Struggling to keep a dignified face, Stoick watched as the big Gronckle effortlessly lifted the support beams for the catapult into place. It was the work of ten men, and without the ropes and leverage. Earlier that day it had made a dozen short trips around the main island to store logs for drying, moving them faster than they could be debranched and debarked, the work of four men and in a fraction of the time.

They'd only needed a day to settle it, then a day to train it. Two days, and on the third day it had already returned the manpower invested in it.

Stoick had killed more Gronckles than he cared to count, staring down most of their glowing maws. He hadn't thought them particularly strong creatures, they certainly posed little threat compared to a Monstrous Nightmare or some of the more exotic dragons, but their slow and bumbling movements were deceiving. After all that labour, it looked that it was now done warming up and was ready to get started. Its bulbous tail wagged playfully as Hork, the head lumberjack, slung a large fish high into the air, and its wings blurred and thrummed energetically as it buzzed up to catch it.

Absolutely unbelievable.

They wouldn't be able to keep working at this pace, of course. It took months, ideally at least a year, to properly dry wood for building, but they only had two drying sheds and most of the wood in them was too fresh to use yet. It was tempting to add a third, but it would use much of the wood they had remaining and right now they had other priorities.

With the two halves of the catapult's structure secured, Hork directed the Gronckle to pick up the arm and lift it into place, which again was done in painless moments with a dull thud.

"Can't believe it, Chief," Hork said, stepping beside Stoick to watch the final pieces go together. "Must admit, I wasn't thrilled when you ordered me to this. We've been fighting these things a long time, an' it's hard to forget the damage. Even knowing the truth of it. But ol' Horrorbull here, well, he might just be enough to change me mind. Hel, if we'd had him a year ago…" After a minute of silence, he sighed. "No, I don't think we were ready for it. Many still aren't, that last year was a bad one."

"Aye," Stoick agreed solemnly, and another minute passed. "What could you do with more of them?"

"Nothin'. We don't have the wood that just this guy can handle, even as it is some of my men will need to find other work."

"Good, Thor knows there's still work to go around. Send the youngest straight to Gobber, he needs a new apprentice." He'd have to ask Fishlegs for more ideas, as well as throwing the idea to the village at large. Centuries of making do with whatever they could had turned them into an ingenious lot, when they had to be.

As Stoick stared, the thick clouds parted enough to let the sun shine through directly behind the head of the catapult, giving it an unearthly glow. An Omen? He was already treading a fine line… But Stoick had an uneasy feeling that was nothing to do with the dragons. Vikings liked to fight, it was in their blood, and when the arrows started flying Berk would need all the strength it could get; he refused to spend another day in oppression. If they could file that strength under peaceful terms, such as gathering or construction, then all the better.

That was a point, all the dragons required for their service was food, but Berk would need to expand her fishing fleet if they were planning on bringing in more. A chuckle rose in his chest as a thought took him by surprise.

"Uh, Chief?" asked Hork uncertainly.

Stoick wheezed out a reply between laughs. "Oh Hork, don't – don't ye see? The dragons are – rebuilding our village, when – just over a year ago they – they were burning it down – for the same reason!"

Hork did find this amusing, though not nearly as much. Maybe it was a Chief thing. Valka and Hiccup would have laughed.

The unbidden thought of his lost family instantly sobered him, and he took a long, slow breath. As dark as the days were to come, however, the worst had to be behind him, and Berk needed its Chief now more than ever.

There was a warmth to the air, a sign of short nights and wild angry skies to come. The last pockets of ice were melting, and the nights were becoming shorter and shorter. The hot-season was on its way.

Hrr, as close as these small-lands got to a hot-season, anyway. Wanderer was used to it now, but as a fledgling – the first time – he remembered all the seasons being much warmer. He'd underestimated how bad the cold-season here would be with these tiny bodies, and it had been a good thing Dreamer had recovered his memories when he did or they would likely have frozen to death.

And since then, neither of them had gone hungry. Well, Dreamer still wasn't eating enough, but that was not due to lack of food. He was now looking a bit healthier, his spine wasn't standing out on his back and the bottom of his ribs were no longer painfully obvious, but he was still very thin and a bit twitchy. At least his flying was now more relaxed, all those jerky movements had softened into appropriately lazy drifting, letting the wind do the work for him. There was still the odd day the tension returned in full force, and his appetite rose and fell like a Spine-Tail fishing, but overall it was a steady, if slow, improvement.

The wind turned to a good direction, perfect for coasting on, and Wanderer smirked. With tiny adjustments to his wings, he drifted up and over Dreamer to nestle a little weight onto his back.

"What you doing!?" Dreamer snapped up at him.

"I sit on your back. I think I sleep. Try not fly us at rocks again." He snickered as Dreamer flicked him with an ear and ducked away. They were flying back to the old nest, the one where the bad queen had been. The Long-Paws probably wanted more nest-kin; it was good to take new blood from other nests.

The wind turned again, bringing new smells and a hint of heavy damp indicative of rain, maybe a storm. Wanderer looked up at the few white clouds far above, longing to weave around and between them. It would take time to return to those heights, mostly for the strength to work the thin air, but they would get there.

In the meantime, he was kept occupied fussing over Dreamer, and by the strange and interesting Long-Paws who flew on their nest-friends. It was a long flight from the hunt-eat-sleep-hunt-eat-sleep monotony of the old nest, and for that Wanderer was grateful. He felt he hadn't matured at all in his time there, and been further hindered by the near continuous thought-sapping Song of the queen.

When they coasted down to the beach of the warm nest, Wanderer again looked at the mountain and its entrances, and was again tempted to go inside. He might not have particularly liked this nest, but he'd not begrudged it either – just the queen in it – and it had been his home for several cold-seasons. No… It wasn't as if he had any friends there, and without the order imposed by the queen he could not predict his reception. At best, he might start fights between maternal mothers and the more territorial individuals. He was with Dreamer now, and wouldn't regret if he never saw inside again.

He wrestled with Dreamer in the loose rocks while the Long-Paws did Long-Paw things, and as usual Dreamer was far too ready to give up his height. He'd been right when he said he wasn't a fighter, but Wanderer needed to work him out of that thought. If either of them ever wanted a mate, or possibly even to survive that long, they would both need to be capable fighters. Some confidence might even help his bad-thinking.

"This not joke Dreamer!" he shouted sternly as the Nightstriker he was sat on struggled and sunk into the pebbles. Wanderer huffed and dragged him out by the scruff of his neck, then repeated himself. "You need learn! No let me get above you!" They wouldn't start aerial play-fights for a while, but if Dreamer couldn't even fight with his paws on the ground he would have no hope in the slippery air.

"Yes," Dreamer shook absently and bounded off to the Long-Paws. Rrgh, Wanderer had forgotten how little Long-Paws listened, sometimes even Dreamer. What would it take to get through to him?

He moved a little closer to the others, then nestled himself comfortably into the smooth stones to think. When he'd been learning to fight he'd had a habit of always dodging to the same side, and that habit had been punished harder and harder until he broke out of it. Dreamer didn't seem to want to fight at all, and this plan was likely to put him off play-fighting too, so it was grounded.

Similar ideas drifted along and were all shot down one by one. This problem was just too alien to deal with in the normal way, and anything he could think of would only push Dreamer away. Maybe he should ask Fish-Legs about it, he might know what to do.

Fish-Legs was otherwise occupied by a boisterous Spine-Tail he'd taken interest in for some reason, who he recognised with a start. Wanderer had broken up a fight in the nest – the queen tended to resolve such matters by eating everyone involved – earlier in the cycle he'd been grounded, and found the young Spine-Tail in the middle of it. Hungry and desperate, he'd been orphaned right after returning to the nest and had no idea how to fend for himself, so Wanderer had paired him up with a dam who had lost a fledgling to illness.

Fish-Legs was struggling to gain his trust, so Wanderer flapped over and warbled a greeting. Now that he could get a better smell he was certain it was that same Spine-Tail, though he'd grown big and proud since then. Wanderer was oddly warmed by it; he felt he'd actually saved this life instead of just prolonged it.

He received a chittered greeting back and they exchanged scents, the Spine-Tail's quills quickly perking up. "Nightstriker-kin! I know sire! He save!" Wanderer reared up and allowed himself to be nuzzled.

"Sire was great Nightstriker," he said quietly, wilfully misinterpreting, and the Spine-Tail hummed sadly with it being all too close to his own experiences. "This Long-Paw ask you join nest. Much food, much play. Make Long-Paw friend. Good, safe nest."

Warbling thoughtfully, the Spine-Tail inspected Fish-Legs. He had been busy making lines in his Long-Paw-thing, but at noticing the interest in him he held out a fat fish for the Spine-Tail. He also did a strange one-eye-blink at Wanderer and tossed him a fish too. There wasn't going to be argument over that.

When the Spine-Tail plodded off to introduce himself to Stormfly, Wanderer barked to get Fish-Legs' attention. "Why you not talk?"

"I do. They not tree."

"…They not like?" Wanderer offered.

The Long-Paw squinted and scratched his cheek. "Yes. Sounds rock."

I think I see the problem, Wanderer thought to himself, the talking lessons had gone similarly badly at times. He supposed the sounds were a little similar, and the Long-Paw language seemed to rely more on clicks and tuts and less on pitch and tone. He was also learning that while Dreamer had spoken much with his body, other Long-Paws mostly only used their bodies to say aggressive things.

This might be tricky then… "Need talk about Dreamer." Seeing the tense reaction, he quickly added "Not about you."

Relaxing, Fish-Legs pulled out his Long-Paw-thing again. "Yes. What?"

"Dreamer not listen how fight. He need learn how fight. How I teach?"

"Fight?" Fish-Legs pulled out his claw and waved it around – away from Wanderer – as if fighting off an imaginary attacker.

"Yes."

Fish-Legs hummed, sheathing the claw and then holding a paw to his chin. "He not fighter," he said simply, then chattered defensive, aggravated, sympathy, in the Long-Paw way. "Sorry. I not know words."

Rrgh, back to the ground. "I do something…" Wanderer warbled uncertainly, and went to check on Dreamer.

Dreamer hadn't been a normal Long-Paw. It was much better for the both of them that he was now a Nightstriker, he was closer to normal Nightstriker than Long-Paw from what Wanderer had seen. And this way they could make a Nightstriker nest together when they found mates. Hrrr, but that was a long way off yet.

He stopped to look up at the wide, open sky, and took a moment to feel the wind over his tiny body. Given the chance, he would make the same desperate play again in a heartbeat; being grounded, starving, and hatched again was worth it. Even if it was occasionally very frustrating.

And on that wind… "Hey!" he called to Dreamer. "No annoy Fire-Scale, he not like talking."

Dreamer turned away from the Fire-Scale to pout back at him. "Want talk! Talking good, learn things."

"Yes. Learn how Fire-Scale eat Nightstriker fledgling."

Huff. "Not every thing want eat us."

Wanderer flicked his tail. "Only need one thing want eat us. I not want find which thing."

The Fire-Scale lost what little interest he had in their conversation, and lay his head under his tail to nap.

"What word for not straight?" Dreamer held his tail up to demonstrate, the end hanging limply to one side. He would often ask for words, and Wanderer had long since stopped asking why; if it was interesting, he trusted Dreamer to tell him.

"Bent."

"Word for very bent?"

"…Why another word? It not straight, it bent. Long-Paw-speak stupid."

Dreamer stuck his tongue out at him, then tipped his head at the Fire-Scale. "His name 'Very-Bent-Tooth'. Thought you like know, maybe you kin?"

He darted back from a snap of Wanderer's many teeth with a chattering laugh, but then Wanderer found his tail waving in amusement. If only Very-Bent-Tooth could understand what a name was and what he'd been given as one, he'd–… Wwrr, he'd probably react exactly as Wanderer had. Admittedly, it was funny to think of him chasing the rock-head Long-Paw around, and he found he couldn't blame Dreamer for laughing so hard while being chased around the ground-hole.

He could still blame Dreamer for giving him the stupid name in the first place. What is with Long-Paws and teeth!? Maybe because their own were so blunt and useless.

This all attracted the attention of the familiar Spine-Tail, who approached them eagerly. "Nightstriker, you have kin!? Your sire very lonely. Have kin very good."

"Yes," Wanderer chuffed proudly, then carefully watched him and Dreamer exchange scents. When the Spine-Tail repeated his condolences for their sire, having now confirmed they were blood-kin, the look of confusion on Dreamer lasted less than a heartbeat and was immediately replaced with a convincing show of sadness. It was very good to see this sickness had not dulled his mind at least.

Storm-Fly – at least that was a more sensible name – with her Long-Paw on her back challenged the new nest-kin to a race, and they were quickly both specks in the distance. Wanderer was not impressed, in a cycle or two he and Dreamer would screech past them with ease.

Dreamer picked his way through the loose rocks to him. "What name for… scale-flying-hunters?"

"…What?"

"Nightstriker, Spine-Tail, Fire-Scale, Rock-Scale, Two-Head, what name for all? And others?"

"Wing-hunters."

Dreamer rolled his eyes, his frills flicking irritably. "No, that also say feather-wing-hunters. Only scales." While Wanderer was trying to figure out what he was asking, he added "Things you nest with."

"Nest-kin?"

"That only nest, and also say Long-Paw now," Dreamer groaned.

"…Yes?" This was another weird Long-Paw thing wasn't it? "Tell me what mean."

"Wwrr, have scales, wings, some nest in sea, some have fire…" He tried to add more, but kept cutting himself off with a grimace.

"I think you not know what this Long-Paw word mean," Wanderer chided smugly.

"I know word! This… hard explain…"

Wanderer crooned mock encouragement and licked him between the eyes, then blocked the bats aimed at his head and lunged with a playful growl. Moments later, he was sighing from atop his scaly black perch. Maybe he should fix one problem before moving on to the next.

He stepped off and let Dreamer climb out of the hole he'd struggled himself into, then lay down next to him. "Dreamer, how you feel?" he asked levelly, and watched for the subtle tells. The twitch of the frills, a swish of his tail, his eyes narrowing… Okay, this was Dreamer, he wasn't subtle in the slightest.

"I… better. I feel more Nightstriker, just… hard sometimes."

"I can help?" Wanderer warbled hopefully.

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully. "You do lots," he said with a purr and a brief nuzzle. "But… not attack Fish-Legs again."

Huff. "Only if he not need again… Why you like him?"

Another thoughtful hum. "He nice. We talked lots, played sometimes." He shook his head. "I thankful for him. But maybe… Wrr, it not matter now. I have you."

Wanderer was surprised when a wing draped over his back, if a little stiffly. "Dreamer… You not need do this if not feel good."

"…I want do this," Dreamer whined quietly, but he was too still, his breathing too measured and too deep.

Shrugging the wing off with his own, Wanderer nuzzled him. "Yes. But slow. Later, in den."

"Sneaking feels… wrong," he growled. "I too slow. Half season like this… Not fair for you." He curled up a little on himself, shuffling his paws. "I worry you, you sad… Also you live through lots more bad and I grounded over stupid thing." He let out a long whine. "Sorry… I try be strong like you… But I–"

Wanderer snapped at him to stop him from finishing that thought. "This not about strong." He spread his wings, beautiful and majestic, to loom above them. "I strongest nest-kin. Stronger than queen, we show that. But… I let her take my thoughts, watched her… eat nest-kin, do nothing. I always do nothing. You, small fragile Long-Paw, not do nothing. Bad queen dead. Your nest lives, has much food. You do."

Dreamer scoffed. "You kill queen. I sat on you."

"We kill queen," Wanderer corrected. "I wings, fire. You do flying, fighting. You mind."

"…Two in one…" He hummed quietly. "You body, I mind."

"Yes." It was an apt way to put it, he remembered putting his complete trust in his Dreamer and responding to his subtle movements. The pressure of his legs, the tightness of the binds as he leaned and pulled, the confidence, fight, protect he shouted into the fray. It was almost as if they'd become one being.

Put this way, however, it was difficult not to compare it to the power the queen had held over him. An involuntary relinquish of control to another, as he could not fly and feed himself otherwise. He held none of this against Dreamer of course, he couldn't fault the Long-Paws for striking back at him, and for whatever reason Dreamer had then helped as best he could. Wanderer had even enjoyed the flying itself, sharing that experience with another in that way had been… there were no words to describe it.

However, he had done nothing but relinquish control all his life. First when Dam screeched at him to fly far, far away, then to the wind when he found himself lost. To the queen, when he eventually stumbled into her territory, then to Dreamer, and to the Long-Paw nest while he nursed his precious cargo. Finally, when the cold-season subsided, he left and took back his independence – only to lose it again to the returning cold-season.

He gave a sad-amused huff as he noticed Dreamer looking at him with concern. "I not regret. Never trade you for happy life… You my happy. You make my mind strong."

"You my happy," Dreamer purred back at him. "And you give me strong body! Hrrr, I think I got better fish. This good body." He held a paw up and flexed his claws, shook his wings, flicked his tail, but then paused. "…Thank you… I not think I say that before."

Wanderer snorted. "We thank you-me-you for every thing, we here all night. It good you Nightstriker. Your body now. Not want think otherwise." That line of thinking was a little too close to some torturous memories.

Dreamer shuffled his paws, ears drooping. "But, you strong mind. My nest do you very bad… before fight with queen. My sire do you bad. You still…"

Huff. "I be nice." Wanderer debated how much to say… then realised he was being hypocritical, telling Dreamer he was strong and then holding back for fear of breaking him. But he couldn't look at Dreamer while he spoke. "I not strong. I… not can trust. I know nest-kin not hurt us, I know… but I not feel safe. When intruder in den, I think you right, but not want stay. I just… danger everywhere…" He took a deep breath to steady himself, scowling as it wavered. "We grow big next cycle… We survive next cold-season. That all I think. Survive cold-season, then we strong. Then we can choose stay or leave. Then I not fear."

He stole a glance at the Nightstriker next to him, heart drooping at the worry and love in his expression, then for a while they just leaned against each other and watched the smell-alikes chase each other in circles.

"Things better after cold-season," Dreamer agreed firmly as the Long-Paws prepared to leave. "We just survive cold-season."

This was getting ridiculous, and after another fitful night of wondering Astrid had decided it was time she knew the truth. It was laughable how many signs there were, like they weren't even trying to be discrete, though why they would hide it in the first place was beyond her.

"Why haven't you told anyone?" she growled from Stormfly's back. The temptation to wave her axe was strong, but it wouldn't accomplish anything here.

"'Cause frankly, it does nae yet concern ya." Spitelout, on the back of his dragon, regarded her coolly as he spoke across the small sea-stack.

She scoffed. "Stoick's attitude after the Thing, archery contests, fletchers complaining about strange requests, training the Furies, more dragons, catapults, a hundred things! You've been preparing the village for outright war and nobody even knows about it!"

"Tha' may be the case. 'Appens all the time. Well, yeh wouldn't a' noticed over an ongoing war with flying, fire-breathin' reptiles, bu' it 'appens."

"Look, if I'm going to be doing this one day then I at least should know what's going on, or at least why you won't tell me."

Spitelout thoughtfully stroked his beard. "Ya may be righ' there lassie, bu' it's no up to me. Ah will say, that we Vikings are a rambunctious lot. Tell us a war is comin' an' we'll get ourselves riled up, bu' when it turns out ter be paranoia, or resolves itself peacefully? Then yeh've got a problem."

"That… makes sense." Astrid said carefully. "But as the successor of the Chief, and practically head of dragon affairs–"

"Nothin' ter do with ya," Spitelout repeated. "Chief has 'is reasons. Ah assume you already spoke to 'im?" Astrid nodded slowly. "Well there ya go then. Trust 'im, he knows what he's doin'.

"But not using our–"

Spitelout cut her off by flying away on Kingstail, resuming his patrol around the fishing grounds. Warn and report, do not interfere, the order made no sense! They should just burn down any boat who dared attack them again, that ought to put a stop to it.

Fine, if that was the way they wanted to play it, she could only trust them, play along, and hope it didn't get anyone else killed. She just wished they trusted her.

Snotlout stormed through the village, on foot, looking for something to beat up. He probably wouldn't take his frustrations out on Hiccup now even if he was alive, and Fishlegs always seemed to be around that Gronckle. Sparring with Tuffnut was tempting, but he was a slippery opponent and usually made Snotlout angrier. It had been a while since he'd needed to do this the old-fashioned way, it was very satisfying to set sea-stacks aflame and just start fires in general, but that was the current source of his frustration.

He yelled wordlessly down the village, but the children scurrying out of his path and even the impressed nods of the adults did little to soothe his mood.

"Oh hey Snotlout, what's up?" Fishlegs called, buzzing in on his stupid fat dragon. Like he could ever understand.

"My dad took Hookfang!" he shouted, then cursed at himself for sounding whiny. He wished he could just beat up the flabby muttonhead instead, that would be much easier, but Meatlug was watching him carefully.

"Ahh, what did he do this time?" The words were infuriatingly smug.

Snotlout threw his arms up. "Nothing! Sure, he set fire to the wood stack again, but he does that like, every week. It's nothing new."

"Neither is Hookfang being confiscated, to be fair."

"Yeah? Not for three days. When I went to break him out, he growled and snapped at me until I left. Normally he'd just set me on fire and we'd laugh and fly away, but no. I dunno what's gotten into him." He crossed his arms.

"Have you considered… training him to not set things on fire?"

"Uh, yeah? He's thousands of pounds of flammable reptile." He sneered, "Oh but you wouldn't know anything about that, your dragon spits rocks, not fire."

Fishlegs laughed at him. "I'm pretty sure the problem isn't the dragon."

"Fine! I'll show you!" Snotlout stalked off, growling wordlessly through his teeth and ignoring whatever jibe Fishlegs shouted after him.

Fine. He could channel this, just in a different way. He needed a new dragon anyway – the thought stopped him in his tracks, and he turned back to where Hookfang was being held. Well, 'held' wasn't quite right, 'obediently sat' was closer. Hmph, well I'll be sure to visit him occasionally.

Oh yes. He was going to train and claim the 'untrainable dragon', Fishlegs' own words, and then everyone would see how awesome he was. He'd no longer need to drill military lessons, after all who needed strategy when you had a Night Fury? Hiccup had proved that. His dad would start preparing him to be Chief instead of Marshal, and Astrid would respect him for the man he was. "Oh Snotlout," she would say, "How have I not seen this side of you before?" Then she'd pull him off his dragon and…

He was still fantasising when he stumbled into the arena, misjudging the length of the ramp and striking stone with his foot earlier than expected. That was fine, nobody had been around to see that. Okay, think… What did he know of the Night Furies? They went nuts for a batch of dried fish some idiot apprentice had dried whole, bones and all. Which were all back in the village. No problem, a quick jaunt back on–… foot. He growled at himself and started the jog back. Well, it was a good workout, he'd been getting lazy with a dragon to zip around on.

Back in the arena, out of breath and idly swinging a fish from its shrivelled tail, he tried to remember what else he'd heard. Fishlegs said they were hard to train, something about being really smart. Hmph, Hiccup had been really smart and Snotlout had had no trouble training him. This was going to be easy.

"Hiccup! Toothy!" he called, but the stables were empty, they were probably out flying. No, he wouldn't be dissuaded, he would sit here and wait for them. He plopped himself down in the middle of the ring, crossed his arms, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

He was doing pullups from the fence surrounding the ring when the two Furies glided down to perch on the bars opposite and stare at him. He dropped down, making an amazingly smooth landing, then retrieved the fish from where he'd stashed it in a box and drew his knife. They perked up and dropped down as well, each happily snapping a small sliver out of the air.

Alright, now they were more comfortable. Which one did he fancy? Hah, like that was even a question.

"Come heeeere Toothy," he bade, waving a lump of fish pinned between his thumb and the knife. Toothy looked at him, then at the fish, then back to him. Oh yeah… That was the other thing, they wanted the fish first. Well that wasn't happening.

After ten calls the dragon still wasn't budging, just looking between Snotlout and the fish. Nope. Nuh uh.

After thirty or so calls, Toothy yawned widely and laid down, and Hiccup got bored and wandered off to a patch of sunlight by the edge of the arena. Still not happening.

He completely lost count after Toothy curled up and made to go to sleep. "Fine!" he snapped and threw the morsel, which was instantly snapped out of the air despite the dragon's appearance a moment ago. Then Toothy approached, calmly sitting down about a pace away.

Progress… sort of. Not really. He let out an exasperated sigh. "Go over there," he said, pointing in a random direction. Toothy looked at him, looked where he was pointing, looked at him, then laid down again. Growling, Snotlout tossed another piece of fish – smaller this time – in that direction just to get the frustrating dragon a little further away.

"Come on Snotlout, put that awesome brain to work!" he told himself. He went through all the ways he knew of dealing with infuriating smart people, and stumbled on a memory of when Hiccup had still been young and innocent.

A devious smile crept across his face.

Wanderer didn't like this smile on the young Long-Paw, and Dreamer's quiet hiss said he didn't either.

The smile was gone in an instant, replaced with nonchalance and superiority. Wwrr, here we go again…

The Long-Paw – Dreamer only ever called him rock-head – said command in their strange language and pointed down at the ground. Wanderer sat down and yawned; he could do this all day.

A little of that repugnant smile returned as he slowly carved off a piece of fish – and tossed it to Dreamer, who looked at the tasty, chewy morsel in surprise. Ever so slowly, the toothy joke-smile crept across his face. Sss, now there were two suspicious grins directed at him, and Dreamer's jokes were very tricky. Wanderer narrowed his eyes at him and then the Long-Paw. What game are you playing…?

The Long-Paw repeated the sounds and the motion, then slooowly carved off another piece of fish and tossed it to Dreamer as well. And again. And again. Dreamer was looking increasingly smug, purring loudly and making exaggerated motions of chewing and licking his chops.

What was happening? The fish was now half gone, and the rock-head was veeery slooowly carving out a nice large chunk. When Dreamer shot him an excruciatingly smug look at this next instruction, Wanderer growled and grumbled and trudged to the Long-Paw. He was met with an acceptably moderate amount of enthusiasm, the lump of fish, and another instruction.

He glared at the Long-Paw. No. But when Dreamer was tossed another fat strip of that chewy, tasty fish, then another, he grumbled and dutifully went where told.

Another instruction. No, this was humiliating, he stretched out his wings and made to take off – and the Long-Paw beamed and made to toss the remainder, about a third, of the fish to Dreamer. Wanderer paused, crouched low with wings straight up.

"…Go! Fly!" Dreamer encouraged him, baring his teeth in the joke-smile again.

Wanderer fumed, cornered. He wouldn't hear the tail of this either way. "You say this Long-Paw rock-head," he growled as he folded his wings. If he was joked either way he might as well get something out of it.

"Hrrmm, he rock-head. But he good at… this thing."

He decided on a precise rebellion. Dreamer had received about half the fish by this point, but Wanderer was loath to outright obey, so while the fish remained he refused the first instruction and complied with the second. That way they'd each get half of what was left.

Except that rather than try to cut the head – the best bit – in half, the rock-head offered him the whole thing. There would be no second chance. Wanderer growled all of his scorn at this Long-Paw and went where told, though there was some satisfaction in Dreamer's disappointment; a small consolation.

The Long-Paw whooped and chanted, waving a foreleg in the air as he ran from the rock-hole. Good riddance.

Dreamer warbled at him. "You take new Long-Paw? He look… heavy."

I can level from this fall, Wanderer assured himself while he sunk his teeth into the very satisfyingly chewy treat. "Hrrmm, they try on all Nightstrikers?" Oh yes, that quietened him nicely.

Fishlegs eyed Snotlout suspiciously. He'd only been gone a few hours, and was now so giddy he could hardly keep himself still.

"Alright then Fishface, let's make a deal. If I can't get one of the Furies to do something without feeding it first, I'll do whatever you want for a mo–… a w… two days!"

Hmph, shows how confident he was if he dropped that quickly. Still, Fishlegs' curiosity was piqued. "And if you can?"

"Hmmm," Snotlout stroked an imaginary beard while he thought. Something was definitely up if he hadn't thought of this part. "You admit to everyone that I'm the best dragon trainer and that I'm awesome."

"I will admit you are a good dragon trainer and I'll never question your training abilities again." As safe as it was betting against Snotlout, it was best to err on the side of caution.

"Deal. I only want to rub your stupid face in it anyway. Meet me before sundown in the stables," he said as he started to run off. "and bring Astrid!" His chanting of his name could be heard disappearing into the distance.

"Well, this ought to be good, eh girl?" He rubbed Meatlug's head and she replied in her deep, excited chatter. "Now, what am I going to have Snotlout do for two days…? Hmmm…" He'd have to think on it later, Hork had asked his help in relocating a Timberjack that seemed tempted to nest in the logging grounds, and Astrid was waiting for him there. He filled a sack with fish from the nearby storehouse, attached it to Meatlug, and departed.

Once they'd shown the Timberjack a nice flat to nest on at the opposite end of the island and made sure she was settled – no small feat, as it turned out – Fishlegs caught Astrid before she went to take off. "Hey, Snotlout wants to meet us in the training ring at sundown. Says he's trained the Furies."

"Oh ho, this I gotta see," Astrid murmured with equal parts surprise and eagerness. "Should we bring the twins?"

"Sure, why not. If we can find them, Odin knows what they get up to with their time."

She groaned. "Hopefully they mellow out over the years. Tuffnut's been better lately but I'm having trouble settling Ruffnut down anywhere."

"Yeah, have fun with that. Glad I'm not going to be responsible for them."

Astrid groaned again as they took off.

Exactly what the Twins had been doing scaling the Great Hall, it may never be known, and Fishlegs had learned not to ask questions. At least it had made them easy to find. He'd also learned not to worry when they did things like jump off the Great Hall, because by some fluke they always walked away from it, such as now when Barf and Belch swooped in from nowhere and caught them mere feet from the ground.

The sun was still a ways up, but with nothing much better to do Astrid dragged them to the training ring to drill and train, as that was apparently the subject of the day. Admittedly, they hadn't been getting as much done as they should have, with Fishlegs and Astrid being busy and the twins… being the twins.

Right on cue the two Furies swooped in as the sun touched the horizon, perching on the fencing above the ring to watch. Hiccup still looked terrible, and was now about half the size of Toothy; Fishlegs' fault, partially, but he wasn't sure how to make it up to the little guy other than grant his wish of treating him like a regular Night Fury… as best he could. Hiccup and Toothy had both been right, he wasn't entirely happy for knowing. It was at least nice to know they were alive, but so far only awkwardness had come from it.

"Fishleeeegs?" Astrid waved in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You okay? You've been zoned out a while."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Hand signals, right?"

"No, Snotlout is here."

Ooooh, that. His bet with Snotlout. In hindsight, it had probably been poor judgement to go along with that, but he had no way to do anything about it now. He cast another look at the Furies while walking Meatlug to the side, they were chatting between themselves too quietly and quickly to keep up with. Toothy looked a little grumpy, his dangling tail flicking irritably, but then they gave each other a terrifying smile full of teeth that set Fishlegs on edge.

"Watch and learn from the master, Fishface." Snotlout announced with his arms spread wide. "Astrid, I devote this to you. You look gorgeous today by the way, very sharp." He gave her a lecherous smile while she just stared back deadpan. "And now I will reveal to you all what shall become known as 'The Snot'." He finished his act with a flourish as everyone snorted, then waved a dried herring at the Furies to entice them down.

Fishlegs was getting better at reading the Furies' more subtle expressions, and if he had to put a word to their current ones it would be 'stern'. They sat down several paces away from Snotlout and each other, so that they formed a sort of triangle; this must also be part of it, they were normally inseparable.

"Oh good, you know the drill," Snotlout said idly as he cut the whole dried fish – Fishlegs made a note to ask Hiccup about their obsession with them – in half. He waved the tail end at Toothy and beckoned him, but the Fury just stared. Snotlout grinned, and – to everyone's surprise – tossed the fish at Hiccup, who snapped it out of the air. The Furies still held eerily straight expressions.

"Come here Toothy," Snotlout repeated with a regal gesture.

The Night Fury took slow, measured steps forward. The wrong Night Fury. Hiccup, sitting slowly near Snotlout's feet, gave him that same feral grin with the tail of the fish poking out from the side of his mouth.

"Wait… wha…?" Snotlout took a few shaky steps back, frantically looking between the two Furies and the fish in his hand.

"Ha, you moron, that's thff–" Tuffnut got out before Ruffnut clamped her hand over his mouth.

Fishlegs could see his method, recognise it for what it was. It may very well have worked before, if the Furies were just messing with each other. It might even work properly under different circumstances. However, by bringing everyone here and trying it again, he would be humiliating them, and this new Hiccup would not have simply taken it or allowed his friend to take it. And so, they had humiliated him instead. It was poetic, in a way.

Except for one small detail – Snotlout did not do humiliated. His tiny brain couldn't comprehend it. Fishlegs realised this all incredibly quickly, being familiar with Snotlout. Not as quickly as Hiccup, who was already jumping back. But even that was not as quick as not thinking at all, which was exactly what Snotlout did before his boot connected with the inside of Hiccup's foreleg.

The little Fury spun in the air with a shrill cry, nearly landing on his paws but stumbling to the ground.

Everything happened at once. Tuffnut and Astrid had crossed most of the distance before Hiccup even came to a halt, and Snotlout disappeared beneath them with the sounds of iron on stone and choking. Toothy was instantly at Hiccup's side – Fishlegs hadn't even seen him move – to check for injury. Hiccup looked more surprised than anything, and just watched things unfold.

When Astrid had moved, Stormfly also thundered forward but without clear directions she could only prowl around the edge of the confrontation, spines flexing dangerously. Hookfang was none too pleased with having his rider assaulted, but was equally confused and could do nothing but bluster from the side.

"Everybody calm down!"

"Stop it guys!"

Fishlegs and Ruffnut looked at each other, startled, but then nodded and leapt into action; Ruffnut to diffuse the situation with the pile on Snotlout, and Fishlegs to calm the dragons. He first edged around the ring to Stormfly and put a hand either side of her head, prompting her to still, then guided her backwards towards the wall. With a stroke up the top of her head and along her head spines, she calmed enough that she no longer seemed ready to leap into the fray herself.

Hookfang was more riled, with a greater temper and with his rider the one under attack – it was uncertain if he'd been watching the stunt – but Fishlegs grabbed a horn to hold him still. A gentle tone and a comforting hand on his snout had him bring his wings back down and settle into a nervous crouch, good enough for now.

He then turned his attention to the Furies. Please let this not be awkward… The best way to calm Toothy was to attend to Hiccup, so he sat down next to the little dragon, did his best to give him a concerned and comforting smile, and held his hand out.

Hiccup eyed him warily, then shuffled forward and offered his right foreleg, the one that had been kicked.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?" he said quietly, lightly pressing on the leg and working his way up it.

Yes, Hiccup responded, pulling his head back to watch. When there was no reaction to pressure anywhere, Fishlegs gently moved the leg through its range of movement, watching for any sign of pain. Only a small twinge as it was pulled to the side.

Glancing at the others, he murmured to the dragon. "Small nod if yes. Does your shoulder sting? Ache?" Yes. "A little?" Yes. "The impact feel bruised? Deep bruise? Nothing?" Yes, but slow and uncertain. "Nothing worth mentioning?" Yes. "Wow, that made things a lot easier. I'd envy Gothi, though she has to deal with, you know, that lot." He tipped his head back to the pile of teens behind him, and they grinned at each other.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth. I should have seen this coming."

You, not, know, he translated in his head as Hiccup talked. We, not, –, also.

Fishlegs did his best to repeat the unfamiliar sound, and Hiccup tapped the top of his own head, then put a claw to his lip while looking up.

"Think?"

Yes. We, not, think.

"I don't think anyone expected this. Don't worry, your–… Stoick will not be happy about this."

Hiccup snorted and rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't seem injured, but try to stay off that leg tonight. Tomorrow, start stretching it, but only until it hurts. Don't push it."

I, good, he said, stamping a few times to demonstrate. He didn't seem overly upset about the ordeal, maybe he wasn't bluffing. Fishlegs had to appraise him anew, even with – or perhaps even more obvious because of – his malnutrition, his body was rippling with dense muscle, and he probably wasn't even adolescent yet. He also expected Toothy to be baying for blood, given previous experience with the dragon, but he was just sat calmly and protectively between Hiccup and the pile of teens.

Everything with the dragons seemed to be in order, so he stood up and went to check on Ruffnut's progress with the others. Astrid was still kneeling on Snotlout's arm, glaring bloody murder, but the head of her axe was no longer pinning him by his throat. Tuffnut was stood to the side looking disappointedly at Snotlout, in his haughty judgemental way.

"Hiccup's fine, maybe a slight twist of his shoulder but not so much as a bruise," Fishlegs announced.

"That's not the point, Fishlegs," Astrid growled through her teeth. "He attacked without provocation, he needs to be reprimanded. Severely."

"Hey, he provoked me plenty!" Snotlout shouted from the ground, but shrunk back as the axe loomed over him.

"Woah woah woah," shouted Ruffnut as she grabbed the pommel of the axe. "You're too close to this Astrid, it wouldn't be fair judgement."

"What, you think Stoick is going to be any fairer?" Astrid said coldly.

Ruffnut shook her head. "No. What do the Furies want?"

Fishlegs took a breath to speak, but Tuffnut got there first. "They look pretty chill about it. Life in the wild is, tough, dangerous, they just learn to avoid the dangers." He jerked a thumb at Snotlout. "That means him, now." Huh, that was consistent with observations. Sometimes Fishlegs had to remind himself which of the two of them could actually talk to the dragons.

"In that case…" A sadistic smile stretched across Ruffnut's face. "We should give him to his dad."

Eyes widening in sheer terror, Snotlout started stammering. "No, no, I– I'll do anything! I'll clean the stables! Do your chores! He's okay anyway, right? No harm done? Just don't…"

"Hmmm, yesss," Astrid purred as she watched his reaction, weighing her axe in her hand, then rose to her feet. "Come on then."

Snotlout rose slowly but took a step back, away from her and the exit. Astrid's axe spun. "If you don't come," she said slowly, levelly, "you won't be there to make sure he gets the full story… About Hiccup being unharmed…"

Snotlout visibly paled, then his eyes fell to the ground. "Lead the way…" he mumbled, hanging his head.

While all eyes were on Snotlout, Dreamer tailed Wanderer into their den and out of sight.

This was so backwards. Nobody had cared about Snotlout lashing out before, just told Hiccup he needed to 'toughen up'. Now that he was Dreamer, he'd been more surprised than hurt by the attack – nothing compared to a deer kicking him in the chest – and everyone was making a huge deal about it. How absurd.

Wanderer turned to him, but Dreamer cut him off. "I good."

"I know–"

"I not hurt, nest not let him do again. Also we–"

"Dreamer! I know. You not fragile now. But… you need learn how fight. Fight, not play."

Tension burning in his chest, Dreamer lowered his gaze to the ground between them. "I not fighter…"

"You need know how fight. I… need you know… Nightstrikers strong, very strong, but not if not know how fight…" He took a few steps forward to put himself under Dreamer's vacant stare. "Please," he whined.

"I not want fight…"

"Then not fight," Wanderer said quickly. "Know how fight, but not. Better than not know, but need fight. Please…"

"…Maybe," Dreamer warbled slowly. "But… later? I not… feel good with this…" He lowered himself to the ground, shuffling his paws either side of his head to try to stop them from covering his eyes as they wanted to.

"…Yes. Later," Wanderer purred, padding over to nuzzle between his top frills. Dreamer shuddered in guilty pleasure as a wet tongue ran down his neck and between his wings, and pushed his paws forward to keep them on the ground. His hearing sharpened to listen for any sign of the teens outside… but they were fading into the distance, which allowed him to slowly relax a little and focus on unknotting the tension in his chest. He didn't need to worry about his shoulders, they were currently being taken care of…

Wanderer was very thorough, and by the time he was finished Dreamer was laying limply on his side and panting through loud purrs. He watched the failing light through unfocused eyes, mind drifting in a strange absent awareness, though his hearing was kept sharp by remnants of the knots deep in his chest. Mostly, from the guilt of his failure to reciprocate… but then, in this lucidly detached state, he realised Wanderer had never expected him to. His paws would have gone over his head with that thought, had they been able to move at all.

And Fishlegs… had been nice to him. Genuinely nice, concerned for him. Dreamer had been too shocked to do anything other than offer his leg to be examined. Nobody other than Wanderer, not even really Gobber, had ever cared as much for his physical wellbeing before. For the first time, he didn't… completely resent Fishlegs for his prying.

…Which reminded him of something…

The thought brought the tension back, but that gave him the energy and will to get his paws under him. Lethargically, he padded over to the side of the den, teased something out from the little nook it was hidden in, and carried it out into the wane moonlight.

Gingerly, he opened the small book and absorbed the first drawing. Left-handed. Left-pawed? Well, there was little he could do about that. He flipped the page. Oh yeah, he'd opened the door on his first night in the village, having been unconscious when carried in. He wouldn't have seen how it worked, and Wanderer had not been able to… Heh, that had been a good joke. He flipped the page again to find a rough sketch of himself staring accusingly, with a note that he'd known what a reflection was and where it came from.

There were examples of his innate trust of the villagers versus Wanderer's distrust. The occasional time he'd been a little too understanding of something being said, and sometimes just that he'd known to pay attention when something important had been said. Wanderer's aptitude for flying against Dreamer's obvious inexperience… and finally, several pages of notes while Dreamer helped Fishlegs learn Dragonese.

In hindsight… this was mostly very obvious. At the very least he should have made Wanderer take over more of the Dragonese lessons, particularly in areas Dreamer didn't know so much about and needed to ask the more experienced dragon. He cocked his head at the last page, then flipped through the book a bit more quickly. The writing and occasional drawing was progressively frantic, more and more hysterical. The poor boy must have thought he was going insane.

He sighed and read through it a third time, slower, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. The basic lessons to take from it were that he and Wanderer needed to tone down their knowledge and experience to the others' level – Dreamer with his knowledge of living in the village, and Wanderer with his knowledge of being an adult dragon. That was doable, he had the most changes to make, and Wanderer just needed to not to show off his flying so much while Dreamer learned. He could be a bit better, but no more pulling off everything flawlessly. They could talk about it tomorrow.

"Hey, Spine-Tail?" he chirped quietly. A shuffle and curious warble indicated she was still awake before she emerged from her den. "You can fire this?" He set the book near the centre of the ring and stepped backwards. "Please."

She warbled wordlessly at him, confused, but plodded forward and bathed the book in white-hot fire, the hottest of all known dragons. Light flooded the ring, Dreamer's eyes adjusting quickly enough that the discomfort lasted only a moment, and after a few seconds the assault ceased. Eyes quickly readjusted to the darkness to see Stormfly tilting her head to examine the red-hot stone as it dimmed. Of the book, barely as much as ash remained, not even a scrap of the leather cover was to be seen.

Dreamer walked forward, heedless of the heat under his paws. "Thank you," he nuzzled as she gave a purring croon. On a whim, he licked under her rounded chin, and she pulled back with a rattle as her spiny frills stood up. They slowly lowered back down as she considered him.

She leaned forward again, and he squeaked in surprise as her giant tongue knocked him over. There was no aggression or malevolence as her giant mouth tenderly closed down on him, and his body reflexively went limp. He was acutely aware she only had to bite down and that would be it, but the sharp teeth didn't hurt, and it was with the utmost care that she carried him. He idly watched the ground pass underneath with the regular intrusion of large talons, and just let himself dangle.

Ever so gently, she set him down on the stone and quickly enveloped him between her body and wings. Even with his incredible night vision it was almost pitch black, some moonlight just barely soaking through her wing membranes and peeking through cracks. It focused his other senses, heightened his awareness of her soft leathery chest he was wedged underneath, her light musk punctuated by the smells of leather, scale and chitin. His instincts were a little confused, as if he'd been put to bed in someone else's house. "I not your hatchling!" he squeaked uncertainly.

Stormfly's head appeared above and nuzzled him with an almighty purr that vibrated through his whole body. "Just this night," she warbled melodiously before enclosing him again. He wondered somewhat giddily if this meant he had two adoptive dams now. Rrrmmm, it was hard to think straight with her deep, rumbling purr rolling through him.

He was vaguely aware of sounds. The cocoon briefly opened and Wanderer was dropped in next to him, then they were squashed together in a tangle with very little room to move.

"…What happening?" he asked quietly as he shuffled to get Wanderer's back-spines out of his side.

"Just relax, it good," Wanderer replied, nuzzling Dreamer's flank – simply where his head happened to be. "I think… we need this. Me also. Maybe Storm-Fly also. It good." His purrs were drowned out by the ones radiating from the soft wall pressed against them.

Dreamer had no idea how to feel about it… but before long, he didn't care how he felt. Right now, at this moment, he was just so incredibly warm… and… safe…

Author's Notes

Clarification - "size" does not mean "height" so it would be more accurate to say Dreamer weighs about half as much as Wanderer right now. He's just noticeably smaller in all dimensions.

This chapter originally had a wildly different ending, one that was completely pointless and very out of character, followed by a path I have since realised I don't want to take (thank you Aelan-the-Guide for allowing me to bounce ideas off you). All in all I scrapped over a third of the chapter. Never before have I been so glad for my writing process, I have no idea what I was thinking when I originally wrote this two months ago.

That being said, I have no idea how I ended up with this either xD I just kind of put my fingers to the keyboard and when they came away I had a good length chapter with an ending I'm quite pleased with. It's strange watching this story evolve, I have a skeleton of how events will unfold over four acts but little idea of the development of the characters along the way. They are dynamic. Dreamer having his 'Hiccuppyness' reasserted was important, but it was not my intent to continue nudging him away from his loyalties to Berk. The motivation behind the last scenes were purely to fit the personalities of Snotlout and Stormfly, but I am more than happy to build the resulting effects into the rest of the story and see where it takes us.

And with that note, 'Act Zero' comes to a close. It is time we get started.

(( 71BCqL2ecoE ))
"Warrior"