragon was at peace, and so was he. In his younger days, he might have felt more enraged, vengeful even. But somehow, Shattermaster always managed to bring out the better in him. Now that he had stared reality in the face and accepted it, he was simply too tired to continue being furious and bloodthirsty. Instead, he was left with a strange sense of melancholy contentment. He was still sad, of course, but it was less of a sharp stinging pain in his chest and more of a respectful silence that covered his soul and subdued him.
Gently, he laid Shattermaster's head down on the floor and stood up to leave quietly. The Edge was a mess. Lava had flowed down the mountainside and cooled in dark rivers of obsidian. Smoldering rocks lay smoking in the remains of the platforms and stairways that had been damaged during the eruption. The other Riders had all taken to the air to help divert the flow of lava, even Fishlegs and Heather. But he was surprised to discover that there was still someone waiting for him.
Outside of the stables, the Triple Stryke he and Shattermaster had rescued earlier was laying motionless on the ground by the door. His claws were tucked up beneath him and his tail was curled tightly around his body, but when Dagur appeared, he lifted his head up and observed him for a moment. The two stared at each other for an awkward minute or so, and then the dragon did an unexpected thing. He uncurled, stood up, and approached him, with his head bowed, pupils wide and questioning. Without really thinking about it, Dagur reached up and laid his hand on his nose. It felt smooth and cool against his skin, quite different from a Gronkle. But it also felt strangely soothing. The Triple Stryke took another step forward and pushed more earnestly against his hand, crooning softly in the back of his throat.
"Yeah. I'm okay," Dagur answered. He was not sure why, but he had the distinct feeling that this dragon was worried about him. "It's gonna take some time to get used to, but we're both gonna be alright." Suddenly, the volcano gave another heave, and ash and smoke came pouring into the Edge. Dagur looked up to see the other riders racing to pour Gronkle iron over the spouts and bring water to cool the flowing lava. He looked back at the Triple Stryke, who peered up at him expectantly. "Well," he said. "I guess we should go help them now. Think you're big enough to haul my Gronkle back to Berserker Island later?" Sleuther flexed his claws and snapped his beak proudly. Dagur felt the corner of his mouth turn up. "Yeah," he mused as he clambered on to the dragon's back. "I think we're gonna do just fine."
A/N: Yeah, so...not much to say here. Just my personal headcannon as to why Dagur doesn't ride Shattermaster again after Shell Shocked pt 2. Dagur is probably my favorite character, so imagining how he handles grief was a fun challenge. Apologies if he seemed out of character.