Author's Notes
A lot of this chapter came out all at once, which was a great way to keep on top of the story this month what with visiting family and a damn cold I can't seem to shake. It did make editing a bit of a trial though, my thanks to VigoGrimborne on FFN for checking things over for me.
Dreamer frantically took in the situation – door barred, no windows, two likely hostile Long-Paws plus Fish-Legs. He ruled out a back door, this house practically overlooked a cliff, and if there was one it would be barred too.
"I'm sorry…" That might have been more believable if Astrid had actually been looking at anyone while saying it, instead of staring at the floor.
"For what, exactly?" Fishlegs demanded, stepping in front of the Nightstrikers. "What's this really about? Clearly not Stormfly."
"It was, but… Gods this is so messed up…"
"It's an order," Gobber said darkly. "The Furies ah ter be captured. Step aside."
Captured!? He'd gathered as much, but hearing Gobber say it made him-
Fishlegs held out a placating hand, urging them to silence their growls. "I can't believe Stoick would order that."
"Yer righ', he wouldn'. Step. Aside."
"But hospitality-"
"You know tha' ended the moment they left our waters." Gobber took a step forward, and Fishlegs shrank back with the big man towering over him. "Now."
Whatever was going on here, Fishlegs wasn't going to save them; it was just too big for him to handle. But what was going on!? Dreamer shoved all that aside for now and frantically glanced around, noting the lights in the room and reading Wanderer, who glanced back at him before sizing up Gobber.
Okay… He could take Astrid, just distract her or tangle her up long enough to put out the two lamps and torch; the lamps were designed to extinguish if knocked over, and he figured if dragons could breathe fire then he could extinguish the torch in his mouth. Both Nightstrikers coiled onto their hindlegs, on a hair trigger.
All it took was for Gobber to place his hooked arm against Fishlegs' side, and firmly push him out of the way.
Dreamer launched forward, darted around Gobber and rammed head-first into Astrid's midsection, carrying her into the wall just behind her. She doubled over with a grunt, wrapping her arms weakly around his neck even as she did so, but he just threw his head to the side and tossed her to the floor.
Wanderer grunted behind him, but scrabbling of claws on wood said he was still fighting. Dreamer slapped the first lantern with his tail, sending it tumbling to land on its side, and the room dimmed slightly. He leapt to the other one and knocked it over as well, in his haste doing so a little more forcefully than was necessary.
The torch was in an iron bracket on the wall over the hearth, and did a good job of lighting the room. Dreamer crossed the distance in a single leap, then reared up to-
Cold metal hooked around his foreleg, and he yelped as he was yanked away. Wanderer was getting to his paws again and leaped forward in a storm of teeth and claws – he was not holding back – but only found wood and metal, Gobber expertly fending him off with his prosthetics and a shield he'd pulled from somewhere.
The burly Viking had put himself in front of the torch, staring grimly at the Nightstrikers, but Dreamer couldn't pay further attention to that. He spun to deal with Astrid, who was no doubt getting back-
Sound. It was suddenly all that existed. Noise, a metallic ringing accompanied by a wooden echo, drilled through Dreamer's ears and hammered on the inside of his head, on his very mind, distorting his vision so much he was no longer sure which way he was facing. He couldn't even see anymore, was only vaguely aware of tripping and hitting the floor, barely aware of his own shrieks of pain. Clamping his paws over his ears helped, but not nearly enough.
Finally, the assault on his senses ceased… mostly. There was a lot of shouting, but it was a distant noise. He might have blacked out, had no idea how long it had been, no way to know.
There was still an argument going on, and he strained his ears to pick out something, anything. It was… Fishlegs arguing with Astrid. And in the background of that…
Wanderer's panicked whimpers reeled his mind back into focus, almost painfully dragging it through the fog clouding it. His eyes snapped open and he snarled through his clenched teeth, pulling himself to his paws through sheer force of will, only one thought in his mind. There was suddenly weight on his back, but it didn't matter, it wasn't enough to stop him, didn't stem the promises of retribution and death crackling from his throat.
A wide form loomed over him and something soft lay across his jaw, but it was inconsequential, as was the sorrowful whisper. What mattered was Wanderer, and alleviating his distress; however that needed to be done.
The hand slid further back, and fingertips firmly pressed into the sensitive bundle of nerves he'd discovered on Wanderer long ago in the cove. It quickly pressed down on his thoughts and walled off his rage, and the last thing he knew was collapsing with a groan.
Fishlegs glared at Astrid as Hiccup collapsed under her; it seemed the fastest – and possibly only – way to diffuse the situation. He kept his hands on the wide jaw to lower it gently to the ground. "You'll regret this," he told her darkly.
"I already regret it," she mumbled, then climbed off to kneel next to him and grabbed a bundle of rope from against the wall. "But I don't have a choice. We'll just have to get them back again."
"Because that worked so well last time," he sneered, gently stroking Hiccup's head, then stood up and walked over to Toothy as Gobber finished restraining him in thick ropes; his frantic thrashing had probably made it very difficult for a Viking with one hand, but somehow Gobber had managed. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, then pressed the same point on Toothy's neck, and the dragon went limp and silent with a sigh. Much more merciful than drumming a tankard into a table, that had hurt Fishlegs' ears and he wasn't even a dragon.
And now, in the silence, he allowed himself to shudder and fear. That was a sound he'd now heard from both Furies, and had no desire to ever hear again, a sound that thoroughly and flawlessly mixed together every sound of death that Fishlegs knew. With a larger Fury, and in this enclosed space…
"Yeh weren' kiddin' abou' tha' sound," Gobber said quietly. Even he, the seasoned dragon slayer who had seemingly effortlessly held off Toothy and then Hiccup as well for those few short moments, looked nervous and shaken.
Fishlegs apologetically stroked Toothy's head. After everything he and Hiccup had done for Berk, for the whole Archipelago, they were being betrayed. Again.
The words were in his mouth, words he desperately wanted to say. This is Hiccup Haddock and Toothless you're betraying. But they wouldn't form. He just couldn't make that first sound. Part of it was a voice of reason that said Hiccup wouldn't have wanted it, and that it would complicate things to no end, if he was even believed, which was unlikely. There was also a crippling fear of the unknown, as he had absolutely no idea how it would be received, and seeing the wisdom in why Hiccup had kept it hidden in the first place; real magic was a dangerous thing to allude to on Berk.
Whatever angle he approached it from was like another wall in front of saying those words.
He shook his head and turned to address Astrid, who was half-heartedly wrapping ropes around Hiccup. "I believe you were about to tell me what in Odin's name you're doing!?"
"Easy lad," Gobber grumbled as he waddled past, "this ain' 'er fault."
"It kind of is," Astrid replied quietly, dropping the ropes and letting Gobber take over. "I let him into the village."
"You ain' go' tha' privilege, yeh jus' greeted 'im."
"I ignored Stormfly's warnings. Couldn't understand her. She said he hurt 'fledglings', and that meant me, which was nonsense… And you took your stupid books!"
It took Fishlegs a moment to recognise the Dragonese word. "'Fledglings'. And no, I didn't. Wait… He hurt fledglings?" He inhaled sharply as he put everything together; what Astrid was alluding to but with the additional information of Stormfly's warning… "She must have meant the Furies, and you would have recognised Dagur, so-"
"He even called himself Aldin," Astrid groaned.
"And you're giving them both back to that monster," Fishlegs said down to her.
"Now listen 'ere," Gobber said, levelling his hook at Fishlegs before resuming tying the ropes. "She didn' 'ave a choice. It don' matter who 'e is, 'e's go' Stoick, an' 'e's demandin' the Furies. Berk's law is clear, any price is ter be paid, an' they're only dragons."
Fishlegs glared at him incredulously, but Gobber just shrugged. "Either way, any price. All the elders agreed."
"Did anyone consider asking them?" Fishlegs asked angrily.
"Given yer the only one who can talk to 'em properly, no. Yeh gotta see it from their perspective."
"No, because I'm apparently the only one seeing it from theirs," he shot back, gesturing at the Furies, then kicked aside the dresser barring the door and stormed out of the house. He knew it was futile, once a decision like this was made it was as difficult to change it as to move a mountain, but he had to try; if for no other reason than because the alternative meant accepting what was happening.
A tentative nudge roused Alvin from a light sleep, Savage carefully tapping his boot. "They's comin'."
That immediately got Alvin to his feet, though his neck and shoulders vehemently burned their complaints at moving. It was good he had planned all of this out in advance; while he was fairly good at sectioning off and ignoring pain, it was still distracting and would make him prone to mistakes.
No matter. He was getting what he wanted. He strode through the dark after Savage to the tall bluff just in time to see Stoick hoisted several feet into the air, dangling on a rope draped over a thick tree branch above, and hanging out over the edge. Some torches were also being lit and set up for a more dramatic effect.
It took several minutes for the group to appear below, a single Outcast leading three Hooligans who looked to be the blacksmith, Astrid, and an older man he didn't recognise. None of them looked particularly capable of causing trouble, not that they could in the situation they were in.
He stroked his moustache. It was tempting to just take over Berk and be done with it, but there were still a lot of weapons the Hooligans could use, and it would probably mean fighting the dozen or so dragons they had with riders. Such a fight would be bloody for both sides, and while he didn't care for the lives of the scum he ruled, he doubted it would leave him with a very secure hold on the island.
No, best to just take what he was sure he could get.
"Well, let's make this brief," he called down, "as I am certain you have a few fools trying to sneak around as I speak. It is a long walk, but we should not dally." Though anything less than twenty warriors would quickly be overwhelmed, not that they knew that. "To be honest for once, I don't actually want to see Stoick dead or deposed, I just want my dragons, so I've set this up nice and fair. Attach my Furies to the rope, and as Stoick returns to you, they'll be returned to me."
He eyed the dark shapes being slung off the backs of the two older Vikings, wondering if Stoick would actually be heavy enough to move them. If not, they had plenty of manpower to hoist it along. "No funny business though… It's a looooong way down. Best make sure it's nice and taught when you tie it too, don't want to test how much of a jolt this rope can take."
"You poisonous snake!" Astrid shouted up while the other two complied. "You'll never get away with this! We're going to hunt you down and skin you alive!"
"I'm sure you'll try," Alvin replied smugly. He watched with some curiosity as she hunched over both Furies, putting a hand to their necks and glaring up at him all the while.
As soon as they were secured he nodded to the two pinning the rope, and they let it go as gradually as they could, the Hooligan Chief dropping about a foot to pick up the slack.
Whatever the difference in weight, it was apparently not enough to drag the course rope over the smoothed and greased trough in the branch; that was impressive actually, the two dragons had grown considerably in the last few months. They were hauled up, Stoick acting as a counterbalance to lighten the load and speed the process. Alvin actually saw the moment the Chief saw what was happening and began straining to break free, but even his prodigious strength was no match for the sheer number of ropes he was practically entombed in.
In no time at all the dragons were being swung in onto the bluff, leaving Stoick hanging just out of reach of those below, as he had been hoisted up a short way before the Furies were attached. At some point Alvin had devised a big gloating speech for this moment, but he could no longer remember half of it and now just couldn't be bothered. He wanted off this cursed island. He drew his sword and cut the rope, then made off through the dark forest with his prizes.
The spot behind a Nightstriker's jaw was a sensitive place under the hide, similar to an overused and cramped muscle. Wanderer's now also ached in the same way, having been pressed repeatedly by the traitorous female and then struck by one whose scent tugged frantically at his memory in the scant moments of groggy consciousness he was afforded.
He was waking again, far less rapidly than the first time, and groaned at the stiffness creeping down his neck. An assenting grumble pricked his ears, a sound wholly welcome and yet at the same time not, as it meant Dreamer was trapped there with him.
The panic of having his wings, legs and mouth tightly bound, however, was creeping in again; being knocked unconscious any number of times would not assuage that reaction. He whimpered and struggled, feebly at first but gaining strength with every rapid breath. His bindings creaked but did not break, and the one around his head felt like cold hard metal.
A worried but calming croon sounded beside him, and something brushed his shoulder. He flinched away at first, but quickly recognised Dreamer's warm breath on his scales and managed to roll so they could see each other. "Not worry," Dreamer said confidently, though with a trace of fear and concern. The metal bindings wrapping around and in front of his face did not help his image.
Wanderer whined disbelievingly. As much as he hated to admit it, he recognised these scents, the type of raised surface he was on, and the hard binding around his leg; very specific things that pointed at the one who had taken him last season-cycle, who had deprived him of claw and tooth before starving and torturing him for its own unfathomable reasons.
"Not worry," Dreamer repeated, determination in his eyes. "We not dead now, so they not want us dead." He leaned forward, as much as one could when lying on their front and totally bound, and purred darkly, almost a growl. "We together. We strong."
Together… And yet… "I not strong enough for this," Wanderer whined.
Dreamer sighed, his bright green eyes speaking compassion, love, sympathy. "Stay with me. Whatever you need do, not lose your thinking. I get us free."
"He too careful, not think he slip again."
"Again?" Dreamer warbled. "This Long-Paw that take you last season-cycle? Long-Paw you…" His nose scrunched. "…eat paw?"
"Yes." That much was certain.
But rather than despair, Dreamer grinned smugly. "He want teach us. He not need to."
Wanderer wished he felt his confidence, but he didn't understand. This was Dreamer's territory, and the trust he had in his friend-mate was balanced by the pain and torment he had experienced before; he just couldn't see anyone getting them out of this.
The ground was swaying, he realised, meaning they were being taken away again. For a long time all he could do was waste his energy trying to break free, then listen to the water slapping against the flat trees surrounding them and the stomping around above them. A torturously familiar wait, unable to move and dreading what was coming, but nothing happening until long after his stomach was complaining its emptiness.
He couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, but nor could he move or flee or fight or anything. It was maddening. Dreamer's comforting croons and big expressive eyes were probably the only thing that held him to reality. Dreamer was here, Dreamer would know what to do.
That faith was challenged when a familiar Long-Paw with sharp teeth entered the room, brandishing a familiar large claw.
"Er… Boss? You better come see this…"
Alvin groaned and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the early morning sky. Couldn't anyone do anything without him personally overseeing it? He desperately needed rest; he'd been far too busy setting things up to get much sleep on Berk. "You did it before, just do it again."
"I told you they's bigger now! But that's not what I's sayin'..."
Something about the tone piqued Alvin's curiosity; it wasn't fear or anger, but rather a wary amazement. He sighed and got to his feet, suppressing the pain with sheer willpower, and took a moment to glance at the fleet around him. About twenty boats strong, most of what he could muster, to dissuade and confound pursuit. There did not yet seem to be any dragons following them, but then they weren't even out of sight of Berk yet.
He stared at the open hatch to the hold for a long moment, wondering how such a simple task could have become so difficult, then climbed down into the hold as delicately as he could. This had better be good…
His Furies were on the table, the manacles holding them despite the open door – there was little else preventing one of them from leaving, as he realised with a start that most of its ropes had been removed, and while an iron muzzle secured its teeth there was nothing to stop it using its claws. It blinked at him and then sat there nonplussed, watching them.
While Savage hadn't been correct before, he was now; Alvin was going to enjoy watching his mauling for dragging him down because he couldn't do his job properly.
But Savage approached it with only the usual wariness, picking up the heavy knife from a box against the wall on the way. He approached a little to the side so Alvin could see it, and it stared back at him. The bound Fury struggled and growled shrilly, but the unbound Fury…
Alvin's eyes widened as it casually put its paw forward, its gaze casually going between him and the knife. Savage was standing in front of the other, obscuring its reaction, but its throes were rocking the heavy table and it was by no means quiet.
Savage glanced back at him, then held the knife over the claws, too lightly to be intending on doing anything with it. It soon became clear why, the paw was whipped away with a growl, and the dragon then deliberately shook its head. It rapped the tips of its claws on the table, then lowered itself and held the paw out again, but this time with the pad and hooked claws pointing upwards; it had to lean to the side to do so, its joints not quite flexible enough otherwise.
It stared impassively as its claws were cut, much more neatly and cleanly than Savage had managed the first time, then held the paw up and flexed it curiously. Apparently satisfied, it nodded at Alvin, who could only stare as the remainder of its claws were trimmed in painless moments.
"That… is something," Alvin admitted slowly. "Will the other cooperate now too?" That was met with a short but fierce growl from the previously placid Fury, its eyes narrow slits and its teeth showing through the muzzle.
That couldn't be a coincidence. "Do you understand me, dragon?" It relaxed its expression, but indicated nothing either way. "Well we don't need the other one anyway. Truss it up and toss it over the port rail." The smallest response, its ears twitching and pupils narrowing a little further. Alvin was no expert on dragon mannerisms though, so it wasn't quite proof…
Savage, on the other hand, did a double-take. "What!? You dun really want me to…?"
Tch, the downside of working with gullible morons. If the dragon did understand, it was much smarter than his lackey…
Crack… Crack… Thunk. Crack… Crack… Thunk.
The sounds were rhythmic, and somehow synchronised whether intentional or not. Fishlegs hadn't even tried sleeping, and of course it was far too late for anyone to do anything by the time he even got Aunt Ragnhild out of bed and learned just how bleak things were; Outcast fleet on the island, most of the stock of weapons useless, and Stoick kidnapped. It was ironic that Hiccup was probably the one who would know what to do.
So, unable to do anything, he had eaten. A lot. He ate until his aunt returned from checking in with Stoick, by which time the house's food stores were practically empty. On his way to the storehouse to get more, he had decided to investigate the regular sound echoing faintly down the village and found the Chief splitting wood in front of his house, enormous logs almost as wide as Fishlegs himself. Astrid was also there, some of the logs stacked to provide a target for her to throw her axe at.
Crack… Crack… Thunk.
Devoid of anything better to do, Fishlegs plopped himself down and listened to them work the wood, Stoick methodically breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces and Astrid reducing a gnarly knot into a splintered mess. At some point he'd got his notebook out and begun doodling Night Furies, though he didn't remember when. Thinking seemed pointless, they'd all been through this before.
Not quite the first to rise, but the first to acknowledge them, was surprisingly the twins, announcing themselves early in the dawn. "Please don't tell me I have to punch someone," Tuffnut groaned as he approached. "As much as I like punching people, I prefer not needing a reason. Reasons suck."
"I dunno," Ruffnut mused, "having a reason makes it more satisfying… Though we should probably do something about that fleet on the horizon."
Crack! The next log split so hard one of the halves whizzed past Fishlegs' shoulder to land somewhere behind him, and Stoick tossed the wood splitter aside and stomped off towards the Great Hall.
"…Something I said?"
"It's an Outcast fleet," Astrid said bluntly. "That Aldin guy was actually Alvin."
Tuffnut froze, and Ruffnut glanced at him before stepping forward. "Uhh, somethin' we should know?" she asked quietly.
"They got Stoick," Astrid replied in a tired and flat tone. "We had to trade the Furies to get him back." She didn't even try to avoid Ruffnut's punch, taking it straight in the cheek and staggering from the impact.
"You want in on this?" Ruffnut growled back at her brother.
"Hiccy? Toothy?" Tuffnut looked dazed. "See, what did I tell you about reasons!? I can't-… I don't even want… You don't deserve…" He turned and dropped to sit on his heels, rocking back and forth a little.
"Eh, suit yourself." Ruffnut socked Astrid again right as she regained her balance, this time knocking her onto her side. "Two dragons, two hits. You good?" She offered a hand, which Astrid accepted to help her to her feet.
"Thanks Ruff…"
"Anytime. So, what's the plan?"
"Well, the village is practically defenceless so we've all been ordered to stay within sight until Gobber can fix the damaged weapons, which will take a few days," Fishlegs supplied, going back to his drawing. "We also don't know which ship they're on, and the fleet is too big to assault anyway. Even if we were allowed to go, they're likely to split up into twice as many targets as we can follow." He threw his pencil into the pile of wood Stoick had left behind and snapped the notebook shut. "And that's assuming they're even on one of those boats! For all we know he's still here, just waiting to take over the island!" That had been one of the biggest concerns brought up by the elders, and it was a reasonable one.
"Screw this." Tuffnut abruptly stood up and brought his fingers to his mouth to whistle, Ruffnut copying him to create the dual pitch to summon their dragon. "We're gonna go drop rocks on those sick cowards. Big ones. Weighed down with malice, and retribution."
"I like where your mind's at," Ruffnut said with a grin.
"But we all have to stay here!" Fishlegs protested. As much as he hated to admit it, those boats could be near empty with the remainder of the crews waiting for everyone to take off after the bait.
"One less dragon won't make a difference, and we won't be long," Ruffnut said casually while they waited. "Just go out one at a time and we can sink three ships between us.
"Two," Astrid murmured. "Stormfly isn't… I went to her last night, but I dunno… She…"
"Well duh," Tuffnut shot back levelly, "that's probably because she wants to know what you did to look guilty enough to have betrayed and sold a respected friend." Barf and Belch landed heavily next to him, and both twins climbed into their saddles. "Oh, wait." The dragon then launched itself into the air and disappeared from sight.
Fishlegs watched them go, then got to his feet with a sigh and whistled through his fingers to summon his own dragon. "Come on Astrid, might as well try to patch things up with Stormfly."
Alvin picked one of the two Valkyries out of the Maces and Talons box, then kicked the box across the room. His smaller Fury watched him curiously as he set the piece down on the table next to it, then as he unlocked and removed its shackle. "Fetch," he commanded, pointing at the piece and then to the box.
He was curious how this Fury would react. The bigger one, still tied up and growling constantly, had retrieved the whole box, which was something Alvin had wholeheartedly approved of; why only have one when you can have many? So he was satisfied, if not particularly surprised, when this Fury did the same, actually lifting the box in its forelegs and waddling across the room with it to set it on the table. The books he'd stolen said they were highly intelligent, but failed to do them justice.
However, what he most certainly did not expect was for his Fury to then take all the pieces out and lay them out in their correct places on an imaginary board, fumbling due to its wide paws. Alvin stared slack-jawed at it as it nudged a piece forward, making the first move, then stared back at him expectantly.
It was this one. This was the 'fang-free' dragon he needed, he had no doubt of that. The irony that it was the one he had given to the Berserkers, because it was smaller, was not lost on him. Like the ticking thing made him a master of time, this would make him a master of… well, what couldn't he do with a Night Fury at his beck and call? One that understood complex commands and concepts, who could eavesdrop, assassinate, and traverse his Archipelago faster than a boat could sail to the next island over.
And it was not immediately aggressive towards him like every other dragon. It might even be a connection to tamed dragons, ferrying messages in hours instead of days, hauling loot skimmed from villages. Forget the other King's Things, he could easily conquer with just these two. Though, he would look good in a crown, particularly now to hide his bald head.
As much as Alvin wanted to see how well it could actually play the game, he turned and left the room, telling Savage to feed them on the way through the hold. It was playing his game, not the other way around. It had yet to truly learn who was in charge here.
At the start of the second night, Dreamer had a bit of a strange task that he was not particularly looking forward to. After missing three meals and now approaching the fourth, Wanderer was starting to look a bit desperate, though he still wouldn't consider allowing his claws to be trimmed; Dreamer couldn't blame him for that, wincing at the thought of having them cut from the top as the full weight of the cut would be taken by the claw's connection into the paw.
The conflict must have been driving Wanderer mad, it was evident in his eyes every time Alvin – now inexplicably missing his eyebrows and every hair off his head – entered the room. The first time had been the worst, when Dreamer had been given two fish, tried to give one to Wanderer, and subsequently had that one taken away.
Dreamer had hoped that by giving Alvin the obviously better choice, he would forget about Wanderer and trying to get him to cooperate, but no such luck.
Now that they were finally alone, and likely to be left alone, he focused, taking stock of his internal muscles and trying to remember what he could of what he had to do. He tested the muscles around his stomach, stumbling on the very peculiar feeling he was blindly looking for, then successfully heaved up one of the two fish he'd been given.
And that was something he never wanted to do again. He gagged and shook his head, then purred reassurance in reply to Wanderer's grateful, relieved whimper.
"No," Wanderer admonished when Dreamer started again. "You need strength. This enough…"
Dreamer huffed, knowing that wasn't true; what he was getting himself wasn't really enough either. "It really not hurt this way," he said gently, laying a paw out in front of him. "Then you can stretch, eat."
A low, weary but determined growl. "I not can do what he want. That how I lose thinking." He whined miserably, curling up to hide his head behind his tail. "Not can do this… not again…"
Confidence, protect, Dreamer purred, settling down so that their ears were touching – all he could manage with how they were shackled by their hindlegs and muzzled – and stretching a wing over his friend.
He did his best to hide that part of him was panicking as well, a horrible itching detached feeling in his tail from having it bound again, unable to spread the fins. There was also a bleak reminder in the padlock clicking against the muzzle whenever he moved, further putting him on edge. He couldn't afford to panic, but it was there all the same, insidious claws that raked over him in intermittent waves.
They needed to get free, and sooner rather than later. For that to happen… He had a plan, of sorts. It was a very basic plan when it came down to it, not that he had a lot to work with here, but it had conditions that needed to be met first. He first needed a modicum of Alvin's trust, and then it was down to circumstance.
He sighed, though he never stopped purring, and thought on the details, anything to get his mind off his tail. Everything that could go right, everything that could go wrong, and everything in between. It all came down to that tiny sliver of trust… But how did one earn the trust of one who could neither trust, nor be trusted?
With a grimace, Alvin carefully touched his fingertips over his bald head, feeling out the burn that practically covered it. By now he would at least expect some stubble to be poking through, but the blistered skin remained smooth, and having seen these burns before he knew he wasn't likely to ever have hair again. At least the pain was finally subsiding, and he could think a bit more clearly.
Which was good, because he was playing a bit of a delicate game here. He knew dragons could summon each other from long distances, and if he was being followed then letting a Night Fury onto the deck would reveal exactly which boat held them, and thus which to follow.
But, though he had been watching carefully, there was nary a hint of his boat being followed. A few had been sunk in the first day, but as far as he knew none were followed. Which was a pity, because it meant the forty or so Outcasts he'd left behind were probably dead by now. Oh well, this was why he kept most of them as Nameless after all, so nobody remembered them and realised who had been sent to their deaths.
So two days sailing felt like a reasonable distance from Berk to relax a bit; as much as he could with a gateway to Hel itself over his shoulders and head. However, two days was about the time a dragon was able to hold itself, so unless he wanted a heavy stink weighing down the air in the hold, he needed to let them out.
For one of them, that was easy, and he watched it carefully as it roamed the deck; it wasn't going anywhere with its tail bound, and it was mostly harmless with no claws and the heavy muzzle.
For the other, it was not so simple.
He cursed himself for setting a precedent, he should have just had Savage cut both their claws to start with. By letting it have them, he would send the wrong message by cutting them now. His dragons needed to consider him predictable, there would only be pain if they disobeyed, at least in these early stages. On the other hand, he couldn't use it as a punishment either because then it would be rewarded for the pain by being let out, what he now realised as his mistake last time. What a mess.
Doing a double-take, he realised his dragon had its head inside a crate that stored various sailing equipment; the black sail for sneaking around at night, spare ropes, and so on. The reason for his surprise was that it sported two heavy latches so that bad weather could not pry the lid open and spill the contents, but that had been no barrier whatsoever.
It got itself into the tattered scraps kept for repairs, and somehow managed to tangle itself in a large piece with a hole torn through it. It didn't panic, just pawed at it and rolled around, trying to get it off.
As amusing as it was, it couldn't be allowed to have fun. "Savage, put that stuff away and chase it off." But then the way it was wrapped around its paw got his attention, giving him an idea. "Actually, no, tie it up, then go wrap up my other dragon's legs with it."
"You's the boss," Savage slurred back correctly.
A short while later, Savage led the dragon up by the handle on its muzzle, which it looked and sounded most displeased with. Good, it would get better treatment if it cooperated.
And then Alvin burst out laughing as it took a few steps on the deck, swinging its legs in wide exaggerated motions and trying to kick off the scraps of sail tied over the paws; he'd have to remember that if he ever needed any entertainment. His dragon turned at the sound, eyes narrowing on the sword pressed into the smart dragon's shoulder. He grinned at it and tightened his grip on the hilt.
The unruly dragon immediately backed off, taking a step back and silencing its growl, though it glared at him. Interesting… He knew they had a strong connection with each other, but the sheer willpower this one had demonstrated last year had made him think they were made of tougher stuff than this. Apparently, with both of them together, they were as soft and malleable as warm butter.
"You get it, don't you?" Alvin told it, still grinning smugly. "I own you. And this one," he waved the hilt of the sword, "will stay like this until you return to your room." At that, the dragon by his side relaxed and lounged as much as it could, being tightly bound as it was, so he pressed the point of the sword into its shoulder until it twitched and shied in discomfort.
With a huff, his unruly beast awkwardly clambered up next to the figurehead, using it for support, to do its business into the water. When it was done it returned to the hatch and offered a short growl at Alvin, which earned a bit more weight on the sword, and then disappeared down below deck. Savage followed it down, and after a few moments where the only sounds were the wind in the sails and the water rushing past the hull, he lifted the sword away and lay it by its sheathe. The dragon beside him relaxed with a sigh, though its shoulder twitched irritably.
So it had been worried. That was a good start, but it was not submission; if he wanted a blade in its shoulder, it should present it for him to strike. He stroked his moustache with his thumb while he thought. If he could not punish it for disobeying, he would just need to find another way…
Dreamer yawned, though it was highly unsatisfying with the muzzle preventing his mouth opening more than enough to squeeze in a small fish, and wearily dropped down from the table after Savage undid the shackle.
He was tired and hungry, his tail fins were cramping, and he'd just been woken from what light sleep he was able to get in this accursed situation. Whatever the master wants, he thought wryly, looking forward to proverbially slapping him in the face with his tail and flying away.
When Savage worked on Wanderer's shackle too, Dreamer allowed a mote of hope to blossom, and trotted out to the ladder to climb up onto the deck. He emerged into a calm, partially overcast afternoon, the wind firm but not all that strong, and for some reason the sail was tied up. He sighed, again resigned to waiting on his original plan.
He then couldn't restrain a growl as Savage pulled Wanderer, still bound tightly, up by his muzzle; that had to be painful.
"No, quiet," Alvin ordered from behind him, and Dreamer clenched his teeth with a deep breath to try to calm himself before turning.
The blistered man was sat in front of a crate, the Maces and Talons board set up on it. Dreamer approached slowly and sat down in front of it, finding all the pieces in the starting positions. Ah, so this would be why the boat was left to drift, so that they could have a game unhindered by pieces falling over.
"Play to win," Alvin ordered, making the first move while Wanderer was dragged over and dropped to the ground off to the side. Savage stood next to him to watch the game with interest.
Dreamer wanted to grin, but kept an impassive mask over his face. He had been taught the game from a young age, like every potential Chief, and was unmatched on Berk, evenly matched with Stoick from about the age of twelve. By fourteen, he was indisputably the best in the village, though actually finding anyone willing to play was almost impossible. Johann, mostly, and the occasional foreigner.
He didn't know how good Alvin was at it, the game was supposedly designed to test and nurture leadership skills, and while Alvin was certainly a leader it was clear he was of a different kind. Dreamer made the standard response to the opening, awkwardly fumbling with the piece and watching for a reaction; as much of the game was on the board as off it.
The game progressed relatively quickly through the early stages, suggesting he at least had a familiarity with it, but then Alvin slipped up a bit, allowing Dreamer to capture a longship. Dreamer removed the piece from the board, setting it aside, then moved one of his warriors onto the beach tile it had occupied. A sacrifice, but that was another of the lessons; given an equal playing field, forces, and opponent, he would need to expect to lose pieces. It was just part of battle.
Really, it was better to just avoid the battle in the first place, or come better prepared.
Alvin moved his piece forward, capturing the warrior, which was firmly placed on the side of the board-
A pained yelp caught Dreamer off-guard, snapping his gaze up to see Savage lifting his boot from Wanderer's back, which he'd clearly just stomped on. Dreamer growled at Savage, then turned it on Alvin.
"Quiet, play," Alvin commanded with a vindictive grin and a gesture at the board.
So, that was how it was. Alvin had not punished them for taking a piece, but for losing one, that had been clear by the emphasis on the taken piece. He wanted Dreamer to win without losing anything…
That would likely be impossible. Dreamer was certain he could win, but how many pieces he lost in the process would depend on Alvin, and even Snotlout was usually able to take a few. It wasn't looking good.
He thought quickly, eyes flicking over the board. If that had been the punishment for a single warrior, what would be the price of losing a Longboat? Or his Valkyrie? The sound of the Nadder's wing snapping echoed in his head. That wasn't a risk he could take.
But what would be the punishment for losing?
Dreamer took the opportunity to strengthen his right-side defences, which he had planned on anyway, to give himself more time to think. Alvin was greedy, he wouldn't permanently damage either Nighstriker, and as a last resort nothing was permanent anyway; just really inconvenient. He concluded that losing would not carry any hefty price, not when such harsh conditions had been imposed.
But he had been told to play to win, so he couldn't be seen to throw the game. He had to at least try.
Several more moves in, his spirits were taking a heavy beating. He had been offered a few increasingly beneficial trades, but he couldn't take them, particularly not for a minor advantage when he already had the upper paw. Alvin, however, was proving a competent player, and…
Dreamer surmised his mind was still developing, as he was feeling its limitations now that the game was growing more complex. He remembered plotting out four and five moves in advance, but at the moment all he could manage was two; past that point everything got too fuzzy to keep track of. Impressive, given he was barely over two years old, but a crippling limitation in his current situation.
Alvin's traitor was suddenly brought into play and took out two more warriors, earning two more stomps on Wanderer. The first had been unavoidable, the second an oversight while Dreamer was distracted.
And he was distracted, mostly by Wanderer's suppressed whimpers but even down to not even being able to hold the pieces properly. It was all grating on him in a way that made him frustrated and impatient.
Abruptly, he decided to switch tactics, and took some time to plan. He was playing from a disadvantage, but in two more moves had taken out the traitor, so there would be no more surprise beatings. He breathed a sigh of relief at that.
Next, rather than shore up his defences, he spread them out, an aggressive strategy that opened holes in his defences but in a way that left none of his pieces in danger. Alvin did not hesitate to capitalise, but Dreamer quickly did the same on the other side of the board.
This was a very strange game. No Chief would ever play like this, because it involved baiting out the opponent's defences, but that left him always one move behind. Two moves, even, because he had to ensure the safety of his pieces in a strange perversion of the way he played when he was younger.
This was a mess. He took Alvin's Valkyrie, but at the expense of another warrior and another pained yelp. He could feel the impact through the deck, and shot fleeting glances of apology, regret, sympathy, at his friend. The looks he got back were of confusion and pain, of course he didn't understand what was happening and that made everything even worse.
Dreamer might now have a piece advantage, but not a strategic one; his own Valkyrie was pinned down, and his longboats were too far away to be of any help.
Unless… He stretched his thoughts as far as they would go, trying to see past that second move ahead. Hesitantly, for he was not sure, he played his traitor.
It was a nasty piece, one that replaced one of the opponent's warriors, a reminder that even your own soldiers could be your enemies. However, despite its special abilities, it was a relatively weak piece, and the sort of plays it was used for always left it deep within enemy territory. It rarely survived the game.
However, the frenzied offense had left most of Dreamer's powerful pieces in enemy territory, so it wasn't an instant death. Alvin took a long moment to think before making the predicted move, Dreamer quickly following up.
And this was where things had been hazy… Alvin's move was unexpected, but ultimately irrelevant. Dreamer completely cornered his Chief, forcing him into action… by cornering and then taking Dreamer's own Chief.
He held his breath while Alvin inspected the piece, turning it over in his fingers. He gave Dreamer a flat look, then delicately set it on the table.
A single, last kick, and it was over. Dreamer slumped with a groan, weary and broken-spirited. Wanderer was dragged back to the hatch and lowered down, and Dreamer headed down after them. Alvin made no move to stop him.
He followed them inside the room at the back, then curled up around Wanderer, who had been dumped in the middle of the floor. "I sorry," he whimpered with a nuzzle, then began licking gently at his shoulders and back.
His best friend was silent for a while, but then twisted to bump his head against Dreamer. "Not be sorry. My hurts pain you more than pain me…"
"But you hurt because I…"
Wanderer huffed. "You strong, Dreamer, so strong… If he hurt you like this, I… I not know what I do…"
Dreamer understood; he would have happily taken the beatings in Wanderer's place and smiled for it. Alvin knew this, that was why Wanderer was suffering, and if he really did want to focus on Wanderer…
But that didn't bear thinking about. Especially because Dreamer had just realised something.
Savage had locked them in the room without shackling them. He'd earned his sliver of trust.
It took a full day for that trust to manifest in the inevitable way. This was now the fourth light of the journey, wherever it led, but Dreamer had no intention of seeing the destination. It wasn't the same place Wanderer had been rescued from, that was a different direction, so their best chance was escaping before then.
And that required a firm breeze, impatience, and Alvin releasing his tail.
Dreamer immediately swung the appendage around and kneaded the numb fins with his paws, then tried to stick them in his mouth and partially succeeded through the muzzle. The contact to release the bonds had been torturous, as expected, but expanding the wide fins in front of his face was indescribably freeing.
Of course, he still couldn't just fly away. That was what Alvin was counting on, and he certainly wasn't leaving Wanderer here on his own. He'd explained his plan to his friend, and that it might result in one more punishment. As long as it even had a chance of freeing them, Wanderer was all in.
And so, body shaking with trepidation, he leapt into the air and tentatively revelled in returning to the sky.
Alvin had just told him to fly, not do anything specific, but he was hungry. Might as well make something of it. He banked after a school of fish and dove into them, forgetting that the muzzle prevented him from opening his mouth and leaving his prey to bounce off his face and slip from his blunt claws. How aggravating.
He kicked down into the water, then powered up out of it and caught the air again to glide back to the boat and circle around it.
"Come," Alvin ordered.
This last part perhaps wasn't totally necessary, but as far as Dreamer could work out it dramatically improved their odds; a lot could go wrong otherwise. Dreamer ignored him. "Come!" Alvin repeated demandingly, but Dreamer just flew higher.
Alvin barked down into the hatch and glared up at him. The moment Wanderer was hauled onto the deck, still muzzled with his paws and wings bound to his body and tail fins tightly wrapped, Dreamer landed and shook himself off. Now neither of them could be trapped in the hold. And hopefully…
No bark of pain sounded from Wanderer, but Alvin immediately stomped up to Dreamer. That wasn't good. He shied back from the anger in Alvin's expression, recognising the way he moved and knowing what was coming. The boot that impacted his shoulder knocked him onto his side, but Wanderer had been right; this was far less painful.
Alvin seemed to realise that, and stormed back to Wanderer. This was it, he had to make his move now. Wanderer grunted, his understanding and agreement taking the edge off the brief assault in the time it took Dreamer to rise and trot briskly to the back of the ship.
His wing shot out and took the Outcast manning the rudder completely by surprise, striking him in the side of the knee; a limb that could hold a Nightstriker in the air all day needed a ludicrous amount of strength behind it. The man crumpled even as he reached for his weapon.
But nobody got a chance to react more than that. Dreamer set his paws on the rudder and heaved, digging what was left of his rear claws into the irregularities between the boards of the deck to walk it forward.
The boat immediately made a sharp turn, throwing everyone to one side, the downed Outcast almost colliding with Dreamer. The water then found itself rushing at the side of the boat and abruptly arrested its momentum, throwing everyone and everything in the other direction and leaving the boat leaning precariously in the water.
With the advantage of four legs and having braced himself, Dreamer wasted no time bouncing heavily off the injured Outcast's chest, feeling ribs crack under his paws, over to the second one now leaning against the rail. A wing aimed at his throat struck him in the chest and shoulder, but sent him over the edge and into the water. Two down.
He leapt at Savage, headbutting him in the groin and striking his knee with a paw to bring him down, then a wing struck him in the temple. His eyes rolled back as he fell.
And that left Alvin, just getting to his feet as the boat righted itself. Dreamer snarled at him, unleashing all the anger that had been building up over the last few days, and bounded forward.
Alvin found his footing quickly and lunged for his sword, but Dreamer managed to grapple his leg and bring him to the ground. The sword suddenly whizzed over his head, almost taking off his ears, and Alvin was scrambling to his feet a moment later.
Dreamer dodged forward under the sword, stopping next to Alvin and bracing himself to lash out with his tail – it collided with a sickening, splintering crack, not just breaking the ankle, but shattering it. The vile Long-Paw didn't even have time to scream, Dreamer driving a wing up and back to keep Alvin off-balance and then spinning to headbutt him over the edge of the boat.
And just like that, it was over. He let out a roar, aggravated he couldn't open his mouth far enough, then took only a moment to catch his breath before padding over to Wanderer.
He wasn't sure he had ever seen his friend so happy. However, once the ropes were eventually unknotted and undone – a painstakingly slow process - enough for Wanderer to stretch out his wings and legs, and the binding on his tail delicately and painstakingly chewed off, they did not hang around to congratulate each other.
Dreamer leapt back into the air after his friend, shouting their freedom. Even the muzzle did little to temper his joy, though it prevented his hinged mouth from opening and therefore restricted his throat and the volume he could muster.
However, they had barely even started looping and flipping around each other before Wanderer started to flag, and Dreamer was feeling it too. They were tired, hungry, and very weak, desperately needing food and rest.
And eating… would be a problem, Dreamer realised. He barked at Wanderer and levelled off, drifting into a swift and efficient glide, leaving the boat adrift behind them. Before long they found a tall sea stack to rest on, where Dreamer worked off the rest of the ropes off Wanderer. It took so long to work the fiddly little knots, even with Wanderer clawing through one of them, that by the time they were done Wanderer was rested enough to try to catch some fish; they needed his claws, as neither could use their mouths.
Dreamer purred thanks as a fish was dropped in front of him, and awkwardly worked it between the bars of his muzzle. That would be enough until they could get the muzzles off, but for that they needed help. If he still had his claws he might have been able to pick the lock on Wanderer's at least…
He shook his head and drifted into a doze, letting the fish revitalise him. They leaned into each other, but there was no overjoyed bonding, no cuddling or grooming or purring. They didn't feel free, wouldn't until the stifling muzzles were removed.
They woke to the sky-fire quenching in the water and took off again, flying into the encroaching darkness; the cool, safe, concealing darkness. They did not speak, just flew straight and efficiently.
So it was strangely a surprise when Berk started looming on the horizon. Dreamer hadn't really thought about where he was going, and it seemed Wanderer was following him, watching him with piercing and unreadable eyes.
Dreamer shook his head, grimacing at the weight and persistent clicking of the padlock, and flapped for a bit more speed. First, he would-…
He would what? As they entered Berk's waters, he glanced at the lights of the village and suddenly stalled in the air. His tired wings protested at hovering, but he couldn't bring himself to get any closer.
But Berk wasn't… wouldn't…
But Berk had.
His thoughts seized. His chest was a tumultuous storm of rage, grief, and longing. He felt he was being ripped in half between an urge to return home and another to flee danger.
He didn't know what to do.