Astrid woke to the pitter-patter of rain on the stone of the training ring, feeling lethargic and unrested. The night had been cold in Stormfly's stable, even leaning against the dragon, as her wings were still tied to her sides and therefore offered no shelter or warmth. The best Stormfly had been able to do was curl her neck around her.
At least she'd had the sense of mind to grab a long, thick coat and some gloves while her dragon was being trundled to the ring. Stifling though it was, she adjusted it around herself and tucked her legs in a little closer, but the movement roused Stormfly and some of her warm backrest pulled away so that they could look eye to eye.
She held out a hand, wishing she knew what her dragon was thinking. Stormfly touched her snout to it with a gentle warble, then lowered her head to the ground again. Astrid knew there was no point pressing questions herself, she simply didn't know enough Dragonese to go into that sort of detail. For that, she needed Fishlegs.
Although, now that Stormfly had settled, she and Tuffnut might be able to work it out between them, he seemed to magically know what they were thinking… but he would be on his way to get Fishlegs by now. No matter, they would be back early afternoon at the latest.
Astrid just couldn't believe that this was some sort of dragon madness… Here, now, Stormfly was perfectly calm and placid. Something in the village was riling her somehow.
But none of this added up! The incident with Aldin on the boat had been the first sign, but then he apparently hadn't seen her since. Her behaviour had been erratic for the days after that, and then she'd suddenly burned down a storehouse, which just happened to have almost every weapon in the village in it for some reason.
And that didn't make sense either! Why were the weapons all in one place to start with, and then what had caused Stormfly to burn it all? She didn't even hang around; she had been skulking around a few houses away before she'd been restrained.
Astrid got to her feet and stretched. There was nothing to do but await more information, which she wouldn't get here. She scowled at the rain outside, they were barely into spring so it would be freezing cold, but this early in the morning the clouds would not be too high up. "Do you… want to go for a flight?" she asked.
Stormfly perked a little at that, shuffling from her side into a crouch. "Stay here a moment," she said gently, then pulled her hood up and jogged out into the wet to retrieve the saddle from the storeroom set into the cliff above the ring. It wasn't nearly as long as her usual morning routine, but it was enough to get her heart beating and work out most of the stiffness. Even more so when she jogged back, awkwardly holding the saddle above her head to better shield herself from the rain.
She didn't honestly think Stormfly would bolt the moment her wings were free, but Astrid was still wary as she undid the knots; the Nadder had been unpredictable lately. It proved unfounded, she pulled off the ropes, saddled her and mounted up without issue.
Leaning back to pull Stormfly into a steep climb, she pulled her hood down and shielded her face from the rain as they ascended through the dreary sky, through the dense clouds that she could breathe but felt heavy in her chest, and finally out into the sky above.
The air was still bitterly cold, but her heavy coat had kept most of the wet out and only her face was exposed. She squinted into the sudden light, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the brilliant blue above, and took a long, deep breath. Breaking through the clouds was always an incredible experience, and she stretched to bask in it. It took her a moment to notice, with a start, that below them was a dark sea of grey as far as she could see. That was foreboding.
But up here… it was like nothing else mattered. She leaned back in the saddle and held her head high into the breeze as Stormfly flew peacefully slow and level. This morning was not a day for thrills and training, it was simply for enjoying each other's company.
The dark clouds beneath felt fitting. Descending through them would throw her world into uncertainty again, where she didn't know her dragon, where the village was much less defensible. She didn't have to think about that up here, in the bright and clear sky. There was just her and Stormfly.
The tranquillity was eventually broken by Astrid's stomach complaining noisily to her. Stormfly even heard it, apparently, as she turned her head and squawked at her rider. "Yeah you're probably right, let's go find breakfast."
She noted with a start that the clouds below weren't dark and ominous anymore, and it took her a moment to realise it was just that the sun had been below them before and was now above them. She hadn't flown like this so early before, so it wasn't something she'd noticed.
Ominous or no, they were still wet, but the rain seemed to have eased somewhat and was now only a light misting.
As they descended into the darkness below, it quickly became apparent they'd drifted quite far from Berk, having no points of reference in the open sky above. There was no concern though, Stormfly angled them to a distant island without even seeming to think about it and before long the mountain was looming above them.
Astrid guided them down to a larger sea stack just off the coast and dismounted, then removed the saddle. It was a show of trust… sort of. She trusted Stormfly not to fly off and leave her there, but not to return to her if they'd set down in the village. Gods, when did she not trust Stormfly implicitly in everything…
She watched the Nadder glide above the water for a while, then flap for a bit of height and dive straight down into it, emerging moments later and labouring back into the air to repeat the process.
Hunger sated but dripping wet, she returned to Astrid, who saddled her up again, and they headed back towards the village. As it came into view, Astrid pulled her towards the training ring, and they set down inside it. "Sorry girl, I think you need to stay out of the village for a little while… just until we work this out."
Stormfly squawked, examining Astrid, then gave her a heavy nuzzle. "I know, it won't be long. I mean it though. Stay here."
The look she got back startled her a little, like Stormfly was begging her to be careful. Since when were dragons so… expressive? But then Stormfly nudged her shoulder with her snout, and plodded into her stable to begin preening herself.
It wouldn't be for very long… just until Fishlegs got back. By boat it was half the journey to the nest, so she just had to distract herself with something and he'd be back before she knew it. All this would be sorted out soon.
Her stomach complained again on the jog back to the village, reminding her again that she hadn't yet eaten. They should still be serving breakfast; she'd be stuck with whatever was left but that was far from registering on her list of problems right now.
After warming some stale bread over the fire and downing it with some cold eggs, cheese and fruit preserve, she headed out again to look for Stoick. He'd been out late last night, probably somewhere on the island as they hadn't been able to find him, but once again he didn't appear to be home; he must have come and gone already.
Gobber would have caught him though. She strode down the village towards the blacksmith, but instead found him standing in front of the husk of a storehouse, apparently oblivious to the cold rain. "You spoken to Stoick yet?" she asked him as she approached.
"Eh? No, no' ye'. 'E was no in his house this mornin'."
"He wasn't?" She groaned; the Chief overdoing things was hardly unusual, but it meant he would be grouchy, and this situation was bad enough already.
"Aye. An' then there's this." He gestured to what was left of the building.
"I'm sure she didn't mean to, and-"
Gobber cut her off with a wave of his hand, then waddled into the building. Astrid followed. "Look a' these weapons," he said, picking the blackened axe head off the ground and handing it to her.
"The fact there's so many here at all?"
"Well, yeh, tha' too, bu' actually look a' i'."
She frowned at him and inspected the weapon, noting the warped edge and rippled surface. "It's a bit melted?"
"Aye. A bi' melted. They all are."
"So…?" What was he getting at with all this?
Gobber sighed and picked up another. "Nadder fire would do more than a little meltin', bu' jus' bein' in a burnin' buildin' would'n' do anythin'. An' i's too even. I's like they were burned by a Nigh'mare, no' a Nadder."
"But Hookfang isn't even-" She nearly dropped the lump of metal in her hands at the implication. "Sabotage!? But who…"
Gobber interrupted her thoughts by beckoning her to the back, walking through where the rear wall used to be. "An' then there's this… Ah don' know wha' ter make of i'."
Astrid followed him to find him staring down at some short planks lying in the scraggly grass, the sides caked in mud… Like what was used to seal a storehouse… "Was this… cut from the wall?" She picked one up, finding the ends frayed and raw. How could anyone cut into a solid wall?
"Looks like. Don' ge' me wrong, I ain' lookin' ter prove yer Nadder innocent, bu' she's lookin' a lo' less guilty righ' now." He absently squeezed some of the water out of his moustache. "Hel if ah know wha' i' means though."
Everything started with Aldin… Stormfly wasn't crazy, she was hunting something dangerous… Sabotage… "I think I know who we need to speak to…"
Alvin had never been so grateful for freezing cold rain. He didn't even care that he was soaked, it was just so good for numbing the excruciating pain.
This was the true power of the Kings Things. The ticking thing made one a master of time, being able to measure it precisely. One more of its short seconds and he would be laughing. But no, he had been a moment too slow, and that moment had practically melted his scalp and some of his back, leaving it a raw and blistered mess. He wouldn't be charming his way into any houses for a long time, if ever. Curse that despicable dragon! When he took over, he would be sure to give it a suitably slow and excruciating death.
But that would have to wait. He finally reached the secluded inlet, having needed some of the night to recover, and kicked awake the Nameless lounging by the boat. "Get up! Everything went to plan, so get going."
The Nameless startled to his feet, then did a double-take at Alvin. "Boss…?"
"Alright, maybe not everything went to plan. But a dragon went mad and burned all their weapons. And remember where you're going first."
"Meathead Island," he confirmed somewhat vaguely. "And then…"
Alvin clapped his ear with his hook, suppressing the flare of pain from the stump. "And then you spread the rumours. What happened here, and whatever happened with my Nadder there. Go to all the northern tribes, the usual route."
The ragged man scrambled to obey, climbing into the boat, climbing back out to push it off, then climbing back in. Incompetent fool. Alvin shook his head-
And immediately froze, groaning in pain as it pulled on the burns. Maybe be would skin it alive, one palm of scaly hide per day…
At least he was now rid of his own remaining Nadder, probably. They were theoretically valuable and powerful tools, broken dragons, but difficult to obtain, time consuming to break and train, and costly to keep fed. That male in particular had taken a very aggressive streak that made it difficult to control, though that had probably served well in the end.
Alvin set out again through the forest, grimacing every time a fat droplet fell from the trees onto his head but striding onward. The sooner he got there, the sooner he wouldn't have to put up with it.
His second destination was a camp in a secluded cave, one of many he knew of; Berk was conveniently riddled with them. Given the rain, there would probably be a fire too, which would be nice. Despite the welcome numbing effect, the cold was starting to get a bit overbearing.
The five Outcasts inside did a double take at him as well, and he had to resist rubbing his head in disappointment; he'd sent six. "The other?" he asked dispassionately.
"Snapped 'is neck," Savage said, dramatically acting it out on himself. "With one 'and."
"I told you to be careful-"
"An' we was!" Savage griped. "Had 'im trussed up an' all afore 'e was even awake. Fair done snapped the ropes. You can sees we takin' no chances now. I tell ya, rather I'd take the dragon again, even if it is growed up."
"Hardly a surprise," Alvin said mildly, meeting the cold and stony eyes of the seventh person in the shallow cave, gagged and wrapped in more ropes than he cared to count. "Considering the rumours about you, we should have expected no less, Chief 'Stoick the Vast'."
Okay… Dreamer was fairly certain he knew where they were keeping Fishlegs, Spitelout, and Snotlout. At least, he assumed that's why Mogadon would visit the same guarded building three times in the same morning.
And he already knew where the other dragons were; that had been easy, they'd instantly responded to a roar with their own, which his sensitive ears could have picked up from the other side of the island. Well, the living dragons, anyway, the Nadder he had killed last night had been… the best way to describe it was 'taken apart'. He shuddered at the memory and shoved it back to a corner of his mind.
Knowing where everyone was didn't do him much good at this point. They were free to fly above the village as much as they wanted, but actually going down there was a whole other story, at least during the light. He expected to need to go back to get Stoick, but while he could make it back there in the time it took Snotlout to find his helmet in the morning, Stoick would need to come by boat, so it would be a few days regardless. He might as well wait until night and see what Fishlegs had to say about it.
He drifted over to Wanderer and pointed at the building with his snout, and his friend chuffed in confirmation. "We maybe talk with Fishlegs this night. Then… I not know. We do something…"
Wanderer's eyes went back to the barn containing the dragons. Pretty stupid, really, to house dragons in a wooden structure, but they hadn't burned it down yet. He gave it another day before Hookfang set fire to himself in boredom, possibly earlier if they weren't being fed. That was the other reason they hadn't left yet.
But they couldn't just free the dragons either… Dreamer was fairly certain they would go straight for their riders, or just cause panic in general. No, he needed to be smart about this…
He sighed and looked to the horizon. The clouds above them were heavy but scattered, thoughtfully holding back their water, but he could see denser clouds in the distance and the smudging below it that indicated rain. It didn't seem to be getting any closer at least.
By periodically keeping an eye on the rains like this, he was thankfully aware of a distant shape well before it reached the village, and winged out over the sea to check out what it was. He barked in surprise as he eventually recognised the strange shape as being the twins on their Zippleback. What on Midgard were they doing here? Not that he was arguing.
He barked in summons, both to the twins and to Wanderer, and banked over to Forget Me where they'd spent the night. It was a nondescript chunk of land just off the coast of South Island, an empty forest surrounded by sheer cliffs, and just that. Some liked to speculate on some Meathead conspiracy, but given the originality of the rest of the names of the Meathead Islands, he thought it more likely it was just a reminder there was nothing of interest there.
Regardless, it appeared completely inaccessible except by dragon, unless one braved the sea violently lashing the rocks below to begin a treacherous climb, so it was the perfect place to regroup. Whether the Meatheads noticed their uninvited visitor or not was unknown, not that they could do anything about the three dragons descending onto the little island.
"So, Hicster, what's new?" Tuffnut asked as he dismounted, and immediately began stretching.
Hicster? What in… Actually, Dreamer just wasn't going to think about it. That seemed wise. "This nest take Fish-Legs, other nest-kin," he explained, hoping Tuffnut understood.
"What's that Hiccy?" Ruffnut asked mischievously. "Fishlegs fell down the well?"
Tuffnut immediately decked her, dropping her to the ground, then turned back to him. "…He didn't actually fall down the well did he?" he asked. Dreamer shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "Okay, good. So the Meatheads got suspicious over something and captured everyone, but you two got out. That about right?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed happily, then actually thought about it and slumped with a groan. Sure, Tuffnut had got his meaning, but not by understanding his words, which meant actually planning anything would be a chore.
"Rats. We were sent here to bring him back so he can find out what has Stormfly freaking out."
"Owwww," Ruffnut complained, getting back to her feet. "Right in the jaw… Man, why you always gotta be serious with these guys?" She stopped and considered something. "Wait, if we can't get Fishlegs, does that mean we can't fix Stormfly? Well, we tried, let's go back and watch the show!"
Dreamer rolled his eyes again and scratched at the grass, tearing up the turf and dragging it aside. When he had sufficient space cleared he trod the dirt down flat, then began a rough sketch of the village; he knew it well enough by now, having spent most of the morning observing it from above.
"Woah," Ruffnut whispered as he worked.
"Quiet, the dragon is talking," Tuffnut admonished her, paying rapt attention.
He only needed to outline half the village to label the two buildings, one with a pair of wings and the other with a horned helmet.
"Awesome, so we know where they are, let's break 'em out and-"
Dreamer groaned and gestured to some of the many buildings he'd drawn.
"Okay, fine, mister smarty-no-pants, what do you suggest?"
After a moment of thought, Dreamer extended a wing over the map, mostly hiding it from sight, then tapped the helmet he'd drawn. Tuffnut leaned under the wing to see what he was doing, then stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You want to talk to Fishlegs. Fiiiine. Berk can wait a day."
Oh, right, he'd said something about Stormfly. Dreamer chirped enquiringly at him, tilting his head with his ears and frills out.
"Nah, she's fine really. Just stressed about something. Been running around the village for days, it's pretty amusing actually." Well, that wasn't normal, but they had other things to worry about for now.
So they had to wait until night fell to make their next move. There wasn't really anything that needed doing in the meantime, so maybe they could shed some light on where the Nadder had come from… and why.
Finding the source of the errant dragon had been surprisingly easy, but a puzzle in itself. Sniffing around the forest in the direction it had come from, they quickly stumbled upon a set of wagon tracks. Following the tracks led to a clearing that smelled lightly of the Nadder, but more prominently featured what little was left of the wagon. At the other end of the tracks was a secluded inlet. It was difficult to tell how many different boot scents were around it though, but they all led back along the wagon's trail.
It wasn't difficult to puzzle out. Someone had brought it on a boat and dragged it to here using a wagon.
So, Dreamer knew how. Far more pressing was the who and the why, to which there were no hints whatsoever. Or… was there? Something was bothering him about the Nadder itself.
"Why you say kill Spine-Tail?" he asked Wanderer. It hurt that another dragon had died so soon after the last, and this one by his own teeth, but he harboured no ill feelings towards his friend for it; he simply wanted to know what Wanderer's reasoning was.
Wanderer swivelled his head in the air to look at him, something not advisable at high speeds but simple at this slow cruise as they watched over the village for more developments. "I see before… in big-warm-nest. Sometimes… nest-kin just stop. Not see, not think." He warbled sadly. "Sometimes they not move, not eat. Sometimes they fly away, not stop flying. I follow a Spine-Tail once, watch them fly until fall into sea. Sometimes they fight." He drooped in the air. "They always die. Not can help them."
Dreamer crooned sadly, drooping as well. Despite his willingness to kill, Wanderer also clearly valued life, at least much more than anyone else Dreamer knew. "What make nest-kin… stop?" he asked quietly.
"I think it different for each. Some when lose fledglings, I not know other reasons. I thought queen caused it, but…"
If they didn't live long, then either the queen wasn't to blame for this condition, or something else had caused it in this particular-
That little itch in Dreamer's memories popped open, the sudden connection bringing with it a flood of realisations, and he looked at Wanderer in horror. "You say when we taken, you nearly lose your thinking…"
Wanderer snapped up to look at him in similarly deep unease. "I… that maybe…"
A growl rose in Dreamer's throat towards the distant horizon. It still didn't make complete sense, and he didn't see what it could accomplish, but it was just too close to ignore. The Outcasts were somewhat organised, and knew how to break a dragon, had almost broken Wanderer, so they were capable of this. None of the tribes would even know anyone from Berk was here, but it was well known that Outcast ships sailed everywhere.
They had also tried to kidnap the Nightstrikers before, so this could be part of a plan, probably to have the Meatheads trap them and so they could be spirited out of the village again, leaving the Hooligans to fight the Meatheads over it. They would never have been rescued.
Dreamer shuddered thinking about that, how someone could go to all this trouble… for what? Why? That, he still didn't know. He also wasn't sure it was actually the Outcasts who had set the Nadder on the village, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. They had to have someone on Berk – no, in all the tribes, probably, someone to pass the information to a boat and get this set up. The informants here could then spread the appropriate response, pointing out the timing and all the things that didn't add up, blaming the Hooligans.
And all of this led straight back to the other thing he'd been thinking about all afternoon – at what point did he reveal he could communicate in Norse by writing?
Ideally, never. Understanding Norse was one thing, writing it was entirely another, and whatever he thought of anyone else he was pretty sure Astrid would see it as highly suspicious. She also happened to be the one who would not be convinced to keep the secret from Stoick. Dreamer would need to 'learn' alongside Wanderer, just as they had with listening to Norse.
But, what if a situation demanded it? Right now, sharing his knowledge could have direct positive results in working out a plan. Could. It would certainly have ramifications though.
A life. That was the line he would draw. If he was certain that revealing his nature would save a life, he would suffer the consequences of whatever it wrought. This situation did not qualify at the moment, the riders and dragons were still protected by hospitality, despite the accusations against them, and there was no guarantee that sharing what he knew would change anything.
Wanderer chortled, and Dreamer glanced up to see him smirking at him. "What?"
"You Dreamer. You see things I not, things only you see. But you not see rock-head under your nose."
Snotlout? Oh, he was carrying a basket of fish towards the dragons. He disappeared inside for a short time, two guards going with him, then reappeared with the guards and returned to what Dreamer had assumed to be the cells.
As long as the dragons were fed as much in the morning, it should be enough. Still, they would be getting pretty restless by now, things needed resolving soon. He rolled his eyes at himself; doing boring things like this he had thoughts to spare, and they always started on something else more interesting and stole his focus. Dreamer crooned thanks, embarrassed, turning his attention back to the ground below.
A peculiar rapping at the door roused Mogadon, though not completely from sleep. A second rapping was similarly ignored, and he started drifting off again; if it was urgent, it would be a lot louder.
There was silence for a little while before the rapping returned again, and a foot in his back promptly shoved Mogadon from the bed. He groaned into the floorboards while he woke, then fumbled on his wooden leg and stomped downstairs. He was Chief to the whole village, but once inside these walls he knew full well he wasn't the one in charge. He'd never let on that he liked it that way, but truthfully he was glad that in some things, someone else had control. And what was the sense in taking a strong-spirited woman and expecting her to crumple at his every whim?
That didn't stop him grumbling about it under his breath on the way to the door, which he flung open and stared in surprise at the pair of black dragons, blending neatly into the night; they were only visible by their silhouettes against the light of a few torches, and their big green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark.
He first felt angry at his patrols for not picking up a pair of dragons in the village. A pair of dragons, he then realised, who were the colour of night, and could drop out of the sky anywhere and any time they pleased. "What do you want?" he asked tiredly, not even bothering to try restraining them.
"We just want our friends back," one of them said in a gruff voice.
"And to show you something in the forest," said the other in a higher, courser voice.
…
Okay, if he was going to dream, he'd rather do it in bed. He took a step back and started closing the door again.
"Wait wait wait!" said the second voice. "We really are talking to you! Through the power of dark dragon m-"
The voice was cut off by a meaty thump and an exclamation of pain, right as one of the dragons turned its gaze up and growled. "Come on sis, that might be going too far," the first voice said. "Way to ruin it. Look up, Chief."
Mogadon leaned out the door to peer up, and was startled to something resembling awake by a pair of Zippleback heads staring down at him from the roof of his house, with a small person sitting on each of the necks. All four of them looked down at him. "Wha' in-… 'ho are you?"
"Oh, you know, more dragon riders," the first one said. "In case the 'riding a dragon' thing didn't give it away."
"Obviously we're from Berk," the questionably feminine one said. "We were sent to get our dragon expert for a little problem back home, only to find you've got him locked up somewhere. That's not very nice, you know."
"Yer trespassin'," Mogadon growled. "I should lock you up as well."
"Are we trespassing?" the gruff one asked the one next to him. "Because my feet haven't touched down."
"I don't think we have," the girl replied, waving her feet in the air. "And our dragon hasn't touched Meathead soil either. I think we're good."
"Everythin' alrigh' Chief?" the night watch called out, causing the heads of the dragons to twitch towards him.
Mogadon pinched the bridge of his nose, discreetly rubbing his eye with the motion. "As yeh were," he called out, and the patrol shrugged, but remained to observe. "Look, somethin' 'appened, and they're stayin' until ah can sor' i' ou'."
"Ooh, yeah, except how long do you think it takes a Monstrous Nightmare to get bored? That looks like a wooden building you're keeping him in…"
"I'm surprised he hasn't already."
"Ah ge' yer point," Mogadon cut them off irritably. These two really grated on him, they must be the notorious Thorston twins. Who had thought it had been a good idea to give them a flying, fire-breathing tool of war? "Wha' der ya want?"
"Like we said, we want our tribesmen back, including the dragons, and to show you something in the forest."
"Can' i' wai'?" He was exhausted from sorting out all the cleanup and repairs the night before, rehoming several families, then getting everyone's stories and pouring over them all for inconsistencies.
"I dunno," the girl said casually, "I'm not an irritable Monstrous Nightmare locked in a flammable structure. Seriously, you got no dragon pens or anything? How do you train your kids?"
Mogadon groaned and grabbed his coat from beside the door.
"No, seriously, where's the ring you throw inexperienced kids into to fight a wild and hungry dragon?"
"You know sis, when you put it that way…"
"Wait, that was just us? Wow…"
It was probably better to just not respond to that. "I ain' offerin' hospitality, bu' I ain' gon' stick ya. Ge' down 'ere." He waved them down, and the Zippleback heads withdrew before the rest of it dropped down onto its stumpy legs. Its two riders then swung off their saddles and took up positions either side of Mogadon, herding him away from his house, and the dragon followed along behind them.
He didn't really like having the dragon behind him, but the beast seemed just as docile as the others, and he couldn't see any reason it would attack if it had not already.
"You know, we haven't blown up anything yet," the boy whispered across to his sister. "And people say we have no self-control… I almost think we can even keep it until we're done here."
"Yeh'd better," Mogadon growled at him.
"We give our word!" the girl agreed. "It's better this way."
He groaned again and rubbed his head; he was too tired to deal with this pair. "'Urry it up… Where we goin'?"
"As you wish," the girl said with a flourish and a bow. "Hey, where are we going?" she loudly asked the night, but before Mogadon could grab her in frustration he jumped in surprise as the two Furies dropped down from the roofs to either side of the path, just at the edge of the torchlight, and beckoned. He'd not only forgotten about them, but they'd moved without him knowing about it.
…Fine. There was unlikely to be any harm in checking this out at least, it would be stupid for them to even try anything. And it would give him more credibility later, if it was needed.
The Furies led through the darkness, difficult to make out even by the light of the torch that the Zippleback had lit with a spark. A Night Fury was the real prize for many reasons, if he was aiming to get dragons, but they were well known to be extremely rare. Well, the search would be easier with dragons of his own anyway. How had he been so blind and stubborn before? They were very useful tools.
After a time, something dark and low to the ground created a yawning void in the light cast by the torch, which he grabbed off the boy to get a closer look. A flat wagon, by the look of it, but blackened and burned. Part of the frame looked that it had been broken after being burned. It didn't look like any of his, so it hadn't been stolen from the village. He held the torch to the ground behind it, noting the furrows in the ground. "Where der these tracks lead?"
"The water," the girl replied happily. "A little place you wouldn't see a boat. Which means it couldn't be us who brought it here!" She threw her arms out for emphasis.
A trusting man would take that explanation, it indeed put the accusations on the cliff's edge, but Mogadon wasn't giving in quite this easily. He had a hunch he would need good leverage to convince the Hooligans to part with their secrets; which was odd, because they had been very open about it at the start, but he knew to trust his gut. "Tha' don' mean squat. Ah you tellin' me tha' Berk don' 'ave boats 'nemore?"
"See?" the boy asked the Furies, gesturing at Mogadon. "I told you he'd do this, and we tried it your way. Now can we do it the Thorston way?"
What in the… Mogadon didn't even know where to start with that. It being the middle of the night was not helping matters.
The smaller Fury sighed dramatically with a small groan, but then nodded.
"Yes!" the boy exclaimed, pumping his fist, then turned on Mogadon. "So, we know you're not interrogating them as much as holding them hostage right now-"
"Careful there," Mogadon warned, half-drawing his sword, and the boy stepped back with his arms up.
"Hey, no need for that. Just an observation from what Fishlegs told these two. You're about to learn we have no problem with leveraging people."
"Yeah, we just happen to need your leverage back," the girl chimed in, not giving him a chance to think. "So let us explain. First, you met with three dragons and two riders in the middle of the night."
"And then," the boy continued, "you said some pretty shifty stuff while following said dragons into the forest."
Mogadon sagged a little; he couldn't remember what they'd been talking about, but by their grins, they had carefully guided the conversation, and they had been alternating between whispering and talking loudly. "Is tha' a threat?" he growled, fully unsheathing his sword.
"Weren't you listening?" the girl groaned. "It's leverage. And it'll be forgotten by the end of tomorrow, so just let our tribesmen and dragons go, and we'll be on our way. We weren't kidding about needing them back."
"A threat's a threa'," he replied darkly with a grin; this was even better. "Ah'll have Berk on a plate fer this."
"That's funny," the boy said, stroking his chin with a wide smirk. "I don't recall being given hospitality."
"I do believe you're right brother. I guess we were never here."
Mogadon's grin quickly vanished. It was too late now, there were no witnesses, and with a dragon they could just disappear into the night.
"We'll be watching you on your way back. Well, they will." He jerked a thumb at the Furies, who grinned toothily. "If you immediately release everyone, you can claim we showed you proof of their innocence."
"But if you dawdle…" She cackled. "We get to prank a Chief! Stoick's such a killjoy, we never get away with it."
"That only works if you dawdle though. Oh, but on the subject of having never been here." The Zippleback necks snaked forward and the twins hopped into the saddles, and then Mogadon was abruptly alone – as far as he could see, he hadn't seen the Furies take off – in the forest with the husk of the wagon.
The message was clear. This already looked shady enough, and from what he knew of this pair they would have little trouble building on that; destroying dissenters' property or just spying on them, policing the village, basically doing anything that might be done on his behalf. And with a few rumours carefully placed with other tribes… He couldn't even use the Hooligans and dragons he had in custody, as they were protected by hospitality.
The best option was to comply. At least he was still holding the torch.
Dreamer took a moment to revel in the cool wind brushing over him as he glided through the murky night over Meathead Island. That hadn't gone quite as well as he'd hoped, but the twins had worked their magic and backed Mogadon into a corner he couldn't get out of. It was impressive, actually, he'd had to heavily reassess his opinion of them as they plotted out the backup plan. On the other hand, their planning methods, and how they arrived at that idea…
He shook his head and turned his focus back to the Meathead Chief as he made a Terror-line straight for the guarded building.
He took a moment to reflect on that term while Mogadon dismissed the guards and entered. Terrors did not fly particularly straight, or apparently even know where they were going half the time, but it was universally accepted as a straight line. He supposed they flew straight compared to a drunk Viking, at least.
The three Hooligans emerged quickly, looking confused and, in the case of both Jorgensons, tired. It seemed Fishlegs was still wide awake after Dreamer had talked to him through the wall after locating him.
Mogadon led them through the village to the building housing the dragons, unlatched it, and stomped off; probably back to his own house. Dreamer and Wanderer glided down as the dragons emerged. Dreamer was just relieved Hookfang hadn't-
A flash of light and a scream from Snotlout almost refuted that thought, but at least he'd been let out first.
Dreamer landed and bounded up to Fishlegs, who had been bowled over and was currently wheezing a greeting at Meatlug, and joined her with a lick to his face. "Good to see you too," he gasped back, trying to push Meatlug off himself. "Little help?"
Meatlug was encouraged to give him some space, then the Furies herded the riders onto their dragons and beckoned with a bark. The dragons needed no further encouragement to stretch their wings, and followed them into the air. Dreamer noticed with some amusement that Fishlegs was clinging desperately to his saddle, wide eyes apparently sightless in this low light.
Spitelout was the first one to speak, as they pulled over the Meathead docks. "So, anyone care to explain wha' in Thor's name is goin' on?"
"Dunno, but I can't see a thing up here," Snotlout called back. "Hookfang, light up!"
Fishlegs relaxed by degrees with the sudden light, pulling Meatlug into formation next to Hookfang. "Hiccup got us out somehow. I told him everything Mogadon's been asking about, he went off, and now we're out. Though I don't know where we're going."
"I can answer that," Ruffnut's gravelly voice called out from above.
"As can I as well," came its gruff counterpart. "But that would be redundant."
"So you pair came ter ge' us," Spitelout groaned. "Ah suppose i's too much to 'ope not everythin's fallen apar' since we left?"
"Nah, really we were just told to get Fishlegs," Ruffnut explained, pulling into formation and becoming visible by Hookfang's flames.
"But given what we rescued you from… and how… it's probably better if you all come," Tuffnut followed up.
"Ah don' even wanna know," Spitelout grumbled miserably.
"So what am I flying into exactly?" Fishlegs groaned with just as much enthusiasm. "Aside from this infinite void of darkness."
Dreamer barked at him in mock-offense; night was the perfect time to be flying.
"Oh, Stormfly's gone crazy, and Astrid can't work it out," Tuffnut explained mildly. Speaking of, she's gonna hang you up by your ears if you don't bring your books back, so go back and get them if you need to."
"What? The Dragonese book? It's still on Berk. Unlike some of us, I only need one explanation for why an idea is stupid."
"Well you better find it after you fix Stormfly."
Dreamer tuned out the conversation after a while, just focusing on the flight, and it died down once Hookfang's flames burned out anyway. They flew on in silence, the calm tailwind a pleasant push to the journey. Mostly he focused on the water below, and the scattered reflections of the lights in the sky above. Perhaps halfway through the trip the cloud cover quickly became more solid though, and completely obscured the sky. He could scent rain on the air, but recent, not upcoming.
"Hey," he said to Fishlegs and pulled in next to him as Berk manifested as a speck on the horizon. "Need talk about that nest-alpha."
"Hiccup?" Fishlegs asked, looking around. "What's up?"
Hiccup chirped, getting the boy facing the right direction. "That nest-alpha. We not can show him how get scale-wing-hunters."
"Uh, can we have this conversation when I can actually see what you're saying? Or, you know, anything at all?"
If smacking himself in the face was a possibility, Dreamer would have done it. How had he forgotten how dark it was? He gurgled apologetically and soared a little higher, ears burning in embarrassment.
"What he say?" Wanderer growled quietly, levelling next to him.
"I forget he not can see," Dreamer admitted, self-consciously adjusting himself in the air.
Wanderer looked at him in surprise, then laughed. "Other nest-kin not can see good when dark like this, not like Nightstriker. Better than Long-Paws, but not good."
"I know," he groaned back. "I not think. This boring."
"We could fly ahead?"
Dreamer hummed, considering that. They didn't really need to be here… but just leaving everyone alone in the darkness would be rude, and he couldn't actually communicate properly to tell anyone what he wanted to do. He couldn't even ask Hookfang to light up, as he'd burned himself off earlier. "No, we stay. We nearly there."
The night journey ended uneventfully, well before midnight, the others gliding down to the village while Dreamer and Wanderer looped over it. At the twins' insistence, Fishlegs went straight for Astrid's house, figuring that for Stormfly it would be worth being woken in the night; they'd been expected back around midday, so they were late enough already.
As with the journey out, the long trip back hadn't really tired Dreamer, but… something about returning home set a weariness into him, a desire to curl up and sleep. He yawned widely, blinking in sudden drowsiness, as Wanderer himself yawned squeakily nearby.
Completing their loop of the village, they turned for their den set into the cliff above the stable, their dark and inviting little cave. After sleeping locked in a barn for almost a week, then one night huddled in the roots of a tree out in the open forest of Forget Me, he–
"Hiccup! Toothy!"
Both their ears went up at the distant call, and both of them groaned. What could Fishlegs want now of all times? Actually, that wasn't all that difficult to work out. "Must be for Storm-Fly," he reasoned aloud, as that was what he had gone to investigate.
"I want help Storm-Fly," Wanderer agreed as they pulled out of their descent and turned back to the village.
Fishlegs was where Dreamer expected him to be, standing outside Astrid's house, though Astrid herself appeared to still be inside. The Nightstrikers landed and bounded to a stop next to him, though he looked confused. "Astrid, they're here."
Astrid backed out of her house, pulling the door closed, then started walking down the village. Wanderer snorted, and Dreamer had to agree; that had been rude. She hadn't so much as looked at them, and the hood on the thick coat she wore had obscured her face. Wrrr, she was more of a morning person…
He shook his head and warbled enquiringly at Fishlegs.
"I dunno, she just told me she needed you guys," he said with a confused shrug. "And apparently we're going to see Gobber."
Gobber? How bad was this? He crooned worriedly as they followed after Astrid, who trudged along ahead.
Gobber's house was near the forge, which was near the docks for convenience, so it wasn't far. Astrid knocked, and there was sound from inside presumably as Gobber fitted his leg and lit a lamp or something.
There was something eerie about all this, but he had trouble putting his claw on it. Not that it was the middle of the night, more something to do with the near dead silence around them. But that wasn't unusual at night.
It took about as long as it had for them to walk there, but eventually the door swung open and Astrid walked inside.
"Gobber?" Fishlegs asked as he followed her in, looking around. "What's this about?"
Dreamer had never seen inside Gobber's house before, despite being his apprentice for a few years, and looked around curiously as he entered. It was simple, though there was subtly a lot more iron around than anywhere else; in fixtures, random ornaments, many of the prosthetics hanging on one wall, just little things here and there. It was generally quite organised too, a lot of clutter around but a sort of neat clutter.
It was the sort of state Dreamer figured he would have kept himself if he'd grown up a blacksmith and alone. Except that even living on his own, Gobber somehow managed to match the sour musk of a dozen or more Vikings living together.
Clunk, the door closing behind them raised an ear. Clack, the latch sliding into place a moment later raised the other.
Before Dreamer could even acknowledge the rapidly growing unease, a heavy rumbling had him spin – and then back away with a loud hiss, mirroring Wanderer, flashing teeth and crouching low.
Gobber tugged his hook from the dresser he'd just dragged in front of the door, looking at them sadly, and it was immediately evident why Astrid hadn't spoken or let them see her; she looked downcast, defeated, and overwhelmed by guilt. "I'm sorry," she whispered.