And Stoick wants to dock your tail fins so we can train you like Toothless
Panic seized control and Dreamer vaulted to his paws – instantly realising his mistake as Fishlegs rounded on him, staring in a mix of disbelief, bewilderment, and anger. Wanderer had also bounced up, reacting to the sudden tension, and was growling a warning with his claws digging into the table.
"Queit, Too'hess," Fishlegs snapped without taking his eyes off Dreamer, and the growl snagged and silenced.
The blood drained from Dreamer's limbs as reality sank in, and his head swam in the abrupt crash from his adrenaline high. Swaying, he raised a paw to his head. "H… How?"
Fishlegs rolled his eyes. "Yoo're lfft hadned," he growled, pointing at Dreamer's paw, his left paw, still held to his head. "T'en… ay llohtt hof 'hingsss."
Dreamer squeezed his eyes shut and pawed at his ear, then drew mock runes in the air. Fishlegs nodded darkly and fetched a sheet of parchment and a pot of ink, practically throwing them at the table.
Still struggling to stay steady, Dreamer winced and dipped a claw in the ink.
EARS SENSITIVE. PLEASE TALK SLOWLY AND
…He paused, the word 'calmly' would likely… not have the desired effect.
FLATLY
Fishlegs glowered, but then took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. Dreamer started breathing again; the boy had an enormous presence when riled. "Hel's bluhdy nikkers Hiccarp, whyy didnn't youu telll anneewahn? Theyy alll thhinkk youu aar deadd."
The parchment was awkward to write on and limited in size, so he used Dragonese when he could. "They not understand. They–" FEAR DRAGON MAGIC. "We not know–" HOW THEY WOULD REACT.
The glower turned into a scowl. "Thattss nott youur caall too maek. Theyy haff too knoww."
"No!" The word was made by swiping a paw sideways, and Dreamer's claws left thick gouges in the table. He dipped his head to the side in a short apology and repeated himself less destructively.
"Wai?" Fishlegs shouted a little too loudly, throwing his arms up.
WHY TELL? "I not think I–" CAN BE TURNED BACK.
His claws were awkward and he had to write large and rough, so he was already out of space. He flipped the parchment and started scratching out each rune. "You know. You feel good for know?" he asked while he worked.
"Ay darnno!" he exclaimed, but seeing Dreamer cringe he took another deep breath to calm himself. "Wee gavfe yuor body a sendawff. Yourr daad wass devfasstated."
Finished, he licked his claw clean – blegh – and tapped the runes. NOW HE IS HEALING AND KNOWING THIS WON'T HELP.
"Baat haow did 'hiss evfenn khapppenn!?"
QUIET AND FLAT, he tapped out slowly before pawing his ear again. I HATCHED LIKE THIS WITH NO MEMORY. GOT IT BACK BEFORE WI–
"Whenn you appeared…" Fishlegs mumbled. It seemed backwards that the quieter he talked, the easier he was to understand.
YES. THAT IS ALL I KNOW. It was pretty clear who had changed him, but he felt it best not to personally incriminate Wanderer. PLEASE DON'T SAY. "Please."
Fishlegs let out a wordless and frustrated sound. "Fiyne. Ay'll thinkk abowt it."
No no no, if Stoick found out… TELL ANYONE … WE LEAVE.
"Yoo woodent! Yeew could't!"
He just stared at the boy determinedly until he slumped and massaged his head. Wanderer was still anxiously looking between them so Dreamer stepped over to nuzzle him, crooning safe.
"Yoo guys arr… orfully cloes…"
He pulled the parchment over. WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH A LOT.
Fishlegs gave him a flat look, no duh.
"No say me. Please."
"Fiiiiiyne. Stihl thinkk youu shood telll Astrehd at leest."
IT BETTER EVERYONE THINKS I AM IN VALHALLA. I AM A NIGHT FURY NOW. LET ME HAVE THIS.
"Yoo… whan too bee ay Naight Fyoory?"
Dreamer shrugged, as best he could manage with four legs and no arms. I AM ONE NOW.
Nodding slowly, Fishlegs pulled out a small notebook and reluctantly set it on the table. Dreamer flipped it open to the first page to find a decent sketch of him and Wanderer playing. In the drawing he was holding up a paw, and the words 'LEFT HANDED' were carefully scratched next to it.
It listed events that happened before then, as early as when he'd opened the door after first appearing in the village. Things Dreamer innately knew but Wanderer didn't and vice versa. These were all Fishlegs' notes on a crazy idea he couldn't get out of his head.
His eyes widened as he really understood what he had been given, not only all the evidence but a way to understand how to better hide his identity. He probably wouldn't need it – Fishlegs was in a unique position of intelligence, imagination, and familiarity – but it would be wise to be cautious.
"Thank you," he warbled – without the nuzzle – but Fishlegs waved it off. He closed the book and grabbed it in one of his hind-paws for safekeeping. Hmm, he might as well use this opportunity to explain a few things. "We get fire at five." WE WILL APPARENTLY WANT TO LEAVE BERK THEN.
Fishlegs' raised an eyebrow. "Goeng tu finde sohm laydey drahguns?"
Dreamer smacked himself in the face. "No."
"Yoor dhad whants you too stay, wants yoo trianed. Hees insisstent. What do ay tell heem?"
His earlier panic flared again, and he protectively tucked his tail in behind his forelegs. "He not…?" It was a massive relief when the boy shook his head… but that had been a really dirty trick. Clamping down on a growl, he considered the question. "Say we can talk. Say when we get fire." IF IMPORTANT YOU KNOW WE'LL HELP BUT WE ARE NOT PETS. He put enough emphasis on the last two words that he punctured the parchment.
"Thass… ffair," Fishlegs nodded.
I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE, BUT INSTINCT MAYBE, AND I OWE HIM, he nodded at Wanderer, MORE THAN I OWE BERK.
"Tooth'hess? But–…" Dreamer wasn't sure if it was his realisation that cut him off, or Wanderer's short indignant growl at his old name. Either way he remained quiet.
…TOLD HIM HIS NAME. HE IS WANDERER, "Wanderer," I AM … DREAMER. "…Dreamer."
It felt strange to announce his new name, and Fishlegs was staring blankly at the parchment with his head resting on his fingertips. This was clearly getting a bit much for them both, time to wrap things up. NORSE HARD TO HEAR. LEARN DRAGONESE. He then dug his claws into the parchment and crumpled it in his paw. Letting the objections bounce off him unintelligibly, he just tilted his head with his frills out until Fishlegs crossed his arms with a grumble.
Remembering the writing on the back, Dreamer hopped down to the floor and poked the corner of the parchment into the fire so that it burned in his paw. He stared at the flames licking his scales, still incredulous at his fire resistance. That just left the book, still in his hind-claws, which he had to read first.
He needed to digest all this himself so padded over to the door, the book a little awkward under his paw, and warbled a farewell. Fishlegs just glared sourly off to the side; did he even realise this was exactly the reason nobody should know? Hopefully he'll come around, Dreamer thought to himself as he stepped out into the bright sunlight, Wanderer following a little closer than usual.
They flapped over the docks and into the training ring, Dreamer awkwardly landing directly in their little cave. He looked at the notebook, but it put a vile feeling in his gut so he tucked it away out of sight for now. Hopefully… this won't change anything…
"Daffnut, what did I tell you about pulling ears," Tuffnut scolded his cousin from where he sat cross-legged on the ground. Toothy didn't seem to mind the toddlers' curious hands, and playfully nudged the laughing boy to the grass to lick his face, but it was probably best to discourage certain habits. A second child roared an impressive challenge and charged, and the three chased each other in a medley of playful and happy shouts.
The third toddler happily climbed over Hiccup, who was staring vacantly into the distance. "Hey Hiccy, you alright? You normally love this." The dragon blinked and stared at him a moment, then seemed to notice the burbling little girl hugging his neck. "C'mon, come tell me about it," he cooed, beckoning.
Hiccup gently freed himself of the child and hesitantly padded over, allowing himself to be scooped up and bundled into Tuffnut's lap. Sometimes he had these little episodes and just needed some reassurance, though he'd been growing steadily since winter and now barely fit. "There there, you're okay," Tuffnut murmured, protectively hunching over his charge as it curled up. Rather than whimper or purr, however, Hiccup fidgeted uncomfortably for a few moments then backed out. He gave his head a shake and stared apologetically. "Okay… Take all the time you need little guy. I'm here for you, alright?"
The little Fury chuffed quietly at him and shook out his wings, but seemed to change his mind and folded them back up. When Toothy pulled himself past, dragging two laughing boys hanging from his tail, he changed his mind again and took off.
"Guh, guh, guh… Dwaaagon! Come gaaak!" cried the little girl, staring after him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tuffnut saw Toothy shake off the boys and spread his wings. "No, Toothy, leave him be," he called, and the dragon paused. "He needs time to himself for now. Yes that includes from you." The grumbling Fury tucked away his wings and trotted to the sad little girl to snuffle her face. "Hey! Don't you give me attitude, mister."
Toothy's response was to get his head under the girl, lift her up, and deposit the now giggling child into Tuffnut's lap. "Oh, thanks. What am I supposed to do with this?" But she seemed happy enough to watch Toothy chase the boys around, so Tuffnut awkwardly set her down next to him and they both watched the dragon play.
Stoick sighed, leaning on his elbow to rub his head; his eyes were suddenly taking offense to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the door. He had been expecting something like this since Johann's departure, but hoped they'd at least have more time. "Get everyone using a bow. Everyone who can draw. Have the fletchers working overtime–"
"Fletcher," Spitelout corrected, and Stoick sighed again. Arrows weren't much use against dragons so they'd never bothered with them for more than hunting.
"Get him an apprentice or however many he needs. I want thirty arrows for every warrior. And make sure they've all got bows."
"Yeh can't be serious–"
"Deadly," Stoick growled.
Spitelout rocked back a little. "Are yeh tha' sure? 'Cause tha's six thousand arrows, and Johann's not due back fer months. Unless we raid the south, we'll have ter start meltin' weapons for tha' much iron."
Stoick hadn't needed a block of ice for a headache since the dragons stopped attacking, but tonight he might need a few.
A quiet knock on the door had them both look up to find Fishlegs standing in the doorway, and Stoick stood up to greet him before his eyes could adjust. "Ah, Fishlegs, good to see you. How goes it with the Furies?" He led him to stand a short distance from the house while they talked.
When the boy spoke it was with weight beyond his years, and there was none of his usual eagerness. He sounded exhausted. "…Good. I can talk to him. Them. We can talk to each other. If we need them to do something, I can just ask."
Stoick eyed him, this was his big project? It was incredible, but for being able to talk to dragons it was a wonder his feet were still on the ground. "Are you okay lad?"
"Yeah… Just…" There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Just tired. We made some breakthroughs yesterday. He's–… They're as smart as people. More or less… Not only do we not need to train them, I don't think we even can. Or should."
"You're right," Stoick sighed, "I should have known that. I'm sorry. But even when I gave you an impossible task, you found a way to pull it off. I can't tell you how proud you should be."
"…Yeah… That's the other thing. They can't shoot fire for another four years."
Stoick's breath caught in his throat. He'd had no intention of actually using the Furies, only if absolutely necessary and even then from a safe distance, but it was another arrow in the quiver. It just… had no arrowhead… Hmm. "Alright then. Get some rest, then come see me in a few days. Bring Astrid, I've got another job for you."
Fishlegs nodded and shuffled off, and Stoick returned to his house. "Ah hope you got better news from him," Spitelout said casually, resolving into form as eyes adjusted to the darkness again.
"You could say that," Stoick laughed quietly, "he can talk to dragons."
Spitelout's eyebrows disappeared behind his helmet. "Ohhh, so we got a bona fide dragon whisperer now? Well that'll come in handy." Stoick wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic, or come to think of it, whether he was right.
"Maybe… Let's pay the fletcher a visit." He took a last moment to examine the damp sheet of sail laid out on the table, sporting the Berk crest cloven neatly in two.
Wanderer lay the fish on the floor of their den. "Eat."
"I not hungry," Dreamer grumbled back.
Wanderer nudged the fish a little closer, then nudged Dreamer until he raised his head. "Two nights, you not eat… Please…"
Dreamer sniffed the fish, but grimaced and curled up again. "Not can eat."
Whining worriedly, Wanderer pulled the fish back a bit. "Other food? Land-prey? Small-ground-prey?"
"No."
It was trickier as a fledgling, but Wanderer started pulling up his own dinner. The partly digested fish would be much easier on a sore stomach, but when Dreamer growled he let it slide back down. Whining again, Wanderer nestled in next to him and gently nuzzled his shoulder.
"Go fly," Dreamer mumbled as he lethargically shuffled away. "I… I rest."
Wanderer let out another whine. "I come back soon. Say if want anything." The groaned response was both sad-pain and pain-sad. He padded slowly to the mouth of the den, giving Dreamer a long, concerned look from the threshold, then shook his wings out and jumped into the air.
His eyes squeezed shut against the wind. He just wished he knew what was wrong, it hurt so much to watch Dreamer like this.
Deep breaths… The cool air filled Wanderer's lungs, and he opened his eyes to find himself a little further from the nest than he'd thought he was. He didn't even notice his wings make the adjustments to turn him back, his mind was somewhere further up in the thin air. He barely even noticed the Long-Paw-tree-thing floating from the small-land, or the flames dancing on it.
The smaller Nightstriker didn't smell sick, he just looked and sounded it. Last light Wanderer's presence and affection had seemed to comfort Dreamer, and he'd done his best to show as much as he could. He even managed to snag a few blades of sweet-grass from the field, but it'd had no effect and things had only grown more turbulent since. This light, Dreamer had pushed away all attempts to comfort him. Deep breaths…
…Hrrmm, the fire on the tree-thing was getting bigger. Long-Paws didn't normally like fire except in certain places, and this wasn't one of those places, but there were Long-Paws lined up and watching from the tree-ground near the water. Curious, and hoping to take his mind off his troubles for a few moments, he drifted down and landed quietly behind the crowd.
Most held their heads high, but all held themselves with some degree of sadness. This must be another strange Long-Paw ritual. He weaved through the forest of legs to the front, looking around at the damp faces staring out to sea, but was soon accosted by a female Long-Paw dropping down next to him and wrapping her forelegs around his neck.
Wanderer fought off the initial panic, knowing this wasn't an attack, and went still when the female began exhaling in short, sharp bursts. This was a Long-Paw very-sad-thing, he remembered, and with so many so sad he could only surmise a nest-kin had died. He offered her a quiet warble, and draped a wing over her shoulders while she grieved. He wasn't all that familiar with Long-Paws, but guessed she was a pawful of cycles older than Dreamer had been. Dreamer, who was now miserable and sick in a way Wanderer didn't understand.
He leaned into the Long-Paw, drawing small comfort from her even as she drew it from him, and they watched the flames in the warm glow of the fading sky-fire until the water consumed them.
The Long-Paw's breathing slowly became steady, and she stayed with him when everybody else started moving. With a purr of gratitude laced with sorrow, she stood and followed the last of the other Long-Paws. Strangely, the overall mood had changed and was instead now mostly happy and excited, though still with solemn undertones. Wanderer thought he picked out a few of the words they had for food as well. It made him curious about the Long-Paw ritual, maybe he should ask Dreamer about it.
His head hung and his wings drooped. If this was that a nest-kin had died, it would likely not help Dreamer to know of it…
Wanderer stretched out his wings and took off, wheeling a few times in the darkening sky before swooping back to the den. Both Dreamer and the fish were exactly where he left them. He snapped up the fish himself – no sense letting it rot – and sidled up as close to Dreamer as he could without actually touching him. When there was no response to a gentle nuzzle, Wanderer sighed and rested his head on his paws, waiting for sleep to claim him. All he could do was show Dreamer he was there for him.
Dreamer wasn't hiding, exactly… He just found the bustling breakfasts in the smoky Great Hall a bit of a comfort to observe. From atop a shadowy support brace near the ceiling. He just felt a little uneasy with the attention Wanderer was trying to give him was all, he really wasn't hungry for the fish he brought, and he really didn't find the grooming relaxing.
At least the worst was behind him. For nearly three days he'd eaten nothing and barely had the strength to relieve himself outside the den. That was just over a week ago. Now he was managing a moderate fish at noon, when his stomach was a little more settled, and that kept him full for the rest of the day. Well, he felt full, though he knew he should really be eating three times that at the bare minimum. He just… couldn't. His body told him it was full and refused to accept more, even as it starved and withered.
He didn't want to cuddle, he didn't want to play, he didn't even want to fly. What he wanted was to work the forge, to invent and tinker, Hel at this point he'd be happy just sharpening a pile of weapons and bantering with Gobber. That was how he'd dealt with these feelings before; force himself to do something productive, that needed doing for the good of the village. Now he felt more useless than ever. Ha ha ha, look at Hiccup the Useless, got himself turned into a dragon, can't even sharpen a knife anymore. He did enough damage trying to be a Viking, what can he break trying to be a dragon?
The looks he got from Fishlegs were… understandable. Dreamer would feel very awkward cooing and doting over any of the other teens even if they were in a different body. He wondered why he'd felt so comfortable being doted on so far. You two are awfully close… The words probably weren't meant to be judgemental, and Dreamer tried not to take it personally, but he groaned and cringed at all the nuzzling and licking he'd done. He'd just been behaving like any dragon, but… What did Fishlegs think of the big lick Dreamer had given him over winter? Of him and Toothless grooming each other every night? What did he think of Toothless, knowing what he'd done?
Why couldn't I have just told someone when I got my memory back. It would have been better, for everyone… He tried to imagine Astrid's response, telling him to pick himself back up, but it was becoming less and less effective. It just took so much energy trying to be happy, and he wasn't sure he could be bothered anymore. It was no one thing, really, that had his gut sucking out all his strength and his skin itching from stress. It was a pile of little things all adding up, and Fishlegs violently piercing his bubble of anonymity had been the trigger.
Around and around he went, a wild maelstrom of thoughts with no reprieve. It was so frustrating. Logically he knew nothing had changed, he was still a cute baby dragon and nobody, other than now Fishlegs, knew who he was. And yet, just that one piece of knowledge with one person had completely shattered his peace with himself. At least the realisation that he was left-handed, even before getting his memories back, contradicted his irrational fear that he was just a copy of Hiccup's memories. That thought was some small relief even if it didn't entirely banish the doubts.
He flattened himself against the wood and shut his eyes when a dark shape passed through the doors of the Great Hall, but in vain. Wanderer flapped up and gave his head a brief nuzzle, ignoring the groan it elicited. "Good winds... Come fly…?"
Dreamer grunted and let his wings drop to either side of the brace. When there was silence, he glanced up at– oh no that was a mistake. But it was too late, he couldn't look away. Toothless was hunched over and pleading him with enormous green eyes, just a touch of sadness in his hopeful expression, and his paws shuffled on the narrow beam. Just like he'd done in the cove, but now being a tenth of the size it was, as predicted, ten times stronger.
"Nngaah," Dreamer responded, trying to resist.
Whiiine
"Nnngggg…"
Whiiiiiiiiiine…
Alright, alright, just turn that off. He rose shakily and pushed the stupid adorable face away, then flexed and stretched his weary wings. Wanderer bobbed excitedly on the beam, though he couldn't hide the concern in his expression. Sorry, my friend, I don't mean to worry you…
Dreamer glided down to the floor of the hall, padded through the doors and into the muted light. He didn't have the energy to run or jump, so just walked off the top step – a firm wind blowing up the village instantly launched him into the air, and in moments Berk was far below. Woah, these were good winds, he didn't even really need to flap or anything.
Within minutes, however, he was sorely regretting everything and hung morosely from his wings. The endless clouds high above had started emptying their contents in a fine misting rain, and it fell in a great blanket from which there was no escape. He had to admit it was interesting watching it swirl in the eddies behind Wanderer and it allowed him to identify turbulence, but it was cold and wet and stung his eyes. Not nearly as much as when he'd been human, but it was still uncomfortable.
Even so, he easily spotted the long procession that was snaking away from the village and toward the great mountain in the centre of the main island. He watched from high above as they painstakingly made their way over bridges and up ramps, most likely towards the sacred grove where acts were witnessed by the gods. What in Thor's name…?
Eager for an excuse to be out of the air, he glided in for a closer look. At the head of the procession he picked out the hulking figure of his father, the unique figure of Gothi, and a dark-haired man who was probably Spitelout. After them a weedy figure hobbled along between two guards, and an assortment of villagers trailed behind.
This didn't bode well. Dreamer glided as close as he dared, maintaining a respectful distance and noting Wanderer at his side, but everyone bowed their heads to the rain. He could see none of their faces. The prisoner in particular wore no helmet, but was hunched over and his long grey hair was plastered to his face and neck.
The Night Furies accompanied the procession to the grove and lurked behind the treeline, if anyone spotted them there was no complaint. Dreamer idly fantasised about waiting on the statues of Thor and Hel, but it would ruin their image of 'just' wild dragons – more than he'd done already – and it remained a fantasy.
It was strange, he felt he was intruding on this event though he had every right to be there as either the Chief's son or as a wild force of nature, whichever he chose to identify with. He couldn't bring himself to leave anyway, not if it meant going back to squinting through the rain.
Wanderer brushed against him to get his attention. "What happening?"
"Not know. Place for… important things. That Long-Paw," he gestured to the one in chains, "do bad maybe." He had a sinking feeling, he couldn't remember much about rituals that took place here but whatever the case it likely wasn't good.
The grove was in the centre of a low flat on the mountain, unusually clear of ferns and undergrowth. Patches of small white flowers dotted the short grass, and there were no wildlife tracks as it was unreachable by ground until a wide ramp was hoisted up. The only sounds were the rustling of the canopy, and the insects and small birds flitting through it. The whole place felt pristine and tranquil.
In the centre of the flat was a great gnarled tree, said to have been a branch of Yggdrasil planted by the original settlers of Berk. Statues of the Aesir lined up either side of it to form a half-circle, the focal point of which received the prisoner while Stoick, Gothi and Spitelout stood in front of the sacred tree.
Dreamer padded to one side of the rows forming in front of the ceremony, trying to posture that he had every right to be there, and Wanderer followed his lead. The man's head snapped up to latch his fiery eyes onto them, and he spat and snarled hate, rage, threats, like some rabid beast. Dreamer still didn't recognise him, though perhaps he should given this reaction. The tirade only ended when Spitelout cuffed him.
Several people stepped forward and spoke, but it was all incoherent under the din of the water dripping through the green canopy and to the ground. A trial maybe? Certain cases may be brought before the gods to hear.
Stoick growled and barked anger, betrayal and sometimes strength, but Dreamer kept losing the hard sounds among the background noise and could only make out the occasional word. When Stoick turned away and faced the crowd they jeered and shouted, the bound man just scowling back at them.
Growling something quietly, Stoick turned back to the prisoner.
"Ohhhhhh, uss geio iyi," Dreamer heard him mutter unintelligibly, but it was that groan that got his attention – Mildew. Without his helmet or staff, and with his hair plastered flat by the rain, he was completely unrecognisable. Had they successfully linked him to the storehouse fire? The harassment had stopped, he now realised, but–
That was all Dreamer had time to process before his father, in one swift movement, drew his behemoth of a sword and swung it.
He and Wanderer both gaped. Mildew fell forward and his head rolled, blood spilling over the grass as if from a great red tap, and the stench of it wrinkled their noses even through the drizzle. Dreamer was no stranger to death or killing – he'd hunted, killed and eaten wild game almost all year – but this was somehow different.
When the body finished draining, it and the head were dragged away probably to be dumped somewhere unceremoniously. Many of the attending Vikings spat onto the ground before departing for the long trek back. He realised he didn't recognise many of them, meaning they hadn't wanted to play with the Night Furies and had little to no love for dragons. What had Mildew done?
Dreamer felt lightheaded and dizzy. He squeezed his eyes shut and found himself leaning heavily against Wanderer's damp side. The bigger dragon crooned comfortingly and gave him a light nuzzle, and they stayed there like that until the sounds of footsteps faded away. New and suddenly closer footsteps pricked his ears, and he opened his eyes to see Fishlegs approaching.
"Oo oh ee ss th itrooduh, ite?" Dreamer strained his ears, trying to put the pieces together – his spinning head wasn't helping – but all he got was intruder.
"He intruder? Yes," he said slowly, then pawed his ear and looked around at the noisy treetops.
Fishlegs spoke a few words, louder and slower, then left Dreamer to sit there in shock.
Two weeks prior, following the storehouse fire and ensuing 'discussion', Fishlegs could only hear Stormfly struggle with Stoick and Astrid as they all flew through the night. Fishlegs hated flying in the dark, and gripped the saddle for fear of being sucked off into the surrounding darkness.
He tried to recall what he knew of Mildew to keep himself occupied. The old man had joined the tribe a drifter, a nobody, but quickly made his name as an excellent dragon slayer. There was something about him trying to join a clan, or start a new one? But it all fell flat when he failed to produce an heir with three different wives, all of whom perished within a few years. He became an ill omen, and when his age caught up with him and he retired he quickly became a nuisance. Some of the older tribespeople remembered him for his glory days, though everyone seemed to agree he was now generally a miserable person to be around.
His stomach lurched as Meatlug began falling– descending, and then they were on sweet sweet land. He might have kissed the grass if he'd forgotten who it belonged to.
Stormfly lit a torch for Astrid, casting an eerie light around them and revealing a dilapidated house nearby. Stoick knocked, and after a short delay the rotting door creaked open.
"Stoick, weeeelcome, please, do come in," said the decrepit old man, his vile voice sarcastically polite. "Can I offer you anything? Water? Ale? The blood of innocent children?"
Ignoring the insult, Stoick ducked through the door and spoke politely but firmly. "Mildew, you stand accused of harassing the dragons against the word of your Chief, and of conspiring to burn down a storehouse. What say you?"
Fishlegs did his best to tune out the whining old man's denials – every slimy word was like venom in his ears – and idly examined the things hanging on the walls. Four shields… okay, ew. Or, ewe? Heh. No, definitely ew. A bunch of dragon… parts, despite orders to remove them. A stone wall prominently featured a depiction of Mildew slaying a Monstrous Nightmare with a spear. Above it, a Gronckle head stared sightlessly into the room, which Fishlegs stared at apologetically before moving on.
A glint of metal caught his eye behind a curtain, and he peeked inside to find a tall spear with an enormous arrow head. The one from the painting, he supposed. It looked well maintained, unlike everything else, and interestingly even the hooked undersides of the head were sharpened. For ripping downwards, he thought queasily.
Then his eyes got wider. And wider.
"Oi! Don't ya know it's rude to pry, ya little brat?" Mildew spat at him, but Fishlegs still wasn't listening. He just pulled the weapon from the little room and wordlessly handed it to Astrid.
"What is it?" Stoick asked tiredly, waving a hand to vainly try to calm Mildew but also blocking him from stalking forward.
Astrid stared at the weapon, much like Fishlegs had. "Sir, have you ever seen the effect an eel has on a dragon?"
"Not… personally, but I've had it described. Why?"
She stood the spear in front of him and held the torch up to it; it barely came up to his chin. Stood like this, however, it was obvious that wrapped tightly around the shaft near the head was an eel. What was left of it. The skin was dry and shrivelled, and had peeled back from the jaw – it had been there a lot longer than a year.
A tense silence settled over the room. Fishlegs could only imagine the effectiveness of the weapon, wave it at a dragon and it would be rearing back, creating openings to strike as well as protecting the wielder. And now that he was thinking about it, how was this house so old? Old enough to rot through the timbers in places. Every other building on Berk had been rebuilt at least once in the last decade.
"You knew," Stoick said quietly to the spear, then more firmly to Mildew, "You knew, and didn't tell the rest of us."
"It's no' like I 'id it!" Mildew crowed. "It was in plain sight fer everyone ter see."
But Stoick was done, and grabbed the sack of stains to effortlessly toss him outside. "I charge you, Mildew no-clan, with treason."
Author's Notes
Woah. I was unprepared for that response xD
First thing's first, absolutely nobody (publicly) called Fishlegs' intentions with that statement, but there are some honourable mentions:
- Fortean (AO3) - Predicted by chapter 4 that Dreamer's memories would get him into trouble and that he'd have to confront his humanity.
- toothlessgolfer (FFN) - Didn't take the statement at face value.
- Ethan Joseph (FFN/PM) - Pointed out that this was quite out of character for Stoick.
I'll admit I'm guilty of a little misdirection here, but originally it felt the statement was WILDLY out of nowhere so I added a few little thoughts for Stoick to at least give it some credibility. I wonder if I was a little too obvious with that and too subtle with the hints of what Fishlegs was picking up, but the responses I got reaffirmed Dreamer's own reaction and for that I am pleased.
Now, I know this wasn't the dark twist that apparently everyone was expecting, but hopefully it's still dark enough (albeit in a different way) that you guys don't feel let down by it. I want you all to know that this chapter was reshaped heavily over the last week to reflect the feedback I got, and I'd really like to thank everyone who commented, theorised and discussed it with me. You guys are awesome, it really helped me nail down how I wanted this chapter to feel, though it did end up somewhat short.
On a slightly different subject, Mildew... Heh, this played out kind of strangely. The whole thing was a step towards Fishlegs' Dragonese, and another layer of conflict on a fractured Dreamer. When I wrote the scene in Mildew's hut it led on from the storehouse fire, so we already knew the result. t kind of busted the mystery in the grove scene so I moved it to after that. I then decided the whole thing was out of nowhere, and added the foreshadowing in chapter 4. It was never really meant to be a plot, but it sort of turned into one that then ends abruptly. I can't say I'm particularly happy with that but it was too ingrained by the time I wanted to change it. To be honest though I am happy to have him out of the way, and I'm okay with leaving this as another unexpected twist in a very turbulent chapter. Fret not, we have some proper plots looming (in case you haven't picked up on that yet).