"Johann's back!"
The distant cheer froze Stoick mid-sentence, though there was little point in continuing after the two people for whom he had been trying to settle responsibility of a yak had suddenly forgotten their feud and were fleeing to find valuables to trade with the merchant coming in to dock. Right, it was nearing the end of autumn, when the cold winds that heralded winter sped Johann back through the Archipelago to keep everyone stocked for the freeze. What was traded with him was managed by each clan, once it was ensured there were ample resources for the village, but this year it seemed likely they could buy everything Johann had, including his boat; given that dragon raids were a thing of the past, and the Berserkers were now more focused on fighting each other than hunting dragons, dragon commodities would be particularly valuable.
He sighed and conscripted several nearby villagers to run errands and get everything organised while Johann made port, as well as alert the kitchens to fire up the stoves and get some food going. Mainlanders did this strange thing called 'lunch' where they ate at early afternoon, as well as at breakfast and dinner, but it was a small price to keep the man happy. Stoick himself appreciated a hot meal after days on a boat, though preferred waiting to feast in the evening where possible.
Fishlegs wasn't anywhere to be found, nothing unusual there, but Stoick knew the excess supplies of shed scales and teeth were all stashed in one of the storehouses near the lower end of the village. The small supply they intended on keeping – it was a constantly regenerating resource, and as of yet they had no idea what even could be done with any of it beyond some gaudy scale armour – was stored further up, pure habit from when everything had been distributed around the village out of necessity. After personally ensuring the supplies for trade were ready to go, he descended down to the docks, pushed through the crowd, and watched the familiar boat as it cut through the water.
While he waited, he mused on the efficiency of dragons. It had taken over five days to reach Berserk by boat, while the dragons had taken less than a day to catch up. Sailing times would perhaps, one day, be a thing of the past… And yet, probably not, because dragons could not carry anything near the same cargo as a ship could. There would always be a need for boats.
"Chief Stoick!" Johann called out from the prow as the ship neared. "A pleasure to see you again!"
"Welcome to Berk," he called back, then helped moor the ship. "Please accept our hospitality and come ashore."
"Ah, you know the song and dance by now, old friend," Johann said grandly with a small bow. "Allow me to tend to your people first, and I'll be with you later." Stoick nodded at the expected response; were Johann to ever come ashore before satiating the tribe's excitement, he'd probably be lynched before even reaching the village.
Again, he wavered, torn between taking his right of first pick, and letting everyone else through. Hiccup had brought more than enough strangeness to the household even without trading odds and ends with the merchant, but now…
"You know the drill," he announced, turning to the line of behind him. "Four at a time, and if I hear of any of you dawdling I'll feed you to the Furies." With that, he marched his way back up the ramps to ensure nothing fell apart with a third of the village down here at the docks.
Where were the Furies, anyway? Probably off with Fishlegs, he supposed, and maybe the rest of the riders. They were all still only teens, it was unlikely they needed anything from Johann, but if they did then they'd have left orders with their families. If their frequent absences over the last few weeks were anything to go by, it wasn't likely they would catch him. Even Astrid was seldom around, having little to do while the village calmed after the summer rush but wasn't yet preparing to hunker down for winter.
Over the next few hours, Stoick kept an eye on the length of the queue, and headed to the Great Hall once it began to dwindle, where he waited patiently by the door.
"My, my, Chief Stoick," Johann exclaimed in friendly greeting as he entered the empty hall, "your tribe as delightful as ever."
"They are certainly an enthusiastic people," offered a young man who followed Johann in. "I have heard much about you, Chief Stoick, although the legends clearly do not do you justice."
Stoick, thrown a little off-guard, fell back on his Chiefly instincts. The man was dressed moderately, but his neatly trimmed hair and beard, clear voice, and impeccable posture was what Stoick associated with rich southerners, though he had the muscle of a working man. Having been addressed directly, Stoick held out a hand to shake.
The man took it cautiously, then winced as Stoick gauged how much pressure he could handle; a little less than the average Viking, not bad.
"Ah, yes, I have brought something of an expert, you see," Johann interjected, wringing his hands, "given what you told me you wanted to sell this year. In my work, it pays to be prudent."
"An expert… on dragons?"
"That happens to be the market I am in, yes," the man casually elaborated. "I am told you have a new supply of teeth and scales for trade, and that they might be unusual in nature? I must say I am intrigued."
"Only unusual in how we acquired them, perhaps," Stoick replied, suppressing the temptation to glare at Johann. What did it matter how they were obtained?
The young man grinned. "Sometimes that makes all the difference. Now then, shall we?"
They all walked to the Chief's table, where Stoick sat in his chair and gestured to four small boxes; standard procedure for dealing with traders. The two guests took their seats and each took a box, finding the assortments contained within.
"Gronckle teeth," the stranger said immediately, picking one out and holding the long tooth to the big candle on the table. "Worn, but undamaged. Shed naturally…" Stoick's eyebrow went up. "The roots are damaged, you see. And yet, the tooth is healthy, unlike a dragon kept in captivity. Curious, most curious. Not as valuable as one pulled by skilled hands, but more than most."
Johann replaced his box as a young woman brought out mead and plates of hot mutton and vegetables, thanking her warmly, but the second plate she set down went ignored. "Ah, Deadly Nadder teeth and scales, also shed naturally, and a good quality tail spine. Still sharp…" They had a particular abundance of the spines, and almost as many teeth and scales as from a year of dragon raids, but Stoick was wise to the ways of traders and knew that to reveal that would result in a lower price.
The fourth box was opened and inspected quickly, looking as if just a formality at this point. He seemed… disappointed. "All in good condition," he said as he delicately closed the last box and lined it up neatly with the others. "If the rest are as these then they will certainly sell."
"Excellent, your assistance in this matter is most appreciated," Johann exclaimed happily between eager mouthfuls. "We shall discuss privately in a moment."
"I must admit," the newcomer continued carefully, lacing his fingers in front of his face and staring at Stoick, "I was hoping to see something more… exotic."
They both spared Johann a raised eyebrow as he choked on his mead.
Stoick used the moment to think, tapping the arm of his chair. "What can you offer me?"
"Well, that is rather an open question," the man replied levelly, without hesitation. "What's the harm in looking? I myself must profess ignorance on the fifth species that by all reports resides here." Stoick simply stared back at him. "Come now, Chief, it is in your interests to be in my good graces."
It was, at that, he would be more or less setting the price on the scales and teeth, at least to start with… Stoick tapped the arm of his chair a few more times, then reached down and placed a fifth box on the table; something he had prepared, just in case.
The man's eyes grew wide and excited, though he showed no impatience as he reached out, took the box, and opened it. "No teeth?" he asked as he delicately took out the vaguely rectangular scrap of Night Fury hide and inspected it closely.
"They don't shed them," Stoick said gruffly. How had Fishlegs put it…? "Got grindstones in their mouths." That was it.
The man looked up for a moment, surprise written all over his face. "Truly? How remarkable… A shame, though, I daresay a single one holds more value than could currently be found on this island…" He frowned at his fingers as he rubbed them together. "The edges were not cut. It comes in pieces? Tricky… But worth an indefinite supply, in the long run. This will still make you a tidy sum."
Stoick was getting an uneasy feeling from this man, and it wasn't just that at no point had he offered his name. He had no intention of selling the Fury hide, it was in too short a supply to replace if they did find a use for it, but something kept him from saying so. There was no harm in getting a price he would not be using.
"And the Night Furies themselves? I am eager to meet them."
That was definitely not happening, if it could be helped. "They are their own dragons," Stoick explained diplomatically. "I don't know where they are, but they usually return at sundown."
"A pity. Perhaps I will return some other day, when I have less to prepare. For now, it is best we settle our accounts and complete our business. Johann, let us retreat to your ship to discuss, and Chief Stoick, if you would be so kind as to arrange delivery of the goods to the docks? You have my thanks." He then stood and strolled out of the Hall, one arm held primly behind his back.
"I'll tell you one thing," Johann said quietly as he extracted himself from the table, "he won't be coming on my ship again. Oh, before I depart, I do have some news, as it were. Certain circumstances have led to my plans for next year changing. Not to worry, not to worry, I will still be making my tour of the Archipelago, but I will be doing so throughout the year."
"Hmm, that is good to know," Stoick said thoughtfully. He didn't know if it would be useful or not, but maybe with more regular visits it would become a more normal thing for the village, and everyone would stop going wild at the mention of his name.
"I don't yet know my exact plans, some of it will be made up as I go, but I'll be sure to keep you informed. Ah, though it is probably best we do not keep my guest waiting." The merchant gave a slight bow and hightailed it from the Hall.
Stoick sighed deeply, then waited a few minutes before leaving the hall himself to prepare for the trade. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they would leave.
"Tell me what we're dealing with then."
Dealing with? Dreamer huffed, giving a little flap for height and looking around warily. So far, it had been dealing with them.
"Like I said, a Thunderdrum," Fishlegs supplied from the back of Meatlug, buzzing along nearby. "Big mouth, lots of teeth, no fire but its roar is lethal at close range. It's been chasing boats out of the area, but we can't get near it on our dragons, it just knocks us out of the sky." Dreamer and Wanderer grumbled at that; it was a mild way of putting it, the Thunderdrum's roar was excruciating. "So if we can't use our dragons, we need some more… traditional methods to get it under control."
"Didn't all of you finish Dragon Training?" Stoick grumbled from Hookfang's shoulders.
"Yeah, and if we wanted to kill it that might not be a problem," Astrid shouted, pulling Stormfly in a little closer to be heard. "But it's too dangerous to get near otherwise."
"I'm sure we could have handled it, Chief," Snotlout toadied over his shoulder.
"Hah, you couldn't even handle a little Night Fury," Tuffnut teased.
Ruffnut pulled her head of their dragon over to shove her brother out of the way. "All in favour of letting Snotlout try anyway?"
Dreamer smirked as Stoick totally ignored the banter, barking out orders and nodding as everyone scrambled to obey. It was interesting how vehemently they complied, not talking back or responding at all really other than to acknowledge and do as asked, particularly as all he was really telling them to do was fly in formation and keep their eyes open.
The Thunderdrum was, unsurprisingly, in its usual place, lounging on a broad shelf that rested just above the waterline and was totally cut off from the rest of the island by a sheer cliff. There was a cave cut into the rock behind it, which Dreamer suspected hadn't been there before; he didn't remember seeing it the few times he'd flown around the island.
They all alighted on the cliff well above the shelf, and peered over the edge. "We can dive in from behind, that gave us enough time to get on it," Astrid explained, "but we couldn't pin it down and stop it from roaring. It just stunned our dragons and flew away."
"Alright then, take me down," Stoick growled, unslinging his hammer.
"What's the plan Chief?" Fishlegs asked nervously.
"You drop me in there and I hold it down while you fit the muzzle," Stoick explained with strained patience. Of course. There was the Viking way… and that was about it, really. "Well?" He kicked Hookfang with his heel, and Hookfang dove, closely followed by the others. Dreamer and Wanderer stayed and looked down from the cliff; neither of them had any desire to spend another afternoon lying around clutching their ears.
It was apparently wise to them trying to sneak up behind it again, and turned to roar before they'd even made it to the ground; even from this distance, Dreamer's ears ached. The four dragons landed heavily, but a large form immediately rolled clear of the tangle and collided with the Thunderdrum, delivering swift blows and grabbing the horn above its nose.
Dreamer barked in alarm as his sire was dragged into the water with the big dragon, instantly disappearing under the calm waves. He paced the cliff anxiously, waiting for-
The water bulged and broke as a large form collided with the shelf, Stoick flopping up onto the rock with a wave of water. He was nearly pulled back in by his arm, but in moments he was hauling up the entire dragon single-handedly. "Woah, certainly gave me a run for my axe!" he said loudly, holding it down while Astrid hastily fitted the crude muzzle over its mouth; a simple system consisting of two iron plates that went above and below the mouth, held in place by whatever ropes they could secure to the dragon. "I want it trained and ready to go as soon as you can!"
"Wait, what!?" Fishlegs exclaimed just as loudly, clearly audible despite the distance; right, they were all half-deafened.
"I said, I want it trained! This is my dragon!"
"I'm begging you, work your magic on it! I have no idea what I'm doing!"
"You think I know?" Dreamer huffed at Fishlegs, exasperated. "Your scale-wing-hunters hungry. I feed them. They stuck in cave, I let them stretch. I give what they want, they friends now." He pointed a wing at the Thunderdrum, now being lowered by Hookfang back into the training ring after its third successful escape attempt. "He want leave."
"Well, as much as I'd like to let it, we can't just give up! It's only going to go back to attacking boats." He sighed heavily. "Toothy? Anything?"
Wanderer snorted. "I tell you, it water-hunter. We wing-hunters." Dreamer huffed amusement; as far as Wanderer was concerned, he was even more removed from the Thunderdrum than Fishlegs, on account of being even further removed from the sea.
Assuming it ate in the morning and evening, like most dragons, the Thunderdrum was currently missing its fourth meal, being the morning of the third day since they'd captured it. They'd tried to feed it, but it had used the slack from the muzzle to surprise Fishlegs, break its tether, and make its first escape. And things had only gone downhill from there, rejecting all offers of food or communication.
Dreamer sighed and padded over in front of it. "We only want help," he tried.
It blinked at him, then grunted so loudly it left an ache in Dreamer's ears. Did dragons of the air, land, and sea not share a language? The Speed Stingers hadn't either…
But then Speed Stingers were extremely aggressive and jittery, showing no hints of fear or anything, while this Thunderdrum looked anxious. The two species couldn't be compared in that way. So what was the problem? Maybe if they found more of them…
No, that was a stupid thing to do, given how easily a Thunderdrum could incapacitate him. He groaned under his breath and walked back to Fishlegs. "I not know. Maybe they have different words. I not understand this scale-wing-hunter."
"If you don't, what chance have I got?" Fishlegs squeaked nervously. "Oh Thor, what are we gonna do…"
Nothing for it but keep trying different things… Dreamer barked encouragement and leapt into the sky to clear his thoughts.
"How're you getting on?" Stoick confidently announced himself from the gate as he entered the training ring.
"Not good," Fishlegs called back, sounding exhausted. "We can't even get it to eat, any time we try it just attacks us and tries to fly off. It doesn't talk Dragonese, it doesn't react to dragon nip, and it's not responding to any of the stuff that we use on the common dragons. Hel, I'm having trouble even getting its attention."
"Bah, there's an easy way to fix that!" Stoick strode forward, his head high and his back straight. He was in a mightily good mood today, and things always went well when he was in a good mood. He approached the dragon and gave it a courteous greeting. "Oi, Dragon!" he shouted, puffing out his chest with his hands on his hips.
It turned on its little legs to face him, watching him intensely. Yes, this dragon was perfect. Nobody else had a Thunderdrum, it was a big and fierce dragon, capable of immobilising other dragons, clearly a strong flier with those huge wings, and it had thrown him around with ease. "I think it's time we got properly acquainted," Stoick continued cheerfully, reaching out to the dragon. It flicked its head, trying to stab him with its horn, but he quickly got a grip on it and gave it a friendly roughing before letting it go.
"Um, Chief, dragons tend to prefer a gentler touch," Fishlegs said meekly.
"That was gentle. He's still standing, ain' he?" The dragon grunted loudly, a sound Stoick felt in his ribs, and tugged at the tether anchoring it to a post affixed to the ground. It was quite a short chain, and it was clearly unhappy with it.
"Ahh, what are you doing Chief?" Fishlegs asked nervously.
"You've got his chain too short, no wonder he's fighting you," Stoick explained as he adjusted the links.
"No, wait-!"
The dragon tilted and flicked its head, wrenching the post from its hole in the ground. Out of pure instinct, Stoick grabbed onto the beast as it launched itself into the air, holding on to the muzzle and ending up draped over the side of its head.
Not the first time he had been lifted by a dragon, not even the first time being carried off by a wild one, but usually there were a few acres of village to guide the beast down to after knocking it senseless. The training ring overlooked the ocean directly, and they were already out above the waves.
But, after a moment, Stoick remembered that the bad old days of dragons raiding the village were over. He wasn't being carried off to the nest, just to wherever the dragon wanted to go. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He resisted the urge to punch its nose and just held on.
It had absolutely no trouble carrying him, unlike Stormfly, though it tried to buck him off the entire trip. Which was apparently to the same shelf they kept finding it on. Stoick let go and savoured the feeling of solid ground under his feet as he landed, even as he prepared for the dragon to charge him.
There was no such attack. The Thunderdrum just snorted at him and took up its usual position, settling onto the ground.
"Why here?" Stoick demanded. Its eyes went to him, but then back to gazing out over the sea. He looked around, but there was nowhere to go besides sheer cliff and deep water. There was the cave, but that was behind the dragon and it growled at him when he approached it.
With nothing better to do, Stoick went and sat down against the cliff. His good mood quickly evaporated as nobody turned up to give him a lift back to the village, which was odd as Fishlegs had been there to see. They would surely be looking for him, and this was the first place they should think to check.
But no, the sun crawled across the sky with no sign of rescue in sight. It was tempting to beat the dragon senseless, but that wouldn't convince it to give him a lift back.
Some hours later, two shapes caught Stoick's eye, swooping low over the water and angling towards the shelf. "Well it's about bloody time!" he announced, getting to his feet, and the Thunderdrum let out a deep, dangerous growl.
His enthusiasm died down when he saw it wasn't any of the riders, but rather another pair of Thunderdrums that glided over and alighted on the shelf. The much smaller of the two rose at seeing Thornado – a name Stoick had decided on giving his dragon at some point in the last couple of hours – but was outright attacked by the larger newcomer, receiving a bite to the face and a headbutt to knock it into the water. "Hey!" Stoick shouted. "That seemed a bit harsh!" Thornado kept right on growling through the muzzle, advancing slowly on the new Thunderdrum.
Right as Stoick was contemplating the wisdom of attacking another dragon, even a slightly smaller one, while wearing a muzzle, the two lunged and fought in earnest. He had seen more than his share of dragons fighting people, but two dragons fighting each other like this was a totally different story. There was no reprieve, no moments of consideration, just reacting and responding to attacks and openings in a flurry of wings, tails, and teeth.
Except the teeth were only on one side of the fight.
In moments, Stoick was in the fight himself, and abruptly found Thornado had been really holding back in their fight earlier. He caught the wing that snapped out at him, but while he succeeded in preventing it from taking off his head, he was thrown back by the force. Thornado used the distraction to headbutt the hostile dragon and tried to stab it under the chin with his horn, but it simply opened its enormous mouth and bit down – thankfully the muzzle prevented any real damage, giving Stoick a chance to punch it heavily in the side of the head.
A tail whipped around, slapping painfully against Stoick's side, but caught him in the stomach on the way back and threw him back several paces, where he rolled into a crouch. Thornado was bulled back and flung over in the moments following, landing heavily next to him with the post that was still attached to the muzzle clattering to the ground.
Stoick shared a look with the muzzled dragon, a single moment that seemed to last an eternity. He saw fire there, a blazing drive to fight and protect… a soul to match his own.
Without missing a beat, Stoick wrenched apart the two plates of the muzzle, snapping the rope at the side, then slung it off and tossed it aside.
They both roared mightily as they charged to meet their opponent, Thornado moving with surprising speed. The dragons crashed into each other, wide mouths trying to get around the other's, while Stoick ducked under the wing and punched it in the side. It yelped, swinging its tail around, but Stoick was ready for that this time and grabbed it, walking with it when it tried to pull him over and yanking on it to drag the dragon back.
It threw itself to the side, taking Stoick with it, but as he caught his balance, the dragon's body jerked and twitched several times. Stoick took the chance to kick it in the flank, immediately spinning forwards to deliver a heavy blow to the side of its head.
It suddenly wasn't trying to fight them anymore, throwing itself back towards the water and then beating its wings to take off and flee, leaving a trail of blood. "Yeah that's right, run you coward!" Stoick bellowed after it, Thornado adding his own loud and hopefully insulting shout as it sped away.
He and Thornado turned to stare at each other. Stoick dropped to one knee to get more on the dragon's level, and held out his hand. Thornado rumbled loudly, before pressing his snout into it.
It had been an instinctive gesture, but, Stoick suddenly realised, exactly what Hiccup had done. He'd seen the drawing of him and Toothless, and seen how he'd handled the Nightmare in the ring before Stoick foolishly spooked it. This felt like a monumental moment.
Before the tears could well up in his eyes, movement caught his eye, and he realised they were being observed. The second, smaller Thunderdrum was floating in the waves, watching them, and flapped up out of the water and onto the shelf as he noticed it. Thornado roared at it, it roared back, and they nuzzled each other.
"Ohh… I see." Stoick turned to give the new couple some privacy; though there wasn't really anywhere to go, so he just ended up sitting down facing the wall. A huff at his elbow surprised him, and turned to see Thornado staring at him, eyes looking him over as if searching for something. "No, it's fine. You go be with her." He gestured to the presumably female Thunderdrum they'd just fought for.
Thornado roared at him, and he could have sworn the dragon was smiling. "Yeah well you'd better treat her right!" he shouted back. "I don't want to have to fight you off too! Again!" Thornado roared again, and then the two hopped off the ledge and into the water.
He stood and walked to the water's edge to stare into it, and out at the horizon. Were this a bard's tale, his rescue would show up right about now, just when everything was resolved. When he eventually told the story, when he was a wizened old man with nothing better to do, that was how he would tell it.
But reality didn't work that way, and it was some time before the search party finally found him. "What took you so long?" he asked as the teens landed, plus Vidar, one of the Nadder scouts.
"Well," Astrid said dryly, "once someone stopped panicking and thought to go get help-"
"Which was nowhere to be found as nobody had told anyone where they were going," Fishlegs cut in defensively.
Stoick just folded his arms and impassively watched the argument unfold, waiting for someone to notice the situation.
That moment was marked by Fishlegs pausing mid-sentence, looking back to Stoick, and then nearly falling off his dragon. "Ah, uh, sorry Chief. But I just realised, where's…" He looked around, eyes going wide at the muzzle and wider at the pool of blood. "Oh Thor, you didn't…?"
"Eh, we came to an agreement," Stoick said amicably, dropping his thunderous expression. "Fought off a nasty dragon. There won't be any more attacks." Come to think of it, he didn't know which Thunderdrum had actually been attacking the boats, or why, but what were the odds of another one frequenting this ledge?
"You trained it!?" Fishlegs asked incredulously.
Stoick raised an eyebrow at him as he walked over to Stormfly. "I don't know if you know this, Fishlegs, but you don't just train a dragon. You first need to establish trust."
Fishlegs nearly fell off his Gronckle again, and everyone else was gaping at him. He ignored them in favour of climbing up behind Astrid.
Once they were in the air and levelled out, high above the island, Fishlegs brought his dragon up beside them. "So how did you do it? What did you do? How do we work with them in future?"
Stoick thought about the encounter, what he had done, and realised that it all basically boiled down to one thing. "Yell at it."
"What!?" Fishlegs exclaimed. "C'mon Chief, give me more than three words, please! This is very important for future encounters!"
What more did he want? Stoick thought long on what more he could say. "Loudly," he added after a time.
He narrowed his eyes at the back of Astrid's head as she desperately tried to keep herself from laughing, shook his head, and set his sights on the village. He had almost a whole day of Chiefing to catch up on. But it had been worth it.
The wind held a calling, a distant beckon to fly over the seas towards some distant land…
Apparently. All Dreamer could hear was the impatience of the various dragons saying farewell to their riders. But he did want to go, to see for himself this sacred ritual of dragons, to further his understanding of them and hopefully himself; he was tired of being ignorant.
Fishlegs finished saying goodbye to Meatlug and watched her fly off, then approached the Nightstrikers, wringing his hands. "Are you sure you want to do this? There'll be… brooding mothers! Protective fathers! Have you got everything you need?"
Dreamer stood on his hindlegs, patted around himself with his forelegs, then stared wide-eyed at Fishlegs in mock panic.
"Oh ha ha, very funny" Fishlegs said dryly, glaring at Astrid as she chuckled, though her mirth was dulled by sadness; she really cared for her Nadder. "You know what I mean. We could make a pack or something for you."
"We not need things," Dreamer said with a roll of his eyes as he dropped back down to all fours. "Also scale-wing-hunters not want attack us there. They doing other things." They'd be fine as long as they stayed out of the way.
Wanderer grunted and flicked his head towards the departing dragons.
"Yes, we go," Dreamer acknowledged, then nodded at the concerned teens and took to the air, easily catching up with the other dragons as they all angled towards the dark blotch on the horizon, a flock of hundreds.
Dreamer rumbled thoughtfully as he and Wanderer took up a position at the back of the flock, slightly above it where the air was less turbulent in their wake. They weren't flying away from the warm-nest, so these dragons hadn't come from there… He also didn't recall any mention of such a huge swarm passing Berk before taking down the Green Death, though someone was bound to have noticed it at some point.
The only explanation he could think of was that these dragons were from new nests, ones started after the queen had been killed and was no longer sucking them all in, figuratively and literally. They did mostly seem to be younger dragons, perhaps ones without the forced desire to return with the spring.
"Hrrr, I think that right," Wanderer mused when Dreamer voiced his thoughts. "Too many dragons for warm-nest. They leave, make new nests."
Dreamer continued thinking about it over the course of the long flight, wondering what the different nests would look like… The warm-nest was more or less appropriate for a mix of dragons, but ultimately was the habitat of the Green Death. Presumably, dragons out in the uncharted Archipelago would find places that suited their specific needs.
Something stirred within him, thinking of that, some dormant instinct, but it remained in slumber. He shrugged and dismissed it, quickly forgetting about it.
When the island came into view, he realised he hadn't yet thought of somewhere that all dragons could nest and lay eggs, but when the infinite clouds abruptly broke below him to reveal a large island ringing what looked to be a crater in the ocean itself, he drifted out to the side of the flock to get a better view and instantly knew this was where they were headed.
The clear water in the lake was already host to hundreds of dragons, many drinking from it or frolicking in the shallows on the strangely coloured shore, and it drained off to a pocked area crawling with what seemed like the rocks themselves. Ringing the lake itself was mostly barren rock or sand, and absolutely covered in the bright colours of Nightmares. A rounded mountain loomed over them, sporting many ledges where the sharp features of Nadders could be seen, many settled in pairs but many more roaming alone and posturing at others. Painted down one side and just about touching one edge of the lake was a dense forest, in which movement could be just about seen through the canopy – in some places, the canopy itself rustled and bowed – which, by process of elimination, must be the Zipplebacks. Joyous shrieks and roars sounded from the flock as it picked up speed, eager to finish this last leg of the journey and…
Actually, thinking about it, they were probably eager to get on with doing… something else. Something that, now that Dreamer had noticed and was trying but failing not to look for, he could see happening all over the island below. Wrrr, what exactly had he been expecting? Closed doors and bedsheets?
The dragons began filtering down to their respective areas, some swooping down over the lake for a quick drink first, and as they neared, the air suddenly became warm and inviting. It was naturally calm here, he noticed, very little wind at all, and the island seemed to radiate heat and created a perpetual updraft, much like the warm-nest. Dreamer did a little flip in the air, mirroring Wanderer's joyous and playful aerobatics; the warm and steadily rising air was very comfortable and easy to fly in.
They glided over the island for a little while, Wanderer generally following Dreamer and letting him explore as he wanted. They swooped around the mountain, skimmed the lake, brushed the treetops and flew to the far reaches of the island, which was host to some treacherous cliffs and generally barren rocky hills. There were a few dragons of various kinds picking their way around and playing with each other there, but they were few and far between.
As his initial curiosity and wonder were gradually overcome by the weariness in his wings, Dreamer let the air carry them further up over the middle of the island. "Where we sleep here?" he asked.
"Hrrr, on mountain look good," Wanderer replied thoughtfully, idly looking around below. "Find small place, too small for Spine-Tails."
"Sleep on mountain sound good." As they drifted back down, the teeming mass of vibrant colours of the Nightmares caught Dreamer's attention. "Fire-Scale alpha?" he enquired worriedly, the thought suddenly coming to mind.
"No, he not here," Wanderer reassured him. "I already look. I think he mate at nest, females come here for lay eggs. He not want other male be alpha while he gone."
"Wait, he can do that?" Human biology was fairly straightforward, but Dreamer was having trouble wrapping his head around the intricacies of laying eggs. Did dragons always lay eggs, like chickens? He was tempted to start asking questions, but found himself uncomfortable broaching the topic. Oh well, he could probably figure it out himself… by not watching and observing.
He let Wanderer pick out a ledge and dropped down next to him – the ground here wasn't as warm as he had thought it would be, but it certainly wasn't cold. Yes, this was comfortable, if a little open and exposed. He rolled his wings as he folded them and stretched his legs over the ground, purring in satisfaction and relishing the feeling of the stone on his belly.
That earned him a bit of a shove as Wanderer tried to settle and found there wasn't quite enough room for them both to sprawl, as the ledge was small by their own choosing, but after some posturing growls and exaggerated grumbling, they found an acceptable arrangement. Dreamer truly wasn't all that bothered that such an arrangement involved Wanderer lying on him. That's what he was telling himself, anyway.
A few days into their stay on the island, Dreamer woke to an odd murmur.
For the most part, Wanderer had warned him away from the other dragons as they postured and trilled to each other and generally went at it like rabbits. Instead, they occupied themselves with flying, exploring the island more thoroughly, rolling in the shallows of the water… That was something Dreamer felt he would never tire of, it was blissfully warm despite the cold ocean around it and the strange green rock was pleasantly rough and abrasive.
Wrrr, all rocks were green now, but usually a dull and pale green. The rock ringing the unfathomably deep pool was bright green, almost sickly, but sort of porous, and felt wonderful to rub his scales against. Maybe this was what happened to rock when it was kept hot all the time? No, the forge had been running for generations and showed no sign of this… maybe it needed to be wet…
Dreamer paused in his thinking, realising that it was light and he could think. Right, the strange murmur going on below him, not the constant courting and roaring that they'd been subjected to in every moment of sunlight so far.
He shuffled to let his chin drop off the end of the ledge, blinking blearily and willing his eyes to focus. The constantly writhing mass had settled, almost stilled entirely other than the occasional dragon flying out to sea and back.
Wanderer stirred, distracting him, and a toothy smile crept its way across his face. He grunted, nudging the sleeping dragon with his shoulder, then watched with bated breath as Wanderer withdrew his wing and rolled over-
And scrambled back onto the ledge at the last moment, instantly awake and looking around with wide eyes, pupils narrow slits and claws gripping the stone. Dreamer managed a strained but cheerful chirp, barely holding back the pressure in his chest that threatened to burst out into raucous laughter.
The narrow eyes focused on him suspiciously as Wanderer gradually relaxed, but Dreamer gestured down to the dragons spread out below them to hopefully distract him. It worked, he glanced down before taking a second, longer look at the calm below. "Hrrr, they start laying eggs today. We can find Storm-Fly this light." He yawned widely, rolling his shoulders and settling back down. "But not go near yet," he added sternly.
"Yes," Dreamer chuffed agreeably, stretching and shuffling onto his side to enjoy what little heat there was in the rising sky-fire. They'd be here for months, there was no rush to do anything.
Once he'd had his fill of lounging around, he climbed to his paws with a yawn and took another look around. Nothing had changed below, which was eerie given how active and volatile the atmosphere had been so far; if he looked closely, he could see the anticipation keeping everything subdued.
"Fly?" he asked.
"Hrrr, you fly," Wanderer replied, rolling onto his back and spreading out. "I want do nothing this light…"
"Nothing?" Dreamer chirped, confused, then scented his nose.
"I not sick," Wanderer growled back, swatting at him. "You need learn do nothing some lights. Just enjoy warm sky-fire."
Dreamer huffed, making sure to buffet him with a wing as he took off, flapping high into the air. Though, once up here, he didn't blame his friend for not wanting to leave the warm ground; it was winter after all, of which the freezing air was a stark reminder. In the distance he could also see great clouds and storms in every direction. Something about this place caused the storms to go around it…
Though, of course, if the freeze did go through this area, there would be no way to raise young here. They'd probably leave the Archipelago, it was said there were warmer places outside of it; they didn't call it the "Meridian of Misery" for nothing.
Curious, and wanting to work his wings to fight off the chill, Dreamer put on some speed and approached what appeared to be a solid wall of cloud, which was unusual in that it touched the sea. It looked a bit like Helheim's Gate, but not quite as foreboding, and when he neared it, turned out to be not quite such a narrow divide between clear air and fog as it had seemed from a distance.
He looked around, marvelling at how far he'd travelled in such a short time. The main island was distant, far too distant for even the loudest of roars to be heard with his sensitive ears, but it hadn't taken him long to get here at all. For lack of anything better to do, he cruised around the edge of the calm, occasionally working himself through tight rolls and turns to keep all of himself moving and warm.
Late in the morning, when he was strongly considering flying back to warmer waters to catch some fish and placate his growling stomach, he came across a small forested island just inside the calm area. It looked big enough to support some prey, even if only some rabbits, and like the egg-nest-island there seemed to be a pool of water that flowed out into the sea with the same discoloured rock. Wanderer would be at the height of envy if Dreamer returned having caught a few rabbits… Maybe he'd even bring one back. He let himself drop down almost to the water and skimmed the waves towards the new island.
He caught a smell as he swooped in under the canopy and trotted to a halt on the firm ground, the same sort of warm earthy rock smell of the egg-nest-island. Maybe it was something about the water itself, wherever it came from; certainly not snowmelt, with a lack of a mountain scraping the clouds.
There were a few rabbit trails, but the ground was rocky and their dens secure. He did spot one, but it spotted him in turn and quickly madean escape. He was following with his nose when he came across another trail, one he hadn't expected to find here. A human trail.
What would a human be doing here? How many were here? He quelled his sudden defensiveness with logic, there was no reason to jump to conclusions. Perhaps, with the raids stopped, someone was going out of their way to learn more about dragons. He'd like to meet such a person.
He followed the trail through the forest, picking up little bits of information as he went. There was little to glean from the soles of leather boots, but where a sweaty hand had gripped a branch told him plenty. They were male, adult, and one with slightly better hygiene than most on Berk.
Soon he didn't need to follow the trail, a casual whistling leading him the last third of the distance. He stumbled on a boat first though, a single-man vessel pulled well into the trees, propped up off the dirt and all its sails stowed. Dreamer did a quick circuit around it, then hopped on board and quickly looked around, finding dried food, which he left alone, canteens of water, sailing equipment, and other such essentials.
One curious object caught his eye, a cylinder with a glass bubble at one end. He'd heard stories of trinkets using glass allowing people to cast their eyes into the distance, and had been meaning to figure it out for himself before… all this had happened; wrrr, no matter, his eyes were more than adequate without it now. Judging by the musk emanating from inside the small hull, that was where the man was sleeping, so it seemed likely he was alone. Dreamer hopped off the craft and crept through the shadows towards the source of the whistling to find its owner.
The man's back was turned, legs dangling off a rock as he fished the sea with a long rod, but he had the typical Viking build; broad shoulders, strong flabby arms, no real neck to speak of. A standard double-bladed axe was slung over his back, and an open-face helmet sat next to him. He wouldn't look out of place in any Viking army, except for the odd helmet. He was downwind, but wouldn't even notice Dreamer's scent.
A curious bag with two long loops of leather trailing from it lay open a short distance behind him. He carried no ranged weapons, and Dreamer was fast, if stealth failed him. Creeping forwards, Dreamer silently approached the bag and nosed open the hole at the top.
Mostly fishing and hunting gear, it seemed, and in quite good condition. Spare line and some knives sat at the top. Maybe if he…
Something in the bag moved with the sound of glass tapping against glass, and the whistling stopped at the same time Dreamer looked up. The man was staring at him, his face the picture of pure shock.
Wrrr… Dreamer hadn't found anything to suggest ill intentions. By all appearances, this man was a simple wayfarer, finding refuge on this small island while ice tore through the rest of the Archipelago…
Curiosity and caution warred with each other. If this man was a danger, or a friend of dragons, it would be better to know about him and anyone he was working with, if possible. But Dreamer had experienced the cruelty that humans were capable of, and would feel a lot more comfortable being curious with his fire. But he had the opportunity now…
He took slow steps back while his thoughts frantically tore through the options, and the man quickly broke himself out of his shock to hastily look around himself. No, this was bad, he was probably-
Dreamer paused mid-turn as a small fish was held out to him. "'Ey there, wee guy," the man cooed, his face soft and excited. "Ah don' mean you no 'arm. Ya wanna fish?"
Ears and frills twitching tensely, Dreamer eyed him warily. He paced back and forth a few times, wracked with indecision. To give the chance, or flee and never know?
There was no aggression in the man's posture or expression, he just looked thrilled to be meeting a dragon. Dreamer tested him with a fast and sudden motion to the side, which was met with a subtle lean back, but his hand did not twitch for his axe.
The man seemed to notice him eyeing the weapon, and gently took it from his back by gingerly holding the blade, then let it slide off the rock and down to the ground, out of immediate reach. Dreamer relaxed a bit, feeling he was just being paranoid. But he was still wary as he approached; he did actually want the fish, he was quite hungry.
"Tha's it," the man encouraged gently. "I ain' gonna 'urt ya… Yer a very valuable dragon…"
Valuable. Dreamer froze, a feeling of ice washing down his back. Run!
He nearly bolted right back the way he had come, but that led past the boat and who knew what else. Right out over the water wasn't much of an option either as he didn't know what was immediately beyond the cliffs. Straight up was fast, but he wouldn't be manoeuvrable.
All this in the time for the man's eyebrows to go up and his jaw tense in regret. Dreamer threw himself sideways, running full-pelt alongside the cliff to get up to speed, then stretched out his wings and threw himself into the air.
With the safety of height and speed, he looked down on the stranger, now standing and looking up at him while scratching his head. He didn't seem to be dangerous directly, he hadn't even gone for his axe, but the calm and reassuring demeanour he had projected had Dreamer shaken. The excitement had clearly been a sign, in hindsight, but that hadn't been obvious at the time.
He shuddered in the air, shaking the lingering chill out of his back, and angled back to the island, to warmer waters where there were fish he could catch himself; which he would do later, when he had calmed down.