Author's Note: To my readers... sorry, I've got to take an off week. I had absolutely no access to wifi, and the next chapter has yet to be beta-read (or even fully rewritten to my satisfaction). Next week I will be continuing with or without beta approval, which may mean minor changes to chapters after they are posted, as my beta gets to them and offers his excellent advice. I'll be sure to note in new author's notes like this one what changed for anyone who read it pre-correction.

(And for the record, I fixed a total of one typo in this chapter. Thanks for pointing that out, toothlessgolfer, it gives me a way to demonstrate what I mean by recording future corrections in author's notes, though typos won't make the official list going forward.)

Rain fell steadily in the hours it took Nóttreiði to regain consciousness. Toothless and Einfari had ended up falling into exhausted slumber on either side of the injured dragon's head, wings extended to cover each other, if only partially. They probably would have tried to shelter more than Nóttreiði's head, but the two trees he was wedged between were by his front legs, preventing them from covering any more than his head and neck from where they were lying. Maour sat idly under Toothless's other wing, toying with one of the two knives Heather had bent in getting down to the bottom of the ravine.

She had pretty much wrecked both of them, rendering them useless until Maour could fix them at a forge. She felt a little bad about that, but it wasn't really her fault. The knives had been somewhat helpful in her impatient state of mind.

Impatient, because she did actually care. That was only a small surprise by now. Maour had been right in saying giving up her ax and refusing to take it back secretly was a risk, and the only reason she would take such a risk was if she believed the reward was worth it. As the reward was only Nóttreiði's possible trust, she must care enough to value that.

She spared Nóttreiði's prone form a worried look. His wing shoulder still looked odd, but he was in an awkward position, and neither of the other dragons had been up for moving him further. If they were going to do something about it, whatever that would be, it was going to have to wait.

Like they were waiting now. She leaned back against Einfari's side, listening to the rain, to the storm the Skrill had traveled with.

The Skrill… Berserkers were bad, but that dragon had been far worse in those terrifying moments, drawing in lightning and directing it at them with wild abandon, chasing them doggedly. Chasing, just like every other danger in her life.

This time though, it would not continue the chase. She was glad it was dead. One less horror hunting her.

A low groan broke the monotony of the rain, a deep and pained rumble. Nóttreiði stirred sluggishly.

Maour shared a knowing look with her and put the knives away.

She gestured to Einfari and mouthed a silent question. Should they wake the dragons?

He nodded reluctantly. It would be too dangerous to try and talk to Nóttreiði when he was pained and possibly disoriented.

She prodded Einfari, eliciting an unhappy rumble. "He is waking."

Einfari stirred, stretching her wings until one hit a tree. 'Really?'

Nóttreiði growled, his tone pained and angry. 'Einfari…'

Einfari's eyes slid open as she realized that Heather was totally serious. She shuffled around, keeping a wing over Heather as she turned to face her brother. 'Don't move. You had an accident.'

'Doesn't matter…' his eyes slid open, though they remained unfocused, not really seeing as he tried in vain to move. 'Skrill to kill, no time for accidents…'

'It is dead, and there is nothing to fight,' Einfari informed him sternly. 'You should get up, but your wing-'

Nóttreiði's injured wing shifted, and he snarled, his eyes focusing and narrowing into slits. After a moment in which nothing much changed, he collapsed.

'You have this, Einfari?' Toothless asked, watching warily. 'We need his cooperation to fix that wing shoulder.'

'I will fix myself,' Nóttreiði grunted, forcing himself up and forward once more.

'You can't,' Einfari objected. 'Let us help.'

'No.' Nóttreiði pushed out from between the trees holding him, scraping his sides against them- and pulling his injured wing. He collapsed yet again, a quiet whine barely escaping him.

'Nóttreiði,' Einfari snarled warningly. 'You have done this before, with the pack saddle. Nótts do not make the same mistake twice.'

Nóttreiði lapsed into pained silence. Eventually, he nodded, eyes narrow.

Heather gestured aimlessly towards his wing. "So, how..?"

"How do we help?" Maour stepped out from under Toothless's wing, examining the problem from a safe distance. "I've been thinking about that. Basically, we have to pull his wing back into place. That's the only way I know to fix a dislocated shoulder, and this is basically the same thing…" He didn't sound that sure.

'And if you cannot fix it..?' Einfari asked worriedly.

'He's grounded,' Toothless supplied.

"We can try and fix it, and there shouldn't be any issues if we can get it back into place," Maour concluded. "Heather, Toothless, I'll need your help. Nóttreiði, this is going to hurt."

No response. Nóttreiði definitely heard him, he just didn't say anything. Strange, and a bit worrying.

"Heather, we need to pull that," and with that Maour pointed at the oddly-shaped lump under Nóttreiði's scales and skin, the shoulder that seemed stretched, "back to match the other side. Toothless will pull the wing. We'll be guiding it back into place."

"So we sit on his back and pull," she decided. "Anything else?" If this was to be done, they should get on with it.

'You know to not throw them off or hurt them,' Toothless shot at Nóttreiði as he moved over to stand by Nóttreiði's wing, prepared to pull as needed.

'Shut up, I know what you want,' Nóttreiði gritted, closing his eyes. 'Just do it.'

That was easier than Heather had expected, but it made sense if he was in serious pain. It was impossible to tell with him. He always acted aggravated and aggressive, so she couldn't really judge any specific mood.

Einfari very deliberately placed a paw on her brother's forehead, not pressing down very hard. 'I will help make sure you do not throw them off,' she remarked, not really asking for permission. 'No snapping at them when they do it.'

Heather clambered up onto Nóttreiði's back, putting most of her weight onto the saddle he still wore. Maour joined her, perching awkwardly, closer to Nóttreiði's neck. He put a hand on the outer edge of the distended joint, indicating from where and in what direction they should pull. Slightly up and then in.

"On three," Maour said, tensing in anticipation. "Ready?"
"Ready," she confirmed.

'So am I,' Toothless announced.

"One… two… three!"

She didn't hold back. Doing this once was going to be bad enough, and Nóttreiði would not be happy with them failing. So she pulled at the wing shoulder with all the strength she could muster, leaning back and using her legs-

It moved, not popping back into place so much as sliding and shifting back with a very disturbing crack that Nóttreiði's ear-splitting howl didn't manage to completely drown out. Overbalanced from her pull, Heather fell off his back and landed on her side in a puddle, drenching herself even more thoroughly than the rain had.

Einfari was pushing down now, holding her brother to the ground. 'It's over, you're fine, you're okay,' she reassured him frantically, not letting up. 'Maour, get off before he throws you!'

'I've got you,' Toothless asserted, darting around and grabbing Maour with his mouth, pulling him away from a safe angle, avoiding Nóttreiði's good wing. 'Let him up.'

Einfari leaped away from her brother. He immediately sprung out from between the trees, running forward and straight into another tree, almost bouncing off, roaring all the way. It was an almost comical display, only made unamusing by the cause.

Then he took to the sky, awkwardly crashing through the canopy and flying away.

"He shouldn't be flying on that!" Maour remarked, hastily getting into Toothless's saddle. "It might just pop right back out again so soon after being put back."

'So he might fall right out of the sky,' Einfari barked, nudging Heather towards her own saddle. 'We need to be ready to catch him.'

The two Furies and their riders were quickly up into the air, and easily spotted Nóttreiði. He was flying out to sea.

'I think he took a hit to the head,' Einfari grumbled as they strained to catch up with Nóttreiði, who was flying full-tilt.

"It didn't look like it," Heather said, personally unsure. "His head was pretty untouched." She had seen scratches and what might be bruises on the skin between Nóttreiði's scales, but not on his head.

'Before this. He's been acting stupid and strange this whole trip,' Einfari continued. 'I'd like to think there's a better reason than stubbornness.'

They pulled up beside Nóttreiði, who was staring straight ahead, flying out over open water. Einfari veered in front of him, forcing him to turn. 'What are you doing?!'

'Getting away from that stupid island,' Nóttreiði gritted angrily. 'Get out of my way!'

'Stop trying to get yourself killed!' Einfari shot back almost frantically. 'You're acting ridiculous! You shouldn't be flying right after having your wing fixed!'

'I'm not going back there,' Nóttreiði objected hollowly. 'I'm not.'

"There's another island about an hour from here," Maour called out, joining the argument, "but it's occupied. There's a small village, according to my map. You don't want to stop there, do you?"

'Yes,' Nóttreiði retorted, flapping a bit harder, still looking a little unsteady, favoring his injured wing.

Toothless fell back a little, and Einfari joined him.

'He's not thinking straight,' Einfari complained. 'He'll fall right out of the sky. We need to force him back to this island, not keep going!'

"Einfari, I don't claim to understand him, but he's going to explode soon if we keep overriding him," Maour explained worriedly. "He can probably make it to this island, and he's already on the right course, so we don't have to make him do anything. Let him have his way this once, if he thinks he can make it."

About to explode? Heather considered Nóttreiði, and the erratic, frustrated way he was acting. Maour might be right… and Nóttreiði actually losing control would be terrifying. As it was, he had just barely held it over the saddle incident, not to mention having his wing put back into place, never even trying to strike at either her or Maour. She didn't want to see him snap.

But there was one other consideration. "You said there's a village there. What happens when he gets there?"

Maour shrugged. "If he hasn't calmed down by then, we'll have to stop him from doing anything stupid, but he might be a little less… determined… by then."

About an hour later, they sighted the island. Or at least, they sighted an island.

"My map says it has a village," Maour called out. "But I don't see anything."

Heather squinted, trying to see through the fog around the island. "Neither do I." A lot of trees, dark patches of green, and some open clearings, but no village. Not even any docks or sentry statues carved into sea stacks, as some villages liked to do.

'Maybe that's a good thing,' Einfari murmured to Heather. 'He's still upset.'

She was, of course, talking about Nóttreiði, who had not calmed down in the slightest… though he was now favoring the wing they had so recently fixed, leaning in that direction and listing slightly. It was a small but worrying sign that he was not totally fine.

They followed him as he landed on the outskirts of the island, dropping to trot into the trees almost hastily. Nobody spoke. There was an air of apprehension lingering in the fog all around them.

Nóttreiði stopped in front of one particular tree, staring blankly at it. Then, after a moment of contemplation, he slashed at it with both front paws, dragging a deep cut across the trunk and pulling off large chunks of bark.

Heather watched from atop Einfari as Nóttreiði angrily tore into that one unlucky tree, repeatedly cutting it it from different angles. The scariest thing about the whole scene wasn't the fog, or the violence, or the strange pointlessness of it all. No, the scariest thing, at least to her, was that he was quiet. Nóttreiði was a dragon of snarls, growls, rumbling objections and loud disapproval. He was never really quiet, even when he had nothing to say.

'Maour and I are going to look around,' Toothless announced after a few minutes of watching Nóttreiði. 'We'll make sure we're alone here.'

"Because that worked so well the first time," Maour weakly quipped. "Something about there not being a village here makes me nervous. Don't get comfortable here. We might need to leave fast." He and Toothless were gone before Heather could ask if they should go along.

'Nice of them to duck out on us,' Einfari growled. 'But this is not their problem to deal with anyway. It is a family affair.'

And because it was Nóttreiði, that excluded Heather. "Should I go… somewhere?" Right now, Nóttreiði needed to be calmed down, not pushed further. Her presence wouldn't help.

'Yes, you can go watch our backs,' Einfari loudly announced, tilting to the side so Heather could slide off the saddle. 'This should be private.'

Then she lowered her voice, something Heather didn't really understand, given the voice was mental. 'Listen in.'

Heather nodded obligingly and walked away, finding a sheltered spot under a low-hanging tree and leaning against it, her back to the dragons. She wouldn't hear anything from this distance, though she was still close enough as to not be separated from them.

Or would not, had Einfari not just told her to circumvent that very privacy She smiled slyly as she tapped into Einfari's sense of hearing. Einfari was practical enough to want her in the loop on Nóttreiði's issues, privacy notwithstanding. That was good. It was very much what she would have done were she and Einfari in each other's place.

She didn't, however, tap into Einfari's sight. Listening in was one thing, and being blind to what was going on in front of her own face out here on a suspiciously empty island quite another. She would survey the forest in front of her as she listened, just in case.

A while passed in which nothing was said. Nóttreiði was audibly slowing down in his assault on the tree, but he wasn't quite done.

'Is this guilt or frustration?' Einfari's voice was soft and worried. 'Brother, you are actually scaring me now, and I was worried before you woke.'

No response.

'We are alone. Where is the Nóttreiði I know?' She sounded very sincere, and Heather almost felt bad for listening in, though she had been invited to.

'I failed again,' Nóttreiði gritted, though far less harshly than Heather expected of him. 'A Skrill attacked, and where was I? Where were you? One of us was safely out of the way.'

'I wouldn't call how we found you "safe" in any way,' EInfari rumbled. 'It was bad luck.'

'Incompetence, failure, weakness,' Nóttreiði retorted. 'I fail, and you face danger, again and again. Insidious or open, voluntarily or not, it makes no difference.'

Heather flinched at the darkness in that statement. Since when had Nóttreiði ever spoken badly of himself like this?

Since when did any of the Nótts reveal weakness in public? Nóttreiði obviously considered her an outsider, so of course she never saw this side of him. It shouldn't come as a surprise.

'You tried.' That was underlaid by a curious warble. 'How did you end up like that, anyway?'

'Tried? I don't even remember making it off the ground, and I have no idea how I ended up wedged between two trees with a broken wing.' A sudden rustle, as if Nóttreiði had flexed said wing. 'Broken in a way that requires the attention of enemies to be healed, but also broken so that I will not slow us in getting to where Maour wants to go.'

Einfari laughed scornfully, her tone laden with frustration. 'Put aside Father's paranoia, brother. He did not force it out of his mind just for you to adopt it in his stead. We found you dangling from your wing in a ravine, pinned by fallen trees, and neither Heather nor Maour had anything to do with it. Heather risked her safety climbing down to find out how badly hurt you were.'

'To find out if she could dispatch me without anyone noticing, and blame it on the situation,' Nóttreiði countered. 'Tell me, did she take weapons down into the ravine?' His voice was prompting and smug.

Einfari hesitated. 'Neither ax left Toothless's saddlebag.'

A mocking gurgle. 'So that is a yes.'

'Used only to climb the slick rocks, and broken in the process,' Einfari shot back. 'Seriously, open your eyes.'

'Open yours.' It was a heartfelt plea. 'Ever since this new human showed up, you avoid me, and make yourself blind.'

'Who is doing the avoiding?' Einfari's voice cut at Nóttreiði. 'I did not change my routine, only who I shared it with. You were welcome to continue as we always did.'

'You replaced me.' That was followed by a short, sharp snarl. 'With a dangerous, sneaky human, no less. But I figured you were smart enough to discern its true nature quickly enough. I was waiting for you to see the truth, dispose of it, and apologize.'

'If we were not in possibly hostile territory, I would tell you to blast that poor tree into oblivion, because the swelling in your head is getting dangerously high and needs to be relieved,' Einfari complained. 'What has come over you? Joy is less childish than that, and she has the excuse of actually being immature.'

'Childish? You have a new best friend, and it is wrapping you around its deceptively weak claws,' Nóttreiði retorted. 'I am done with this. You will not be swayed, so I will wait until it betrays us, kill it, and then hope you learn from this.'

'I hope the same, at least in regards to a stubborn, blind dragon learning they were wrong and accepting that,' Einfari spat venomously. 'Also, for the hundredth time, no matter what we are not to kill her, by Father's own orders.'

Nóttreiði snorted at that. 'It will die, here or on our island after taking it back to be condemned. And I will enjoy watching it die, no matter who ends up actually killing it.'

'Will you?' Einfari sounded utterly horrified. 'That is vile.'

'It is an enemy-'

'So was that Skrill, but nobody had fun killing it!' Einfari screeched. 'I did it! I don't regret it, either. But you won't ever get me to say I enjoyed it, because I didn't! I hated every second of it.'

Silence. Heather felt vaguely uncomfortable having her back to them, especially given what Nóttreiði was saying, but she wasn't actually present for this conversation, technically speaking, so turning around for any reason would be very suspicious.

'You might want to cut down on the screeching.' It sounded like Toothless and Maour had returned. 'There is actually a village here.'

'There is?' Einfari asked worriedly. 'Why didn't we see it?' Her voice contained more than a hint of embarrassment at being heard.

"They hid it pretty well," Maour contributed. "Heather, what are you doing?" So he had seen her, sitting alone at some distance from the dragons. Good, she could pretend he had just alerted her to their presence.

"What?" She turned to look at the dragons, who were arrayed as she would have expected, Einfari and Nóttreiði facing each other with a few feet of empty air between them, and Toothless off to the side, Maour on his back.

"We found the village. They have a cove hidden on the far side of the island, and the village itself is in the middle of the forest, totally invisible from the air." His voice was speculative. "Clearly, they don't want to be noticed. We should be good to stay here for a while as long as we're careful."

'Why would we need to stay?' Nóttreiði asked. 'Let's keep going.'

"Your wing." Maour frowned at Nóttreiði. "I'd assumed it would be sore at the very least."

'You'll not get the satisfaction of knowing if it is, but I can make it as far as needed.'

'Where are we going next?' Einfari asked. 'And are we able to get ahead of this storm or not?'

Maour shrugged. "The next island is a half-day's journey away, so we shouldn't leave now… if it's even night anymore." He looked up at the dark, stormy sky. "I honestly can't tell from down here."

Heather wasn't sure if he meant that. Sure, he apparently could see in the dark, but would that really mean he couldn't tell day from night when the weather was bad? She could. It wasn't night, because she could still see more than half a foot in front of her. It was as simple as that.

'We stay here for a while, and then go,' Toothless announced. 'If,' he amended, looking at Nóttreiði, 'we're all able to go.'

'I am fine,' Nóttreiði muttered rebelliously. 'Good as new.'

Toothless grinned. 'So, Maour and Heather did a great job in helping you?'

Nóttreiði growled. 'I healed myself.' From the way he was avoiding looking at anyone as he said that, he was entirely aware of how ridiculously petty he sounded.

'Don't bother, he's not listening to reason,' Einfari muttered bitterly, lashing her tail and splashing some muddy rainwater around her. 'And I'm done trying for now. How long should we stay?'

"You and Toothless were asleep for a while on the last island, but I don't know how rested Nóttreiði really is," Maour began. "Nóttreiði, how long do you need?"

'No time at all.' After a moment, he amended that. 'But I can tolerate waiting a few more hours.'

"No way to really judge it any more accurately than that," Heather noted under her breath. Right now, that basically meant waiting around until someone got bored and decided the 'few hours' were up. They had just done that on the last island.

But she wasn't the one doing the leg work, or in this case wing work of traveling. She had no right to complain.

Time passed. The dragons had decided to group up around one particularly wide tree, putting their backs to it, and covering their fronts with their wings, in an effort to both not be too vulnerable but also keep under cover. Ideally, they'd hear something long before it saw them, though Heather personally doubted that, given it was still raining and therefore quite noisy.

She and Maour were supposed to be the actual guards, though Nóttreiði hadn't liked that idea at all. At that, he might not actually be asleep. There was no real way to know.

Fog continued to drift across the forest as time passed, gradually obscuring the world.

"You know," Maour whispered, apparently unwilling to break the silence, "I never really understood what causes this."

He was obviously talking about the fog. To be fair, she didn't know either, but… "why would you want to?" Maybe if it was useful, but smoke worked just as well for obscuring vision, and was readily available, especially to someone with a dragon at their side.

"Why would I not want to understand?" She couldn't see him, as he was on the other side of the tree, tucked between Toothless's front paws and chest, but she could hear the confusion in his voice. "Sometimes I want to know things, even if they don't matter now."

Her mind was drawn back to the one mystery that might never be solved, or might be solved in just a few more days. "Maybe I understand that." Her question was not one of 'how', but 'why'.

"Not just fog, either. Any and everything." Now Maour was rambling, though she found that endearing, and a little refreshing after spending so much time recently with careful people so much like herself. "The weather, the world, the mind…"

The mind. That reminded her of a recent resolution, to coerce him into explaining what he knew of treating the mind, so that she might use it on her own intermittent issues. "What do you know about that last one?"

"The mind? Nothing, really." She could almost hear him thinking, the pause was so pronounced. "I know we all have one, I know some of us can use it better than others, or maybe some of us have more practice or need than others... I know it can be broken and bent." His tone turned sad. "You've seen that. Togi, and even Dagur. Not the same problems in any way, but the same category. They have issues."

Togi… It had taken her a while to internalize the way these dragons handled names, but she thought she had it now… and for Maour to say that, Nóttleiðtogi really didn't have a problem with him. Just another little example of how badly she was failing at that. Nóttreiði was the current facet of her goal of being accepted by the whole Nótt family, but Nóttleiðtogi was still far from accepting too, in his own, more hurt and less aggressive way. She didn't like being reminded of failure.

"I can help Togi a little," Maour continued. "Small things, over a long period of time. Constant support. He wants to improve. Dagur never did."

He spoke as if from experience. Heather was still a little hazy on that. "How did you know Dagur again?"
"Heir of Berk, meet Heir of Berserker," Maour said in a mocking, macho tone. "I think that was how it started. And 'Heir of Meathead', along with 'Heir of Burglar' and a few others, but they're not important, and I rarely ever saw any of them. Berserker island was the only close tribe."

"So you had to deal with him every time your tribes met," Heather guessed.

"Oh yeah, I was basically his keeper when he was on Berk. Or, more accurately, his distraction." Now the disdain was heavy in his voice. "No help, nobody wondering if maybe leaving the lunatic with Berk's heir was a bad idea, nothing. I'm not entirely sure they would have minded so much if he killed me."

Wow, he was bitter. "Surely not."

"Fine, some people would have cared, but they sure didn't go out of their way to help me keep him from breaking things… or people." He sounded no less bitter at admitting that. "He's crazy, but in a way Vikings like, brash and violent. I'm not surprised he's already chief."

"They don't seem to mind," Heather agreed. Not once in her days a captive on the Berserker ship had she heard her guards talking about Dagur in a negative light.

"Oh, I'm sure some do mind, they just can't speak up, because, you know, the insanity." Maour corrected.

"So when he dies, things will get better for them too," Heather mused. It was nice to know her personal mission of vengeance would help others along the way.

"Nobody said he's going to die anytime soon," Maour objected.

Heather winced. She really shouldn't have said that. "We don't know what's going to happen," she backtracked.

"But we know what you'd prefer," Maour countered, his tone now suspicious.

Okay, time to turn this away from her. "And maybe what you'd prefer?" She asked promptingly. "You just told me how bad he is."

"That doesn't mean I want him dead, exactly." How could he sound so certain? "I just want to not have to deal with him."

"And for all the people who do have to deal with him?" she challenged. "What about them?"

"Heather, don't pretend this is about some faceless group of Berserkers you don't know," Maour shot back, no longer keeping quiet. "You want revenge, plain and simple."

"Of course I do!" Why did he say it as if that was a bad thing? "Anyone would! Tell me you wouldn't!"

"Whether I would or not doesn't make it any better for you." His voice softened. "Look, maybe you deserve revenge. And I'm not saying he doesn't deserve to pay for all he's done. But revenge can't be the only thing driving you. There needs to be something else, anything else, to balance it out, if the revenge is even necessary in the first place."

"Who says I don't have anything else?"

"You? The day you ended up on our island?"

She had said that… "That was then. This is now." Whatever would get Maour off of her back about this. She needed to be free to strike however necessary once they came into contact with Dagur.

"Maybe." his voice turned stern. "But I'm resolving this without death if at all possible. That's the safer option for the pack."

"Leaving a madman with a grudge alive is the safer option?" She couldn't understand that viewpoint at all.

"Dagur is crazy, but he's got goals," Maour explained. "And somehow, you're tied up in one of them. We live far from him, and the archipelago is enough to keep him occupied for the rest of his life if we can just get you out of his focus. The next Berserker chief might be more like Astrid, and if that happens then we're really in trouble. One tribe led by that particular obsession is more than bad enough."

"I'd rather-"

"I will do whatever works out best for the people I care about," Maour interrupted. "And if I'm being honest, your revenge is pretty low on my list of priorities when lives are at stake."

She couldn't complain about that, really, though she could and would circumvent it. Especially because she still believed killing Dagur was the best option for everyone in the long run. For now though, she needed to be sure Maour wouldn't suspect her of going for it anyway.

"I guess you're right," she lied. "My revenge isn't important."

"Good to hear you understand that." His voice was cold and stern. "I'm not letting you put my family in danger for it."

"Speaking of which, isn't that going to be expanding soon?" An easy way to get him off this topic. She really should have brought that up sooner.

There was a brief pause before Maour answered. "Yes, but how did you know about that?"

"Einfari told me why Toothless was acting like an aggressive jerk right before we left," Heather supplied.

"Ah, yes." Maour laughed quietly. "Honestly, I felt the same. Can't blame that one entirely on instinct."

No, the blame for that fell on Nóttreiði's attitude and past actions. It all came back around to him again.

And she was no closer to breaking through. Einfari had given up in frustration for the time being. Nóttreiði was officially the most stubborn person Heather knew. How was she ever going to get through to him?

A week. A week of flying, resting, and utterly failing to get anything more than frustrated growls from Nóttreiði, even when he was obviously in pain from flying on his wing. They did make it out in front of the storm, but that was only a small relief. Time passed slowly in the air, and the tension Heather felt only grew as they got closer. The time for waiting was almost over.

The night was clear and starry, a soft and somewhat chilly wind coming from the North, mixing with the warm air to create currents Einfari and the other Night Furies could ride with ease, gliding without the slightest sound. It was the perfect weather for a stealth mission.

"This is it. Berserker island," Maour announced.

It was… large. The village covered most of the island, completely encircling the mountain rising in the middle. Docks stuck out from one side, far more than any village should ever need. There were no trees, because there was no space for them to grow, every flat surface covered with buildings, walkways, or fields for grazing cattle.

"Was it always this developed?" Heather asked. Was this Dagur's doing, or just how the Berserkers were?

"No, not really." Maour sounded worried. "There were trees last time I was here. What in the world did he use all of them on?"

Ships, judging by the docks, but then where were they? Probably scouring the world for her. Surely this couldn't all be because of her.

It didn't matter. Heather glared down at the island. Somewhere down there was someone who needed to die.

From the tension she could feel in Einfari's neck, she was not the only one who felt that way. And there was one more person who wanted this human dead, albeit along with all the rest…

She glanced over at Nóttreiði, only to find him looking at her. They stared at each other for a moment before breaking eye contact.

Time to plan. As they glided a little further down, she began to notice how many Berserkers there were. Of course, it made sense that a village this size would have a proportionally large amount of people to live in it, but so many of them were clearly guards, wandering the streets, looking for trouble. Had Maour said Dagur was paranoid? It showed. "Not here," she whispered to EInfari. "Too many guards, we'd never catch him alone." Getting Dagur alone was a big factor in whether they could kill him. They didn't want to face him head-on, and being caught before killing him was unacceptable.

Einfari nodded, silently agreeing.

Maour and Toothless, unaware of any of this, circled a little lower still. Toothless chuffed wearily. 'So we just drop the message on someone and hope they deliver it?'

Maour laughed. "We could, but we might as well make this as dramatic as possible while staying safe. Just to be sure he knows it's legitimately from the dragon rider."

'We'll deliver the message,' Toothless said to Einfari and Nóttreiði. 'Cover us, but don't let them know you're here at all unless it's life or death.'

What followed was a tense, silent vigil. They circled above the village as Toothless and Maour descended, carefully landing on a dark hut. No alarm. They had not been seen.

Toothless waited until the path in front of the hut was empty to slink down into the alley beside it. Then he waited again, for the right target.

Eventually, the perfect target came into view. Two Berserkers, one on either side of the path, a good distance apart, were tossing a mace back and forth, playing a stupidly dangerous game of catch as they patrolled.

Heather grinned, knowing Toothless was going to pick the one on his side of the path. Such an easy target.

Sure enough, a black blur pounced out of the shadows of the alley the moment the Berserker tossed his only weapon back at his friend. From this high up, Heather couldn't be sure if there was a scream or not, but if she had to bet, it was too quick even for that. By the time the other Berserker had caught the mace, his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Then that same black shadow leaped up onto the hut, dropped the Berserker, lingered for a few moments, and leaped up, quickly flying out of sight into the night even as alarms were raised.

'He left the Berserker on the roof,' Einfari noted in amusement.

"With the note," Heather added. "And probably a lifelong fear of alleys or playing 'toss the mace' with his only weapon."

Toothless was getting close now, so they dove a little and met him on his way up.

'That was fun,' he chortled as soon as he was close enough to be heard.

"And it worked perfectly," Maour agreed as they leveled out. "Now, we need to go to the island I specified."

"How do you know about a random, unoccupied island out here?" She hadn't considered that before now.

"It's a landmark around here, but totally worthless, so there's no chance they've built anything there. You'll understand why when you see it."

Oh, great. More flying. She didn't like that they were turning their back on her target, but at least now Dagur would be coming to them, not the other way around.

It was past time she was the hunter, not the hunted.

As it turned out, the island in question was worthless because it was nothing but rock. Interestingly arranged rock, but still just rock. No trees, no fresh water, not even any grass. It was just an uneven, rocky lump sticking out of the ocean. It also looked like some old sea stack had fallen onto it at some point, because there were various boulders and shards of rock sticking up at random intervals, some the size of large houses. All in all, the island was a tactical nightmare, a place where it would be impossible to watch one's own back.

"Okay Maour, what's the plan?" This place unnerved Heather. She felt like something was watching her.

"First, we make sure there are no surprises here. We need to check it out. And this time, no splitting up."

They proceeded to do just that, landing on the outskirts and thoroughly investigating the entire island. It was small but labyrinthine, so that took a while. The island really was as lifeless as it appeared. That didn't make her feel any less unnerved.

"Okay, so this works." Maour began pacing, following a winding path around several chest-high rocks. "Neutral ground. We can use it. When they get here, Einfari and Nóttreiði need to be hidden, ready to intervene. Nobody knows they exist, so Dagur will only be expecting Toothless."

Nóttreiði growled, looking around. 'This place has nowhere good to hide!'

Toothless laughed. 'From dragons, maybe. But remember, we only need to hide from Berserkers.' He looked at the tops of some of the taller boulders. 'I assume Maour is thinking you will hide on top of the bigger boulders. Totally visible from above...'

Einfari purred. 'But the Berserkers won't see us. Because they're stuck on the ground.' It was true. From sea level, one couldn't even see the flat surfaces that made up the tops of some of these rocks. They would be invisible if they hunkered down.

Maour nodded, agreeing. "If Toothless says, you two attack. Hopefully, that won't happen, but if it does..." He frowned slightly.

Toothless continued. 'Show no mercy. They definitely won't.' He turned to stare at Nóttreiði. 'And don't attack unless I give the signal.' Then, he turned to stare at Einfari equally intently. 'Unless I give the signal.'

Heather frowned slightly and changed the subject. "What will we be doing?" Somehow, Toothless knew enough to warn Einfari off of ambushing Dagur. Had he figured it out on his own, or had Maour warned him of her intention of revenge? It didn't matter. If the opportunity presented itself, Einfari could apologize after the fact and blame it on reflexes.

After a moment of awkward silence, Maour continued. "See that sea stack over there?" He pointed to a tall pillar in the distance, about thirty seconds flight from where they were. "We'll be waiting on top. Once the Berserkers are there and it's sunset, Toothless will fly us over. Me on his back, and to really sell the whole 'prisoner' deal, you in his front paws, hands 'tied' up." He smirked at that.

Good, he was putting her within striking range. But if she got the chance to strike… she looked at Nóttreiði. "Nóttreiði. Will I be allowed to use the ax if Dagur attacks us?" She tried to sound as serious as possible.

Nóttreiði grumbled discontentedly. He seemed to be regretting forbidding Heather her ax now, if only because now he was forced to grant her permission to defend herself when Einfari wouldn't even be in range. 'Only for this, and you do not take it anywhere near Einfari, or I blast you.'

'No blasting her,' Einfari corrected angrily. 'She won't be attacking her allies if this goes bad, and she might just protect one of us. Stop hindering our defenses.'

'Fine,' Nóttreiði rumbled.

Maour shrugged, apparently fine with how that had been handled. "I'll have it on my belt, on the side Heather will be standing on. The ropes won't be tied tightly at all, so she should have no trouble breaking free and grabbing it the second there's trouble." Luckily, the ax was small enough for it to hang from his belt when folded. Heather assumed the other ax, the one she had brought herself, was staying in the saddlebag.

'And there will be trouble,' Nóttreiði griped. 'How do you plan on convincing a lunatic to do anything?' A suspicious, searching question.

Maour answered hesitantly. "I know Dagur. He's crazy, but he always has a goal. The whole problem here is we don't know what it is. Once I figure that out, it's on me. I have no plan because I can't plan for the unknown. I'm just setting it up so I have a chance, no matter what he does. Maybe he just wants to give Heather a gift or something stupid. Dagur is deranged, after all. This could be something simple to resolve."

Toothless growled. 'Or, it could be something impossible to resolve. We have no clue.' That, to Heather's mind, was the far more likely scenario.

Maour nodded. "Basically, once Dagur starts talking, we wing it."

After that, Maour and Toothless went to find a nearby source of fresh water, searching out other small islands in the vicinity. Nóttreiði, Einfari, and Heather set up on the aforementioned sea stack.

Einfari sat next to her brother, far closer than normal. 'Heather. Toothless warned me off. He knows, or at least suspects. Does this change anything?'

Heather nodded from her spot a few feet away. "Maour suspects too. But if we get a perfect shot..."

Einfari warbled cautiously. 'Do we have to strike immediately? We could just wait until this thing plays out. I'd rather not completely go against Toothless if there is a chance Dagur will force us to kill him anyway.'

Heather sighed. "Well, what do you suggest?"

'Don't be hasty. If Dagur ends up sailing away alive and well, we can always blast him out of existence then. If he doesn't, we've accomplished our goal without crossing Maour and Toothless to do it.'

Nóttreiði spoke to Einfari, surprising both of them. 'You should wait. And...' He seemed to struggle with himself for a long moment. 'If you do attack his boat on departure, I will keep Maour and Toothless from interfering. That could get you hurt if they try to stop you and get in the way.' He grimaced. 'Because clearly you are set on this, Einfari. I can't sway you, for whatever reason. But I can make sure you survive it. Interference would be more dangerous than anything else.'

Heather said nothing. Nóttreiði's motives were clear, and a desire to spite Toothless was a factor, right alongside protect Einfari, combined with a still-burning hatred of humans. This course of action favored all three. But she would take the help. Dagur would die by the end of this, one way or another. She would make sure of it.

Dagur smiled as his ship was moored at the docks on his island. The gangplank extended and a portly guard frantically blew an oversized horn, as was his duty.

However, the fool was standing in Dagur's way, but a rough shove and kick as he passed by solved that issue. The hornblower splashed into the water. Dagur took a moment to enjoy the sight of his irate floundering. It was an amusing sight... but that particular Berserker was too stupid and brazen to remain. A quick flick of a dagger into the fool's neck solved that issue.

Dagur frowned in contemplation on who would be the next hornblower. It was an important task to announce the presence of 'His Derangedness,' a high honor not easily earned. He turned to look at his guards lining the way. One of them was looking at the former hornblower who was floating motionless in the crimson tide. He looked at Dagur, then gulped and looked at the ground.

Perfect!

Dagur clapped the guard on the shoulder and said, "What's your name?"

The guard looked like he wanted to disappear from sight. "Wha- oh, my name? It's Ulf-"

"Shut up" Dagur shouted. "You talk too much! You're the new hornblower."

The guard looked back at the former hornblower and gulped. Dagur shoved him in the water and said, "You'll need his horn. Oh, and take care of his body."

He began the walk back to his extremely secured chief hut without further tormenting the man. There was too much to do now to waste time on a fun distraction. This latest visit to Berk had only added to the list, though in ways he had not anticipated.

He sighed happily, his mood reversing in an instant. That was one challenge he couldn't wait to tackle, but it had to wait, because the meeting of chieftains wasn't for another month. A slight cackle escaped him as he thought about that.

His good mood lasted right about until a rather sweaty Berserker guard ran up to him, eyes wide with fear of something aside from him. That didn't make him happy at all. Berserkers were supposed to fear nothing except the wrath of their chief. His good mood vanished, and the normal, angry and sadistic Dagur reemerged. "What is it now?! I was busy!"

The Berserker didn't bother pointing out that Dagur was just walking through the village. He quickly handed over a parchment, flinching away as he did. "Message for you... from the dragon rider." His voice conveyed his fear. His knees weren't shaking, but he was close to that point.

Dagur grinned as he read the message. Eventually, he folded the parchment slowly and carefully, and then set it on fire with a nearby torch. "Finally, someone as insane as myself. Even if I should gut him like a fish for riding a dragon." What were the odds? Right after this trip, of all times?

He turned to the messenger. "How did you get this?"

The Berserker paled. "I was on patrol when something grabbed me out of an alley and dropped me onto a roof. I didn't even see it. Then a piece of parchment dropped in front of me. That parchment."

Dagur laughed. "Of course. So simple. I hate him already! A true warrior would have shown his face, or delivered this to me in person." He turned to his second in command, a weedy man he had picked up in a confrontation involving some Outcasts and a territorial dispute. "Savage, ready a ship. We're going to a tiny piece of rock about a day's sail from here, West of us. We leave at daybreak tomorrow."

Savage knew his position granted him just a tiny bit of leeway. Mostly because Dagur hated training new recruits. "Why?" That was a question only he could ask safely.

Dagur grinned, and then laughed maniacally. After a moment, he had recovered enough to speak. "The dragon rider caught Heather and is willing to negotiate with us. Of course, he had a bunch of cowardly requirements, but nothing we can't handle."

"Should I ready a warship?"

"No," Dagur decided on a whim, "one of the patrol boats. You and three of our best warriors will be accompanying me. Make sure they all bring crossbows." He and one other were the only ones allowed on the island under the conditions the cowardly rider had set, but that didn't cover shooting from offshore.

And he would keep to the letter, if not the spirit of the terms, because he was mostly a man of his word. When he wanted to be, anyway, and the strategic opportunities presented by allying with the rider couldn't be ignored. There were old legends of Berserkers harnessing Skrill and forcing them to fight for the armada, but no one knew how it was done now if they could ever even find one. This rider clearly knew how to subjugate dragons. Hopefully, he could get some information from him. And Heather, of course, but that wouldn't be an issue.

Dagur eyed the island the letter had indicated. "Doesn't look like much, does it?" He considered it for the next hour as the small boat tacked around, getting a clear view of the entire thing from all angles. No one hiding in ambush.

At a few minutes before sunset, they dropped anchor within jumping distance of a well-placed boulder. Savage had suggested it, for a possible quick getaway. No wading through the shallows to get back. Dagur had agreed.

"Shame about all the boulders." Savage sighed. "They make our crossbows useless." The crossbows would still excel at defending the ship itself, along with the net-launcher installed on the deck. But the terrain ruined any possibility of the other Berserkers interfering from the boat. Dagur would hold to his word, so they weren't stepping foot on the island itself.

Dagur jumped across, landing on the rock. He looked around and then put away his wicked curved ax, the double blades asymmetrically located on the hilt. A disturbing weapon for a disturbing and disturbed individual. Savage had a simple sword and knife, both of which he also put away. They wouldn't be needed. Yet.

Dagur and Savage made their way to the center of the island. Savage had a look around and reported that there was no sign of life. Dagur was used to the ever-present sensation of being watched. He didn't mind it.

Neither of them noticed the two Furies well hidden on top of the two tallest boulders, all but invisible.

At sunset, Dagur looked to the skies. "Well, where is he? We've been here a whole ten seconds past sunset. How late can he be?"

As if in response to that, a black dragon lifted off of a sea stack and flew towards the island.

"There you are." Dagur chuckled. "Look, Savage, it's got something in its clutches!"

Savage frowned. "Odd. I would 'ave thought the rider would actually, ya know, ride the dragon. Not be carried."

Dagur punched Savage, almost knocking him over. "Stupid. That would be Heather, obviously." He watched as the dragon landed on the edge of the island. It was obscured by the rocks, but not for long. Soon, he saw three silhouettes approaching. What had to be the Night Fury, a man in black armor and a matching black helmet... and the one he knew had to be Heather, with her hands tied and eyes downcast. Perfect. He idly wondered what the man wanted for her. He would gladly pay any price... as long as the rider agreed to come back to Berserker island to collect his payment.

Author's Note: A bit of reality here. If Maour had actually known anything about dislocated shoulders and by extension wing-shoulders, he never would have convinced them to let Nóttreiði fly on it moments after putting it back into place. Re-dislocating it is far more likely if it's used in the first few days after being fixed. Nóttreiði only managed to fly as far as he did because dragons are far more hardy than humans, and even then nobody really knows how lucky he was to make it at all. This is one of those things that isn't important story-wise, but only because nobody in-story fully understands the situation and risks involved. And in case you're wondering, we haven't seen the last of that particular injury.