Author's Note
Once again, other writing tasks have taken precedence these last two months, preventing my return to publishing this saga. But even though it may be taking me a while between chapters, and perhaps even longer in responding to reviews (providing Private Messaging is turned on), I do appreciate you reading, and your reviews. But in case you read the reviews here as well, Katielp2693's question from her review of Chapter 35 is already on its way to being answered, at least in one case. Read on and see.
But above all, thank you, and enjoy.
— Norwesterner
Life in our village and on our island continued amidst the frequent snowstorms and occasional sunny but frigid days. At times I thought how nice it would have been if my ancestors had located New Berk on a tropical island instead. But I would soon return to the inevitable conclusion that they had picked the right place, given that isolation and remaining hidden were the goals. No one else was going to bother us here, especially in winter. They hadn't in over nine hundred years . . . at least until I came along.
I was reminded of that, looking around at village houses with patched blast holes still on them, as I would hobble on my crutches across the snowy commons now during the brief periods of daylight, usually while Roana was off on her rounds. During winters, a network of cleared paths was maintained across the village through layers of snow that were now deeper than I was tall. We minimized the work however, mostly by melting and compacting the snow until it was hard enough to walk on, even for a dragon. To be honest, the dragons basically did all of it. After all, why would a human villager labour in the snow, hurling shovelful after shovelful of it aside, perhaps progressing just ten to twenty metres in an hour; when a dragon could do the same work in a minute or less with a good, sustained blast of fire?
Just as we humans in the village had made traditions out of Ingathering and Yule, the dragons had made a tradition out of clearing paths for all of us in the village in winter. Roana had easily grunted their name for this tradition to me one day, but I couldn't begin to spell it here, let alone pronounce it. Village humans had never bothered coming up with a Norse name for it—they just used the Dragon name for this tradition, as it was the dragons' to begin with.
As long as we kept them fed with fish, after each snowstorm, village dragons would emerge from our houses in force, re-clearing the same network of paths, both among houses, and across the commons. Some cave dragons would come down to the village and pitch in as well, in exchange for a few platters of fish, even though those same dragons would also go on fish runs, sharing their catches with us.
"Why do they do it?" I asked Substance one morning as both she and I observed all the dragon snow clearing activity from our front porch—Roana having encouraged both of us to get some sunshine and fresh air while she made her vet rounds to the dragon caves on Rökkr.
"Because village needs it," my dragon simply replied, hearing the fiery blasting going on around us that she knew so well.
"But the dragons caught the fish we're supposedly paying them with," I added, "even dropping fish off with us from runs they still make, to give back to them later. They're not even taking many fish from the relief supplies we're bringing in."
"You taste that fish?" my dragon asked.
"That bad, huh?" I realized as Substance continued facing silently out towards the commons without further comment, seeming to emphasize her point. "Then I'm really not getting why they help us," I wondered in confusion.
"Why you help another when they cannot pay?" Substance asked.
"Be— . . . Because it feels good," I slowly replied, grasping for any answer I could think of.
"Why would dragons not want to feel good also? Contribute to well-being of all?" she countered. "Payment of fish was started not for dragons, but to help humans feel better about us clearing snow for them.
"Tell you dragon secret," Substance then quietly said to me. "You humans think you take care of us; but we dragons know we take care of you."
I just turned and gave her a puzzled, even amazed look.
"You cannot come or go from island without us—at least before helicopters," she continued, accurately seeming to sense the surprised vibes I must have been giving off. "You could not fish without us, or farm as much food without us. Humans would have starved and died here long ago without us. We care for, protect, and feed you."
"We're pets to you then?" I wondered, looking at her.
"Equals better term," my Night Fury companion replied, "but sometimes, yes, you are pets to us. Caring for you make us feel good, bring us joy. Your kind seem more uncomfortable or sensitive about idea though, so we not talk about it, except among selves. You seem wise enough though, Lannce."
I now shook my head once more, even chuckling a little as I saw a villager present a Nadder with a platter of thawed fish after it had finished re-clearing another path. "That villager," I noted in explanation for my blind dragon, "paying the Nadder with fish that the dragon itself had perhaps caught a while back, with the dragon swallowing the fish off that platter, in apparent gratitude, even relish."
"Nadder is grateful," Substance noted, "just like you grateful when someone hands you tea or snack after hard work. No different. Guardian Love started tradition after Toothless pass on, including paying with fish, inspired by acts she saw among your kind. Wise dragon she was."
"You know of all the Guardians before you?" I wondered, still standing next to Substance on my crutches.
"Ask, and I tell you about them," she offered. "There are many. It hard to pick one to talk about unless question is asked."
"How many?" I queried.
"Dragons not good with numbers," she replied. "That human 'department', as you say. You like counting things, we don't see need to. One, us, is all we care about."
I removed my glove from my left hand, and laid that hand on Substance's head, gently rubbing, even itching it a little around her right earlobe where I knew she liked it.
"You're right," I simply said, leaning on my crutches. "One is all that matters here."
We both faced outward across the commons again, in companionate silence for a moment.
"Thank you for itching ear . . . pet," she then quietly said with a smile as my hand stopped moving around her earlobe.
I just turned, shedding my crutches and dropping onto my good knee, letting my right leg, still rigidly straight in its cast, slide down a couple steps off our porch onto a cleared pathway in the snow, embracing Substance's large black head with a smile on my own face as both of us laughed.
— — — — —
Another day though I was hobbling on those same dragon-cleared paths, even as more snow was falling on them, towards the house where our MJK platoon was billeted, having been told by a commando that my Air Force cousin, Brigader Hyse, wanted to talk with me once again via the MJK's radio.
Soon, I was welcomed as usual inside by several members of the platoon, and with some embarrassment—also as usual now—I was helped to sit down on a wooden bench at a rectangular wooden dining table set against a wall.
"Sjef Ýsa er her. Over," the MJK radioman said into his hand microphone.
"So how are you doing, Chief? Over," I heard from one radio set up among several on the table.
"Fine, Brigader," I assured with equal formality, depressing the button on the microphone the MJK radioman handed me. "My right arm is thankfully out of its cast now, and I only have a few more weeks to go with my leg. Over."
"Good to hear," my cousin replied. "Am I still on speaker? Over."
"Yes. Over," I responded.
"Could you switch to headphones, please, Colonel? I have classified information for your ears only. Over," the radio speaker crackled.
I donned a set that was handed to me by the radio operator seated next to me. "On headphones. Over," I then confirmed as the radioman got up and stepped away as military protocol required in these situations.
"Good, Lance," my cousin now said in a seemingly more relaxed tone. "I wanted to inform you that we will be rotating your MJK unit out of Berk within the next few days, when the weather clears. Over."
"But we lost O'Connell to his unit some weeks ago," I couldn't help sighing now into the hand microphone I was holding. "If we can't keep at least a few of these guys to orient and train the new unit, it will be down to just Roana able to train them in anything besides the Old Norse that our six other remaining Dragon Riders speak. I'm really in no shape to help her yet. Over."
"Your replacement unit will already be somewhat familiarized," my well-placed cousin now assured however. "They are a new FSK unit, comprised entirely of Outside Berkers. Flying with dragons will be about the only thing they won't already be trained and familiar with. The baroness and her representatives have been working hard to arrange it with the Defence Ministry for the last two months. The Defence Minister and the Chief of Defence have also acceded to the baroness' request to have me appointed their flag commander, and your wife, Major Lansen, will be their commanding officer. Over."
"Major Lansen? Over," I queried.
"Your outside cover surname now," he replied. "I was told it was given to you both by the Outside Berkers. But this FSK platoon is to be billeted on your island permanently as a shared unit with the Berk Nation," he went on, "with dependents. New Berk will be designated as a classified LFV Air Station, even if it's just a house or two they occupy. Over."
"Well, Roana is rather busy," I hesitantly replied, "with all her other various duties in the village, including her medical ones. Over."
"We realize that," my cousin replied. "She will have an executive officer assisting her in the unit, so her command responsibilities should be light. It was the easiest way to give your tribe recognized command of the unit though, as Roana already has a commissioned rank in the Norwegian armed forces through the FSA. Giving you, a North American, permanent command of an ostensibly Norwegian unit was something that the Defence Ministry in Oslo just was not prepared to agree to at present. Over."
"Understood. Over," I replied.
"Somehow," Gunnar continued, "I felt discovering I was related to you was going to be problematic and cause me more work. Over."
"Funny," I replied with some sarcasm. "But how about my request? How is O'Connell doing? Over."
"That's the other thing," my cousin responded. There seemed to be a long silence now. "Word came back this morning that O'Connell was injured in a clandestined action in support of the Afghan Mujahideen, who inadvertently encountered a Soviet tank column in a mountain valley. He was wounded . . . severely."
I closed my eyes, lowering my head.
"His unit was able to clandestinely medivac him out to an aircraft carrier in the Indian Ocean," Gunnar continued. "They've stabilized him and he is now en route by air to the Landstuhl Military Hospital in Germany. I've been told that he has only a fifty percent chance of living . . . over."
"We want him," I immediately responded, "here—as soon as he's further stabilized in Germany. Over."
"Lance," my cousin sighed on the radio, "it's not that easy. First he's an American citizen and sailor. Second, he has some family back in the states, although only cousins now according to what I'm seeing. And third, there's not much of him apparently left. I'm informed he's lost both his right arm and leg, and he may lose his left leg as well. You're in no real position to care for him there at Berk. Over."
"We've performed detailed surgery on Alexi, our Russian defector," I replied, "even on his brain. Over."
"With mixed results I'm told. Over," Gunnar responded.
"We are quite used to and capable of dealing with severe injuries and handicaps here now . . . unfortunately," I continued. "Over."
"But he may wish to return to America, to his family," my cousin countered. "I am not seeing any expressed wishes in his status information, even classified, that he wants to return to Berk. Over."
"He should still have two sashes with him," I responded, "a knight's leather sash like Roana and I wear on ceremonial occasions, and a blue sash with Garrison's medals on it. Over."
"I'm not aware of any of that," Gunnar radioed back. "But it is standard policy among elite services that personal effects be left behind, especially before covert missions so as not to give one's identity or unit away. Over."
I was a bit frustrated now at not having formalized O'Connell's status and wishes when we had the chance as he departed. "Does he still have Garrison's medals with him on a blue sash?" I asked anyway. "He would have carried at least those on his person no matter what, likely in a jacket, even a shirt pocket or pouch. Over."
"I have no idea," Gunnar sighed, "but I will ask. Why? Over."
"Because he accepted those from Dragon Garrison, promising to bring them back," I continued. "That promise was witnessed by the entire village, even the MJK platoon. Further, I made him our first new Dreki Riddari or Dragon Knight, as Roana and I are, hence the knight's sash. He willingly became, and is, a citizen of Berk—the same status as I am, an immigrant. Garrison's medals with him will be proof of that—at least of his intention to return and give them back personally. Over."
"I don't know about this," my cousin sighed, " . . . over," having nothing else to reply with.
"I will take this up with the baroness," I warned, "and we will initiate a diplomatic action to protect and return what we consider to be our own. Over."
"Please don't do that. Over," Gunnar almost begged on the radio.
"You trust Roana? Over," I radioed.
"Implicitly. Over," he replied.
"Then," I decided on the spot, "she will be travelling out with the MJK platoon, and proceeding to Germany to handle O'Connell and his situation personally, as our emissary—a role she has ably done before. With official diplomatic credentials and top NATO military clearance, no one will be able to deny her access, or ignore her. Just make sure the FSK medic that comes to us can also function as a vet in Roana's absence. Over."
"Do you one better," he replied. "I know that a young Outside Berker has been rushed through vet technician training at the Oslo Zoo . . . specializing in large reptiles. Sheep should be easy for them—don't know whether it's a him or a her though. Whoever it is though is supposed to be flown to my air base and will hopefully arrive in time to join the FSK platoon. Over."
"Accepted," I replied. "Now just wish me luck. Over."
"Why? Over," he wondered.
"Because I haven't asked Roana yet. Over," I noted.
"We'll be ready for a full state funeral here if one is needed. Over," he responded.
"Really funny," I sighed.
— — — — —
"I will ask the baroness to join me," Roana replied, before I could finish asking her once I was home again. "I'll need her to get me fresh Norwegian military dress and service uniforms anyway. Now I have to remember where my decorations and epaulettes are, if my former self didn't move them around," she continued, turning to already search through her belongings to start packing.
Colour me relieved—very relieved.
Sure enough, a couple days later, the weather cleared and a Royal Norwegian Air Force helicopter was landing in the valley just above our village, at a spot that the dragons had cleared amid the deep snow.
"Some of us," one MJK platoon member stopped to tell me as they passed toward the helicopter, "would like to return when our enlistments are up. I am one of them."
"You realize that would mean giving up a life on the outside," I cautioned.
"Yes sir," the commando forthrightly replied, wearing his battle helmet once more with his winter parka, while toting his weapon on his shoulder along with his gear in a heavy backpack. "But of all the peacekeeping and other missions I've been on," he said, taking a final look around our village, "all the peoples and tribes I've protected . . . protecting this village, this last, ancient Viking village, and these dragons these last few months have come to mean more to me than anything else. For the first time, I envy the unit that is taking over for us. I want to come back . . . and stay."
"I understand," I assured, laying a hand on his shoulder. "It's why I'm here, too—even if I wasn't chief. Just talk with Roana during the flight, tell her we've talked, and she will start making things happen."
"Yes sir," the soldier smiled, saluting, as I was thankfully now able to return his salute with my healed right arm. As he left, I realized I had forgotten to ask him if he was one of the several Outside Berkers clandestinely assigned to this MJK unit that the Baroness had told me about during her last visit. But I figured if he was, he would have told me. If he wasn't, it was better not to ask.
"Tell me what?" my mate smiled, interrupting my thoughts as she came up next to me, toting just a small satchel of personal belongings, but still dressed in Berker winter garb.
"We have our second committed Outsider Dragon Rider, as well as maybe several more," I smiled, glancing at the MJK commando as he now trudged along the rounded, dragon-cleared path through the snow to rejoin the rest of his unit as they boarded the helicopter.
"Third. You were the first, before O'Connell," she countered as she kissed my cheek.
"Gods willing, our own force will be rebuilt," I sighed. "We won't just be dependent wards of Outside soldiers."
"You take this 'chief' job too seriously at times, you know that?" Roana said warmly. "But I love you for doing so," she added as we moved to embrace each other.
"This place, and our people, deserve it," I replied, once more feeling the weight of shepherding Berk, our people and legacy on my shoulders.
Roana just silently held me tightly for a moment in deep gratitude. I could only smile as I embraced her in return, finding myself equally thankful.
"Besides," I added though, lightening things up now as the helicopter nearby was beginning to power up for departure, its blades beginning to spin again, "I wouldn't be your mate, proud warrior and co-chief, if I didn't."
"If you want me to let go of you, you'd better stop," she whispered in my ear.
That made me smile and hold her all the tighter.
"You gonna miss me?" she then queried in my ear.
"I already am," I sighed as loosened our grips and looked at each other again. "But I know it's for a good cause . . . Miles O'Connell."
"The baroness is on good terms with the NATO Secretary General in Brussels, as well as the NATO Supreme Commander," she replied. "So don't worry, we'll get him here . . . even if it's to pass among his chosen people and tribe."
Our shared gratitude and good feelings were now tinged with sadness.
"I want it to be more than that," I quietly said.
"Me, too," Roana agreed, sharing one last kiss as the helicopter's turbines really started to whine now and we knew she had to go. "But we, you and I, haven't been apart like this since the battle," she then noted.
"Had to happen sometime," I smiled.
"Tana and Rökkr will take good care of you and the family," she added. "You just take care of the tribe, okay?"
"Got it," I replied, still smiling.
"I love you, my Ýsa," she said as we shared a final hug and kiss.
"I love you, too, my Johannsen," I warmly replied.
"Call me Ýsa, too," she said. "I'll be giving birth to one of those, one of these days."
"Roana . . . ?" I wondered with a raised eyebrow.
"Not positive, but I think I might be," she smiled. "I'll have it checked out while I'm on the Outside. Gotta go, my love."
Before I could even react with either surprise or joy, she gave me a quick final kiss and was gone from my arms, being the last person to board the waiting helicopter.
Somehow, Roana had found a way to take my heart with her as I watched that helicopter ascend into the brilliant blue sky. Even though I was surrounded by villagers, and the new FSK platoon executive officer was coming towards me, presumably for an orientation and discussion, I hadn't felt this alone in quite some time now.
— — — — —
The next days were busy yet quiet. Rökkr took to not only flying me up to the dragon caves as needed, but also walking me around the village as I attended to my duties as chief, with me riding in his saddle. I told him that I had already been walking on crutches, and that it was a little embarrassing. But he insisted, even blocking the front door of our house until I would stretch my good leg over his lowered neck and seat myself upon him. That Tana would tack and untack his saddle whenever he asked didn't help.
"Just taking care of pet," Substance would gently remind me when I'd express any frustration over this.
"You're right," I'd smile, finding any resistance in me instantly melting at her words. I would then compliantly seat myself upon Rökkr's saddle, with Rökkr and Substance grunting in either satisfaction or conspiracy as they nudged each other before he would bear me out through the door.
Being cared for as a dragon's pet. That was still a mind-blowing concept for me. But the more I saw of dragon and human interactions after that one talk with Substance, the truer the idea seemed to be.
Ran, our village physician, continued to check on me at times in Roana's absence—I think mostly to complain, as he kept muttering in Norse during each visit about the new FSK medic almost usurping him in attending to our human population.
"Þú ert læknir okkar, Ran, you're our doctor," I would patiently assure each time, while itching, literally, to get the remaining cast off my right leg.
What made him even more irritable though was having to double in Roana's absence as the island vet and dragon doctor. The vet tech I had been promised failed to make it to the air base in time to join the FSK's helicopter flight, and the subsequent winter weather was deemed just bad enough to warrant a precautionary further delay until the next flight to bring supplies, or more than just one person. When I talked with him via radio though, this young tech, having apparently been set on a zoological career in a big city until our Outside network leaned on him, didn't seem interested in being driven up to the lifeboat station, and then brought in the now "old-fashioned" way by Dragon Rider.
"I have equipment, belongings and furnishings to bring with me," he had advised on the radio.
Somehow, I had managed to make do coming here on a dragon without all that.
Our new resident FSK, or Forsvarets Spesialkommando, platoon were Royal Norwegian Air Force and not Marines this time—hence my Air Force cousin being appointed this unit's flag commander. As they were all recruited Outside Berker, little if any orientation was needed . . . other than being surprisingly unfamiliar with hearing and speaking our Old Norse. Maybe it was our thick local accent. But I had to do a lot of translating in the beginning, using English as a bridge language as I was not sure of my contemporary Bokmål or Nynorsk, and Outside Norwegians seemed to almost universally speak English as a strong second language.
The FSK initially settled into the house that the MJK had occupied, but these troops were wanting to disperse into other houses so that those who were married could bring their families to the village. Even with all the destruction the battle had wreaked, we still had wound up with two intact houses left empty from our losses, and Tana was willing to volunteer hers as well, now that she was living with my family and would never leave.
So the FSK soldiers drew lots among them, and within a few days, the first three families were flown in by troop helicopter one bright and calm morning with what belongings they could bring, along with our vet tech and his stuff. The children among the dependents, while having grown up with the Journal and dragon stories since infancy, were told that although they were going to have to learn a somewhat new language, they were in for a 'big surprise'.
Sitting on Rökkr, with Substance and Spring beside us at the landing area just above the village, and surrounded by a number of other villagers and dragons of various breeds, I watched as the troop helicopter's rear ramp dropped. The looks on those five children's faces as they saw us for the first time were ones of priceless awe. It was one of those rare times when the wild fantasies of childhood actually did come true.
"Velkommen til Berk. Welcome to Berk," I managed to say to them in both Bokmål and English, as Spring and a number of volunteer host dragons, both young and grown, along with human village children, stepped forward to greet our young new arrivals and invite them to explore and play in the snow. While our Old Norse was likely as difficult for these new children to understand as it was for their parents, and Dragon utterly unintelligible to them—as it still basically was to me—Spring had brought something that needed no translation most anywhere in the world . . . his soccer ball, held within his teeth.
All it took was a gesture of his head off towards the snow-covered valley fields above the village and helicopter landing, and they were all off, dragon and human youth together—trudging, even running through deep snow, trying to toss and catch that ball among them.
Mounted on Rökkr's saddle, I watched them play for a moment. While other places on Earth had problems with race, class, or castes . . . there seemed to be no division among these human and dragon children. They were simply playing ball in the snow. Some had jacketed arms and gloved hands, while others had bare wings and paws. It made no difference to them at all as they soon divided into two equal teams. They even welcomed their differences as the human children gathered around the young dragons; soon figuring out that dragons were good at catching the ball with their wings, while human children were good at throwing it again with their hands—kicking a soccer ball in deep snow being an exercise in almost utter futility. Teamwork. It was what we were all about in Berk.
Meanwhile, village adults, including dragons of course, helped the arriving parents unload their belongings from the helicopter and settle into their new homes. Even though these new arrivals were used to the idea of dragons, having a Nightmare or Zippleback step up and offer to carry a heavy load of belongings on its back from helicopter to house was still enough to make these new arrivals speechless.
Discovering the generous size of our tall Berker houses, which were designed to accommodate dragons after all, as well as typically extended families—the three new families got right into our village spirit, inviting a further three families to come to the island and double up with them for the rest of the winter. So we were able to accommodate six of the ten dependent families of this FSK platoon almost right off the bat. A further village appeal soon saw others volunteering to take in the remaining four.
The young vet tech, however, seemed to expect a house to himself, given his "position" as he informed me. With a degree of pleasure, I not only told him, "No"—more than once, as he began making an almost daily habit of asking me amid his rounds of the village and island—but I had most of his belongings and furnishings crammed into a spare sheep stable, and had him bunk with Frelsari and Helga's family for the time being.
"Vilt þú mennta nýja komu okkar?" I said, quietly asking my Night Fury neighbour and friend to educate this vet tech as to our ways when he agreed to take him in. Frelsari just nodded, looking at his new houseguest nearby with narrowed eyes and a feral smile.
I was going to enjoy monitoring their progress.
With Roana's concurrence by radio, even our household took in a young mother with an eighteen-month old toddler girl, along with the FSK soldier in their family—allowing me a preview of what I'd likely be experiencing one day. We gave them the bedding area in back behind the screen that Roana and I had occasionally enjoyed. With the noise the toddler was making the first night though, I'll admit I was considering asking other villagers to build a loft—a well sealed one—inside our house.
But then our house dragons stepped in.
After grunting to Tana's Zippleback and it had grunted back, nodding both its heads, "Let us have child," Substance suggested to our guest family.
Nervously, the parents surrendered their crying child, still wrapped in her blanket, into the large and seemingly menacing clawed paw that the Zippleback was extending. The child almost miraculously went quiet however, now looking at the two large, round Zippleback heads looking back at her as the dragon held her in its paw, while Rökkr and Spring dragged over a small spare mattress and quilt. The Zippleback gently laid the toddler down on the mattress, then lying down itself and wrapping both its long necks around both the child and mattress, the dragon's heads coming to rest on either side of the toddler.
Now in rapt awe at the dragon attention she was receiving, the young girl soon faded silently off to sleep.
"Enjoy yourselves behind screen," Substance then invited our guest couple. "Your child completely safe and content. We dragons do this for hundreds of years. She sleep soundly with us from now on."
The young mother could hardly seem to believe her good fortune at having dragon childcare, even at home now. She looked lustfully at her husband, probably for the first time since their child had been born as the two soon disappeared behind the screen, illuminated by a single candle.
"Now we sleep," Substance quietly sighed beside me as I lay back down again myself, " . . . most of us," she added as we began hearing amorous rustling going on behind that screen. "Don't worry," my dragon then assured, "we do this for your child. I just can't bend yet around this one."
"So this is how it starts," I quietly wondered, "how humans learn to live and bond with dragons, even to speak their language."
"And has been since Eric's time in the Journal," my dragon confirmed. "Children are raised by both human and dragon parents in village. They school and play with cave dragons, becoming lifelong friends. It makes us one, and makes life easier for all parents. You will help raise children I have, too, just as we help you raise Spring."
I rubbed Spring now, who was lying on my other side in Roana's spot. He was almost asleep with his nearly teenaged-sized leathery black wings and back against me. My chest and abdomen were just fitting underneath the rounded external vertibrae running along his back. I think he relished having me more to himself at night while my mate was gone . . . more father-son bonding. It just struck me once more though—I was raising a dragon, a Night Fury, as my adopted son. Rökkr and Substance were just assisting me as co-parents. Spring looked to me first as his father.
That just blew me away all over again, and served to counteract the 'pet' idea somewhat. Substance was right—that was an uncomfortable concept for humans, at least me.
"I still can't believe my great grandfather left all this," I openly sighed though, lying in my bedding and hooking my left arm under Spring's somewhat thick neck and down his front between his forelegs, holding him more tightly against my side and marvelling once more at things here. That Asger could have left all this unique, wonderful sense of family and togetherness, even across species . . . it just struck me as pure insanity.
"He took it for granted," Substance reminded me, lowering her head next to me to rest, "became blinded by pride, by lust for recognition and leadership."
"He wasn't into being cared for by dragons, eh?" I knowingly queried.
"No," Substance agreed. "But Spirit allowed it to be so—used it—so your line could endure, and you could come back to us, with fresh eyes."
"To guide and love you," I said, caressing her eyelids as they closed.
Substance then turned onto her right side. Her wings were almost ready to be released from their bandages, and it apparently no longer hurt her to lie against them. As Rökkr moved to settle himself against Substance as well on her other side, I now extended my right arm under Substance's thick neck like my left arm was under my son's neck, my right hand moving to caress and scratch Substance's upper chest between her forelegs as we fell asleep. Whenever either of us made a reference to sight or eyes now, my dragon companion and I found ourselves being drawn closer together—providing a reason, a meaning for what had happened to her . . . to both of us really.
I lay, tightly sandwiched in between the two most important dragons in my life, my arms wrapped around each of them from underneath, gently rubbing their fronts. If, Spirit and gods forbid, I ever lost Roana, if she died— continuing to raise Spring as my son, and caring for and helping to guide Substance, especially in the air again, these would provide me with enough meaning, and love, to go on.
With quiet tears in my eyes, I gave profound thanks to Spirit, God, whomever was responsible for making this so, before falling asleep myself—unable to move in my bedding, even if I had wanted to.
— — — — —
Several days later, an FSK commando approached me on the village commons, as I sat being walked around on Rökkr of course. The soldier was carrying an odd-looking almost phone-like device with an antenna on it.
"Phone call for you, sir," he said, handing it to me.
"What's this?" I wondered, taking it.
"A satellite phone, sir," he replied. "It's tied in via a transceiver in our barracks, and through that dish on our roof," he added, pointing to it. "New technology from the Defence Ministry."
"Is it on?" I wondered.
"Just hit that green button, sir," he pointed. "There's no need to say, 'Over.' Just treat it like a phone call."
So I hit the button and held it to the side of my face. "Hello?" I said. "This is Lance . . . I mean Chief Ýsa," not knowing who it was.
"Lance!" the female voice answered. "It's me, Roana."
"Roana!" I replied. "How are you?"
"We're on our way back," she said, getting right to the point, "leaving the hospital today on an LFV helicopter straight to Berk."
"How is he?" I asked, getting to the point as well.
"On the edge, Lance," she replied soberly, "especially with serious depression over how he is now. The baroness and I argued, successfully though, that he would have the best motivation and encouragement to recover in our village, with his dragon at his side. They didn't believe us at first, but fortunately the baroness produced several classified photos of O'Connell proudly standing with and riding Garrison. Those photos showing the medals around Garrison's neck—which O'Connell still did have with him, apparently doggedly refusing to let go of them throughout his treatment—they helped in establishing our claim to him.
"We've crossed him over though," Roana continued. "During one lucid moment, I asked Miles, with physician witnesses present, if he was ready and wished to become fully Berker, and sever ties with the Outside world. He responded that there was nothing out there for him now, not as he was. I told him that Garrison was waiting for him, and then he just said, 'Do it.' So the physicians have certified his death, and he was moved with a sheet over his head to another room in a restricted ward with direct access to a helipad, while his will was modified with his rough, left-handed signature to specify cremation. Ashes, from his own lost limbs, will now be provided to his relatives for burial in the states. He is one of us though, Lance—just like you."
"We'll make it worth his while here," I replied. "You think he should have his own house, with Garrison?"
"The units he's been with—both his SEAL team and the MJK platoon he was living with in the village—they have seemed like family to him," she noted. "So if it's alright with the FSK, I think he would do best living with them at first, as soon as he's able, along with Garrison, of course."
"We'll be ready to make it happen here with the four unmarried FSK soldiers in their house," I assured. "I'll let Garrison know though. He'll be overjoyed. He's even told me through others that he's been making plans and preparations for O'Connell for a while."
"But Lance," my mate added, "Miles has just his left arm remaining now . . . that's it."
I closed my eyes, pausing. "Not unlike some of the rest of us," I finally said. "But he is still a Dragon Knight here. You tell him that."
"I already have," she replied, "even telling him that Garrison is despondent about him, and that Miles must pull through and honour his vow to return to his dragon. He just looked to the ceiling and murmured, 'Yes, m'am.'"
"He's never failed an accepted order yet," I sadly smiled on the phone.
"No he hasn't," Roana agreed.
"When will you arrive?" I asked.
"We'll be there tonight," she replied. "I'm already having the platoon medic prepare for his arrival in the Bunker where Garrison can be with him."
"Involve Ran, please," I requested. "He's going nuts to me feeling that medic is replacing him."
"Ran knows he and I basically don't work together," she coolly replied.
"Doesn't sound very 'Berk-like'," I noted. "So he won't be delivering our baby?"
"Hell no," she confirmed. "Lance, he's obsessive . . . and how did you know I was pregnant?"
"But he's a Dragon Berker," I replied, "and you hinted at it just as you were leaving me for the helicopter."
"Oh yeah," she now recollected.
"Congratulations, sweetheart," I said.
"Well, you did it as much as me," she replied over the radiophone, seemingly with a smile. "But Ran isn't very good at serious trauma cases—terrible bedside manner. I've taken over most of those myself since Alexi."
"But you're not trained as a human physician," I cautioned.
"Guts are guts," she replied, "just in differing locations, with differing temperatures and blood pressures. It's simply diagnosing and fixing plumbing and infections that are pretty much the same otherwise."
"Nice to know I look like a sheep to you on the inside," I quipped.
"And a wonderful sheep you are," she parried right back. "I've got to go though. They're moving Miles to the helicopter. I'll have the LFV pilots provide our FSK unit with updated ETA's as we progress."
"Tell Miles to look for us out the windows," I said. "We'll be there in force for him, literally, in our skies as he arrives."
"That will keep him going more than anything else," Roana assured.
— — — — —
That night, we were in force in our skies again. Cave dragons had adopted the FSK soldiers who were flying with us. I was even aloft, flying solo on Rökkr with Substance's encouragement. Once again, we had radio communication via walkie-talkies and headsets as we flew. Even our six native Dragon Riders carried them, but still preferred using the old hand signals.
Finally in the darkness, the blinking lights of the helicopter came into view in the southeast, crossing the sound from the mainland.
"Take positions. Taka stötu," I radioed while simultaneously raising my left fist and sweeping it forward in the old way for our native riders. In a moment that made me proud again, our Dragon Rider force smoothly banked and surrounded the helicopter in a three-dimensional diamond pattern—the dragons being responsible for that however, with the usual leg press cues from their riders. We had told Garrison in advance that he could take any position he liked. He chose the left side of the helicopter, so Miles could hopefully see him, while I took lead position with Rökkr in front.
"Tell Garrison Chief O'Connell is awake and looking at him. Over," I heard Roana now say on my headset.
"Chief? Over," I wondered.
"It was a posthumous promotion on the Outside," she responded, "along with his Purple Heart, Campaign medal, and Medal of Valor. Over."
"Sounds like he and Garrison are now even. Over," I radioed.
"I've already put them on the new knight's sash the Baroness and I have presented him with in encouragement," Roana answered. "The U.S. Navy is still searching for where the other one got to. Over."
"Typical," I responded. "But repeat this to Rökkr, please, so he can tell Garrison. Over," I concluded as I took off my earpiece and placed it under one of Rökkr's earlobes.
I heard Roana's muffled voice now talking to Rökkr as his eyes shifted, listening. Finally the talking ended and he grunted, looking back at me, indicating I could take the earpiece back. Rökkr then turned his head to the left as we flew and made a series of bellows and loud grunts towards Garrison, who simply nodded, seeming to remain resolutely focused on his duty of protectively escorting the helicopter over our island's southeastern mountains now as we banked left smoothly as one down into the valley.
Other independent dragons joined us in the air for this final descent, while I could see most of the rest of the tribe, both dragons and humans, had turned out around the cleared landing zone above our village. We were welcoming an honoured warrior, one of our own, home.
As we all landed at the upper edge of the village amid a cold but starry night, I noticed our other FSK soldiers who had remained behind had formed into an honour guard, bearing three flags gently flapping in a westerly breeze—Norwegian, American . . . and a new Berker banner I had never seen before. It was square, like one of the ancient sails on Viking ships I had seen pictures of. On its medium blue background, symbolizing the ocean that surrounded us, the banner simply depicted a generalized maroon dragon, so that no one breed was favoured over the others. While I would have expected a dragon in Berk heraldry positioned rearing up on its hind legs and spouting flames from its mouth; the dragon depicted on this banner was standing firm on the ground on its four legs with its wings spread, its gaze fixed forward off to the left and its mouth closed. Similarly, on its shoulders was a Dragon Rider with a sheathed sword. They were at peace, yet on guard together—a very fitting visual depiction of who we were as a people and nation.
I was later told Outside Berkers had designed the banner years ago, and had been wanting to present it to us for some time. The arrival of our permanent FSK unit, and the homecoming of an honoured son, just seemed to be a fitting occasion for its first use.
Soon, as the helicopter's blades and turbines slowed to a stop, its side door was opening. Roana hopped out onto the snow first, followed by the Baroness. Rökkr actually allowed me to get off of him as he and a villager supported me while I then hobbled across the snow to reunite with my mate.
"Lance," Roana warmly greeted me as we embraced amid our thick winter jackets, with her still wearing her major's uniform and green beret underneath.
"Missed you," I finished.
"Missed you, too. But I made a leadership decision in flight," she then told me. "I decided to revive a post that hasn't been active for some time, as Great Guardians have usually just fulfilled its duties . . . telling Miles that, as currently the only other Dragon Knight besides you and I, he is now Lífvartarforingi, Captain of our Guard—our native contingent, anyway."
"That's a decent start," I agreed, "but we'll need more to really lift his spirits, and help him find purpose again."
"His dragon should see to that," she said. "But Lance," she quietly added to me, "he wants to die the way he is now though, feeling that he has nothing to live for with just one arm left."
We turned together to see O'Connell being brought out of the helicopter wrapped in a sheet and blankets on a gurney. His buzz-cut head was free of bandages, but what had happened to him was plain to see as almost half the gurney was empty—the blankets around O'Connell having been just tucked back under what remained of his upper legs. I briefly closed my eyes, feeling profoundly saddened for him.
Our six remaining native Dragon Riders accepted O'Connell's gurney from the helicopter medics and crew, wanting to truly show him he was one of their own, even their leader—doing it all on their own initiative. I hadn't suggested a thing to them.
His Nightmare, Garrison, then stepped forward with a look of calm devotion in his large eyes. We were all heartened to see O'Connell slowly raise his remaining left hand out of the blankets to touch Garrison, as the dragon carefully lowered his toothy snout to nudge his companion and rider. I thought of Alltaf as I watched these two reunite, sending a silent, grateful prayer to him for helping this to happen. As tough as it was for Miles, this was a quietly gratifying moment.
As Roana helped me step towards him, O'Connell then lowered his hand back under his blankets, producing what I could see by the torchlight around us was a folded blue sash.
"I don't have a second arm to put it around you again," he weakly said to Garrison as the dragon gazed at him, "but here it is. I brought it back."
Garrison murmured to him. "It was not the medals he wanted returned," we now heard Substance convey as she stepped forward to join us around O'Connell, "but his rider, his companion."
"I can't ride you anymore . . ." we heard O'Connell say, his voice breaking with bitter sadness as Substance grunted in translation for Garrison.
His dragon just gently murmured again. "He says, 'You will,'" Substance translated. "'We will find a way, together.'"
O'Connell now grimaced, his eyes shut tightly as his hand with that blue sash dropped beneath his blankets once more. Even I could see his pain wasn't physical . . . it was emotional. His spirit was clearly broken.
"I've returned, as I said I would," Miles now said, looking away from Garrison, " . . . but only half of me."
The Nightmare then turned his head to the left and grunted. A hooded figure stepped forward with something of a limp, before removing the hood to reveal a beautiful feminine face, gently marred by a few faded scars amid some freckles and framed by long red hair.
"Ilsa . . ." O'Connell recognized looking out of the corner of his eyes as this figure now stood at the side of the gurney he was in, before turning his head away again.
"Miles . . ." this friend of his said with gentle understanding and encouragement as his dragon remained close beside them both.
"I . . . I am not who, or even what I was," O'Connell said, still looking away from her, almost in shame. "I came, mostly to keep a promise to Garrison. That's all. I-I'm ready . . . to let go now."
Seemingly undeterred, Ilsa removed her thick winter gloves and reached a hand under the blankets covering his chest. "Heart beats too strong," she simply said in a thickly accented English.
O'Connell kept resolutely looking away from her however.
"Give me hand," she then said, removing her own from the blankets and holding it above him.
Miles said nothing and made no motion.
"Give me hand," Ilsa repeated. "You gave Garrison hand. Give me hand as vell."
"No," O'Connell replied resolutely.
His Nightmare now grunted at him. "Garrison ask now, too," she conveyed.
"Miles," I added, hobbling closer to him with Roana's help while the Dragon Riders holding his gurney parted to either side for me, "did you come all this way, back from even death itself . . . just to shut us all out?"
A tear fell from O'Connell's resolute eyes as he slowly raised his one remaining hand again from beneath the blankets.
Ilsa took that hand, slowly but firmly, with both her own. "This still you," she said.
"Garrison ask me help care for you," she then continued. "He not able by self. No front legs—although he hatch that vay. I missing one leg, too . . . from battle . . . battle you save me in. You find me on ground. You bind my vounds, my burns—hold me screaming on your knees, as you fire gun again, not leaving until you get medic to come.
"I not forget that, Miles," Ilsa said, still holding his one hand. "Allow me to bind vound," she asked, reaching one of her hands underneath his blankets again to his chest, " . . . in here."
His eyes now openly revealing his inner pain, O'Connell turned his head toward Ilsa. She took him into a powerful kiss before he could say no, or anything else, as his one remaining arm and hand arced up around the back of her head in acceptance.
Garrison then raised his large head, bellowing a long and loud roar as the rest of the village began somewhat subdued roaring and applause around us.
The dragon may have been a little premature in proclaiming O'Connell's and Ilsa's mating, but neither I nor anyone else was going to argue the point. This Nightmare knew that more than anything, Miles needed the sustaining love of a mate and family of his own. Both Ilsa's demeanour, and O'Connell's reactions, made it clear that they had already been seeing each other a fair amount prior to his departure anyway. She had now willingly become Garrison's 'welcome home' gift to his rider and companion, someone they would both need in the days ahead.
Miles O'Connell was home though, surrounded by a new, loving mate, and his dragon . . . the most important things we in Berk could give him as he began his recovery and adjustment to a new and different life.
We were just going to have to gently break it to his head what his heart was probably already realizing.