Author's Notes:

Hnnnggg, I didn't expect to need to take three weeks, and hopefully this will be the only case I do. Work is to blame, I'm beat, but have a ton of holiday booked including all of next week to recharge.

Just in case anyone missed it, as of last chapter all non-native language is in italics; Dragons hear Norse in italics, and Vikings talk and hear Dragonese in italics. Garbling words was a fun trick, and allowed me some interesting tools to show the attitude of the speaker (as well as skip over a lot of irrelevant dialogue) but it was a pain to do on any larger scale.

There was no warmth in the sunlight that shone weakly through the hazy sky, certainly none that could be felt over the bite of the wind. The worst of winter was over, but snow and ice were almost permanent features at this altitude within the Archipelago.

The figures wading through the thick white powder were not the type to complain though, and their inexorable progress would have impressed any Viking, were any others around to see. The isolation was not a strange thing, even given the rich iron deposits over and within the mountain, the clique had passed through the burned-out remnants of several attempts to colonise and mine.

Personally, Dagur didn't understand the problem, but he had no interest in a boring old mine. It was much easier and more efficient to take iron that had already been extracted and refined. He was here for something else entirely, something he'd been tracking for months. He'd returned empty-handed from his last foray into the dark corners of the Archipelago, just as all his others, but it hadn't been entirely fruitless.

"We set up camp here!" he shouted his arbitrary decision as he lifted the big pack from his shoulder. They could always move, but it felt right with the elevation and surrounding landscape, and he had learned long ago to rely on his gut feelings. He would certainly need them in this hunt, one that nobody had dared for hundreds of years and that even the Berserkers themselves had all but forgotten. Only the barest records remained and omitted many important details. But that just made it more of a challenge, and would only heighten the accomplishment.

Regardless, he had a lead on his quarry. That was all he needed now.

Hadn't there been some sort of promise this year it wouldn't be as bad? This was agony! Dreamer hissed as an excruciating itch crept down his side, feeling like he'd been cut open, then whimpered in relief as it was attacked by claws and teeth. How paradoxical, he thought faintly, but then he felt Wanderer twitch under his paws and quickly located and clawed at the offending hide on his lower back.

One of Dreamer's claws caught on a seam, and he reached forward to bite at it. It sent them both rolling head over tail, but that was a common occurrence right now, and the light scraping against the stone was actually helping a little. Until they hit the wall of their den, anyway, and his head ended up at the bottom of the pile.

He grunted and threw Wanderer off, then pounced and resumed tearing at the fissure. It took him a minute, but he got a grip with his fangs to tug off the faded old leather, then licked at the dark and raw hide underneath. Lucky…

A few minutes later he felt a tugging on his side, under his wing, and whimpered as another piece of his own hide was pulled away. The experience could not quite be called pleasant, especially as the new hide was raw and sensitive compared to the dead and unfeeling outer layer, but it was a huge relief.

Dreamer reached to claw at another itch, finding with surprise that his shoulder felt a lot looser now. He actually overreached, expecting resistance that he'd been subconsciously accounting for and that was no longer there. This was weird.

Okay, he had to admit he was more lucid than he'd been last year, he wouldn't have thought twice about anything then. That didn't make this any easier to bear!

He didn't really know why they were hidden away up here in their den, away from any other form of help. The brushes may not have targeted the itches as effectively, but they'd covered a broader area and kept the itching at bay for longer, so it was an easy trade-off. They might be less effective this year with how they had grown, but that wasn't it.

The torture hit a lull and they both slumped in the tangled pile they'd ended up in, panting through weary purrs. Dreamer's hide still prickled uncomfortably in places, but it was much fainter and easy to ignore for now. His addled mind drifted, thinking distantly on the brushes but finding no desire for them. The shedding had simply started one morning, and they'd not even considered getting help.

It was that he didn't want anyone else around while he was in this state, but not because he was shy or embarrassed. He had trouble putting his claw on it. For some reason his thoughts kept drifting back to Berserk, as if that was anything to do with it.

He felt himself drifting off and succumbed to it, sinking into a shallow slumber…

Dagur, striding forward with a short blade in each hand. Dreamer lunged at him, knowing he had to fight him off, but his attacks were weak and ineffectual. Dagur laughed as he toyed with him, inflicting light cuts everywhere and not even bothering to block or evade. Dreamer simply didn't have the strength to hurt him.

Dagur was suddenly Snotlout, jeering and shoving him. Dreamer shook himself, some sense of awareness sinking in, with it coming a realisation that he didn't need to fight. Snotlout could be ignored, wasn't worth it, not unless–

He stared in horror as the thought immediately became reality, the now faceless figure kicking Wanderer to the ground and standing on his head. NO! Dreamer leapt forward, but it was like trying to move through honey, and something kept pushing him away. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't strong enough…!

"What are you going to do about it?" Snotlout sneered, "Your turn," Dagur growled a moment later, the faces twisting into each other, either and both at the same time.

Dreamer spun and nearly ran into Astrid. She looked down coldly as she held her axe over him, the blade dripping with green poison. "Useless," she muttered, and then it was falling–

Suddenly able to move, Dreamer scrabbled back out of the way and tripped over himself. She'd got him, he could feel the cut down his neck, he just had to–!

"Safe! Safe!" Wanderer crooned loudly and reassuringly, then nuzzled Dreamer with a comforting, worried hum until his panic subsided.

A dream, just a dream… Dreamer nuzzled into his friend's shoulder and forced himself to take slow and measured breaths. "I sorry," he whined, fighting down whimpers.

"You not do this," Wanderer hummed with a sympathetic nuzzle. "…Someone else do this," he growled quietly a moment later.

"Hating them not help this," Dreamer reminded him automatically. "We better than that."

Huff. "Maybe I not want be better than that," but his tone wasn't serious. "We should eat."

…Yes, while we can, Dreamer thought to himself as he blinked himself awake, becoming aware that the many cuts from his dream were just his agitated hide. Come to think of it, they'd not eaten in almost a full day, as the light of dawn was starting to make itself known and highlighting the many scales and scraps of leather littering their den; if it didn't smell of them before, it would now.

They hopped out into the air, Dreamer a little ungainly as he was still building up his strength after Berserk and winter, and because he was lopsided; his right wing-shoulder felt cramped and stifling, while his left shoulder was loose and baggy. Thankfully, that would only last a few nights. It was some consolation that Wanderer was a bit wobbly too.

Unfortunately there were no boats bringing in their haul at this hour, the early risers were still out at sea, but he didn't want to go to the Great Hall, not like this. He growled in impatience; whatever they were doing, they needed to do it quickly. How did Nightstrikers normally handle this? Hunting with this terrible itching would be very difficult.

One of the many scattered storehouses caught his eye; in a village that burned down regularly, it was never a good idea to keep everything in one place. He'd never been given permission to take supplies, but then he hadn't been told not to either…

He rolled and sent himself hurtling at the ground, snapping out his wings at the last moment for a hard but satisfying landing. Wanderer thudded down next to him a moment later.

Dreamer glanced around, though he really shouldn't feel guilty about this, then reared up to flip the latch and ducked inside the dark room.

It was difficult to think in his haste, and he couldn't remember the priorities of which foods to eat. Was it the brined or smoked fish first? Or the fresh fish, because then they didn't need to spend time and energy preserving it? Fresh was probably better. They were in the crates, one of which he pulled out from under a shelf and pawed through the snow it contained to find a variety of fish. Perfect.

He awkwardly dragged the crate between them so they could both reach – Wanderer already had his nose in a barrel – and they gorged on the contents; at first he was careful to remove them with his paws so as to not disturb the others, but when it became clear the whole box was going he stopped bothering. The itching was getting worse, so he was in a hurry.

At least he took the time to roughly shove the empty crate with the others, and shut the door behind them. He resisted scratching at anything, he knew if he started then he wouldn't stop, and the village was too open and exposed.

Hunger sated, they powered into the air and over the docks, then crashed into their den in a growling tangle of claws and teeth.

"Has anyone seen the Furies?" Fishlegs asked the others as they all walked the bridge to the main island in the early light.

"Meant to talk to you about that," Astrid said as she slowed to walk next to him, "apparently they raided a storehouse yesterday. Not a big thing, but we should establish some rules."

"Huh, strange. They normally go to the docks or the Great Hall. Sure, we can go over that. But where are they?"

"They're probably shedding" Tuffnut interjected. "Explains the dragon raid, heh, they'd be in a hurry to eat."

"That's not due for weeks," Fishlegs replied matter-of-factly. "That was well after Johann was here last year."

"Au contraire, my knowledgeable but observationally challenged friend," Tuffnut said as he draped an arm over Fishlegs' shoulder, "they've been scratching like crazy for the last week."

Fishlegs shrugged him off. "Alright then, if you're so clever, explain why they're hiding away instead of begging for help like last year."

Tuffnut grinned, then stood in front of Snotlout, halting the group. "Allow me to demonstrate. Snotlout, close your eyes." Snotlout eyed him suspiciously, but did as asked. "Great, now open them." He watched everyone for a few moments. This is last year, you with me?" Everyone, including Snotlout, stared at him in confusion, but he took no notice. "Now close your eyes again." As soon as he did, Tuffnut socked him in the jaw, then doubled over with a wheeze when Snotlout retaliated with a punch to the gut.

"What'd you do that for!?" Snotlout snapped at him.

"Making a point," Tuffnut gasped, then took a few moments to catch his breath. "Close your eyes again."

"Hel no!"

Tuffnut, still doubled over, grinned at Fishlegs. "This is this year. Make sense?"

Fishlegs blinked. "Uhhh…" Astrid and Ruffnut looked just as blank, and Snotlout shouldered through to continue along the path. "No. That made less sense than Gobber on the fourth day of Snoggletog."

"Come on!" Tuffnut groaned. "It's obvious! Whatever, just leave 'em alone." He trudged after Snotlout, holding an arm to his stomach.

"…You see what I have to deal with?" Ruffnut complained petulantly as they started walking again.

"Maybe you should stop hitting him in the head," Fishlegs suggested, "it can't be doing him any good."

"Maybe you just need to hit him harder, the saying 'knock some sense into him' had to come from somewhere." Of course Astrid would say that.

Ruffnut made exaggerated motions of dragging her arms as she walked. "I swear, he's been even worse since all these babies popped out. The lack of sleep's getting to him, I tell you."

"I hear ya," Astrid said with a yawn. "When it was one or two it was fine, but five?"

"And when one cries it sets off all the others," Fishlegs groaned. "I wonder if we can train Terrors to be nannies?"

"Hah, yeah, that's going to happen," Astrid grumbled sarcastically. "You should have seen Uncle Strog, chasing the Furies off whenever they so much as looked at one."

"You should have seen Aunty Kaernut, kept trying to give them one, but they were just like, nope!"

That turned into a game of impressions and laughing at things the dragons had done over winter, but at some point Fishlegs fell a few paces behind and lost himself in thought while he watched the girls chat. It was weird to think about now, like Hiccup had always been a dragon, and Fishlegs might have entirely forgotten he'd ever been human were it not for the recent… issues that had come to light.

It was a miracle that had all blown over. Then again, the "scars" Snotlout was still bragging about were barely even visible, he'd hardly been hurt at all. Which was weird, given how ridiculously sharp their teeth were.

Would it be insensitive to ask Toothy about that? Maybe he would discretely ask Hiccup. That was more difficult now, with Toothy quickly picking up Norse after Fishlegs had taught him the basics over winter. It seemed to have helped Hiccup's understanding somehow too, something about listening for the right things. Something else to clarify…

Imagine that. He was the first person to teach a dragon, and Toothy was the first dragon to learn Norse. They were so far into uncharted territory Fishlegs didn't even know in which direction lay familiar ground.

They rounded the corner to the training ring, and none of them could help glancing up at the Furies' cave where they probably suffered away. They wanted space? Fishlegs could do that.

Some more notes went down in the book he was holding. He recommended they didn't hole up for too long though, being able to ask questions in Norse opened a whole boatload of possibilities, and his list was getting long…

Dreamer had never been a particularly proud person. He never really had much to be proud of, to be fair. Not even his inventions, as the only one that had really worked was… well, he wasn't proud of that one.

But he had to admit, he looked good. Once the raw leather between his scales had been worn smooth by much rolling around, he practically gleamed. Gone were the multitude of scars accrued on Berserk, and the one on his leg had been replaced by a mottling of larger scales. He felt brand new, and it might have been going to his head a little; he'd caught himself prancing on more than a few occasions.

Though, in stark contrast to over winter, now he felt baggy. He'd literally shed his skin for a bigger one, as if it was a shirt he'd outgrown. Except in this case the old one had gone to the tanner instead of the seamstress.

Would he recognise his own skin if someone else was wearing it? Or, like a recycled shirt, would it just be something he'd passed on, not his anymore?

He dunked his head into his reflection in the pool and guzzled the clear water. Sadly, the cove was underwater with the bulk of the snowmelt, but there were plenty of valleys and rivulets crossing over the island with that same melt from the mountains… From those distant peaks towering above, disappearing into the clouds…

Wanderer warbled longingly, staring up at the sky with him. They hadn't pushed their height yet, as they were still building the strength their wings had lost, but Dreamer knew they weren't even close to clearing the clouds. That was a height still out of reach. But he needed to be up there, a need that was heavy in his belly and bones.

He hadn't even realised he was quietly whining until he felt a nose nuzzle his neck. Ruddy Nightstriker instincts… He gave himself a shake, staggering a little as his hide slid around on him, then stretched out his wings and warbled dare, challenge. Wanderer flexed his own wings and crooned curiosity, confidence.

Rude! Dreamer snorted at him and sprung from the ground, his wings eating through the air in strong, practised motions with Wanderer hot on his tail. They passed through the barrier of calm in no time, and then their larger bodies easily carried them through the more turbulent open sky.

Up, up, higher and higher. They cleared the lowest peak, wings still hungry for altitude.

A giddy but unrealistic hope blossomed that they would actually clear the tallest, but he noticed he was getting less thrust from each stroke. Though they had just passed the second of the three peaks, they'd slowed down considerably and it was taking more energy to keep climbing. There were no thermals here, no updrafts to work with. But they were so close…!

Wanderer barked and prompted him to level off, and he suddenly noticed the strain and fatigue in his wings. He whined sadly at the last peak, so tantalisingly close and yet still so far away. One day… but not today.

And then he looked down. Woah. This was easily the highest he'd been on his own wings, and his head spun a little in trying to process just how far below the ground was and how much he could see. Not quite as high as he'd ever been, but not all that far off. It gave him a strange awareness of how he was being held up entirely by the thin limbs protruding from his back.

With resignation, he folded his wings and let his tail pull him into a nosedive, angling himself next to Wanderer as they hugged the sheer face of the mountain. What he couldn't reach in height, he would achieve in speed! He tucked everything in tight, the wind wailing as he cut through it. Not yet the scream it would one day be but–

He was suddenly very aware of exactly how close the rockface was, and he levelled off with a bark of surprise. What… what was that? It was as if he hadn't been aware the mountain was there before!

Wanderer, looking very excited, rose back up to meet him as he coasted on the slightly warmer air. "You see!?" He tilted his head at Dreamer's expression. "What?"

"What was that!?" Dreamer asked shrilly. It had been so sudden, and had him a little shaken.

"Long-Paws not have sound-sight?" he warbled back curiously. "But Long-Paws can hear!"

"Sound-sight!?"

"Hrrr, see things with sound. Make sound, it bounces, you listen. Hear where things are."

Dreamer gaped at him. "See with… sound? But…" He had a rudimentary understanding of light and sound, and how sight and hearing worked, but he couldn't mix the two. Eyes and ears worked in very different ways, that was obvious just by looking at them, but they could both be used to see!? That made no sense!

"Close eyes this time!" Wanderer shouted, then folded his wings to drop like a stone.

Dreamer blinked, then hurried to catch up. Close his eyes? Well, they were quite a way up, and further from the mountain now. He'd be okay for a few moments… He closed his eyes.

It had to have something to do with the sound emanating from his flanks, but it just filled his ears. What was–

And then he saw. Not really much, but he was gradually aware of a large surface several body-lengths from his belly, stretching out above and below him into a vague blur. Experimentally, he opened his eyes – the mountain was exactly where he expected it to be, and lined up with what he was 'hearing'. He closed his eyes again and rolled, and the image moved accordingly. He could see without his eyes…

A vague and much smaller shape entered his range, though it felt a bit strange. He opened his eyes to see Wanderer, just slightly off from where his hearing had 'shown' him. Not a perfect sense then, but as an early warning, and to map terrain? No wonder Nightstrikers never missed, they had a view of everything around them while diving.

Speaking of, the ground was beginning to get close; he could 'hear' it, but it was foggy and distant, and he didn't trust this ability with his life anyway. His tired wings protested as he adjusted his dive to swing away from the mountain and the higher flats, travelling at an angle halfway between down and level.

Before long, the village whipped past, the echoes a momentary tangle in his head before being left behind, then they bled their momentum into some aerial fun before coasting down to the islet.

There was the usual bustling noise at breakfast in the Great Hall, though these days Dreamer wasn't so worried about being stepped on. If he rose to his tallest while still on all fours, he was probably almost as tall as Snotlout. They were growing steadily and showed no signs of slowing down.

They made their way to the food tables at the back, where they each gulped down a fish before making off with a mutton leg. It had been discussed and agreed it was degrading for them to need to wait to be fed all the time, so they could take a reasonable portion from the tables and stores as long as they didn't gorge themselves. Which was a bit silly to Dreamer, because when they did gorge they didn't need to eat for days, but that was what was agreed. There was also the promise that they would help out in whatever way they were able, now or in future, but that was a given as far as Dreamer was concerned.

A small congregation caught his eye, and he noticed Bucket had his easel and paints out and was in an animated discussion with Stoick and Astrid, who kept glancing over at the Nightstrikers. There was too much noise to make anything out though.

Astrid suddenly took off at a brisk jog while Bucket and Stoick continued talking. Something about 'one, but not both' whatever that meant.

Dreamer shrugged and cracked the bone he was chewing to lick out the marrow, and was just finishing up when Astrid returned. He tilted his head at her as she approached him and Wanderer. "You come? Sit… still…" She still stumbled over the words, but she was getting better.

He knew what she was talking about anyway, and could smell the dried fish on her. "Yes, I do," he said with a look at Wanderer that told him all he needed to know; this was a boring Long-Paw thing. "But he can have fish? You give me one after."

"No hiding anything from you guys, huh," Astrid chuckled, then tossed the treat to Wanderer who snapped it out of the air with a purr, and beckoned Dreamer over towards the easel.

"I fly soon, we meet in den later," Wanderer crooned around his fish.

"Yes," Dreamer shook back as he trotted over to Bucket.

They had him sit with his wings in and looking up at Astrid, Bucket off to his right, and then it was just a matter of waiting. So much waiting. His thoughts drifted around the girl he was looking at, wondering what might have been. Could they have been together, had he remained human? He only wondered out of curiosity, that was a time he had put behind him now.

Nah, she couldn't have ever loved him. She was Astrid, he'd needed to befriend the most feared dragon known to Vikings, then literally sweep her off her feet before she'd as much as looked at him. Such a relationship would have been shallow. Maybe that would have worked for a Viking partnership, but now that he had what he had with Wanderer…

Huh. He wondered what Nightstriker mates were like, if friends were this affectionate to each other. Granted, they were still fledglings, but still. He wondered what the word was for mate, or partner, or wife, or whatever it was Nightstriker couples called each other. It hadn't really come up before.

It took time, and Bucket loudly exclaiming conflicting levels of confidence in himself with the occasional charge into the nearest pillar, but eventually Dreamer was allowed to relax. He tried to nose his way around the easel and the shield resting on it, but Bucket was very protective of his work. "It'll be shown later," he said anxiously as he herded Dreamer away.

Finally, an opportunity! Dreamer sank low to the ground, and cranked the adorable up to the maximum. He looked up at Bucket with big, dilated eyes, drawing his frills out, and slowly swept his tail around behind him. A piteously curious warble rolled over his tongue as he slowly shuffled forward.

"He's just a dragon!" Astrid whined; she was such a sucker for it, and it wasn't even aimed at her. "Just let him have a peek!"

Bucket looked torn, glancing between Dreamer and the shield on the easel. Just one more little push… Dreamer let his eyes and ears droop, crestfallen. "Ohkay ohkay, he can have a look," the big man finally allowed, and Dreamer perked and bounded happily in a circle while Bucket shuffled out of the way, then around the easel to look at–

He skidded to a halt with his mouth hanging open, feeling like he'd been stabbed in the heart through his gut.

Stoick stood tall in the middle, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the figure of a Viking Chief in full attire. To his left, Astrid stood proudly in her regular gear, though with some creative flair that gave her an aura of magnificence. She stood apart from Stoick, as they were not related.

Dreamer had been painted a bit smaller to Stoick's right, maybe the size he was before winter, looking up at the fourth figure who stood between him and Stoick.

Himself. As a human, with his back turned. Neither hand held a weapon, which was unusual, but one rested on the head of the Nightstriker version of himself. He wore the same dark vest and light long-sleeved tunic he always had, and Stoick's right hand rested on his shoulder. The pain in Stoick's eyes may or may not have been his imagination.

Why was this… But he… How was…

He fled. He didn't understand what was happening, but the why wasn't really important right now. Whatever the reason, it hurt.

He swooped into their den, his paws skidding on the stone as he bounded over to crash into Wanderer. Confused, worry, his friend warbled.

"The Long-Paw thing, before I Nightstriker, I not know why, I…" He tripped over everything he tried to say, unable to explain how he was feeling or what had triggered it. "S-stupid words!"

Safe, comfort, Wanderer purred, then wrapped him tightly in wings and nuzzled the top of his head. "No words."

Dreamer huddled in silence for a few moments.

And then the clamps on his heart shattered. He no longer cared what anyone thought, no longer had any desire to pretend. He took everything he'd been quietly holding on to and let it all in rapid succession, everything trying to get out all at once and stringing into a wordless, tortured song. For his previous life he keened failure, regret, disappointment, loss, pain. His confused identity, a recurring chorus of uncertain warbling and determined growls. His relationship with Stoick came out in hurt, pained yowls that lead into a brief whimper of fear before dropping into tentative, hopeful, sad, resigned croons.

Growls of resentment, pain, came out at Fishlegs, but that tailed into a grudging rumble and then a firm but pleasant croon of happy. He snarled hatred at the blindness and short-sightedness of the world and fury at their kidnapping, then whimpered fear, loss, loneliness, for the weeks that followed.

What felt like his whole life story came out, and throughout it all the one constant remained – his best friend, the one who cared for him more than any other, more than all the others combined. Wanderer loudly purred comfort, reassurance, through the whole thing, helping string it along and tie it all together. At certain parts he even joined in with his own keens and howls, layering in his own experiences where appropriate.

To tie it all off, Dreamer warbled and grumbled confusion, scared, and finally crooned relief, acceptance. He ached, physically and emotionally, but felt a lot lighter, as if a boulder had been removed from his chest. He found himself purring, and strung in a lilt of gratitude. Wanderer licked his head in reply.

The shield… what was it about the painting? He thought on it in his weary, semi-detached state, but his thoughts were all over the place.

And yet, wherever his thoughts went, he linked it back there. The painting somehow told his story as much as his song had, albeit unintentionally, tying in the various areas of his life. He had slowly become accepting of who he was, as a Nightstriker, but now he could think back with acceptance on everything that had happened too. He no longer hated who he had been.

He nestled into his safe place, feeling clingy. Wanderer had said that was an effect of these small bodies, strong instincts and undeveloped minds, and Dreamer wondered how that worked; he didn't feel squeezed into a small mind… but then again he did feel like a lot of the gunk in his head had just been squeezed out.

He was looking forward to being mature again, but maybe having the chance to be young and immature every once in a while wasn't such a bad thing…

Dreamer lay by the warm fire, watching Stoick pace. It wasn't stormy outside, but winter had suddenly decided it wasn't done and came back for another round; it was cold. Their den had been very uncomfortable to sleep in, despite being sheltered and deep, even with the advantage of shameless huddling and thick insulated skin. When they had flown over to the Great Hall to warm up, it was over a frozen ocean.

He understood Stoick's concern, it had looked like normal weather right up until everyone had woken up to find their front doors frozen shut, there had been no warning. Johann should be arriving the next day, but if he'd been stuck in the ice he could be in real danger.

Dreamer sighed, then barked to get Stoick's attention and tilted his head at the door. He was a bit warm from the fire, and had recovered from the prolonged racket of hanging around in the Great Hall, so he wasn't totally averse to venturing outside.

"…Yes, you're right, Will you get Astrid for me?"

Dreamer nodded and went to the door, allowing Stoick to open it so it could be closed behind him more quickly, and hopped outside. Gah! It was really cold out here! Not particularly windy, but the air bit like a jötunn's breath! Most of the snow was gone but there was a lot of ice everywhere, which at least wasn't a problem to one with claws.

He half-leaped half-glided down the village to Astrid's house and clawed at the door until he was let in, then chirped enquiringly at the woman who had answered. "Uhh, I'll go get Astrid," she said uncertainly, then called upstairs.

Dreamer considered sitting in the fire to warm up, but there wasn't really much point. It would only make going back outside much worse.

"Not the friend I was expecting," Astrid mused as she descended the narrow stairs.

"Alpha want talk," Dreamer warbled. "You come?"

She glanced at the door with no small amount of trepidation. Hmph, he'd survived it and he wasn't even wearing anything. She just needed to put on a few layers, which she promptly did.

Once let outside again, he bounded up and down ahead and behind Astrid to keep moving and keep warm. He wasn't really feeling the cold beyond his scales so keeping energetic was all that was needed. Come on Astrid, the faster you move the warmer you'll be and the sooner you'll get there! There wasn't any reason to drag heels.

They got there eventually, Stoick quickly admitting them to his house.

"That look cold," Wanderer warbled mockingly from his position next to the fire. "You smell cold," he added, touching his nose to him when Dreamer approached.

"Yes, but no wind." Dreamer nuzzled his friend, then lay on him with a purr. "Mrrr, you very warm…"

Wanderer wriggled out from under him and batted his head. "No! You cold! Lay in fire if you want warm." He padded away, then ran when Dreamer chased him.

"Calm down you two," Stoick rumbled with amusement, joy, when they knocked the spit from the firepit and spilled a few coals. Dreamer stopped to stick his tongue out at him, then was tackled as Wanderer continued around and came up behind him.

A few minutes later, the ear that wasn't being chewed picked up Astrid trying to get their attention, and he stood up to address her; the leg in his mouth came with him, which amusingly flipped Wanderer over with a surprised squeak. "You get my Spine-Tail?" she asked a little haltingly in Dragonese.

Dreamer tilted his head at her. "You fly to find Long-Paw?" It was so much easier now he didn't need to pretend he didn't understand Norse. "I come." Astrid and Wanderer stared at him dubiously. "What? I want help you."

"Why," Wanderer groaned, but got to his paws. "I not want go out there…"

"You not need come," Dreamer said with a playful swipe, though he knew it was a pointless offer.

Astrid shook her head. "No… I should go alone," she said, switching between the two languages.

Dreamer shrugged at her. "If you not worried for flying out there, you not need me for get Storm-Fly."

She glanced between him and the door a few times, then explained the situation to Stoick. "Unless you're going to tie him up, you might as well accept it," the big man rumbled, though he didn't sound happy about it. "Though, I would feel better knowing you had someone with you."

Dreamer let himself out to get Stormfly without waiting for Astrid's response.

It actually wasn't too bad in the air, which was good considering what he had just signed himself up for. Or at least, it wouldn't be too bad once the big wing-muscles wrapped around his chest warmed up. He also confirmed that the ocean was still an expanse of snowy ice, despite having had all day to melt.

Stormfly was in her den, and raised her head and then a wing when he landed in the ring. He gave her a grateful hum, but declined. "Your Long-Paw need you," he chirped, then flew with her back to the village, and soon they were flying through the frigid air out to sea.

Gods, someone needed to invent some better gear to fly in. Something light, warm, and windproof. Astrid figured she'd need to get two or three people working together for it, which was always difficult, but it would be worth it in the long run. Especially if they kept bringing in more dragons and training more riders.

At least Stormfly's crest broke the worst of the wind, and where Astrid was hunkered down on the dragon's back was warm, but she still had to keep an eye out on the ocean below. The ice just kept going, and no boat could sail through it.

A dark shape caught her eye at around late afternoon, a blotch on the otherwise pristine white surface below. Moments afterwards, the Furies both barked and powered forward, pulling ahead to wheel above it.

"Johann!?" she called loudly before Stormfly touched down on the deck, remembering the eccentric merchant was skittish around dragons. "It's Astrid, from Berk, just checking if you need any help!"

A muffled reply came from below, and she dismounted and cracked open the trapdoor to the hold to peek through it. She didn't blame him for being down there, his cabin would leak warmth every which way.

"Oh Astrid, thank goodness. I must admit, I am in somewhat of a pickle, yes." His voice was dry and rasping, and a little weak. He probably got frozen in overnight, so he'd been here a while. She located him easily at the other end of the hold, wrapped in a blanket next to a lantern that probably wasn't doing all that much to heat anything.

"Alright, we'll have you back to Berk in no time. Come on up."

She could see his scepticism from here. Right, this might be a difficult sell… To make matters worse, one of the Furies was showing interest in the hatch, sniffing around it and making a low crooning sound. It was difficult to tell which, now they'd grown. She had to get used to their sizes all over again. "No, little guy, he's not so good with dragons." Night Furies specifically, but they didn't need to know that.

But Hiccup – she now saw the malformed scales on his leg – nudged her hand away and very pointedly stuck his nose inside and then stared at her. "Okay… Johann, I'm coming down. Try not to freak out, okay?" Maybe he'd had some time to get used to the idea.

Or maybe not. When the Night Fury followed her down, Johann shrunk into his piles of wares with a squeak. "I promise he won't hurt you." She had no idea what he would do, but she was certain it wouldn't be malicious.

They crept close enough that the dragon's black form was clearly visible by the light of the lantern, and she could then see his head twitching in the way it did when they sniffed at something. "What is it?" she asked the dragon.

"He smell… wrong. Sick." The last word wasn't one she knew, but the terse gagging motion was simple to interpret. "I not think he should fly yet."

"Great," she muttered, stepping forward to put a hand to Johann's forehead. It was very warm, if not quite feverish. "How do you feel?"

"T-to be p-perfect-ly hon-nest, p-petrified," he stammered in a cracked and rasping voice, holding his blanket up as if to shield himself with it.

"Not that, he says you're sick," she said with a jerk of her head at the Fury, who had backed away to the edge of the light. "This ice hit overnight, were you sleeping in your quarters at the time?"

"Erm… yes. Woke up t-to this frightful chill. N-now that you mention it, I do feel somewhat wan…" The fact that he wasn't comparing it to some long and convoluted tale from his travels was a warning in itself. "You say the dragon said that? Good heavens. I dread to think of the occult practices involved." He squeaked again as the Fury snorted.

"No magic, just knowing what to look for," Astrid assured him. "And yes, he understands Norse too. Some of it, they're still learning. But we're getting side-tracked. I can fly you back on Stormfly, but it's a long and cold flight, and it'll get dark and even colder pretty soon. We should wait until morning, hopefully it'll warm up then."

She let out a breath and watched the thick cloud of mist it created. "We need to get the dragons down here. How do I get these doors open?" She pointed at the big double-doors in the roof of the hold as she set about arranging crates to make room for a Nadder. "Oh don't look at me like that, it's still too cold down here, and I'm not leaving them up there where it's even worse. We can solve both problems at once." He remained quiet, and she sighed. "Would you rather fly back and freeze on the way? Or, I could just go home and check on you in the morning."

"…That handle up there, then they can be opened from outside," he rasped quietly.

She twisted the lock on her way past and continued clearing some room, creating a barrier to the ladder but a space large enough for them all to huddle in, then climbed over the crates and barrels to get out.

Stormfly was huddled on the deck, and Toothy's head worked its way out of her wings when Astrid climbed up, which she couldn't help grinning at. "Hey guys, looks like we're staying here for the night. Come on down, it's a bit warmer down there." She hefted the big doors open, and Stormfly worked her way down by grabbing the edge of the hole in her beak. The Fury dropped down after her, and Astrid closed the doors again and re-entered the hold via the ladder.

"You okay, girl?" she asked soothingly as she approached Stormfly's head and gave it an affectionate stroke. The Nadder looked a bit cramped, but warbled happily and nuzzled her.

"Never thought I'd be a–… one with a live dragon in my hold," Johann stuttered, though his abject fear was subsiding. As she fetched fish from her saddle, Astrid wondered if she was becoming part of a long and convoluted tale herself, and how out of proportion it would be by the time anyone heard it.

With three hot-blooded dragons inside, the hold quickly warmed up to something resembling comfortable, and then to the point Astrid had to shed the thick furs she was wearing if she wanted to keep leaning against Stormfly. Johann fell asleep shortly after, and she quickly followed suit.

Dreamer felt a little bad, but it was worth not having to listen to Johann prattle off some wild story about Walla Wanari or some other fictitious-sounding place. He levelled out from his dive, the wail that came with it tapering off, and rolled back up level with Astrid. She shot him a grateful smile, though there was a grimace at how Johann was again huddled to her back.

Oh well, they were nearly back home. It was just as cold as the previous day, though there were places the ice had started to crack, so they'd had to abandon the boat and fly back; the anchor was down so most likely it would be exactly where they left it when the ice melted, the only trick would be finding it again. Or, what was left of it if it got crushed.

The last half hour passed in silence, and Dreamer did happy loops and rolls when Berk came into view. The thought of lounging around – or even in – the fire in the Great Hall had him pour on some extra speed, pulling ahead of Stormfly, but something made him slow down. Wanderer's low rumbling said he felt the same way. They wheeled overhead while Stormfly caught up.

There were a few things. It was literally freezing out here, so nobody would want to be outside, but it was weird that nobody was out and especially with how well-trodden the light snow was on the paths. There was also the occasional building with an open door, and a few dark patches that looked more like blood the more Dreamer looked at them.

He descended behind Stormfly and landed warily at the top of the village, at the base of the steps to the Great Hall. He put his nose to the ground, but all the scents were frozen. Astrid had her axe out as she dismounted.

"I might not have anything to trade, but this is still not quite the welcome I was expecting," Johann said nervously.

The door to the Great Hall was ajar, but no sound came from inside. Dreamer poked his head in and found it was also dark, cold, and empty. He turned and warbled worriedly at Astrid. She could only stare hopelessly down into the village.

Berk was deserted.