Hiccup-Dreamer slowly drifted to awareness at dusk. He'd spent much of the previous night unconscious, and while that wasn't the same as sleep his body was crying out for him to move, to do something. Everything in his head now seemed to be in place; at least, the pain was gone and he was starting to think more clearly as he woke. Much more clearly than yesterday.
His mind reeled into focus and his eyes snapped open. He had unequivocally been killed in the battle with the queen dragon, there was no denying that, so he could only be in the afterlife. However, while he wasn't familiar with dragon gods, it made no sense for the afterlife to be an exact copy of Midgard complete with its people, so he could only be still alive.
Wanderer – Toothless – stirred, and Hiccup hastily separated from him. Nobody had ever even seen a Night Fury before, let alone had any idea of their capabilities. The words 'dark dragon magic' were doing frantic laps in his head.
The world spun and he fought to stay upright, automatically grounding himself by focusing on the smell of the cool air, feeling the damp grass beneath his paws. Paws! The spinning got a little worse. It was as if he had woken from a pleasant dream to find he was still asleep, and reality was trying to brute force its way into his mind.
A nudge bought him back to his senses to see Toothless – an adorable, tiny baby Toothless – on his haunches, watching him with his head bowed submissively. His expression was pained but understanding when Hiccup took a step back.
"H… how?" Hiccup asked jerkily in the dragon language.
Toothless let out a slow breath, then spoke slowly. "Nightstrikers rare, special. Need much for… make." He swung his tail out in front of him and put a paw on his left tailfin. The one that had been ripped off, though it was now much less absent. "Have way for survive grounding. We… hatch again." He whined and looked away, kneading the grass, when Hiccup just continued to stare at him. "I not know how hatch you again. Just wanted… wanted not be alone again…" He sank to the ground and covered his face with his paws, the dragon equivalent of sobbing.
Hiccup had to consider all that Toothless had done for him over two seasons, after apparently saving his life – in a way – and felt a little bad. He approached the prone dragon and pressed his snout to his head. "You not bad, I not fear you. This… very strange. I not know… what think." There was no reaction.
He sighed. Questions burned inside him, and he needed answers, but Toothless was still the best friend he'd ever had and Hiccup didn't want him upset. Demanding answers would get him nowhere, he needed to get Toothless out of this moping first. They could finally talk, and he could ask all the silly little questions he'd ever had! Except, now that he actually could, he drew a complete blank.
Finally, an innocent question floated to the surface. "What name you give Long-Paw me?"
Snort. "You always Dreamer. You free big-deadly-hunter-thing. You follow big-deadly-hunter-thing. You feed, play with big-deadly-hunter thing. You–… you make new tail-fin… You climb big-deadly-hunter-thing. Stupid hatchling. Sire, dam–"
This was followed by a string of words Hiccup didn't know yet, but the tone left him with a pretty good idea of exactly what Toothless thought of his parents. At least he had sat up and wasn't hiding under his paws anymore.
The tirade finally ended with a huff, and they sat in awkward silence.
"…What my Long-Paw name?"
If Hiccup was physically capable of going white, he would have. The name had been accidental, a jest and merely something to call to announce himself. Thankfully Toothless was staring contemplatively to the side and hadn't noticed him go rigid.
Toothle–… er… Wanderer tapped his claws on a rock, growled, then hissed. "Name sound like hunting, dangerous, strong, –"
"You hunt praise for feel better," Hiccup teased, hoping it masked his trepidation. Could he convincingly say it meant nothing? He wasn't sure.
"–mysterious, wild, –" he continued, ignoring Hiccup to list haughty descriptions for himself.
Hiccup realised he really was fishing for praise, and the words slipped out in a brief and suicidal desire to put the arrogant dragon in place. "No-Teeth."
"–…"
"…"
The only warning Hiccup had was a miniscule – and yet still somehow violent – twitch of his friend's jaw, accompanied by a barely audible snick, but it was enough; he was off.
"I show you no-teeth! Come back here!"
Genuine fear fuelled his legs in tight laps around the cove. While he didn't think Too–… Wanderer would really hurt him, the snarling and snapping at his tail was not entirely playful. The dragon might have decided to give him a permanent reminder of his insolence.
Hiccup would have had no trouble keeping ahead, being forced in circles as they were, but it was difficult to breathe around his hysterical laughter.
He did several laps of the cove before the pursuit tailed off. With Wanderer pacing the other side of the lake, Hiccup collapsed and wheezily tried to recover his breath. He only remembered dragons can fly at almost exactly the moment Wanderer lunged straight at him from across the water, and he was on his paws again.
Wanderer started trying to cut over the lake, while it cost him distance it was wearing Hiccup down faster to keep changing direction. Hiccup couldn't find any way to use his wings more efficiently than his legs, though not through lack of trying, and leaving the confines of the cove was certain to be his end.
Finally, the fight left him. He could no longer maintain his prodigious speed and resigned himself to whatever fate awaited, reflexively tucking his wings tightly to his body. The first strike was a pounce on his tail, the sudden drag throwing him out of his stride and to the ground. The second strike was Wanderer unexpectedly tumbling over him, clearly not having thought the attack through, though he recovered quickly.
Hiccup found himself on his back, desperately throwing limbs in the way of the snapping jaws aimed at his neck and body. The teeth were very sharp, but the bites were weary and weak such that they tickled more than they hurt which – horrifically – caused loud involuntary squeals that further enraged Wanderer.
Eventually the assault ended with Wanderer dropping bodily on him, and they lay in a heaving heap. Hiccup's legs prickled and tingled, though not unpleasantly, and his muscles burned in a way that said he would be very cramped tomorrow. He didn't regret it.
As he caught his breath, Hiccup's mind started wandering again. "I not can go back Long-Paw, can I?" The question was mostly a statement.
Wanderer sighed. "World is big, many strange things. I not think Long-Paw can be Nightstriker." He tilted his head so he could glare at Hiccup with a single green eye. "…Would you go back…? If could…?"
Hiccup couldn't answer the question. Part of him longed to return to his own body, to go back to tinkering in the forge and covertly staring at Astrid whenever she brought in her axe for repair. Another part of him was happy to be free of all the expectations, disappointment, and particularly the bullying. There was also the fact that he was a Night Fury, the fastest, smartest, strongest, and best-looking dragon.
…
He was pretty sure he used to think that as a human, and hadn't just inherited a draconic arrogance.
Avid curiosity suddenly spiked in him. He knew his own body of course, living as Dreamer, but now he had an appraising eye. He knew that most of his body was covered in tiny little scales, but holding a foreleg up to his face he found he couldn't focus on them. The tree on the other side of the cove seemed clearer than his own paw. Well, a little farsightedness was to be expected.
Maybe he would see better in the light, he'd forgotten the sky-fire had set ages ago as the cove was startlingly clear despite being only lit by sky-sparks and a tiny sliver of sky-ice. Guess I'm nocturnal now, he mused as he surveyed the world in monotone night vision.
He took a moment to appreciate how the dragon words weren't out of place halfway through an otherwise Norse thought, and that some of the dragon-words had almost completely replaced Norse ones. The… sun was a fire, it was in the sky, ergo sky-fire. The… moon was a cold ball that waned with proximity to the sky-fire, and it was also in the sky, so it was sky-ice.
It was a pity he couldn't geek out about it with Fishlegs, the enthusiastic teen would love to document all this. Would have, anyway… Had it really been nearly a year?
He cut that line of thinking for now, busying himself with sheathing and unsheathing his teeth – a bizarre sensation – and playing with his claws. Wanderer tired of his fidgeting and rolled off, allowing him to try to shake his fatigue away.
Stretching his wings out, he felt his tail flex behind him automatically. If he'd not already lived in the body for so long, the jump from four limbs to seven, not even including the sub-wings, would have been a severe shock. Now, the thought of having five long dextrous fingers was the strange thing. Although, he had to admit, breathing fire was still a completely foreign concept. That was something to look forward to.
Hiccup considered his name. Dragons didn't seem to get hiccoughs and probably had no word for it, and he didn't want to ask Wanderer how to say 'runt'. He certainly wasn't going to ask to be called either. He never did like that name, so he reasoned he might as well accept his dragon one what with currently being a dragon and all.
…
If he'd expected some profound change of identity, he was disappointed. Actually, he seemed to be taking the whole thing pretty well all things considered, though that he had already been living in this reality for two seasons was certainly a huge factor. Still, maybe he should chalk up an existential crisis for himself later to make up for it.
The big question was, what now? He needed to talk to Wanderer some more but the nearby snoring told him that wasn't happening soon. Well, the nights were long, he had time.
It had been a hard sell, but Dreamer had managed to coax out that Wanderer didn't really have a solid plan for the winter beyond 'hole up somewhere and hope we don't freeze,' and convinced him from there.
That was how he found himself lazily slumped over the nose of the dragon carved from the protruding ridge beam of his old house in the pre-dawn. He reasoned it was perfectly plausible a dragon would return, if warily, to a place it had been treated and fed. Wanderer trusted him enough that he was also there, laying between the ears of the carving, but while he may have appeared relaxed his eyes and ears were subtly darting around. Well, Dreamer could hardly blame him. As far as he knew, the only experience Wanderer had had with the Viking village was being beaten and chained.
Had they even fed him on the boat? It took four days to reach the nest by water with a good wind. Dreamer felt his stomach turn, suddenly aware of how very tired and hungry the poor dragon must have been during the fight with the queen. Berk would be making amends whether it knew it or not.
Of the villagers, there was a steady trickle trekking into and out of the Great Hall. The nights may be long but work still needed doing, it just depended which side of the night they preferred doing it. None of them had yet noticed the two Night Furies lounging on the house, though that wasn't surprising in the low light.
Dreamer grew impatient when the sky-fire peeked out of the water, and allowed a squeaky yawn to escape as a group of women passed. It didn't take long after that for a crowd to assemble, all cooing and whispering excitedly.
The sound of wings caught his ears, giving short warning of the Nadder landing at the edge of the crowd with a loud Viking on its back – Astrid! – who seemed a model of authority as she waved and yelled at the crowd until it started to disperse. Nice to see nothing has changed.
Dreamer barked a greeting at the Nadder Astrid had called Stormfly, who perked up, chattered, and moved closer to trill a reply. The crowd edged closer again, and even Astrid was now too interested to chase them off or maybe even notice.
"I Dreamer!" he announced himself. If he sounded like a giddy fledgling, well, he was definitely giddy, and technically a fledgling.
Stormfly first spoke with her body, saying safe, healthy, happy, curious, surprised, all at once. This must have put Wanderer at ease, as he crept further along the head of the carving to better show himself, and Stormfly hummed and bobbed her head.
"You safe here. Your sire, dam?" she asked. Her voice was sharp and shrill, and she had no forelegs, but amazingly Dreamer was able to pair the sounds and movements with what he and Wanderer used. He couldn't keep the goofy grin off his face.
Beside him Wanderer crooned negative and Stormfly changed her posture to sad and sympathy. "Your sire do much good." Dreamer was still contemplating that when she spread her wings low in welcoming. "Stay! Food! Safe! Good nest!"
Wanderer made a neutral sound that Dreamer assumed to be along the lines of "maybe" or "decide later." Stormfly bobbed happily, then startled back with a flap when the front door of the house flew open.
Stoick emerged, shouting into the crowd. Dreamer still couldn't make out the words, but interestingly the tones spoke confusion and annoyance in Dragon. He only had a moment to wonder how much he'd really been talking to Wanderer as a Long-Paw, before almost every other arm in the growing crowd rose to point at him.
Dreamer and Wanderer looked down. Stoick looked up, and got a double serving of innocently curious Night Fury face; big eyes, ears out, and head slightly tilted. The big man's melting heart was visible in his awed expression, something Dreamer had not seen for… ever.
When he caught sight of Astrid with her hands over her mouth and trying not to gush, Dreamer let his tongue loll out. He was having fun. Then Stoick shook himself out of it and started shooing everyone away, barking threats and big scary into the crowd, though the only actual word Dreamer understood was "–Fishlegs!"
Shortly afterwards they were investigating the dragon arena; it was no firelit longhouse, but it was sheltered and calm. The chain netting had been removed, everything cleaned, and the doors removed, so that what were cages now resembled caves. The dragons would be free to come and go as they pleased, which was very good to see. All but one of the caves were clearly claimed, that being the one that had held the Terror.
Dreamer was a little shy at having an audience as they inspected what was apparently their new den – Astrid and Stoick had both joined Fishlegs in coaxing them to the ring with fish – but Wanderer had no such qualms and was quickly losing his apprehensions. He tackled Dreamer to fight for grooming rights.
Of course, distracted as he was, Dreamer quickly lost and was subjected to the humiliating treatment in front of his friend, his sire– father, and his childhood crush, never mind they had no idea of his identity. If he didn't look at them, he could pretend they were politely looking away. Well, at the very least he wouldn't betray his horrified expression.
He tried to protest – through involuntary and embarrassing sounds – at the extra detail partway through a meticulous cleaning of his wing-shoulders, but received several swift bats to the head. It was almost as if–… Ooooh, you rotten dragon. He glared at Wanderer and received a fierce and very toothy grin in response.
This meant war.
Payback was to be expected, and Wanderer was ready for it. He eyed the fish laying on the stone before him; Dreamer had fetched it and was now watching with very suspicious excitement.
Wanderer sniffed at it and, finding nothing out of the ordinary, snapped it up. He was ready for false-jokes too. Mmmrrr, he'd missed fish so much, they felt much better in his belly than all the heavy land-prey they had been eating.
"I get more!" shouted Dreamer a little too eagerly and went to leave.
Wanderer chuffed, "I come." Dreamer shrugged at him, and they were off.
They glided to one of the strange Long-Paw dens where Dreamer did something to the wall and the mouth of the den opened. Wanderer was waiting for the joke but Dreamer bounded inside, loudly calling out "Fish! Fish!" and bouncing around, so he followed.
He'd never been in a Long-Paw den before. It smelled heavily of many of them and smoke, and all manner of strange things were piled up against – and even hanging on – the walls. Despite the cold outside it was comfortably warm.
Dreamer continued chirping and bouncing around in circles until there was a sound of movement above them. Then everything happened at once. As Wanderer looked up, Dreamer bounced off him and sent him sprawling on the floor, and a click sounded behind him right as a matching sound came from above – the den-mouth closing behind him, and another one opening above him.
A Long-Paw voice spoke curious and wonder, but Wanderer ignored it to growl at the now closed den-mouth. The Long-Paw voice changed to safe and protect as its owner, the large young Long-Paw that he recalled had flown with them in that awful nest-fight, descended a sort of jagged slope. Wanderer realised he'd just played right into Dreamer's claws, who was laughing so hard outside he could barely claw and bat the den-mouth to feign danger.
No no no no this wasn't happening! He leapt at the den-mouth to investigate the part that opened it but could make no sense of it. "Dreamer!" he barked but was swiftly scooped into a firm embrace and carried away with reassuring rumblings. He could only watch in horror as another den-mouth closed behind him.
He was placed on a soft raised surface where he sat numbly while the light in the room grew. Okay, think. It was unlikely he could communicate enough to explain the situation, but he tried anyway with the predicted result. Hurting the Long-Paw was out of the question except for if he felt threatened, and while he hardly felt safe right now he trusted Dreamer wouldn't put him in any danger.
When the Long-Paw reached out to him he growled, and the paw withdrew with understanding and protection. Grrr, what was it going to take?
A round flat thing was set in front of him and his frills perked up. On it, among some of the plants that the Long-Paws liked to eat, was a whole smoky-smelling fish and a hunk of land-prey on the bone. The smells had Wanderer's stomach clawing at him. Delicately, he picked up the fish with his teeth and swallowed it whole. The flat-thing wasn't removed so he picked up the meaty bone and carried it to the hard floor where he wouldn't lose any scraps, and held it down in his claws to tear off shreds with his teeth.
While he was gnawing off the gristle on the end, the circular thing was offered to him again with a questioning sound. He gave it a sniff and used his tongue to scoop up a few leaves that smelled like they had some flavour, more to humour the Long-Paw than to supplement his diet, and returned to his bone. Infuriatingly it was too strong for him to crack it open for its marrow, but trying put a pleasant pressure to his teeth.
The Long-Paw was studying a thing Wanderer recognised, a small squared object that had many markings on the many surfaces inside it, the same one Dreamer had brought to their cove for every visit. A separate one received some new scribbles, then the Long-Paw was rifling through a bundle of prey-skin. What now…?
Bone forgotten, his eyes went wide and glazed over as an impossibly sweet smell hit his nose. Some of that special grass was being offered to him, and he tried to resist it, but when it was spread on the ground in front of him he couldn't help putting his nose to it. The rest of him followed.
He came to his senses some time later and groggily stumbled away from the blissful patch, but didn't make it far before he was bundled up again. His head was too foggy to fight it or the gentle pulls and nudges over his body, and the comforting and curious Long-Paw rumbles had never really stopped.
As soon as something touched his neck, however soft, he was instantly alert and darting back onto the soft-ground with a warning growl at the Long-Paw to not overstep the trust it'd earned. Submission, safe, respect the Long-Paw said with sounds and body, and Wanderer let the growl die.
Curiosity he said with his nose as he approached the Long-Paw. He'd never properly interacted with any other than Dreamer, and there were many differences between him and this one. Wanderer sniffed the foreleg proffered to him – it was almost bigger than he was! – and, careful with his claws on the fragile hide, walked onto it.
The foreleg barely flexed at his weight, to his surprise there was only a moderate layer of fat over the surprisingly firm muscle. Wanderer continued up to perch delicately on the shoulder, using his tail to correct his wobbles as the furs under his claws slid back and forth. He prodded the Long-Paw's cheek with a paw, there was no way its jaws were that strong, but found only soft fat. How very strange, it was like it was camouflaging its strength.
It was only fair after all, and the Long-Paw only voiced a mild surprised complaint when Wanderer stuck his nose in its ear and down the opening in the fur at the back of its neck. Satisfied and now bored, he jumped down and scratched at the den-mouth, staring pleading at the Long-Paw. Surely it wasn't going to keep him here forever…?
With a noise of acceptance that was only slightly begrudged, he was let out into the den proper, then finally out into the chill night.
For a moment he just beat the air with his wings and felt it streak down his body, revelling having his freedom returned, but then his eyes narrowed and his claws flexed. That runt will pay for that, he thought darkly, scanning the ground and plotting what he hoped would be excruciatingly embarrassing scenarios.
Several long laps of the nest later, on both wing and paw, he slumped in the air. The Long-Paw nest was just too foreign to him to properly understand, Dreamer could be anywhere.
Bark!
Or, he could be gliding back to their new den in the strange ledge on the cliff. The timing was too close to Wanderer giving up on the hunt, crafty Dreamer, so he switched his chosen plot for one a little more severe that he'd come up with earlier.
Wanderer swooped in behind him, only just now recognising the rock-hole; the same place he'd blasted into to save his Dreamer from a Firescale. That must have been a whole cycle ago now, though it didn't feel it, time seemed to move slower in this little body.
As he landed, Dreamer chirped happily from their den, lounging on one of many boulders that had been scattered around. Wanderer approved, it gave them a measure of shelter in the otherwise open den, but for now he had other priorities.
He would not disrespect the joke by brushing it off; he had to admit it had been clever. As he approached, he let the broadly grinning Dreamer know every mote of his antipathy in a fierce glare.
"How was?" Dreamer asked casually. He sniggered when Wanderer's only response was to silently finish his approach and sit slowly in front of him, maintaining the glare. "You not seem much bad, you fed, –" he warbled and his eyes widened, dropping from the rock he padded closer, "smell very good…"
Dreamer purred loudly and made to rub himself against Wanderer – rrmm, the sweet-grass – but got shoved away, looking dejected.
"Y–… Yes. Rrmm, need know. What word for when hatchling small? More small than others in nest."
Wanderer winced, recalling his earlier thought, then muttered, "Runt."
Dreamer nodded. "That my Long-Paw name."
Wings and tail audibly slapped the ground in Wanderer's disbelief and shock, and Dreamer continued.
"Sort of. Word for… strange backward cough Long-Paws do. But name mean runt." He nodded again, then finally had the decency to look abashed about it.
Wanderer was completely and utterly speechless. Could Long-Paws not take a new name? What had his sire and dam been thinking? Well, not a lot at all when it came to his sire, that much had been quite clear long ago…
"I tell you, we even. No jokes while nest new." Dreamer held out a paw.
Wanderer picked himself off the ground and straightened, but wasn't sure what to do with the paw. He huffed, this must be a strange Long-Paw ritual, and instead chose to shake his head and declare "Truce."
"Truce," Dreamer repeated, then took a step forward. "Why sad?" Wanderer suddenly couldn't look at him, the guilt building in his heart. He'd hoped the initial shock had masked it, but… "What, because I still runt?"
Wanderer lowered himself to the ground and forced himself to look at Dreamer. He shouldn't hide from this. Dreamer sighed and looked at the sky-sparks above. "I runt Long-Paw, I runt Nightstriker. Not care."
"My fault," Wanderer gasped. "It my fault. Nightstriker not make new life, new seed, without mate. We are same body."
Looking back at him, Dreamers eyes widened a little in understanding. "This…" he gestured to himself, "Wanderer body?"
"Yes." Wanderer could practically read the question on him. "You smaller because… I not find enough food… when you hatchling." He lowered his nose to the ground, looking up at Dreamer to beg forgiveness. "I gave some, but still needed hunt, needed strength. I got strong, you…"
"No sire, no dam…" Dreamer's eyes were flicking around, it was just like those days when refining the not-tail-fin after they crashed. He would always come back with a better not-fin afterwards.
Then the breath left Wanderer's chest as Dreamer crashed into him, purring love, happy, friend-mate, and grateful. "No thing for forgive. But," he stepped back and narrowed his eyes, "you say I weak?"
"No!" Wanderer scratched and barked hurriedly, bouncing upright.
Dreamer laughed and made to lick him, but Wanderer suddenly remembered the sweet-grass and pulled back. "Eat sweet-grass not good for fledglings."
"Sweet-grass?" Dreamer purred, rubbing himself against Wanderer, then his ears perked. "Grass in field we crash into!" He made to take off, but Wanderer threw a wing in front of him.
"Dangerous. Not think straight when smell sweet-grass." With a tease and a smirk, he added "Ask that Long-Paw for some."
Dreamer hunched a little. "You think… I should tell them? Tell them… me?"
Tensing, Wanderer looked at Dreamer in alarm, but then drooped. "I not know them. I starve you because I not trust them. I trust you." This didn't seem to be the answer Dreamer wanted to hear, so he added, "What you think when you know?"
It was Dreamer's turn to stiffen in alarm, and Wanderer looked at him pointedly until he nodded slowly. "Not tell them…"
Now he's all gloomy again, Wanderer sighed to himself. Wwrr, just this once… He sidled up and brushed his cheek, where the sweet-grass had rubbed most, against Dreamer's nose, smirking at seeing his eyes glaze over. Its effect was somewhat weaker like this, but the warmth of his body made the smell much stronger.
He stopped pushing the effect back and let it soothe his own mind, and they rolled around happily in the deserted ring.
Stoick managed a brisk walk to the kill-ring-turned-stables, though he had to stop himself from jogging a few times.
He wasn't entirely sure why he was so captivated by the little dragons, he looked at the others seeing only pets and tools, but these little shadows were… catching somewhere in his chest. Maybe… maybe this was his way of keeping his son's memory, his legacy, alive. Maybe this was Odin sending him a sign to let go of the past.
Thus he found himself, for the first time since spring, strolling in the pre-dawn light. A bucket of fish hung from his hand, with a whole year free of dragon attacks they found themselves with almost more food than they knew what to do with, even while – now properly – feeding four active and hungry dragons.
He was a little startled when he entered the ring to find boulders, some the size of sheep, strewn through the Night Fury stable. Where had they come from? More importantly, they blocked his view of the stable, were the little Night Furies even in there?
Each step toward the dark alcove was less certain than the last, an internal struggle trying to hold him back. As he crossed the centre of the ring it won him over with the simple argument that these were wild dragons, it would be all too easy to scare them away by just invading their space. Deciding to wait until the sun fully breached the horizon, he turned back to the entrance – and froze. Four green eyes were staring at him from the shadows.
He could hear sounds from the darkness, but they weren't directed at him. At each other? No, that couldn't be right.
Stoick did the most non-aggressive thing he could think of, and sat down. With a high, quiet trill one of them stalked from the shadows, and the second larger one followed. He now recognised the smaller one as the one he'd housed for that night, seeing the light scabbing on its forehead, and it happily bounded up to and around him before pinching a fish from the bucket, but the second one had stopped and was giving a low warning growl.
What was he doing wrong? He tried racking his brain for an answer but was distracted by the smaller one nudging his hand. It looked him in the eye then at his head. My head…? He brought his hand up and felt his helmet – sudden recollections of Hiccup's display with the Monstrous Nightmare in this very ring came to mind, and he snatched it off and sent it sliding away; though not nearly as offensively as Hiccup had done.
This apparently wasn't enough, and the little one was now staring at his waist. My knife!? How did they even know about that? Stoick had forgotten about it himself. It struck him as unfair that they could keep their teeth and claws while he couldn't even have a little knife, but he calmly undid his coat enough to reach in and pull the knife free. The growling intensified a little until he tossed it aside.
The larger one calmed instantly, going back to a cute baby dragon, though it looked towards the smaller dragon and grumbled. The little one burbled back, and received a snort. No, they couldn't possibly be talking…
Stoick took a fish from the bucket, shooing away the smaller one, and tossed it across the arena. His aim was a little off from being sat on his bum but the dragon leaped forward to catch it and swallowed it whole. Alternating tossing a fish between the two, he counted down until he had two left, which he held out to be taken. The smaller one did so eagerly, the larger one more warily.
In the early morning light, this was the first good look Stoick had got at either. They must be siblings, one older than the other, and were true to Toothless' form; lean and sleek with flat heads and matte near-black scales. Though they currently lacked size he knew they would grow to be fearsome and deadly beasts, and the Chief in him was ecstatic at having that power nest here on Berk.
The younger one stepped onto Stoick's leg and allowed him to pet it, purring and moving to put his hand on its favourite spots. Its scales were smooth but surprisingly soft, almost leathery. He was almost convinced it was leather, it was hard to tell with his calloused hands, but whoever heard of a dragon without scales? Save Gobber and his crazy stories, of course.
He held out a hand to the older one, but it only sniffed and bumped it with its snout. The smaller one grumbled and the two had what could only be described as a conversation, though Stoick wasn't prepared to accept they had actual language just yet.
That was, right up until the bigger one cringed, then looked into Stoick's eyes with a calculating stare that bored straight through him. All doubts fled his mind. Whatever he thought of the other beasts, these dragons were undoubtedly highly intelligent. More intelligent than half the village, maybe more so than Stoick himself. Perhaps, almost as intelligent as…
"Oh Hiccup…" he whispered. "'Saw yourself' indeed. I'm… so sorry…" He bowed his head, not bothering to wipe his face, and was a little startled when he felt a leathery head under his sagging hand.
Then he was sat with a tiny Night Fury draped over each leg, both purring as he stroked them; a surreal experience. That was how he was found by Fishlegs, who announced himself by dropping the bucket he'd been cradling. It hit the stone ground with the expected crash, spilling fish and startling the two Furies to their feet.
The older one chittered to the younger and yawned widely, then they both disappeared between the rocks in their stable.
"Oh of course, they're nocturnal! I'm such an idiot," Fishlegs exclaimed to himself, oblivious to the glare he was getting. He picked up the bucket of fish, and Stoick left it by the Night Fury stable then retrieved his helmet and knife. As they walked back towards the village Stoick found himself almost interested in the conversation with Fishlegs, though the boy pouted when he waved off the request to recount the events in more detail.
"And they knew you had a knife under your coat?" Fishlegs asked.
"Aye, I'd forgotten about it myself. I'm not sure I want to know."
"Actually, it was probably their acute sense of smell. Metal has a smell, we just don't notice it outside of the forge. Heh, you know Hiccup had almost the exact same experience?" Fishlegs cringed, but instead of his usual mood swings at mention of the H word Stoick found himself just looking at the boy in surprise. "Uh, yeah, in his journal he said Toothless knew about his belt knife, though it was hidden under his coat. The smell thing was his theory. Oh Thor, we are just so lucky he left such detailed notes! They'll be even more helpful with these new additions. In fact, I'm going to read over them all again today."
"Alright. Don't worry about bringing them fish tomorrow, I'll get it."
Fishlegs gave him a sidelong look, as far as their height difference allowed. "Sir, if you want them to like you, I've got something much better…"
Dreamer groaned as the veil of sleep lifted, then untangled from the stirring Wanderer and gave himself a shake. He glanced at the stone pit outside their little boulder-den, and tentatively asked the dreaded question. "How bad was it?"
Wanderer just snickered. That wasn't a good sign. He remembered clearly right up until he'd shoved his face into the fat wad of grass his sire had offered him, but everything after that was hazy. He'd had his belly in the air a lot… Oh man did I really chew his fingers… All topped off by Wanderer dragging him – still on his back – into the den, where he didn't so much fall asleep as pass out.
Wellp, living here has been nice while it lasted. He rubbed his forehead into the nearest rock, hoping to grind the memories to powder.
Wanderer nudged him on the way past, then pranced in front of him. "Fly!"
That sounded like an excellent idea to help take his mind off things, and they disappeared into the dark sky. He followed Wanderer, easily able to make him out this close in the light of the sky-sparks twinkling above. They ascended into a near vertical climb, Dreamer copying and learning Wanderer's movements and how he cupped the air with his wings. Up and up they went, long past the point Dreamer's wings started aching from exertion.
When his burning wings could climb no further he barked wearily at Wanderer, and together they gracefully leaned back and arced into a dive. Berk tilted into view far below them, though they weren't nearly as high as they'd gone when he'd flown on Wanderer. It was still exhilarating to be held up so high by nothing other than flesh and muscle, especially now that it was his own.
Below, the green torches dotting Berk were more than enough light to see by, and even at this distance he could make out the wood panels of the buildings. He heard Wanderer's whistle build, drowning out his own struggling rasp, though it was still shrill and nothing like the chilling screech of an adult Nightstriker. Yeah, still weird to think I'll do that one day.
The sound was letting him know exactly where Wanderer was, Dreamer could follow him with his eyes closed – and did, for a short time, just for the fun of it. Perhaps that was the reason for it, to stop Furies crashing into each other while flying at high speeds in the dark. Which would mean… Night Furies weren't solo creatures! It was so obvious now, Toothless had been desperate for companionship, even in a nest full of other dragons.
Dreamer had so many questions for when they landed.
For now, Berk were getting close. Dreamer slid over into Wanderer's slipstream for a bit of extra speed to pull up next to him, and they looked into each other's eye with glee.
This was of course no time for challenges or daring; failing to pull up would result in certain death, and Dreamer was nowhere near comfortable with his limits for that kind of game. They did pull up close enough that several villagers still wandering the streets ducked reflexively and exclaimed at the sound.
As they reached the docks, a flick of their tails had them soaring back up towards the sky-sparks above. Here, in both of his elements – darkness for the Nightstriker, and home for the Viking – he let out a happy shout that was echoed by Wanderer. Freefalling up was still the best.
Much later, when they alighted with heaving chests on a ridge near the peak of Berk's spire, the questions started burning again in Dreamer's mind. He was barely able to wait to catch his breath. "Where Wanderer from?"
"South, where it warmer and long-days not so long." Wanderer shivered and added "This not good place for Nightstrikers. Too much light, then too much cold."
"No Nightstrikers here? Just us?" Wanderer shook a yes. "Why you here?"
"Needed get away from nest… Not my choice, I… too young, barely fireling. Flew far, to these cold small-lands."
"Where you find… big-big-wing-hunter-thing."
"Yes. I find that queen, not have want to break free. I too young, think maybe more Nightstrikers follow. In egg-season, when old enough for want, I roamed, but always go back. Thought was best chance. Now I think I wrong." He gave Dreamer an inscrutable look. "Now I have friend. One night, when we old enough, we fly south."
"This my home!" Dreamer cried worriedly. "No can leave!"
"Stupid," Wanderer snorted. "Say again in four warm-seasons, when you get fire. All firelings want leave nest."
Dreamer gaped at him. Four years!? They would be almost defenceless until then. He stopped and chastised himself for the very dragon thought, they wouldn't need to fight for food or den here. Besides, we have teeth and claws…
"Before seventh cold-season you start–" and Dreamer went very still at the word Wanderer said with a double motion of his hindquarters. Apparently misinterpreting his blank expression, he went on to clarify, "Interest in–"
"YES I get," Dreamer hurriedly cut him off. It wasn't like he could court Astrid like this, but the thought of courting a dragon? Nope, nope, nope. Say again in eight warm-seasons, echoed Wanderer's voice in the back of his head. Nope nope nope nope.
They sat in silence for a time, splaying out their wings to rest them. Dreamer's thoughts were wandering when there was a nudge on his chin. "Why you sad?"
Oh. He hadn't even realised he was moping. "Just thinking… Want be in Long-Paw nest, but we sleep at light, they sleep at night."
Wanderer snorted again. "Stupid. We just sleep at night."
Dreamer resisted the urge to hit his head on the rock. Barely.
Fishlegs had only ever seen this trick done once on the Terrible Terror, which had flown off the moment they released it, but Hiccup's detailed notes and amazing illustrations definitely reported its effect on the Night Fury. Stifling a giggle, he tilted the polished coin to wave its reflection around the training ring and watched the young Night Fury scrabble after it. The smaller one watched from the side, tail intermittently waving in the air and chortling as the bigger one tried to take turns too quickly and fell over himself.
"Ooh, you think that's funny do you?" Fishlegs mumbled and surreptitiously moved the dot closer. With a devious flick he had him looking the other direction while the bigger one pounced at the dot on his back.
Stoick allowed a short chuckle next to him, but while it had been very funny Fishlegs was more interested in the little altercation between them that followed. "I think you're right Chief, those little guys are definitely talking to each other. Ooooh isn't this exciting? I wonder if all the dragons can talk, though we've never observed anything like this…" The little Fury was glaring at him now.
"Tell you what… I need to get going, but I'll get Astrid and Stormfly. We should really introduce the other dragons and let them back into their stables."
Fishlegs nodded, but his attention was still mostly on the Furies who were now chasing each other. "Huh, you know what, I think the smaller one is a hiccup."
Stoick, who had just turned to leave, rounded on him. "Come again?" he growled.
"Well I mean look at them, everything other than their size puts them at the same level of development, they've gotta be the same age. And we do need names for them, can't keep calling them 'big Fury' and 'little Fury'."
Stoick calmed with a sigh. "Alright then, I'll think about it."
Astrid glided in a short time later and, after briefly conferring with Fishlegs, removed Stormfly's harness and walked her through the gate. Fishlegs followed; it was unlikely there would be any problems – especially given the reports of their first meeting – but it often paid to be careful.
"What are you gonna call them?" Astrid asked casually, watching Stormfly croon and nuzzle the little dragons. When it had been absolutely clear there was no need for worry, they'd taken a seat on a bench at the edge of the ring.
"Stoick's thinking about it, but I think we should name the little one Hiccup." He tried not to shy away from the storm suddenly brewing beside him. "Well, he is one, I'm positive these two are the same age. And, not the worst way to be remembered, having the one of the rarest, most lethal and fearsome dragons named after you."
Astrid huffed. "You've seen his notes and drawings more than anyone, Toothless was an overgrown puppy. Well, except when I threw Hiccup to the ground and dropped my axe on him, then it was like a fire-breathing bear and I was attacking its cub. Thor, what was wrong with me?"
Fishlegs felt it wisest to not comment on that. They watched the two Night Furies run back to their stable, jump on and around the boulders, then run back to Stormfly and nuzzle her. "Oh, you had Stormfly fill their stable with boulders? We were trying to work out how they got there. What made you do that?"
"Uhhh, why would I do that? You're the dragon expert. Wait, Stormfly did it?"
"Hmm…" Fishlegs carefully edged his way to the mouth of the stable to examine the nearest rock, then made his way back and dropped back onto the bench. "The claw marks are definitely that of a Nadder, and I'm pretty sure they were just thanking her."
"You don't think… they asked her!?" Astrid exclaimed incredulously. "But–…"
"I know! Isn't it exciting!? To think dragons might actually have a language, and can–…" He turned to stare deadpan at her. "I'm going to learn it."
She laughed. "You would. Well if anyone can, it's you Fishlegs. Well… you and…"
Fishlegs pulled her into a quick platonic hug. "Yeah, him too, I know. We all miss him, Astrid. Even Snotlout and the twins. Hey, speaking of, how did you keep them away? I expected them days ago."
"Oh, I just pointed out to everyone else what might happen if any of those three made it here. Not everyone is a dragon lover, but enough are eager for a Night Fury like their beloved hero." She cracked a rare smile. "I think someone convinced Snotlout to take Hookfang and fend for himself for a few days as some bogus rite of passage. Gobber gave the twins an old map…"
The conversation died as the smaller Night Fury made his way towards them, curiosity on his face. "Axe," Fishlegs whispered at Astrid and she quickly disarmed. This seemed to please the little Fury and he bounded over, indeed looking every bit a puppy.
Astrid held her hand down for him to sniff, then invited him up to the bench next to her. "Aww, aren't you just the cutest little thing?" she babied, scratching behind his ears while he made happy noises.
Fishlegs was taken for a moment too, before remembering his commitment and fumbling for his notebook. Skipping ahead to a new section he started taking notes, just whatever he could write down at this point, he'd sort it out later.
"Yeck! No kisses!" Astrid laughed, wiping slobber from her face and trying to hold the licky dragon away. He gave up and stepped into her lap, heedless of the spikes, and tried to stick his nose into Fishlegs' book.
"Hey, I'm–… You know what…" Fishlegs flipped back to one of the sketches of Toothless he'd copied from Hiccup's journal.
Big green eyes lit up in recognition as he studied the drawing. "This dragon's name was Toothless," he told the fledgling, "he lost a good friend, we all did, but he took it the worst. He disappeared near the end of Winter. Given the timing, I'd bet he's your father, but if you're here and he's not… He wasn't in the best shape when he left…"
The little dragon warbled at him, so Fishlegs scratched him under the chin. "Maybe I'm wrong and he'll come back. I hope I'm wrong."
"You realise it can't understand you, right?" Astrid scratched between the Fury's wings and grinned as he stretched out across the both of them.
"He might not understand the words, but animals imprint to voices, and I'm beginning to suspect a lot of their language is based on tone–" Fishlegs jumped and nearly stifled a scream as a black shape appeared over his other leg, causing both dragons to jump back and Astrid to hiss in pain. "Sorry little guys," he said softly, "didn't see you sneaking up like that, where did you even come from?"
Astrid was holding her side, and the dragon on her lap stepped off and held his head low, looking up at her with big dilated eyes. Fumbling again at his notebook, Fishlegs got back to the right page and hastily scribbled a crude drawing, though his sight was quickly blocked by Stormfly checking over Astrid for the source of her distress. Thankfully just a light scratch.
There was soon more to scribble down though as Stormfly turned to the little Night Fury and made chittering and tutting sounds. Fishlegs had so many questions, foremost being how the two species understood each other with such different 'voices', but however daunting the task seemed now he was determined to answer them all.
"Alright guys, meet Toothy and Hiccup." Astrid calmly moved ahead to greet the Night Furies and put them at ease before letting everyone crowd around.
"Hiccup!?" exclaimed Snotlout.
"Toothy?" questioned Ruffnut at the same time.
"Aye, Toothy," Stoick rumbled, talking over Fishlegs' mild and resigned protests. "Needed to set the record straight, after all." He was clearly very proud of the name he'd come up with. It was amazing, looking at the change in him over the last week, his eyes looked alive, and to Astrid it was obvious he was eating and sleeping much better. She knew her sudden tutelage had been as much to establish succession as it was to allow him time and space to grieve, but until now it was like it hadn't been really helping. Gee, I wonder what brought this on, she thought with a warm smile.
"And yes, Hiccup," Fishlegs explained matter-of-factly, "they are actually the same age, it's obvious by their level of development." He grinned sideways at Ruffnut as if this was the most obvious thing on Midgard, but lost his composure at the estranged look she gave him back. "Uh, yeah, anyway he's a hiccup," he finished lamely.
"I like it!" announced Tuffnut loudly. "It's bold, it's subtle, it's a TRIBUTE to our fallen hero! Also, maybe, a little on the nose, wait, dragons don't have noses, a little on the snout? Anyway, what were we talking about again?"
"I dunno," Ruffnut cooed softly, "but these guys are adorable…! Come 'ere, little guy…"
Having been sat down by Fishlegs, who stood off to the side, the three were approached warily but curiously by Toothy and Hiccup. Astrid watched the Furies' long tails sweep across the ground, suddenly struck by how much they were trusting her to turn their backs. She was the Chief's aide and successor, and – mostly – had the respect and trust of the village, but this felt somehow deeper, more primal.
Toothy went to Tuffnut and they started playing, while Hiccup received scritches and rubs from Ruffnut. Snotlout folded his arms and grumbled for a moment, but then contented himself by sidling up to Ruffnut to dote over Hiccup as well.
"Hey Chief?" Tuffnut called back to Stoick, who was just turning to leave. "You said his name was Toothy?"
"What of it?"
"Yeah, gonna have to disagree with you there…" he said slowly. As he stood up, bringing Toothy with him, Astrid saw what he was talking about. She could only sit there with her mouth open while he turned around to show Stoick the dragon playfully gumming his arm.
Stoick's expression was priceless.
Dreamer sat on one of the many cliffs in the village proper, ignoring the pre-dawn chill biting through his scales.
A year ago. It was exactly a year ago, close to the minute, that he'd stood in this very spot and fired that bola that changed everything, that somehow resulted in all that had happened. He knew it was now because Fishlegs had told him before coaxing him and Wanderer into the Great Hall at the start of the night for a recount of Hiccup's Saga. The promise of a feast had been too tempting for either Night Fury to resist, and they'd stuffed themselves silly with all manner of meats.
What Dreamer had been able to make out had all been surprisingly accurate, pieced together from his journal and by the efforts of the teens and every Skald on Berk. Thankfully he'd not documented their first real flight in much detail, so that particular misadventure was only mentioned in passing to lead up to his epiphany with the Terrors. He had only been made the fool once or twice, his deeds had otherwise been recalled in great esteem. Even eating the raw regurgitated fish, though he regretted recording that nonetheless.
The brief mention of the anguish faced by both Stoick and Toothless, what Hiccup had not lived through, had been heart-breaking, but he had succeeded in his plight. The dragon raids completely stopped and, with Astrid stepping up as an impromptu Chief-in-training, the island had prospered. All the dragons at the nest were liberated, and Hiccup himself had spent near three seasons living as a Night Fury, now back in his village unbeknownst to everyone.
All the result of a chance shot into the dark. With my eyes closed, he remembered wryly.
Footsteps brought him out of his reverie, and he warbled a greeting at his father before he was stepped on.
"Toothy? …Hiccup?"
He gave a low bark at his name; weren't the gods in fits about that, it had followed him even after he'd shed it. The whole series of events felt like a big joke by Loki. Would he wake up tomorrow as a Viking boy again? And wouldn't that be the cream on the cake.
…That was it wasn't it? He was so accepting of this form because he was far happier now as Hiccup the Night Fury than he'd ever been as Hiccup the Useless. His father wasn't constantly setting impossible expectations and getting disappointed when he failed to meet them, he wasn't the butt of every joke, and people actually wanted him around, to say nothing of his inconceivably deep friendship with Wanderer.
Despite everything anyone had done to him however, he could only be angry at himself, at his old self, while simultaneously knowing that doing anything different would not have resulted in the peace they now had.
It made him want to scream out over the ocean.
"He tried to tell me, but I didn't listen." The solemn voice made him jump a little, he'd forgotten his father had sat down next to him. The quiet, level tone was surprisingly easy to understand in the open air, and his father was speaking slowly, though Dreamer supposed his familiarity with the voice played a part. "He used one of his contraptions, from right there, to do what no one else could do in over three hundred years.
"I never listened. All I had to do was hear him once, and he'd still be here." There was a great sniffle and a long silence. "It's selfish. We would have killed that Night Fury, or never forced it to reveal itself. We'd still be getting raided, but he'd still be here.
"Of course, he's in Valhalla now, feasting with Thor himself. I should be happy for him. I just… Listening to his saga, that dragon probably knew him better than the rest of us put together. What if Toothless couldn't follow him? Odin wouldn't separate them, would he? And Hiccup never was much like a Viking, what if he doesn't even like Valhalla? What if they won't take him to the great forges of Svartalfheim, where he would truly be happy?"
Oh, so now he cares, Dreamer thought bitterly, but couldn't muster any real feeling behind it. All he saw was a father, grieving the loss of his son and the last of his immediate family, and a man with the same conundrum as he; even if he could change anything, should he?
Despite the lack of light and writing material, it felt it would be so easy to just reach out and draw the runes. Tell his father he was happy and healthy, not to worry, and that he loved him.
Dark dragon magic… No, he couldn't. There was no way to know how he'd react, even with this newfound empathy. Dreamer wasn't sure Stoick would ever be able to accept his son even was a dragon, let alone accept him as one. He might; he might also exile him out of fear, or take wild and drastic measures trying to change him back. It simply wasn't worth the risk, for either of them.
So Dreamer stood up to look his father in the eye – he had to stand on the giant man's knee – and crooned softly, trying to put all his reassurance and love into that stare, mere paw-lengths from his face.
The air audibly left the man's chest, and then Hiccup was gently pulled into a firm embrace as his father simultaneously laughed and wept. All Hiccup could think was that he was finally making a connection with his dad in the best way possible, like they'd done in his early memories, and he purred that happiness into the thick beard.
Author's Notes
I had a lot of fun writing several scenes in this chapter, particularly the one in the cove and the one at the end =P
Speaking of, Hiccup's decision not to tell anyone, particularly his father, is one of the many little things I wanted to see that gave me the inspiration to write this. However, let me be clear in that his decision here is heavily influenced by having time to consider that choice and by talking it over first. In other fics he does not get that luxury, in which case it would be completely in character to announce himself to the nearest person.
So yes, while that is a bit of a cheeky nod at Brothers of Night in the last scene, I consider the difference a product of circumstance.
As always, let me know what you think ^_^