Author's Notes
I forgot to mention last chapter that I didn't really want to have Fishlegs find out, and I agree a story with a dragon Hiccup where nobody knows his identity would be cool. However, Fishlegs has always had a crazy imagination and is very perceptive, but fails to apply his thoughts practically (that's Hiccup's job normally). The more I thought about it, the less I could convince myself Fishlegs wouldn't notice something, and it lent itself nicely to the story both here and in the future.
But it does appear I was a little too subtle with his thought process, so now let's hear his side of the story. There's also one more piece to why he's obsessing that he hasn't realised yet, can anyone guess? There's a lot of subtle hints in this chapter too, as always, so keep an eye out for them ;)
"The physical vocabulary of Gronckles does not appear to be hindered by their stout nature, small wings and short tails, however the limited range of movement does restrict the communication of tone and emotion. Gronckles are therefore prone to overcompensate with their movements and expressions when communicating, although this may be an adaptation when nesting with… other species."
The wood flexed in Fishlegs' fingers as he was reminded of the few times he was sure he had seen Meatlug talking to another dragon. A pair of dragons, specifically. He took a deep breath, gently brushed off the stray flakes of charcoal, and closed the book. After setting it to one side he picked up the next from his pile of projects, the new Book of Dragons to which he had been adding–… It went aside a little more forcefully.
He'd been hoping to keep his mind occupied and away from his recent discovery, but so much of what he did involved dragons and kept looping his thoughts back. The rest didn't engage his mind enough to keep it distracted. He slumped back in his chair with a groan and rubbed his eyes, again wondering why this had him so shaken, besides the apparent magical rebirth.
Hiccup wasn't a person any sane Viking would consider a 'friend', but Fishlegs considered him more of a friend than anyone else had. They'd had similarly sharp minds and could bounce ideas off each other for hours – when assured privacy – and were both fascinated with dragons. Well, Hiccup with killing one, not the knowledge Berk had compiled on them. "Kill on sight" was all he saw on most pages of the original Book of Dragons, and he'd been more than happy to oblige. Try to, anyway.
So Fishlegs felt somewhat betrayed by the deception. Not for the first time, he cursed the crazy idea. When he'd seen the Night Fury was left handed over winter, he had initially thought it a curiosity and a funny coincidence, but his stupid overactive imagination considered the timing and promptly put forward the idea they were the same person.
And then he could. Not. Stop. Noticing. Things.
With so many tiny details fuelling that stupid impossible idea, Fishlegs started making notes in the tiniest notebook he could find just to get the thoughts into writing and out of his head. After finding enough evidence to fill the entire thing he realised he needed to do something to disprove it, or go mad. The simple test was supposed to reassure himself, just say something to the dragon, and when there was no reaction he could burn the stupid book and put it behind him.
It was the perfect plan, right up until it had provided irrefutable proof instead of closure. And then they'd held a conversation! The whole thing defied so much logic it made his head spin, and Hiccup was acting so much like a dragon it made him sick. Was he even the same person under those scales?
Fishlegs groaned again, why couldn't he stop picking at this? It'd been two weeks now and his thoughts had barely left him any peace. It was bad enough to consider swiping a small barrel of mead just so he could drink himself into a stupor and get some decent sleep.
This wasn't helping, he should take Meatlug out for a flight. Still dragon-related, but he felt that if he did something a little more reckless than usual it might bring him to his senses. Maybe he could try a small dive. Oh dear, he might be a little hysterical to be considering that.
After packing away his books and snuffing out the candle, Fishlegs stumbled his way through the dark study to the door. He emerged into the house proper, empty for most of the day, and squinted at the light as he stepped outside. He refused to close his eyes, knowing what the bright spots would resolve into – enormous green orbs, impossible to think behind which was a human intelligence, that had stared at him intensely and stirred a primal wariness.
And after Hiccup had hunched protectively over his tail, desperately hoping Stoick didn't actually want to maim him… his expression had turned downright frightening. His eyes had shrunk to vertical black slits in his fierce green irises, and his lips curled back to show just how sharp all his teeth were; they tended to be sheathed when not eating, playing, or apparently threatening. Thankfully Fishlegs had been a little too high on adrenaline and disbelief at the time to notice being scared witless.
A lump rose in his throat. He did now regret choosing that particular statement, but he'd never expected it to actually work! And he wouldn't have needed to if Hiccup had have just told him in the first place. But no, he was having too much fun cosying up to Astrid – and Tuffnut!? – and living off free meals.
With a curse he tripped over a rock that had been unearthed on the path to the training ring, and kicked it over the cliff a few paces away. Argh, he couldn't stop his thoughts returning to those horrific teeth. A killer's teeth, for grabbing and shredding. They were far removed from what he thought of as Hiccup.
…What did he think of as 'Hiccup'? Stubborn, reckless, enthusiastic, scrawny, playful, he still had those traits. Not cuddly, affectionate, dangerous, fierce, those were all new, and certainly not–
Happy, said a voice in the back of his mind. Yes… Hiccup was happy to be a dragon, that was what was bugging Fishlegs so much. But… why? He shouldn't begrudge someone their happiness… unless it was at the expense of others. The expense of Stoick, who still grieved for a son who wasn't dead. The expense of the other riders who unwittingly showered affection over their classmate; Fishlegs would have found the irony hilarious, had he not been one of those deceived.
The training ring was nearly in sight, and he looked forward to talking to Meatlug about it again. It wasn't Hiccup's threat that kept him quiet, not directly, it was that the idea was just too absurd to believe. He barely believed it himself, and without Hiccup's cooperation he'd never be taken seriously by anyone. But Meatlug took him seriously, even if she didn't understand a word of it, and knew how to make him feel better. Well, maybe Gobber would too, but then Fishlegs often suspected he wasn't all right in the head.
He rounded a corner to step onto the boards surrounding the ring, still deep in thought.
Wanderer had had enough. Sometimes bad things happened, and it was good to think away the badness, but Dreamer seemed to be thinking up more badness for himself as he was only getting worse. Wanderer just had no idea what to do about it. He refused to let him think he'd given up, kept bringing him food even though it went untouched, kept showing him love even when it was pushed away.
Despite his efforts, his Dreamer was back to lying listlessly in their den. He had to try something else. What did Long-Paws do when upset? The only time he'd been this upset since meeting Dreamer was–… was when Dreamer wasn't there to try to comfort him.
Wanderer shook his head, and thought back to when he was trapped in the ground-hole. Dreamer had been full of wonder and curiosity in his earlier visits, and once they started flying together he slowly became confident and happy. There were times in between, however, when he had limped in with his face smelling of salt and body moving with pain, sometimes also smelling of blood. He had clearly lost fights with other Long-Paws, and it seemed to upset him greatly.
Wondering what he'd been doing fighting nest-kin in the first place, frail as he was, Wanderer had allowed the fledgling to rest under a wing to find his paws. Dreamer had chattered in those strange Long-Paw sounds until his breathing steadied and his shoulders relaxed. Rrmm...
He padded forward and delicately wrapped himself around his Dreamer, ignoring the growled complaint. "We talk." It was a very intimate way of talking, they couldn't see each other much but could feel each other's words against their bodies. Wanderer could also feel the rock-hard tension in his friend-mate's shoulders and back, and with how little he was eating it was no wonder he was losing weight so quickly.
The reply was lethargic and weak. "Talk what?"
"Anything." There was only silence. "The Long-Paw your–… who die, he not say about eels. Why bad?" That had been three nights ago now, and Wanderer had initially been a little hopeful it would help… but as expected it only seemed to add more bad feelings.
He felt Dreamer's teeth bare. "Fire, claws, teeth, many nest-kin die. You take food, we starve. Knowing about fear… Eels with food, use fight, you take food? Nest-kin die?"
Wanderer shuddered. He had only flown safely – he had thought – overhead in the raids to protect his nest, not being quite so under control to let himself be eaten if he brought nothing back, but he definitely would not want to try to steal food from a nest full of those vile things. He needed to stop underestimating Long-Paw ingenuity. And yet… "Then I not know you…"
Dreamer sighed but said nothing, the silence slowly and painfully piercing Wanderer's chest. They had both been so lonely, and he thought they'd needed each other. Did Dreamer not…?
He grounded the thought, Dreamer was hurting in his heart right now and had bad thinking, these weren't his true thoughts. "Dreamer. You sad, I worried. What you need be happy?"
"…I not know." The little Nightstriker curled up a little tighter.
"Say why you sad." There was silence. Wanderer growled, "You not say, I drag you to your female, pin you, groom you violently you shed early."
A few moments of tense silence passed. "…Shed?"
…Rrmm, they'd both been hatchlings for the only shedding-season they'd known each other. "New scales. Start soon, should groom you-me-you lots." Now that he thought about it, his hide was already starting to itch as new scales formed under the dying layer. Grooming would help them cut and settle, and he was really looking forward to having a partner he trusted to help him after cycles of suffering it alone.
Dreamer sighed again; he was doing a lot of that. "Many things. Before Fish-Legs know, I feel Nightstriker. Now I feel Long-Paw in Nightstriker."
"Stupid," Wanderer snorted onto his head. "Before you Nightstriker, you Nightstriker in Long-Paw." Dreamer shuffled a little and hummed quietly at that.
Shedding… Wanderer had been so worried he hadn't been paying attention to the deep itching all over his hide. If he was itching… It was a little awkward at this angle, but he flexed his claws against Dreamer's back – and hesitated. He turned over the recent lights in his mind, a crazy idea forming. It might just work…
He made the decision. "I come back!" he barked happily as he extracted himself, and leapt from their den. He rifled through a hollow-tree-thing until he found what he was looking for, took it in his mouth, and bounded into the air towards the Long-Paw nest.
This Long-Paw was usually quite easy to find, and sure enough it wasn't long before he and the female-he were running through the nest at top speed in the precarious upright Long-Paw way. Wanderer followed from above until they stopped running, then dropped nearby and bounded over.
Wanderer had once called him Boundless, and Dreamer found it appropriate as the Long-Paw name apparently didn't translate. Excitement-excitement-excitement! he said to Wanderer, who couldn't help but jump around playfully. Excitement-question-hopeful-excitement? Wanderer grinned to show him enough of the Long-Paw-thing that he'd know what it was, but didn't let him reach for it.
Lonely-angry-sad, whined the she-Boundless, saying "No!" with her long paw, but Wanderer ignored her. She'd probably end up coming anyway, that was fine.
Boundless lunged for him and he skipped back out of reach, wagging his hindquarters in the air and growling playfully. Wanderer almost forgot why he was there playing keep-away for a moment, the excitement was far too contagious, but started leading Boundless away from the nest.
Understand-happy-excitement crooned Boundless as they trotted up the long path back to the rock-hole, she-Boundless grumbling and growling as she followed. They arrived eventually – Long-Paws took forever to get anywhere, it was a wonder they could even feed themselves – and she-Boundless went to the Two-Head den. Wanderer dropped the Long-Paw-thing in front of his own den and stepped off to the side.
Boundless hummed understanding-protect-sad as he picked up the Long-Paw-thing, shook off the saliva and entered the den. He reappeared moments later with a grumpy Dreamer in his forelegs.
"What?" Wanderer flared his frills innocently at the dirty look he was getting.
Finding a nice warm-light spot, Boundless sat down, dropped Dreamer into his lap and hummed calm, safe, protect. Dreamer squirmed, making to escape, and Boundless muttered unsure, question to Wanderer. A pawful of swift bats to the head with a growled warning of stay, and the struggling stopped.
Amused-understanding-excited! Boundless barked, and got to work with the Long-Paw-thing. It was a flat thing cut from a tree, and somehow rows of short thin claws bristled from one side. With the appropriately long paws to hold it, it was perfect for a nice firm groom, being somewhat softer and blunter than their own claws and teeth.
Wanderer grinned as Dreamer's grumpy, sullen expression turned into wild shock as it got to work. This would be a new experience for him, but he'd quickly come to enjoy it.
An itch hit Wanderer right between the wings, and he strained to reach it. Eels, now that he'd noticed it, he couldn't un-notice it, and he'd set up his two trusted friends with each other. Well… perhaps without the influence of a hungry and jealous queen, he could trust a little… He approached she-Boundless, who was whining sad, upset at the Two-Head, and tugged at her not-furs. "You," he tipped his head to Boundless and Dreamer, "that, me?" For added measure he made his eyes big and round.
Hopeful, happy, question she asked, and Wanderer grinned and bounced a little on his paws. It would be a relief to at least have his back done for now, as it was the hardest place to reach, the rest could wait. Dreamer was purring for the first time in many long nights, and at this moment that was more important than any amount of discomfort.
She-Boundless barked something aggressively at Boundless, who waved a foreleg with a lame grunt, and she walked off to fetch something from the hollow-tree-thing by the wall. Wanderer trotted over to give Dreamer a nuzzle, the little Nightstriker was now making pathetic little whines with every stroke. Hurry hurry hurry, he thought at she-Boundless as she sat down facing Boundless, another Long-Paw-thing in her paw. This was a flat cold thing with broad hard teeth, not as good but it would do the job.
He stepped forward – and hesitated, itches forgotten again, as the hard smell of her claws slammed into him. Fears resurfaced of claws raking through his back, attached to a Spine-Tail or Fire-Scale but belonging to the queen, and he felt his teeth slide slowly through his gums. Memories bubbled of having to protect Dreamer from his own nest in this very rock-hole, then being knocked to the ground, held down, and restrained. The edges of his vision darkened. No, this nest isn't like that now, but the thought was quiet and unconvincing.
Danger, safe, protect, slow, Boundless hummed with an undertone of a growl. The two blood-kin alternately clicked and growled at each other for a few moments, and then together they delicately pulled out their claws – a quiet hiss couldn't be restrained – to toss them away.
With the surprisingly numerous claws scattered out of reach, Wanderer relaxed, flexing his frills and sheathing his teeth. "Sorry," he said to She-Boundless, and stepped onto her hindleg to nuzzle her cheek.
Annoyed, she growled, her expression full of hurt, but then she crooned understanding, safe, protect, and scratched behind his ears. The itching tickled down his back again, and he hesitantly lay himself across her lap, forcing his breathing to steady.
Confused, unsure, she-Boundless said, and the cold Long-Paw-thing ran down his scales – Wanderer could have laughed, but settled for flicking his wings irritably at her. Here he'd had an only somewhat irrational fear of her tearing through his hide, but this was far too gentle to do anything at all. He felt stupid for overreacting. Boundless clicked and hummed something, and Wanderer's eyes went wide with the second stroke. A pathetic yowl slipped from his throat, and his back hunched into the sensation.
It was nearly painful, the way the tiny little prickles danced under his scales like thorns, but it quickly faded into a warm and pleasant relief. A little like when Dreamer removed the Long-Paw-thing that had allowed him to fly again, after it had started to ache, but a lot stronger.
This settled into a rhythm that had Wanderer flexing and groaning pitifully. It had been worse than he'd thought, between Dreamer and his own apparent issues he'd forced it to the edge of his mind as something he couldn't do anything about. As the worst of it was combed out, he felt himself relaxing for the first time since Dreamer stopped eating, and that elusive purr mirroring his own was–
The purring cut off abruptly, and Wanderer's mind raced ahead of him even as he snapped his head up and confirmed Dreamer was unharmed. Confused, concern, question, Boundless muttered, checking him over, but Dreamer stiffly climbed off and skulked back to the den. What in the night sky? What had happened?
Someone had entered the rock-hole while his guard was down, the big Long-Paw who was too curious for his own good. Dreamer translated his name as Fish-Legs; Wanderer had never seen his legs but was pretty sure they were not fish. Long-Paws and their stupid names…
Fish-Legs was staring tensely after Dreamer with his jaw clenched – Wanderer finally understood the problem, and stepped off of she-Boundless. If he had become a Long-Paw and his nest could see who he was, he might be ashamed at being seen doing some of the more bizarre Long-Paw things like wearing the skins of prey-things; it'd been bad enough wearing the small patch of rank skin on his tail. And Long-Paws were as self-conscious as Spine-Tails.
He was furious. This Long-Paw was the whole reason Dreamer was miserable, as if he had any right to decide that.
Seeing his bared teeth and narrowed eyes, Fish-Legs turned his scowl on Wanderer. "What?"
"You hurting Dreamer," Wanderer growled at him, but he just scoffed, rolled his eyes and made to walk away.
Rage boiled under Wanderer's scales. He lunged forward and darted up the side and back of Long-Paw, the thrashing only lasting a moment until sharp claws pressed into the pudgy face. Submit, he snarled right into his ear, if you don't want to lose an eye.
The Rock-Scale thrummed into the open with a growl, and Boundless and she-Boundless both slowly rose to their hind paws, forelegs out low to their sides. Boundless hummed safe, safe, fear, but Wanderer ignored all of it. After tense moments, Fish-Legs slowly lowered himself to the ground.
"Good," Wanderer huffed and dropped down, then padded around him, leaving the wary Rock-Scale to his side. "You hurting Dreamer," he repeated, and gave a sharp snarl to show what he thought of that.
"I look him."
For such a smart Long-Paw, this one was amazingly stupid. Hrrr, how could he put this to simple words? "He feel what you think. You think bad, he feel bad." Fish-Legs just huffed and pouted. "He not choose! I do, now he Nightstriker! Not can change! What you want?"
Fish-Legs leaned forward as if to speak but said nothing for a short time. "I wanted him tell me. He not," he eventually said.
"You know now. You not happy, he not happy."
"He not tell me."
Wanderer fought the urge to screech at him, why were Long-Paws so frustrating? Always overthinking things, overlooking what was in front of their noses. "You not want Dreamer."
Fish-Legs glared at him. "You not say I not want!"
For the love of flying, he thrust a wing towards his den and stared at Fish-Legs with the biggest has your head been eaten by worms look he could manage. He couldn't fathom why Dreamer was so attached to this Long-Paw, any of them in general but this one in particular. He was loud, nosy, annoying, and now this. For Dreamer, however… he would try to make this work. Wanderer owed him that much after dropping him into this life.
But it finally seemed to be getting through that thick skull, Fish-Legs was mumbling regret, sorry and looking solemn.
Confused, confused, question, shouted she-Boundless, and Fish-Legs responded with sorry, resolve, question. The smell-alikes grumbled as they mounted their Two-Head and flew off.
"Sorry," Fish-Legs said to Wanderer, but he just huffed and trotted off to get Dreamer, keeping a wary ear on the Rock-Scale as he passed. Not me you have to apologise to, rock-head. Dreamer had, of course, curled up in the furthest corner and hidden himself in shadow, and had to be dragged out by the scruff of his neck. This was a two-way problem, after all.
So while Fish-Legs spoke, Wanderer ignored the plaintive protests and gave Dreamer his first cleaning in what appeared to be a long time, given the state of him. Both of these rock-heads would just have to get used to it again; Dreamer was a Nightstriker, and Nightstrikers were affectionate creatures.
The two talked for a while, Fish-Legs even occasionally talking properly with his body, though Wanderer respectfully only paid enough attention to gauge the mood. Twice it got a little heated, but not enough that he felt he needed to intervene, and eventually they reached something hopefully resembling a resolution.
Wanderer had become bored and was half-dozing when Fish-Legs stood up and left on the Rock-Scale. He got up, stretched and yawned, then nudged Dreamer's jaw. "You stink. Come, we fly to old den, swim." And then you're going to fill your belly if I have to force the fish down your throat, he thought as Dreamer reluctantly stretched his thin body.
Awkwardly, stiffly, Ruffnut stalked along the path to the training ring to look for her stupid brother. Ever since winter Tuffnut had seemed more interested in the little Furies than in her, but they were just so Lokishly adorable she couldn't be mad at them for it. So she was mad at him. With her brother absent for up to half of every day she had no excuse or escape when her family threw her at some occupation, and nothing better to do anyway.
She should be proud of her accomplishments. She'd managed to set fire to the kitchens, ruin a dozen paces of cloth, lost three sheep in a bare paddock, and Gobber's winter coat would never smell the same again. She would be proud, if she'd intentionally been trying to do all that. The idea of a prank just wasn't the same without her partner, and now she was failing at everything else she tried. Did she need to learn how to not Loki stuff? Was that a thing?
Ruffnut glanced up at Stoick, the reason for her awkwardness, walking ahead and aside her. He'd been putting pressure on her family to keep her occupied, she suspected, him or Astrid. Or both, that seemed likely. It was weird to walk with the Chief, normally in this situation she'd have Tuffnut with her and they'd be on their way to their parents. Silently, she cursed asking him if he knew where Tuffnut was, like she even needed an answer. She just hadn't wanted to walk all the way to the ring to find he wasn't there.
Strange sounds reached her ears. "Hey, you hear that…?" she asked warily, rolling her footsteps to silence them.
Without a long history of sneaking around, Stoick stopped entirely to listen. "Sounds like… a dragon fight…?" he rumbled quietly. Having passed him, she looked back to meet his eyes, then they both legged it to the ring. She arrived first, peering down from the rim, though the Chief was surprisingly fast on his feet and towered next to her a moment later.
What she saw first was the Furies, snarling and growling while they clawed and bit each other. They rolled around in a tangle of wings and tails, leaving dark scraps and scales to litter the ring. It took her a moment to recognise two sets of legs directly below her, those of Tuffnut and Gobber slumped motionless against one wall. "Guys!" she shouted, though whether at her brother and mentor or the Furies, she wasn't quite sure.
The Furies rolled apart to look at her, then twitched manically and started chewing themselves before merging back into a tangle of black limbs. "Oh, hey sis," Tuffnut called up at her tiredly. She slipped through the bars and into the ring, then kicked him in the side.
"Don't scare me like that!" she yelled at him as he keeled over, then gave his helmeted head a tap with her heel for good measure. His pained groans were very satisfying.
"What in Odin's hundred names is going on…?" Stoick asked as he jogged through the main gate. He picked up one of the scales and turned it in his fingers.
Pulling himself upright again, Tuffnut tossed a brush up at Ruffnut. "They're shedding. Mind giving us a hand?"
"By Freya's beard, ah've never seen anything' like it," Gobber muttered, "Weh've been brushin' fer hours an' they're still at it. Ah've barely even 'ad a chance ter look at the scales yet." He twisted the brush attachment from his prosthetic and tossed it towards Stoick, but only made half the distance. It clattered to the stone floor, and the Furies rolled to a stop to look at it.
One of them darted for the brush and ran it to Stoick, whining pathetically and then dropping it to growl and gnaw at his shoulder, and paws touched Ruffnut's waist as the other stood up against her. She winced at the way his skin twitched and danced over his back, and noted rough edges where part of it had peeled off to reveal gleaming new scales underneath.
"Aww, how can I say no to that adorwabaw face," Ruffnut said quietly, dropping down and quickly getting to work. She had to remember these dragons weren't fragile, despite their small size, and the harder she ran the brush down the scales the louder the dragon – Toothy, she thought – whimpered and flexed. Getting into the swing of it, she looked up and had to grin at the similarly pathetic dragon in Stoick's lap.
Toothy swung around, and Ruffnut nearly lost a finger as he attacked his own flank. "Hey, watch it!" she shouted, but hurriedly resumed stroking and the Fury calmed again.
"You don't have to go top to bottom you know, they have scales, not fur."
Ruffnut glared at her brother, of course he was right and it was obvious but he didn't have to make her sound stupid. "Hear that Chief?" she called over. "Just brush in any direction, the harder the better."
"I don't want to hurt him. Look how much weight he's lost, poor little thing, must be sick again."
"Nah, he's a dragon, the brush will break before he does."
Stoick considered her words, and the next stroke was met with a loud cry and a crack. He stared at the handle in his hand while Hiccup panted and purred loudly. Heh, told ya.
"Oi! Tha' was mah best brush!" Gobber shouted, but Stoick just picked up the head and carried on, ignoring the grumbles.
"What are you even doing here old man?" Ruffnut asked Gobber while she scrubbed the flank sprawled across her knee, grinning as Toothy whimpered and kicked his leg.
"Astrid mentioned they were droppin' scales, and tha' they had some interestin' properties. Thought ah'd accompany Tuffnut this mornin' ter check it ou'. Ah'm always excited ter work with new materials, bu' got a bit… caught up in the acquisition."
Ruffnut nearly lost a finger again and brought her attention back to her charge with a wordless growl. Dusting off the little scales that were gathering on Toothy's back, she felt something catch under her hand. Huh? She tried to get her thumb under it to no avail, but then managed to get a nail in and tease it up. "Stop twitching," she grunted at the dragon, holding him still under her other arm, then found a grip on the tapered edge and peeled up a layer of skin.
Toothy whined but didn't flinch or attack her, so she kept teasing and peeling with grim fascination until the piece tore away. About the size of her hand, it was as thick as work leather and felt just as strong. She only had to wonder for a moment how she'd managed to tear it before Toothy craned around to lick the freshly revealed scales, showing the little cracks running through the old skin.
"Ah'll take tha'." Gobber reached over and plucked the scrap from her to examine it, turning it over in his hand. "This stuff's amazin', pity there's only the two wee Furies. Though, when they're grown we'll have more ter work with. Prob'ly be thicker, too."
A shadow fell over her, and a head nudged her shoulder. "Hey Barf, little busy right now. Promise I'll get to you, 'kay? We can go blow up some sea stacks or something." Barf croaked happily and nuzzled her, and only quick reflexes kept her hand attached to her wrist. "Would you stop that," she hissed at the Fury, and he grumbled back at her. Oh boy, this was going to be a long morning…
Dreamer was feeling a little better, if mainly due to how itchy the shedding had been. He and Wanderer had been desperately chewing and clawing themselves and each other for days, heedless of who was observing, and only those magical brushes had allowed him a shaky grip on sanity. It had taken his mind off things enough that some of his appetite had returned, and with it much of his strength.
Unlike the other dragons, who had either a solid mesh of scales or a thick layer of leather, Night Furies had a much thinner leather embedded with uncountable tiny scales. It seemed to be much stronger, lighter, and more fireproof than leather, but significantly more flexible and less brittle than scales. He still remembered with awe that Toothless had walked away from the destruction he'd wrought on the forest by crash-landing into it. The only apparent downside was when it came time for the hide to be replaced.
A few undamaged strips had come away cleanly, each maybe large enough for a dagger hilt, much to Gobber's enthusiasm. It was a little disconcerting to think someone was interested in his skin and might find use for it, even if he wasn't using it anymore. Particularly coveted had been the larger scales on the sides of their legs and mottling their heads, they had proven to be remarkably resilient to all attempts to damage them. The problem was, between only two small Night Furies, there wasn't enough to even consider doing anything practical with them beyond maybe an indestructible purse. All that could be collected had gone into a locked box in the forge. Dreamer knew the twins had at least a few but what they would – or even could – do with them was anyone's guess.
It was the first real downside to his dragon body that he'd encountered. He was not looking forward to the one next year, though Wanderer sheepishly assured him the first time was the worst. Apparently he'd forgotten that, shaking Dreamer's perception of him as an all-knowing dragon expert.
The… understanding he'd come to with Fishlegs seemed to be holding, though now instead of scornful the looks were apologetic. It was an improvement, he'd take it. The Dragonese lessons had started up again, and they'd managed a conversation – admittedly very awkwardly – about dragons in general. Dreamer was half expecting to be asked to submit to a thorough and… uncomfortable examination, but it hadn't come. Oh, wait… Fishlegs had been there at the start, when he'd first woken up in his father's house. Should he feel violated? He felt violated. Heh, maybe Fishlegs was similarly regretting past actions, wouldn't that be funny.
Everything had settled down for about a week after the shedding, then the riders were apparently off to Dragon Island to try to bond some more dragons. From what Dreamer had overheard, there was some trepidation over bringing more dragons to Berk in case it was seen as an act of gathering forces, so it was to be a slow process.
Naturally, Dreamer was tagging along, easily keeping pace with Meatlug, and the two Furies came as a package deal. He had been reasonably confident he could make the flight, but his wings stretched to their fullest spanned as far as one of Stormfly's. Additionally, while he had spent countless hours drifting in the sky, this was hard flying in a specific direction and often against the wind. The difference was now as clear as between standing and running.
There were advantages to being a small dragon, however. He chirped wearily at Stormfly, and she chittered back to him in her maternal tone and offered him a ride. Not… quite what I had in mind, he sighed to himself, eyeing the very large and very sharp teeth ringing the proffered 'seat'. She seemed a little disappointed, but not upset or offended when he brought himself up and dropped himself awkwardly in Astrid's lap.
Astrid shouted her surprise, and then loudly exclaimed something. It wasn't until he turned to look at her and the air blew the wrong way over his ears that he realised she was just shouting over the wind. He'd forgotten about that. Wanderer teased him with a mock sympathy, but then Astrid's hands found lingering itchy spots behind Dreamer's ears and down his back, and he smirked back. Wanderer stubbornly stuck to his pride for maybe a whole minute before deftly dropping into Tuffnut's lap.
Travelling like this was very nostalgic. Outside of training her he'd only ridden Stormfly once – to make this same journey, come to think of it – and it was different to riding Toothless. Nonetheless, it took him back to the week or so he'd just whiled away what time he could drifting in the clouds on the back of his friend.
Dreamer hadn't meant to spend well over half the flight being carried, but they were suddenly gliding through the thick fog that perpetually surrounded Dragon Island. It was too late to jump off, a moment too long finding his wings and he'd be lost in the gloom. He did make the descent down to the beach by himself at least.
The mountain rose before them, heat radiating from the cracked rock, and he could just about make out what must be the remains of the queen in the distance. That must be uncomfortable to have laying around, but it was no wonder the dragons stuck around here, even in winter it would be very warm. He could hear so many of them the sound was a buzz in his ears.
"Have nice sleep, lazywings?" Wanderer chided as they landed. Dreamer playfully lunged at him and they tussled in the pebbles while the others dismounted, stretched, and set up a small camp.
Dreamer found his Nightstriker instincts kicking in, always alert and ready for danger even while playing, and a part of his mind was busy processing the air of wariness around them. The dragons nestled into crevices in the side of the mountain clearly didn't trust the Long-Paws, but were unsure and curious.
The conclusion he came to was that he could help by showing these dragons that the riders weren't a threat. Which I'm already doing, he mused as he chewed one of Wanderer's legs. He wasn't really sure which one, they were both half-buried in the smooth stones.
Wanderer broke free and sat on him, batting his head. Dreamer was pretty sure he was lecturing him too, something about staying on top in a fight, but he couldn't see. He managed to wriggle out from under him and shook himself, flexing his battered wings and fins while he looked around again.
What else can I do? The group had set up a fire – there were still plenty of wrecked ships around for wood – and were roasting fish over it. Dreamer took to the air, feeling Stormfly's keen eyes watching him, and circled low overhead.
Snotlout was being his usual boisterous self, pacing and saying mighty, threatening, big, certainly not helping ease the concerns of the onlooking dragons. Dreamer brought himself around and landed on the idiot's back, staggering him and throwing him off whatever routine he was enacting.
Dreamer wrinkled his nose as stale must assaulted it, doesn't this boy ever bathe? Regardless, he hooked his forelegs over Snotlout's shoulders and wrapped his tail around his waist. Snotlout didn't know what to make of this and just stood there stiffly while the others laughed. At least he wasn't being threatening anymore.
"Here you go, little Hiccy," Tuffnut crooned as he tossed a fish for Dreamer to snap out of the air, then jumped as Wanderer appeared under his elbow to filch one from the bag. "Hey, what did I tell you about sneaking around young man?" He tried to snatch the fish from Wanderer, and when that failed he made to grab him. That failed too.
With part of his senses tuned to the surrounding dragons, Dreamer was aware of the young Nightmare well before he drifted to a gentle landing a short distance from the camp. "Erm, gaizz?" Ruffnut pointed him out, and all attention promptly turned to Snotlout, Dreamer still on his back.
"Ha! Ov coorse, thuh besst drahgun iss the furst to arraive. Whatch and lurn, az the Snot taems thiss maity beest!" He snatched up a satchel, full of fish by the smell of it, and strode towards the Nightmare, heedless of the hushed shouts behind him.
Oh boy… I'd better stick around for this one, Dreamer thought to himself. Hookfang apparently didn't agree and snorted down Dreamer's back, but Snotlout turned around and gave him an earful. As they turned back, Dreamer caught something peculiar flash across Hookfang's features – a mix of caution and worry that was most uncharacteristic for him to show towards Snotlout. It did help to explain their odd relationship though.
Under his paws, Dreamer could feel Snotlout getting more and more tense as he approached the wild Nightmare; he has no idea what he's doing… But before he had any chance to come up with any sort of plan, Snotlout dramatically tossed aside his weapons and helmet, and held a fish out.
The Nightmare gave a low hiss of caution. Probably because Snotlout's posture was still aggressive, big, scary, so Dreamer batted him on the head a few times. Apparently, Snotlout had forgotten he was there, as he jumped and threw his hands up to his head, hitting himself in the face with the fish in the process.
The two Nightmares snickered at him as he flailed, trying to grab Dreamer, but his thick arms weren't flexible enough to reach far enough back. When he tried to hit him with the fish, Dreamer stole and ate it. Snotlout growled, then slumped in defeat and pulled out another fish. He offered it to the wild Nightmare, posture now tired, wary.
The Nightmare let Snotlout toss the fish into his mouth, then sniffed at him. Dreamer leaned forward to sniff back; this was his first time this close to a wild dragon directly, and he was a little unprepared for the wave of information that crashed into his brain. Most of all, he could smell smoke, first the rocky heat from the volcano and then the more biological smoke of dragon fire. There was also the fresh application of the flammable slime they coated themselves in, and then a core of something that was just unmistakably Monstrous Nightmare.
And layered through all of that were dragons, dozens of them of all different types. Just how sensitive are these noses? Dreamer received a sniff back, then the Nightmare crept around to meet Hookfang and that little pocket of world withdrew. It had been like being briefly shown a large parchment completely covered in runes, all different sizes, some familiar but most not, but he still had far too little experience to glean much from it. He was even only guessing the Nightmare was male. One day he might need to stay here a little while to get to grips with his senses.
The wild Nightmare snapped up another fish Snotlout threw for him, then ignored the proffered hand and flew back up into the mountain. Snotlout was initially dejected, but put on his false bravado and returned to the group.
Dreamer wished he could be part of all this, properly part of the mission. He'd first tamed the wildest and most intelligent of known dragons, the Night Fury, then easily calmed and bonded the broken and abused dragons they'd used for training. It was his calling, and he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd survived and lived as a human.
But there were too many variables. His father had taken to the Night Fury fledglings, true, but he had been grieving the loss of his son for a whole year. Without that, could he have accepted the dragon who had been blasting the village to splinters for Thor knew how many years? And the other Hooligans… With only four dragons in the village, all mostly residing in the stables, there was still animosity and lingering hate.
Hiccup's short-lived dream of establishing a dragon-friendly Berk seemed more impossible the more Dreamer thought about it. The way things had happened, he'd become a sort of martyr for peace; at least we aint dyin' to the beasts anymore, echoed the activist's words. He'd also enabled Fishlegs to communicate with dragons, something he hadn't even considered a possibility in the month he'd spent with Toothless in the cove or even when he'd returned to the village as a dragon. It had taken someone to observe two Night Furies, without that specific scenario there was no guarantee it would have ever happened.
When they reached the group, Dreamer dropped down. Yeck, he reeked of Snotlout, and licking off that particular smell was very unappealing. He trotted down the beach to the water and, under the guise of playing, rubbed himself against the wet stones as best he could.
Wanderer was not fooled. When Dreamer returned, he was tackled and the job was finished for him. Thankfully he only had to suffer it a short time, there were more curious dragons approaching, a good few this time. Ahh, so that was the plan, clever. Thinking about it, curious dragons seemed ideal candidates for bonding rather than trying to chase one down and hope it cooperated.
Snotlout made to go for the nearest Nightmare but was promptly dropped to the ground by Astrid with a hissed reminder. Instead, he was left with the twins while Astrid and Fishlegs approached their affinitive dragons.
They were naturals. Astrid disarmed and approached with awe, happy, amazed, scared. She left Stormfly a little way back, then let the wild Nadder take a large fish from her. Dreamer couldn't hear her words from the distance, but her tone and body said she was admiring the big Nadder who preened and bristled proudly.
Fishlegs was equally adept, approaching the only Gronckle with calm, safe, slow. His weight made it difficult to traverse the loose ground and he regularly slipped and stumbled, but the Gronckle seemed to be finding it endearing and they also connected quickly.
Laying on his front next to Wanderer, Dreamer watched in interest as they stumbled through a rushed version of what he'd done with the arena dragons. Fishlegs' work no doubt, he liked to document everything, though Dreamer had really only been reacting to the dragons' needs. They'd been mistreated and abused, sorely in need of feeding and reassurance, and he worked with them based on that fact. It was a surprise it was working here actually – but then maybe not so much, the queen hadn't treated them any better from what little he'd seen.
"Why nest here with queen?" he asked.
Wanderer's ears had been darting around warily since the appearance of the new dragons, and while they didn't pause at Dreamer's question, his frills flattened to his neck. "Nest-kin not have choice. Queen take thoughts, give new thoughts. Not let them leave."
"She let them go to egg-nest."
"She need hatchlings. No drink-water here, no hatchlings, no fledglings. Grow on egg-nest."
Dreamer idly waved his tail, processing all that. "All nest-kin leave in egg-season? Who feed queen?"
"Not all nest-kin leave. Some stay, feed…" His frills were really flattened to his neck now, practically quivering with the strain, and his folded wings were tense and hunched forward.
Dreamer decided not to pursue further questions. With a glance at Fishlegs to make sure he was distracted, he gave Wanderer a short nuzzle under his neck. It almost immediately relaxed the bigger Nightstriker, if not completely, and he received a low purr and a lick on the cheek. He was slowly getting more comfortable with this again, but it was taking time. He gave a quiet purr of gratitude, Wanderer really was being very patient with him and let him move at his own pace. Most of the time, anyway.
"Where Long-Paws lay eggs?" Wanderer warbled curiously.
…He was suddenly a little less grateful. Oh man, how to explain this…?
"Long-Paws not lay eggs in egg-season?" he continued while Dreamer searched for the words. "No see hatchlings in nest."
"Long-Paws not lay eggs." Wanderer seemed to be waiting for more words. "No eggs," he clarified.
Huff. "No eggs, no hatchlings, no Long-Paws. I not eat them, why not say?" He nudged Dreamer with his nose. "I want know."
"I… What? I trust you! Stupid. But no eggs."
"How hatchlings if no eggs?"
Dreamer groaned and buried his face in the rocks. He didn't want to have this conversation; this was way too uncomfortable.
"…I understand," Wanderer sighed. "You not want tell me… I only curious…"
And now Dreamer felt bad. He groaned again and lifted his head. "Female... hold hatchling in belly. When…" Searching for the words he glanced around, but went quiet to decipher the toothy grin Wanderer was giving him.
…
The moment he made the connection, Wanderer was off, barking a laugh back at him. "Get back here!" Dreamer screeched. "I get you for that!" He scrabbled after him, quickly finding his paws on the loose ground to catch up and pounce. They tumbled to a stop with Wanderer on his back, and Dreamer pounced again and bit down on a foreleg with a growl.
"Stupid, land-things not lay eggs," Wanderer chided playfully and batted him on the head with his other paw. Dreamer caught the next strike in his teeth and bit a little harder.
With a contented purr in his ears, Dreamer suddenly found himself pulled closer and wrapped in wings… Nope, not quite okay with this, but Wanderer was already pushing him off to get to his paws. "See if more fish? I hungry."
"I took fish from rock-head," he mumbled, and Wanderer just nodded at him before bounding off to pester Tuffnut. Dreamer watched him happily receive a fat fish and ear scritches. Why did he have to feel so guilty doing the things he so sorely wanted to do? Well, he knew exactly why, he'd lost his balance and the Viking had a little too much control right now. It might take him a little longer, but he'd find that balance with this as well. At least things in the privacy of the den were just about back to normal.
He ambled the short distance back to the camp, mind whirring. As long as he was thinking more like a Viking, there were a few dreams he could put his thoughts to, and he needed to come up with a joke on Wanderer. He turned it all over in his head while he watched the new dragons get to know the riders.
The sun reached the height that they had to leave before or risk flying in the dark, and there was a faint and suppressed nervousness – would the new dragons follow them back?
The answer was no – at first. Fishlegs had apparently forgotten he could speak Dragonese, or maybe he just didn't know how to ask, and the pair dismissed Dreamer as a hatchling being silly when he explained. Stormfly thankfully caught on and made the offer as well, promising food, safety, and a good nest just like she'd done for the Nightstrikers. The two dragons then set into the air with barely a glance back.
The return flight was uneventful. Dreamer had to rest three times, the winds were even less favourable and he wasn't as fresh as the flight there, but he was sure to carry himself as far as he could this time. It stung a little that Wanderer only needed two rests, despite knowing why he was stronger.
Training started the day after they got back, and with the Nadder being bonded to Spitelout in the training ring Dreamer and Wanderer had excellent seats for the show. It did not go well. The first day was actually painful to watch; he was arrogant, short-tempered, refused instruction, and seemed to have no interest in bonding.
I should write a book, Dreamer mused to himself on the second day, 'How to Train Your Viking', as Spitelout once again waved off Astrid's instruction and faced the mild-tempered dragon full of aggression and combat. They would get nowhere at this rate.
Dreamer waved his wings to get the Nadder's attention. "He think you toy. Show him you not." He quietly snapped his teeth for emphasis.
Kingstail, as Spitelout was calling him, chittered thoughtfully, then waited for Spitelout to near. Instead of his usual placid and curious demeanour however, he reared up and bared his teeth, spines bristling and a threatening hiss filling the ring. Spitelout reacted, shouting up at him and raising his fists, but went deathly still when the sharp tail spines pressed against his exposed throat.
"Uhh… Astdrid?" he asked quietly while Kingstail snickered. Dreamer rolled his eyes, now he was ready to listen to the expert. Maybe he really should write that book.
Astrid was clearly a little freaked out as well, and spoke slowly and carefully. "Don't move. Just carm down, he won't hurt you." She was moving in to take control of the situation, but Dreamer surreptitiously asked Stormfly to not let her near. Someone as stubborn as Spitelout needed drastic measures.
Beginning to realise this seemed to be a dragon thing, Astrid stopped trying to push past. She took a few steps back, gradually becoming more comfortable with the situation and subsequently harder to understand. "See? I don't control my dragon, like I've been sayhing. I have to truhst her, az she trusts meeh. Ayhy mean, would yoo want somewahn you didn't truhst on yoor sholdurs witth an axx to yor throte?"
Finally, it seemed to be sinking in. Spitelout had been craning back to look at Astrid, and now he faced his dragon, stared into a single bright green eye, then held his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes. Trust, he was saying without even realising it.
Kingstail warbled happily and withdrew his tail, then gave Spitelout a nuzzle. Looking a bit unsteady, Spitelout carefully stroked the dragon's jaw with a nervous laugh.
"Lazywings!" Wanderer barked from a hover above, dangling vertically. "Come fly!"
Dreamer stretched, preparing for a hard flight. He still had dreams and plans, and would need an inordinate amount of strength to see them through, especially in this form. At least this body was much more receptive to building strength than his last one, even long hours in the forge had failed to put any meat on him as his father had hoped.
Sufficiently warmed, he launched himself into the morning sky. He pushed himself hard, throwing far more energy into his movements than was required, mostly to build strength but also because the added snappiness was quite satisfying. When his wings and body burned from the effort he eased off, and just focused on keeping up with Wanderer, determined to stay in the air at least as long.
Later, as the sun rose higher, he crashed into a heap in their den. Wanderer wasted no time in putting his magical tongue to work on Dreamer's aching shoulders and wings, and he almost drifted off on the spot.
By happenstance of where he'd dropped, he spotted something that did not belong, a small book wedged between the rocks… but the thought of so much as opening it turned his stomach to acid, so he just let his eyes drift shut. Another day. He drifted off, helped along by the soothing tongue gliding across his scales.
The Great Hall was the usual bustling scene of activity at dinner; the familiar clacking of bowls on tables, loud drunken conversations, and the occasional brawl breaking out. It was normally so peaceful, but Astrid had a bone to pick.
"I'm telling you guys, there's something about the little Fury, he's like a genius or something. The way he watches you, it's eerie, and you should have seen him today. I was having so much trouble with Spitelout–"
"Hah, welcome to the club," Snotlout muttered.
"–and I catch the little guy twitching that Dragonese stuff, then everything goes wrong. The dragon nearly decapitates your dad, and Stormfly won't let me near to calm him down. But then, Spitelout actually starts listening to me like that was what he needed all along!"
"Yea-ap, he's a little hiccup all right," Fishlegs said meekly, staring into his cup.
...Speaking of weird. "Have you patched things up with them? You were all aloof for a while and then I heard about the incident in the ring, what was all that about?"
"Nothing!" Fishlegs barked a little too quickly, going rigid. Everyone glared at him. "I mean, uh, um, I just, I stumbled on something, a little, er, private. Yeah." The expectant stares continued. "Come on guys! It's private. At first I took it all the wrong way, and Too–… Toothy had to tell me what an idiot I was being about it. You guys want to know, you can ask him yourself." He crossed his arms in a rare but absolute end of discussion.
"Uh, yeah, except you're the only one who can actually talk to them," Tuffnut drawled.
"Whatever. Hey, is my dad ready to fly yet? I have got to be there for that, I'll get to rub his nose in something for once!"
Astrid ignored Snotlout; she'd had a lot of practise. "Alright then Fish. Can you look up the flight training for the Nadder? Stoick wants Spitelout flying yesterday, and I'm a little rusty. It's been… almost…" She thought of the little girl she'd been a year ago, wide eyed and soft-skinned, as Hiccup had effortlessly gained the trust of four dragons and shown them all how to fly together. She'd had to grow up fast since then, finding herself handling a lot more minor Chiefly duties than planned, but she was still a long, long way from Chiefdom.
Without fail, everyone had had trouble with a little girl trying to settle disputes, especially with Stoick's reputation taking on water. Thankfully, Vikings always respected strength, and most were willing to overlook the girl for the couple thousand pounds of fire-breathing reptile by her side. Stormfly was directly, if only partially, responsible for the stability of the village, and Astrid considered her friendship a gift from Hiccup. Just another thing he'd done for the tribe that didn't deserve him.
Fishlegs interrupted her reverie, "Y-yeah, sure, come by mine when we're done here and I'll make you a copy."
Later that night, Astrid stared at the ceiling from her bed and listened to the snoring of her family. She couldn't stop turning over recent events in her head, and her new Chief-in-training instincts were scratching at her. Something strange was going on, didn't feel right, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.