"I like her," Astrid said quietly as she sliced apart an imaginary opponent with her axe, still more than a little irked by the minute imbalance it held after its last repair. "She's smart, diplomatic, and has her head screwed on. Teach her to fight and she'll make a top shieldmaiden."
"You might have to fight off us Ingermans," Fishlegs replied airily. "On top of all that, she's curious and inquisitive. And her touch is so delicate."
It had taken several days, but an opportunity to properly introduce Heather to the Furies had finally presented itself when they'd flown down while she accompanied the riders on some routine training in the ring, though Snotlout had promptly excused himself with a mumble at Fishlegs. Astrid was hoping to get the girl her own dragon, their squad of riders felt a bit small for some reason but it would be weird to bring in anyone older or younger.
As Fishlegs had said, the girl was very delicate in admiring Hiccup's wings which were proudly stretched out for her. Definitely a little show-off. Curiously, Toothy didn't appear remotely interested in her and was occupying himself with chewing an old bone.
"Hey Tuff, have you noticed Hiccup likes to show off to new people?" Astrid asked.
"Heh, yeah, he's a character. He used to do that with the kids too, before… you know, whatever happened with him. Oh shoot, I promised to set up some more dragon play groups, Kaernut is going to have my ears for taking this long. And I need them. To hear things… Hey, I wonder if he'd be able to take the smaller kids flying yet?"
Ruffnut punched him. "You idiot, they'd never be able to hold on."
"Oh yeah? They could–"
Astrid tuned out their argument and approached Heather, dropping down to sit beside her. "So what do you think now?" she asked teasingly as Toothy positioned himself a little closer and accepted head scratches with a mild purr. When did they get so big? Toothy was about the size of a small wolf, Hiccup about a head shorter. She remembered how tiny he'd looked in Stoick's hands on that first night, and honestly couldn't remember him being anything between the size he was then and the size he was now.
"They're… amazing. So strong and powerful, so… completely free…" The last part was said quietly, almost a whisper, and she rested her hand on Hiccup's head which was tilted at her.
Astrid snatched the opportunity. "What were they like? The Berserkers?"
A wry tone entered her voice. "Brutal, horrible people. At least they basically left me alone, just threw me in with the supplies."
"They didn't…?"
Heather was silent for a moment, but then shook her head, the motion tugging her braid from her shoulder. That was some small relief, at least. "I'm sorry, but I don't really want to talk about it."
"…I lost my mother to them in the battle."
Heather went stiff, then bowed her head. "You have my sympathies."
"She saved my dad when a mace broke his shield and arm, but was cut down immediately after. She's in Valhalla now, with the rest of our family, and I'm happy for her… but… I still miss her."
Hiccup gave a low warble, glancing between the two girls, then Toothy spoke up as well and they chattered between themselves. "Wow, I see what Fishlegs meant about them. They really look like they're talking," Heather remarked. "What about you, little guy? Where are your parents…?"
…That was a very good question, and Astrid silently berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. She twisted to look behind her. "Fishlegs? Care to–" She cut off as she saw him, narrowing her eyes. Fishlegs was rigid and white, staring at her like he'd been caught with an armful of sweetrolls. "…Spill it."
"I-it's… c-complicated," he stammered.
"Try." She noticed the Furies had tensed too, probably sensing the mood, so she took some of the venom out of her voice. "We have people out there, hunters, farmers, families, we might be friendly with dragons but having a Night Fury on the island is dangerous. We need to know."
"Er… that… p-private th-thing I mentioned awhile a-ago? I can't." He suddenly relaxed with a sigh and stopped shaking, looking down at the ground and mumbling something under his breath she couldn't quite catch. "If that's what you're worried about, no, there are no adult Night Furies here."
Astrid's eyebrows went up. "Not even Toothless?"
He met her gaze. "…Not even a crippled, flightless Night Fury."
Rats, that raised more questions than it answered. The last answer in particular was strangely worded, he definitely knew more and it would be easy to twist him into telling her… but it would ruin their friendship, and as they were the only two sensible dragon riders in the Archipelago she couldn't afford to do that.
"Woah, this is tense," Ruffnut said mildly. "You guys gonna make out now or what?"
"Ruffnut!" Astrid barked indignantly as the girl cackled mischievously, though it at least had broken the mood. Heather had broken into fits of giggles while Fishlegs brokenly stammered out reasons they weren't compatible.
"Anyway, what's it matter?" Tuffnut drawled as he stepped forward and picked up Toothy under the forelegs. He had to strain a little, from nose to tail the dragon was longer than he was tall. "You're here, who cares how?" Toothy happily licked him up the face in reply. Yeck, how can he stand that? Gross.
"You guys all get along so well!" Heather exclaimed. "But what's this about… 'Toothless'? Was he really old or something?"
Now Astrid was laughing too. "Not quite. You'll want to ask a Skald to recount Hiccup's Saga for you, it's kind of a long story."
The girl gave a broad smile. "Alright then, I will."
"TAKE THIS!"
Jumping back from the dagger thrust at her, Vella put her hand to her sword and eyed the blade warily. Apologies and excuses were ready on her tongue, but she held them at seeing Dagur's confused expression.
"What are you doing? I SAID to take– oh, wait, hang on." He flipped the knife so that he was offering her the hilt instead of the point. "You'd think I'd remember after the third or fourth time HAHA."
She relaxed and tentatively took the weapon, unexpectedly heavy in her hand. The whole thing was solid steel, not even a wrap around the hilt, and very blunt. "What…?"
"Just keep it on you, those stupid elders won't let me leave for a couple more weeks. Any more challengers? Make sure my ship is ready to go."
Having been with the boy since near the beginning, Vella was used to this sort of disjointed conversation. Granted, being gifted a blunt dagger was new, but she wouldn't argue. There was always method to his apparent madness. "Yes, my Chief. And no, there are no further challengers." There had been an onslaught of them after the miserable failure of a raid on Berk, but in typical Dagur style he knocked every single opponent unconscious without a drop of blood drawn on either side. Funnily enough, his shame had been quickly forgotten.
Dagur gave an exasperated growl. "But that just means there's NOTHING to DO! WHAT is the point in holding me here if there's NOBODY I need to KILL?"
"You're the Chief, why don't you just go anyw–" Vella had sighed as the burly escort started talking, not bothering to watch but still hearing Dagur's sword sliding back into its sheath before the man's body hit the ground; they really needed to stop sending males, handling Dagur the Deranged required a more subtle touch. Though, there was a rumour going around the women's district that some of the tribes were offering their fools and more unsavoury characters just to get rid of them. Perhaps the rumour held merit.
The Chief just kept walking as if he'd done no more than swat a fly. "Is there anything that needs my attention?"
As long as it wasn't anything even remotely treasonous, Vella figured she was safe enough to suggest something. "You could work on an heir. Or several. Many of the–"
"Ugghhh, how many TIMES do I have to SAY I don't CARE about that? Let the strongest rule. That is the Berserker way."
"…Very well Chief. If you're looking to burn off some Bloodlust you could check with the loggers, no doubt they are struggling for manpower."
She kept a straight face as he rounded on her. It was difficult, even though he was a palm shorter than her. "THAT is a BORING idea Vella, ooh but logging will be good for my babies…" He giggled while he flexed and squeezed his arms.
Dagur was not a difficult man to understand, once one understood. Vella was incredulous nobody else had worked it out by now, aside from the elders, but then again most just assumed him insane. Well, his secret was safe with her, and she would do her best to ensure nobody could take advantage of it.
The knock at the door was firm but moderate, and Stoick opened it unhurriedly to let the summer twilight spill into the house. "Ah, Astrid. Come in," he greeted her. "How is our new guest settling?" He closed the door and gestured her to a seat at the table.
"Good, she doesn't have much in the way of cooking skills but seems willing to learn. She's taking her responsibilities seriously too. She's actually why I'm here, I'm… ready to give my report."
"Aye, I thought as much. Let's have it then." He took a moment to pour them both a cup of water, and she gratefully took a gulp.
Taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts, Astrid took care in the words she spoke. She was learning fast, in a few years she'd be able to verbally manoeuvre while seeming bored or impatient. "For her personality, she doesn't appear it on the surface but she's a very grounded person. I hate to admit, she probably handles Snotlout better than I do." Stoick's eyebrows went up at that. "She was initially wary about the dragons, understandably, but adapted and embraced them quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, but she said her village didn't see many raids and we don't exactly have much to compare her to. I suppose she was no quicker than us last year.
"For her story, she's very guarded about it. The Berserker fleet encountered her parents' fishing boat and picked it up on the way to us, taking her and the haul. Threw her in with the supplies and left her alone. I guess they were… saving her until after." She shuddered at the thought. "But I'm not sure that sits right with me. Why bring their own spoils to the raid?"
"That was our thought too. The stories match, but she told neither of us more than the other." He let out a long sigh and rubbed his head, knocking his helmet askew. "That in itself is not a good sign. But what harm could she possibly do? As I understand it, there's no secret to training the dragons, just give them reason to stay. I'd happily share that knowledge if any would listen.
"It's not the Berserker way to sabotage. A spy for another tribe, perhaps, to gauge our forces and how we're using the dragons? Again, let her take that information. What are we missing Astrid?"
"Hmm, unless she's here to try to steal a dragon… but they're loyal to us, they won't go far with her. Though if we were to give her a dragon of her own…"
"…The obvious course of action, given how well you all get along." He blew out his cheeks. "You're right, there's no telling what she could do then. She could give us a very bad reputation… So we don't give her one. If she gets pushy, we'll know." He nodded, then straightened his helmet before it could fall off. "We'll continue keeping an eye on her, but no more than we do any new tribesman. Thank you, Astrid. Get some rest."
"…You too, sir." He shot her a chastening smile at the cheeky remark as she skipped from the house.
After she was gone, he slumped into his chair. Why had that been so easy? Did he just get on better with Astrid, or had he himself changed since the loss of his son? A bit of both? He thought of Hiccup, of his wild and crazy ideas. None as crazy as freeing the cursed Night Fury, but look how all that had turned out.
Perhaps the world just hadn't been ready for him. Stoick certainly hadn't been. Hopefully he could reach his potential in Valhalla, or whatever paradise heroes of such nature were sent to…
Desperate waves of cackling brought surges of happiness to Dreamer as he snuffled the child's neck and ear. He smelled so pure and innocent, a perfect little person before the world could have a chance at corrupting him. He purred loudly at the rough petting, knowing this child would grow up free of fear and animosity towards dragons.
The petting crossed the line to hitting; maybe not quite so innocent then. He let out a squeak at the impact and stalked away, pointedly depriving the child of further attention. It was the best way to deal with kids so young, especially with how much they revered the dragons' company. Huh… These kids were technically twice as old as the Nightstrikers, but were just barely comfortable on their own feet. Humans grew so slowly.
He joined Wanderer in chasing a pair of boys, one very confident in running and the other wildly flailing after them. Prancing and bounding around them, Dreamer flared his wings up and waved them in the air, and suddenly all three kids were running around with their arms up playing dragon.
Had children always been this adorable? He couldn't remember.
The clumsy child tripped and fell, then pulled himself to his knees with an uncertain cry. Dreamer got there first, only hesitating a moment before licking his cheek. The child instantly calmed, giggling and rubbing him gently on the head.
He looked at Tuffnut, then nodded at the child and back over his shoulder.
"Er, you sure?" Tuffnut asked.
Dreamer grinned at him. "Yes."
The teen shrugged and rose to his feet, walked over, then picked up the child and placed him on Dreamer's shoulders. The child was heavier than expected, and the entire weight was taken by his forelegs, but it was comfortable. He quickly got the hang of walking, a little awkward at first, trying not to jostle his passenger too much and holding his head tall so that the boy could hold his neck for support.
The child was having the time of his life, gibbering excited nonsense and wobbling wildly as Dreamer slowly flapped his wings. Was this what it had felt like for Wanderer? The size ratio was about right, though he liked to think he'd had a bit more balance than this.
Wanderer was voicing his displeasure and avoiding his own charge trying to climb on him. When the boy wouldn't be dissuaded, he blocked him off with a wing and huffed at Tuffnut.
"Just a bit longer little guy, it's about that time. I'll make it up to you. Hey, how about after this, we go Loki Gobber? Kehehe."
Chuffing mischievously, Wanderer went to the first child to playfully bat his feet, much to the boy's amusement.
"You understand him?" Dreamer chirped, padding over.
"His tone, yes." He gave their toothy joke-smile. "Who we joke?"
"Big Long-Paw, smells of smoke, has tree-leg, tree-paw. He help when we shed."
Wanderer crooned thoughtfully. "He good Long-Paw? We… not much thinking when shedding."
"He very good Long-Paw, like sire for me. He enjoy good joke." They both purred their approval.
When a tall medium-built woman – one of the Thorstons, by her appearance – picked up the kids, they were taken aside to conspire. Tuffnut didn't use words, so Dreamer couldn't cheat his understanding, but he was remarkably good at charades and it was a simple idea. It hinged on a spot of ignorance, but then the fact wasn't well known and Gobber hadn't shown much interest in the Nightstrikers beyond their scales. Knowing Tuffnut, there'd be a backup plan anyway.
It came to mind he hadn't been on this side of a prank before, or at least not intentionally. This was going to be fun…
The forge was becoming a little too familiar, Gobber had spent way too much time there in the last week. He and Tarbon, his replacement apprentice, had finally finished repairing, sharpening and polishing a reserve of weapons, and were now working on processing the scrap iron left over from the battle.
He was thrilled for a change of pace when Tuffnut dropped Toothy on his counter, Hiccup hopping up next to him. "Ah, Tuffnut, wha' can ah do for yeh?" he asked as he limped over.
"How much do you know about Night Fury teeth…?" the boy asked slowly.
"E's a dragon ain' he? They're all tha same when it comes down to it. Wha's the problem?"
"Oh good. I dunno, he's having trouble biting his food. I think he might have a toothache or something." Gobber couldn't help smiling, the kid had really taken to the little dragons and it'd done him a world of good. Here he was, actually caring for something more than himself. "I brought Hiccup to compare." He bared his teeth at Hiccup, and the little dragon's face split open to reveal short but wicked sharp fangs lining his maw.
"Alrigh' then," Gobber nodded, "le's 'ave a look." He turned to Toothy, who did indeed look a little sorry for himself, and copied Tuffnut's cue.
…
"Tuffnut,"
"Yeah?"
"This dragon 'as no teeth."
"What? What are you talking about? Of course he has teeth, his name's Toothy for Thor's sake."
"No, he don't. Ah swear, if you pulled this poor thing's teeth for a stupid prank, ah'll–"
"I would never do such a thing to Toothy!" Tuffnut gasped at him indignantly. Come to think of it, Stoick had loudly exclaimed something about Toothy along these lines… but they'd been a few mugs of ale deep and Gobber's memory was fuzzy. And he was sure they'd both had teeth when he'd helped with their shedding.
Tuffnut didn't give him time to think. "Hey, Bucket! Come 'ere!"
Bucket, who happened to be walking past with Mulch, stopped and turned slowly to the forge. When he saw Tuffnut beckoning he moseyed over. "Hello, Gobber! Hello, Tuffnut!" he greeted cheerfully.
"Bucket, this loon's try'n ter tell me tha' this dragon's go' teeth," Gobber said as he waved his tongs at them.
"Oooh, yeah," Bucket said airily as the dragon swivelled to look at him. "Sharp teeth…"
"See wha' ah– wait, wha'?" Brows furrowed, Gobber leaned forward and the dragon swivelled back. Definitely no teeth. "Ah you in on this, Bucket?"
"…No… Dragon has sharp teeth," he said slowly, scratching his bucket as Toothy turned back to him.
"Are you havin' us on, Gobber? That dragon does indeed be havin' teeth." Mulch had just caught up to Bucket, having not been in any hurry, and Hiccup turned to look at him. "Ooooh, you mean th' little one? Yep, that there does indeed be a toothless dragon. Well ah'll be."
"Ah we talkin abou' the same dragons 'ere?" Gobber pointed with his tongs. "This 'ere's Toothy. Er, the one with no teeth." That's what Stoick had been going on about, that Toothless had teeth and Toothy didn't. He rolled his eyes. Must be a Haddock thing.
"No, no, Toothy here definitely be havin' teeth, i's the other one that do nae," Mulch insisted.
Tuffnut folded his arms. "I don't think you do know about dragon teeth, Gobber! Come on Toothy, maybe Fishlegs or Gothi can help." Toothy hopped down from the counter and the pair took off at a jog.
"I'm thinkin' yeh should stay off the drink durin' the day, Gobber," Mulch advised carefully. "Come on, Bucket."
Gobber stared after them all incredulously, then turned to Hiccup. "Am ah goin' mad?"
Hiccup just gave him a gummy smile before taking off after Tuffnut and Toothy.
…
Wait…
The light of the sky-fire glistened off the wet trees and ground, a dazzling sheen across the distant foliage on the small-land. Wanderer admired it all from high above, though he preferred the more subtle glow from the sky-ice at night. He sighed, lamenting the short nights that were barely even dark anymore; it was very unfair that this land had such a bright hot-season but that the inversely dark cold-season was too cold and wild to be out in.
He was enjoying himself too much for the thought to sour his mood though. He still couldn't completely relax, a territorial Fire-Scale or a few other wing-hunters might consider the Nightstrikers a threat to their territory, but he was more comfortable watching for that.
A loud purring croon rolled from his chest, overjoyed at Dreamer's rapid healing. He didn't expect to be groomed, he was capable of handling it himself, but having someone else do it was absolute bliss and he couldn't wait for when they finished flying. Hrrr, speaking of, the sky-fire was just past its zenith and they hadn't yet needed to nap. Soon they wouldn't need to at all, though the occasional nap was always good.
Light gusts of turbulence nudged at his wings and he compensated automatically, but Dreamer wobbled wildly nearby. Wrr, nobody could observe them this far away so he didn't have to hide his skill as much, and how was Dreamer to learn if Wanderer didn't demonstrate? Though, some things such as turbulence simply came with practise. Lots and lots of practise.
It was still strange to fly in this small body. He was so used to having weight and momentum, it had been a shock to go back to having little of either. Rrmm, he was eating quite well this cycle though, he might even be bigger than last time. The thought had him tidying his posture and straightening his shoulders; for all his problems with the Long-Paw nest, it would be worth it.
A light brush on his tail brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find Dreamer lazily looping over him. Revelling in his freedom, a wave of impulse washed over him and as Dreamer looped above him again he rolled over, sunk his claws into his shoulders and flanks and folded his wings. He was close enough to hear the surprised squeak as they began plummeting to the ground below.
He nuzzled and licked and purred as the air rushed past them, revelling in the impromptu contact. After a few moments of tense surprise Dreamer found his wits, laughing as he licked Wanderer over the head. Sadly, these small bodies were still not big and strong enough for great heights and it felt like no time at all before they were forced to separate and catch themselves.
They began labouring back up, but they'd already been pushing their altitude and now Dreamer was flagging. The drop had cut their flying a little short, but it had been worth it. Mrrr, and it did mean that the inevitable grooming would be sooner rather than later. He tipped his head back to the nest with a bark, Dreamer chuffed an affirmative and they levelled out to glide back.
"Hungry," Dreamer barked, reminiscent of when he'd been a hungry hatchling Wanderer had struggled to feed. He crooned his approval, Dreamer still had much weight to regain even if his body would never catch up in growing.
The tree-ground over the water had been rebuilt since its fiery demise in the nest-fight, but there were no Long-Paws busily carting fish around over it. He angled back towards the big rock-den, but Dreamer swooped down into the nest itself and towards Fish-Legs who was walking up the path.
"Fish-Legs! Hungry!" Dreamer barked at him happily as he landed, Wanderer alighting next to him a moment later.
Greetings, interested he chattered before speaking. "Hungry? Yes. We go food."
"We get food," Dreamer corrected, though his impatient bouncing belied his interest.
"Go… Go… Get? Get…" The Long-Paw mumbled over the word as they ambled along, and Wanderer took the opportunity to get a good sniff of his leg as they walked. It didn't even smell remotely of fish. Maybe… no, the other one didn't either. He huffed in incredulous amusement. Long-Paws…
Fish-Legs approached a tree-den and opened the den-mouth, and Dreamer darted inside. Wanderer motioned for Fish-Legs to enter first, then stood in the den-mouth. It was cool and dark inside, and there were many strange smells of the foods that Long-Paws prevented from rotting while still somehow keeping edible; if barely, in some cases.
Dreamer was tossed a few fish from a tree-thing by a wall, then Wanderer happily snapped a few out of the air as well; they were even still quite fresh, recently caught. He wasn't really hungry, but he was determined to grow to his potential. While he had been reasonably well provided for as a hatchling the first time there had been times there'd not been enough, and he was sure he'd missed out on some growing after leaving his family. This body would be bigger and stronger if he had anything to say about it.
From the back of the wood-den, Fish-Legs procured a pair of those amazing chewy fish – a whole one each!? They hadn't had any since many nights before the nest-fight, and they'd never had a whole one before! Half at most.
He didn't hand them over right away though. "Say good why, I give," he said to Dreamer, waving one of the strange fish at him. Dreamer huffed and began pawing at the dirt, so Wanderer turned with a grumble and kept lookout, doing his best to look bored. It was quiet, only one or two Long-Paws pricking his ears but none in sight.
A sound of scuffing preceded noisy chewing, and Wanderer perked and turned to Fish-Legs for his own treat. It was held out for him, so he padded over to take it much to Fish-Legs satisfaction.
No sooner than his teeth had clamped down on it, filling his mouth with the intense flavour, that some of the footsteps outside got a little too close. Wanderer spun around in time to see a silhouette enter the den mouth which then closed with a clack. Fish-Legs' cry of confused, alarm, matched the panic rising in Wanderer's chest and buzzing at his limbs. After a heartbeat for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, he could easily make out the burly female Long-Paw standing between him and freedom.
Her appearance took up little of his attention compared to the broad Long-Paw claw she held, one of the big flat ones with sharp sides, but somehow the most dangerous thing about her seemed to be her eyes. Dark and small, they appeared to be set almost too far into her head and had dark rims around them, and they fixed on him with a mad glee.
The Long-Paw ignored his warning hiss, infuriatingly tiny as he was, and strode forward. He darted around it, turning back to see Dreamer fixed in place with his eyes boggling and mouth gaping, but it ignored the both of them. It walked up to Fish-Legs who was babbling and looking around wildly, apparently blinded by the darkness, then his panicked sounds suddenly cut off with a very loud and hard noise that pierced Wanderer's head and rang in his ears and eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear his senses, looking again to see the Long-Paw standing impassively over a crumpled form.
And then he felt the blood drain from his body as its head slowly turned to look at Dreamer.
Dreamer.
His Dreamer.
He barked into what he hoped to be a dangerous growl, finally snapping Dreamer out of his trance though he could do little more than scrabble back into the corner. He was still panicking, crouching low to the ground with his chest heaving.
No! Wanderer sprung forward and sank his teeth into the Long-Paw's leg, the taste of bitter blood fighting that of dirty salt, but it ignored him and even dragged him along as it took slow steps forward. Anger, anger, anger, it growled as it went. Ground this small body! Gutting it was out of the question, he would need to slash its throat or blind it. With a guttural snarl he clawed his way up the Long-Paw, feeling his claws cut shallowly into flesh through the thick not-skins, but this time it took notice.
As his paw grabbed its shoulder a long paw closed around his hindleg and he was ripped off, shreds of not-skin coming away in his claws, and he could only flail as he was swung around. Dirt filled his senses as his head met the ground, but he kept going and pain cut through his daze as he collided with the wall and crumpled into a heap. He dimly heard his pained yelp echoed by a cry of alarm and then an angry growl from Dreamer.
But now the Long-Paw was fixed on Wanderer, growling and snarling Long-Paw words at him while it raised its broad claw.
"Dreamer," he gasped, "den-mouth!"
The smaller Nightstriker leapt into action, shooting past the Long-Paw and jumping up to the mechanism. The broad claw halted in the air, and then shouts of surprise, bewilderment, hate, RAGE, got Wanderer's paws back under him despite his aching head and foggy thoughts. He leaped and again bit into the leg, though it had as much effect as the first time.
His heart stopped as he felt the motion and jolt of impact through the leg, and heard the YIPE of pain.
Then light grew in the wood-den as the den-mouth opened, and Wanderer's heart started again as he heard scrabbling and the outraged cries of the Long-Paw.
It seemed to realise he was there again and the leg started moving, but he let go and let the Long-Paw throw itself off-balance. He seized the opportunity and darted around it and out into the light, panic surging as a chunk announced the broad claw burying into the ground next to his tail; his folded tail fins brushed it on the way past.
Pain lanced through Wanderer's wing as he tried to open it, so all he could do was run. He didn't know where to, his thoughts slid from his mind and he didn't recognise where he was. Dreamer swooped down to run a little ahead of him, thankfully leading him hopefully to safety but also putting himself in danger again. Especially with all the noise he was making, shouting and barking as he was.
Dreamer stopped, and Wanderer was aware of him barking and whining frantically, but darkness was creeping across his sight. He could hear Dreamer clearly, but other sounds seemed slow and muted, and suddenly his paws would no longer support him. He felt his side hit the ground, aware of another cry of alarm and a tongue over his face, but it couldn't keep the darkness from consuming him.
"Haha, well I wasn't there for the whole naming thing, but Hiccup wasn't the type to give a degrading name. No, it turns out Night Furies can sheath their teeth, I guess he initially thought the dragon didn't have any." Astrid rolled her eyes. "That would have been very Hiccup."
Heather laughed. "That wasn't mentioned in the saga! It seems like an important detail."
"Yeah, well it was embellished in a few areas. I'm also pretty sure he wouldn't have 'heroically' swallowed that raw fish either. Only he would think to try eating a something a dragon barfed up for him instead of taking insult. Well, I suppose I can't argue with the results."
"It's incredible, I–"
"Shh," Astrid hissed, stopping their slow pace. She'd thought she heard something… Yes, those were definitely distressed dragon sounds, getting closer. She couldn't quite make out which dragon, and there were none in the sky over Berk.
"It sounds like it's coming from this way," Heather offered, leaning in between some houses. The path they'd just walked up looped around those buildings, so Astrid beckoned and took off at a run.
They hadn't even reached the corner when a frantic Hiccup shot out from around the house, quickly followed by a dazed Toothy. She crouched low and Hiccup bolted up to her, whining and barking and growling, then nosed at his flank – Astrid went rigid as she saw the long cut oozing dark blood.
"What–" she started, but Toothy promptly collapsed onto his side. Hiccup spun around with a panicked bark and nosed over his head and licked at his face, but the Night Fury's eyes drifted closed anyway.
Astrid saw red. "Heather," she growled through her teeth, "we need to go back and find Fishlegs again." Hiccup turned and whined at her, and she leaned forward as if it would help her understand him. "…Fishlegs?" He whined again. That didn't bode well.
She sized up Toothy. He was far too big now to carry without heavily jostling him, and it looked likely he'd suffered a head wound. Someone is going to die today, she thought murderously, then started as Stormfly slammed into the ground next to her and bounced to a halt in front of Hiccup. She gave some low, short barks, to which the little Night Fury hissed and growled a reply, and the spines around her head and along her tail flexed dangerously.
"Stormfly, we need to get Toothy to Fishlegs," Astrid said icily, then suppressed her surprise as the dragon promptly picked up Toothy in her mouth and fixed her with a level look. "Heather, go find Stoick."
The girl had been watching the exchange sternly, and even with everything going on Astrid noted her upper lip twitching, clenched jaw, and anger in her eyes, again tucking it aside to think on later. At the order, she gave a defiant look, then turned and threw open the door of a nearby house. Her posture changed as she did so, becoming frightened and wary. "Help!" she shouted, "The Furies have been hurt, someone get Stoick!"
Disobedient little… Focus, think about it later. A meaty boy, maybe ten or eleven, bolted out of the house, took a few seconds to stare at the two dragons and two girls staring back at him, then took off up into the village as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Fine then," Astrid growled, "just stay back. We don't know who or what we're dealing with here." Something flashed through Heather's eyes, and she nodded.
Stormfly took long, even strides after Hiccup, staying close to his tail as he scuttled down the path. Astrid's axe was in her hand as she loped after them, and Heather easily kept pace just behind her. She took the time to cool her blood, level out her thoughts, reign in her rage. She thought of the derision directed at the Berserkers after the battle, how their blind rage made them strong fighters but weak warriors. She could be better than that.
They stopped not too far from Fishlegs' house, Hiccup nervously watching a storeroom with its door ajar. At this point Astrid noticed him heavily favouring his injured leg, it hadn't been obvious before with how his wings obscured his body while he scurried along but he wasn't using it at all.
She spun her axe in her hand and squeezed an eye shut, prowling across the front of the small building to try to get an idea of what was inside. Hiccup appeared by the door and poked his nose around it, then relaxed a little and slunk inside.
Trusting the dragon's sense of smell Astrid stalked inside and spun, letting her darkness-adjusted eye take in the interior properly. Nothing but boxes, barrels, and a mound of– "Fishlegs!" she shouted, dropping to her friend's side. The wings on his helmet were bent flat, but he was breathing. She rolled him over and patted his face, but he was out cold.
Heather was suddenly beside her, but only seemed able to stare at the teen and made no effort to help. Astrid rolled him onto his side and tilted his head to ensure his breathing wouldn't be obstructed, but then slumped. She had no idea how to help an injured dragon beyond packing a wound, but they preferred taking care of that themselves anyway. Without Fishlegs… she was lost. She was being pulled in three different directions, one to help Fishlegs, one to help Toothy, and one to track down the perpetrator. But she couldn't do all of them.
One of them she was better at than the others.
She stood and darted back outside, then crouched by Hiccup who was laying against Stormfly's leg to clean his wound. The poor little dragon was shaking all over, and while his frills were flat to his head his ears stood up on end. "Hey," she said gently as he stopped cleaning to watch her. "I know you're scared and hurt, and I'm sorry, but… Track…?" She pointed to his flank, then gestured to the storehouse and Toothy. Hopefully he remembered the word, or could make sense of her.
He watched her uncertainly – it was unsettling with his eyes narrowed to slits – but with a glance at his brother he bared his teeth and growled, then limped back to the door and put his nose to the ground. While he picked up the scent, Astrid motioned to Stormfly to stay, then helped to gently lower the limp Night Fury to a patch of grass.
Stormfly made a fierce sound, one that didn't need translating; good hunting. Astrid nodded and took off after Hiccup, trusting her dragon to know more of how to care for Toothy.
Down the village they went, Astrid quickly noticing the dark blotches that Hiccup regularly put his nose to. Her heart surged in knowing the little Furies had given as good as they'd got, though the marks stopped abruptly. Down, down, until they reached the ramps to the docks and a pit formed in Astrid's stomach. Down, down, Hiccup struggling to keep his pace but fighting on. Along the docks and out to – an empty pier.
Hiccup stopped, then looked up at Astrid and whined.
"Okay, okay, ummm…" Astrid racked her head for ideas. How much of a head start did they have? Quite a good one. There was also no name or face to the perpetrator, but they were injured… Stormfly could get the scent, but they'd need to fly out to every boat, and there were a dozen of them stretched across the horizon.
She could only try.
Sound was the first thing Wanderer was aware of. Not any sounds in particular, just that there was sound. It throbbed with a dull and distant ache in his head, a pain that simply said not to move, so he didn't.
Was he safe? Smell came next, just enough to take in stone, Dreamer, and Storm-Fly. Yes, he was safe.
He let out a relieved sigh as he drifted off.
After a timeless rest, he roused again. The ache in his head was less but still told him to take it easy, so he cracked open an eye to see Dreamer filling his vision. He had to close it again as a wet tongue ran gently over his head, cooling and soothing the sore spot on the side.
They were in their den, and he could smell Storm-Fly nearby as well, confirming their safety. Even still, it was all he could do to stop himself from bolting out and flying as far as his wings would carry him. He vocalised his displeasure in pained whines, pulling Dreamer closer to nuzzle into his chest and clutch at his comforting purrs.
He hated this uncertainty. Sometimes, in his old warm-nest, Fire-Scales challenged him for status and rarely a Spine-Tail might perceive some slight – he couldn't help if he was sleeker, faster, and better-looking – and take enough offense to challenge, but that was routine and not particularly life-threatening. Even the queen had been straightforward and predictable for the most part. His old nest had made sense. Here, he was beginning to think that it wasn't that he couldn't understand the Long-Paw nest, but that they were just not things that could be made sense of. He was understanding them less the more he was around them.
He couldn't work it out. It wasn't a male competing for their dam, not that such attempts ever worked out well, and they were far too young to challenge for status or any reason really. "Why…?" he asked into his friend-mate once he got his whimpers under control.
"She lose hatchling to scale-wing-hunter," Dreamer said into the back of his neck. "She angry still, not care queen do."
"That why attack fledglings?" Wanderer whined incredulously, but noticed the tells in Dreamer's breathing and muscles. "…You not say all…"
"I say all. Queen do."
"I do," he said meekly, instantly knowing he was right.
"No," Dreamer brushed across his back as he curled up into the embrace. "Queen do. Also bad Long-Paw not know you fledgling. She have bad thinking."
"It nearly kill us!" Wanderer growled. "I kill many Long-Paws. All dams angry for Nightstrikers? Only need one thing want kill us. We not safe here."
"…We not safe here," Dreamer agreed, "but we not safe… not here. We go, we still not safe." He gave a gentle nuzzle. "We need survive cold-season."
Wanderer whimpered and took a deep breath, recognising truth – and in the process, caught the smell of Nightstriker blood. He couldn't feel any cuts on himself, which meant… He wearily pulled himself to his paws, the dull ache in his head flaring in warning.
The smell wasn't fresh, but it was recent. He didn't have to look far. Dreamer was still laying on his side, not having moved, and right – there on his – right flank – Dreamer's – a – long – blood – gash –
Sinking his claws into the frail leg, he pulled Dreamer close to wrap around him as they fell. He rolled so that he would hit the ground first – then felt his bones snap and his wing tear, the impact slamming into his chest an instant later. He fought off the panic, he had to hope… Maybe, maybe…
He twisted out from under the tail before it could crush them, and his back hit the ground a frantic heartbeat later. The air exploded from his lungs and his muscles strained to keep himself from crushing his friend as they rolled to a stop. Maybe… please… His heart raced as the form in his embrace did not stir… then something splintered and shattered inside him as he felt a warm wetness spreading rapidly down his chest.
NO! Not now! Not after everything… Maybe, maybe… He still had it, that curious sensation that had started when he'd been grounded. Maybe, maybe… His whole body screamed in protest, but he dragged his head down, eyes still closed, and tightened his embrace as best he could, focusing, willing his Dreamer to live, to take the new life, even as blood pooled in his wings…
He felt the moment Dreamer slipped from his broken body, and keened in oppressive silence. He hugged his lifeless burden, nuzzling it through what was left of the wing membranes and whimpering raggedly. His broken wings, his torn tail fin, his grounding, all inconsequential in the face of his anguish.
Finally, drained of everything, he took a long shaky breath… Had it worked? How would he know? And how would he… No, worry about that later. He fought the blackness creeping into his mind, and focused… Had anything changed?
Thump-thump.
Maybe… maybe… He slumped. There was nothing more he could do. He probably wouldn't die from these wounds, but he needed time to recover before he could work things out.
Long-Paw shouts. Dreamer's idiot sire. He ignored them.
The shouts neared, then a stumbling run sounded towards him. He didn't have the energy to fight, but he did manage to crack open an eye. The Long-Paw, lowered to its knees, stared at him pleadingly. He put all the scorn he could manage into his glare back at it.
It bowed its head and he let darkness claim his sight again, drifting in and out of consciousness. They took Dreamer's body from him, ignoring his feeble whines; he was too weary and injured to stop them, though it was empty now anyway.
Time passed, marked only by the slow drying of the blood on his scales. The smell filled his nose and beat at his sanity, a constant reminder of his failure and loss, but he could only suffer it. Sometimes the wind would blow in just the right direction to grant him reprieve… but then it would change again, and the anguish would hit him twice as hard.
His own wounds, severe as they were, had staunched long ago. He tried to move, and with a whiny groan he managed to do very little at all. It got the attention of the fierce young female, though as she approached she appeared deflated and her face was wet. Wanderer saw her sadness for him, for his sadness.
Her hums attempted comfort, but were meaningless. Only one thing held meaning now. He closed his eyes, trying not to breathe through his nose… When she returned some time later she offered him a deep-round-thing with water in it, which he painfully craned to reach and lap at feebly. It did little more than wet his mouth, but it helped.
She then used a crumpled thing in her paw to rub the water onto him. He whined at the renewed smell, but the ministration did not cease. She was cleaning him, he realised. Half of him was heavily grateful, the other half moaned and whined that it was another part of Dreamer that was no longer with him.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to hope, had to… Was that him whining? Wait, where was he, in some kind of cave?
Reality trickled back in and his clamped muscles began to unlock, but the pain in his head reached debilitating levels and forced him to the ground. He recognised frantic whines and licks over his face, which was already quite damp. Dreamer… Cracking his eyes open, he tried to give a reassuring croon but it came out as a pathetic whimper. Every part of his body felt like it had been flying all day, in different directions. Not the first time this had happened, but not for a long time now and not this badly. He attributed it to his head-hurt, his thinking had been turbulent since then.
Focusing on long, slow breaths, he tenderly stretched his limbs as best he could. Dreamer's frantic fussing was anything but helpful, but he managed to wave him off with a light growl.
He desperately needed sleep, but there was something he needed to do first. He unsteadily rose to his paws and ambled around his uncertain Dreamer to his flank. Shakily – only partially due to his fatigue – he ran his tongue over the wound. It was deep, probably enough to scar, but already well enough treated. He did so again anyway, more for the act than the result.
My Dreamer… He purred and nuzzled into his side, collapsing on top of him and whining his happiness and relief as he rapidly descended into sleep.
Brenna hastily moored her fishing boat to a rock tucked away in the channel through the middle of the main island and stowed the sail, but she wasn't really paying attention to what she was doing. Who'd taught the dumb rats to open doors? Even if she could go back, she didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep in her own bed again, not knowing that the beasts could just wander in whenever they felt like it. Her skin crawled with knowing what a lie her safety had been thus far.
Once the boat was just another dim shape in the shadows of the tall rock walls rising either side of the channel, she climbed out and rested on the cool stone ledge she'd moored against to rewrap her leg. She poured salt water over it, ignoring the pain to brush the blood off and inspect the injury. Two bites, two curved sets of puncture marks, but not any real damage. She'd have an interesting scar at least. The cuts over her back were shallow, merely a discomfort and not worth attention.
She knew better than to try to escape straight away, they only needed to hold her until the boy regained consciousness. The testimony of dragons was worthless, but with these bites and the boy's word… Maybe she should have just killed him, it would have made her as evil as the beasts but at least she'd be helping Berk free itself of them.
Not as evil as that snake Mildew at least. She'd thought he had hated the dragons as much as anyone, but it turned out he'd just loved himself more. She spat onto the rock. Good riddance. She'd been so furious with him she'd almost forgotten her own grudge, at least until she'd spotted the black monsters scrounging in the bloody field after the battle. That was when she'd realised she hadn't just been fighting for her family, she was fighting for all the families on Berk.
Though, she did have to admit, Mildew's plans had been far better. All Brenna was capable of was waiting for an opportunity, then screwing it up so badly she'd had to flee the village.
She thought and prepared while waiting for the sun to set, which seemed the best time to cast off. While the summer night would not hide her boat completely, it would certainly be harder to see and they were likely to assume her long gone by then.
But then what? She wasn't an Outcast – as good as one, but not – so she could go to the other tribes. Not allies of Berk though, she couldn't be sure they wouldn't get a message there first… So then…
Slowly, a plan formed. She could go maybe two days with what she had on the boat, but if she could hop islands to make fire and refill her water she could travel significantly further. Her boat wasn't quite as fast as a longship, but unladen it came close. It also wasn't big, but nor was it small.
Yes… She could have her revenge on the evil offspring of the demon that had killed her husband and son, and perhaps even be celebrated a hero in the process…
Author's Notes
Wanderer's episode is based on PTSD, but that is all. I am not going to put a label to it. I actually know a couple of people with different levels of the disorder, and I do not take it lightly, but nor do I assume to be familiar with its effects and certainly not enough to write a character with it. Here, he is vividly recalling a torturous memory to the point he loses his grounding in reality, the result of a mountain of stress on top of a head injury. I leave further analysis up to interpretation.
Secondly, life does get in the way after all. I will unfortunately need to drop to fortnightly updates while I catch up on... everything. I don't know how long this will be, at least until I can catch up on my studies and refill my buffer. If you are looking for something to read in the meantime, I recommend Seeker by Aelan-the-Guide on FFN, a similarly feral story about a Night Fury that's just past its prologue. It's a bit grittier than AGoW but promising to be a good read.