Beginning to feel cramped and claustrophobic, Wanderer pushed himself forwards, wriggling carefully but surely. The further he reached, the greater the reward, but the greater the risk. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he was caught; terrible, terrible things, undoubtedly.
His ears strained to pick up the muffled sounds around him, allowing him to orient himself. He was nearly there… A little closer… The grunts and thumps became talking, close, so close… A slight hitch in the one speaking-
Now or never! He shoved upwards, throwing his wings high and heaving himself to his hindlegs with a bellowing roar. A startled Nightstriker shriek met his ears before his eyes could adjust to the bright white light, and then something impacted with his belly and pushed him onto his back, knocking the air out of him.
He wheezed, struggling for breath with Dreamer sat on his midsection but laughing nonetheless as he fended off the paw angrily swatting at his head.
Astrid laughed as she charged, hampered by the deep snow but managing to duck under Dreamer's wing and tackle him. She had no hope of doing much with her puny weight, but Wanderer shifted at the right time and unbalanced Dreamer just enough to be knocked off.
Free once more, Wanderer flipped upright and ducked below the powder, spread his wings low, and bulled forwards, ploughing the snow into a pile over the downed Nightstriker. He then threw himself on top of it, squashing it down and hampering escape.
Astrid had apparently managed to get clear and was keeling over with hysteric laughter. While keeping Dreamer pinned within the pile, he used his tail to lob a scoop of snow at her, nearly burying her, and she clawed herself out a moment later, shivering violently. With a challenge in her eyes, she swiftly scooped up and compressed a small lump of snow with her long, delicate paws, and threw it at him.
The ball of ice struck the shoulder of his wing and stuck there. He looked at it. He looked at her. He looked down at the black limb jutting from the snow as it waved around and groped for something to sink its claws into.
He leapt off of Dreamer with a shout and pounced Astrid, sending them tumbling into the snow-
There wasn't anything in his paws anymore. He looked under and around himself, confused. She'd been here a moment ago…
He was showered with lumps as the snow next to him erupted to reveal Astrid. Growling happily, he swatted at her, amused by her feeble attempts to block or evade him.
An angry bark had them freeze, then look over to where Dreamer was clawing his way out of the compressed snow. "We were doing thing!" he griped, shaking himself off.
"Yes," Wanderer chuffed happily. "Now you doing different thing!" He fired a small shot at the ground in front of Dreamer, showering him with even more snow.
Dreamer stared at him, his mouth dropping open. "Why you do that?" he growled incredulously a moment later. "Might need fire for hunter ship! There many, many more now!"
Wanderer blinked at him, dumbfounded, then growled warning and bared his teeth; it wasn't his place to tell him how to use his fire.
"…Sorry," Dreamer said sullenly, then huffed. "I think I look for hunters." He took off, labouring to find lift in the cold air, and disappeared from sight.
"What's his problem?" Astrid asked mildly, though her voice was quaking as she shivered. "We were basically done anyway, it's not Berk but it's still cold out here."
"He Dreamer," Wanderer hummed, then dipped a shoulder. "Want me take you back?"
"Ohyespleasethankyou," she rambled in relief, wading through the snow to him. Some of his earlier jovial mood resurfaced, and he shuffled sideways away from her as she approached. "Hey, get back here," she chattered, then abruptly spun and stomped back towards the nest. "Fine, I'll just walk back then," she exclaimed dramatically.
With an apologetic croon, he put himself next to her and dropped his shoulder again. He had to resist the urge to continue the game, Long-Paws were less suited to cold and she was looking very cold; even he was feeling the bite of the ice through his scales. He made sure to take off as gently as he could, and used steady wingbeats so as to not throw her off.
Before the cold-season, he'd been firmly opposed to allowing any of the Long-Paws on his back regardless of the reason, but they had all been morosely trudging around since their wing-hunter-kin had left to nest and lay their eggs. They looked miserable, and though they had little to do, it was hard to watch them move around so slowly. Pride was a hollow reason to let people be miserable.
Wrrr, though Ruffnut usually griped that they flew too boringly, so they made sure to fly extra slowly and carefully with her.
He gently alighted outside the shared den, his paws sinking into the shallow snow, and Astrid quickly slipped off and opened the door. There was nobody inside, and it was not much warmer than outside, but it was sheltered from the wind which was all he really needed. He could go up to his den and flame a patch of rock to lay on, but Dreamer had flown off somewhere, and he wanted company.
Astrid piled some wood into the stone thing in the middle of the room and he lit it for her, a small shot of plasma instantly heating the wood to a merry flame. "It's nice to be able to go outside and do stuff in the winter," she said, her voice still shaking with cold, "but I didn't expect to be buried! Next time I'm bringing a coat."
Wanderer hummed thoughtfully as he padded to his usual spot. He still couldn't work out how their strange not-skins worked, sometimes they would change them out for different ones with slightly different shapes, or more of them, and on very rare occasions, none of them at all. He supposed the different not-skins had their own advantages, but it was hard to guess at. She was even now taking some off, though she was undoubtedly cold. It made no sense.
Whatever the case, she apparently hadn't had the right ones to be tossed around the snow, and now looked miserable, hunched over herself. Wanderer huffed and turned back to her, then forcibly nudged her away from the fire.
She voiced her protest, but he wasn't taking no for an answer, and forced her over to his usual spot in the corner where he tripped her over and curled up around her.
"Toothy," came a dry voice from under his wing, "I'm fine, really."
He snorted, bundling her a little closer to his chest. The contact was nice, and though she was colder than him she was still warmer than nothing, and he quickly found himself purring. She only struggled a little bit before realising the futility of it.
He was slowly sliding into a peaceful nap, listening to the merry crackling of the fire, when stomping on the ground outside roused him. The door to the den opened, he knew who it was from the weight and pattern of the stomping but he still groaned under his breath as he cracked an eye to see Snotlout entering. "…Toothy? You seen Astrid anywhere?"
Wanderer shrugged with a disinterested grunt. He didn't really mind the blustery Long-Paw, though he was smelly, arrogant, and immature, but the constant bickering between him and Astrid was tiresome. They took every opportunity to growl at each other, to the point they'd give a pair of courting Fire-Scales a good example to follow.
Except that the Fire-Scales would, after a pawful of lights, start snapping at each other and get into a big fight that would end with them mating, or at least pledging their scents to each other, while these two were still at it sky-ice-cycles later. He got the impression they weren't interested in being mates, but then why hang around each other if only to make themselves miserable? Long-Paws were bizarre creatures.
"I could've sworn I saw you give her a ride up here," Snotlout said suspiciously, crossing his arms.
Rrr, Wanderer wasn't the least bit interested in getting involved, especially as he suspected Snotlout would have plenty to say about where she was now. Rather than responding, he just let his head drop back to the ground and closed his eyes, intent on returning to his nap whatever Snotlout wanted.
"Fine, whatever," Snotlout growled. "Don't tell her I was looking for her." He threw the door open and let it thump closed behind him as he stomped away.
Wanderer sighed, but then his ears perked in curiosity. Had Astrid actually not wanted a fight this time? He lifted his wing just enough to peek under it, finding her fast asleep.
Rrmm, she had the right idea. The cold-season was a time for much sleeping…
Dreamer squinted through the driving snow, then folded his wings to let gravity take him. His sound-sight revealed Dragon's Nest in far more detail than he could currently see, allowing him to easily navigate to his den.
The howling wind had been a persistent feature of his flight since he'd left that morning, to the point he'd stopped noticing it, but now the silence was heavy in its absence – heavy and oppressive, similar to how his stomach currently felt.
He trudged to a crate at the far wall of the main chamber of their den, retrieving a dried fish and one of several sealed leather bags the size of his paw, then carried them in his mouth to the smaller chamber they slept in. He dropped the bag on the ground and curled up, half-heartedly chewing the fish but barely tasting it. It felt like he was trying to reward himself, which he sort of was, but he definitely didn't want a reward.
Viggo… An intelligent man, but one who had really had gone too far today, or rather forced Dreamer to go too far… He tried to focus on the fish, tried not to remember the explosion and the screaming. Having resolve to do something was one thing, but actually doing it…
A questioning bark sounded from the main chamber, and he wearily barked back. Wanderer entered the sleeping-chamber a moment later, glanced at the bag and the fish, then trotted over to settle in behind him. "What happen?" he asked, draping his head over Dreamer's neck and covering him with a wing.
Dreamer bit the head off the fish and chewed it aggressively until it lost its flavour, then choked it down. "Hunters stupid," he growled.
Wanderer snorted. "I know that. What they do?"
He was acting nonchalant, but there was a nervous edge to his voice. Dreamer sighed, and pawed at the remains of the fish. "We shoot wings, tail-fin-thing on hunter ships so they move slow," he hummed morosely, and Wanderer chuffed in acknowledgement. "Hunter alpha try stop us. Hunters not move away, not flee."
"They not flee from your sound-sight?"
"No," Dreamer growled. "I not will kill them… but I not can…" He whimpered miserably. If he allowed them to use their own lives as a shield, it would give them far too much protection. He had to draw that line, hopefully just this once, so that it would not be used against him and force him into choosing between human and dragon lives, likely with increasingly higher stakes.
Wanderer crooned sympathy, sadness, understanding.
"I not killed him," Dreamer clarified, feeling a little bit better just for that, "but I hurt him much…" He hadn't fired in the first dive, confused, but then thought it through…
His mind involuntarily played through the memory of the second dive, how he'd forced himself to commit to it with thoughts of how many of these concessions he would be forced to make if he allowed it, and acknowledging that it was the hunters' fault… But that reasoning felt so very petty after the shot had left his mouth, the man only then leaping away and instantly losing one of his legs, the other injured probably to the point of amputation…
The hunter might die anyway, but at best he would be living a heavily restricted life. Losing one leg wasn't a huge disability, a prosthetic kept a Viking mobile, but losing both legs was infinitely more crippling. It was not Dreamer's fault, but he had been the one to do it, the one to choose to do it…
He reached for the bag, but another paw pressed his own to the ground. "You want be happy?" Wanderer asked levelly.
"I want not think," Dreamer said quietly. He just needed to get over it this one time, he'd made it clear the strategy wouldn't work and Viggo wasn't one to throw men away pointlessly, it wouldn't happen again…
Wanderer huffed, then slid the bag out of his reach. "Sweet-grass make you not think, yes, but that not good thing." He nuzzled Dreamer's neck, and then Dreamer groaned with some relief as a firm tongue ran over his shoulders. "You need think, feel bad," Wanderer continued, "then you accept thing happened. Think how can do better thing if happen again. I think you did best thing, but you need think you did best thing. Have sweet-grass when want be happy. I not want you whimpering like lost hatchling."
Dreamer mumbled his assent, half his attention still on being miserable for himself, and the other on how wonderful it was to have the spines on his back groomed… Though when he thought about it, Wanderer seemed to know quite a bit about when not to use sweet-grass…
He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. There was so much pain in the world, but if he wanted to fix any of it there would be times he would need to cause it himself-
No, that just made him as bad as everyone else. He was giving them a choice first. He had given the hunter a choice. Perhaps he was being bribed or threatened, but he'd chosen it.
"I not think I need sweet-grass," Dreamer purred after only a short time; Wanderer had done his usual thing of making the issue seem simple, and at least somewhat more trivial than it had seemed before.
"What?" Wanderer barked, then hurriedly pawed the bag back. "I think you need sweet-grass, cold-season boring."
Dreamer chuckled, then sat up and set about the somewhat awkward task of getting the bag open with his claws.
The cold-season raged on, the occasional frosty tranquil day providing brief reprieves as the nights grew longer and colder.
Dreamer shook Fishlegs off his shoulders and shivered violently from head to tail, not all that enthused for the prospect of using his fire for something other than warming up. But then, he only wanted to use his fire to warm up because he was out in this miserable weather, which was specifically to practise with his fire.
There wasn't much else to do. Flying any real distance in this storm would literally freeze his wings before long, the sky-fire was barely bothering to kindle, and though the wind wasn't nearly as aggressive as on Berk it was still bad.
But here was something of a sheltered hollow at the foot of the mountain, too wide and open for a den but providing decent shelter from the wind and snow. Fishlegs even felt comfortable enough to throw his hood back to better look around. "Still beats the weather on Berk," he said cheerfully. "Is this normal for Night Fury training?"
Wanderer huffed. "Not normal for Nightstriker use all fire every light." He ignored Dreamer sticking his tongue out at him. "We do this fast, very cold this light." He said the last word wryly, with a glare at the sky.
"Yes," Dreamer agreed wholeheartedly, and Fishlegs took out a notebook; he was already scribbling in it, though they were yet to actually do anything.
"You know you have plasma, air-fire," Wanderer recapped, listing the two components he'd been using so far. "Air-fire have two parts. You know this?"
Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, then chuffed in acknowledgement. He was vaguely aware there was something more there, just not really what it was or what it did, and he'd not managed to make anything different happen with it on his own; not that he'd tried often, most of his fire went into crippling ships where he couldn't afford to do anything other than what he knew would work.
"Good. You know what normal shot do." He took a breath and fired at a nearby tree a few body-lengths away, blasting straight through the trunk. The bare branches cracked and snapped as they crashed into the ground in a flurry of snow. "Now see when use more air." He fired at another tree, but instead of a powerful explosion punching through the trunk, there was a much louder, more instantaneous explosion that made Dreamer flinch, and a shockwave that hit him all at once. The tree shuddered, and the snow was knocked off its branches, but when everything settled…
Dreamer peered through the snow at the bare trunk of the tree, trying to see where it had been hit.
"More air make fire burn faster, explode faster," Wanderer explained. "Air replenish very fast also, good for if not much air-fire left."
The tree was unharmed… "We can use this against hunters?" Dreamer asked, feeling his head spin with the possibilities.
"Hrrr, when can control your fire better, yes. Small shots can hurt but not kill."
"So, it's more like a concussive shot?" Fishlegs asked. "Kind of like a slap, instead of a punch?"
"I not know what that mean," Wanderer huffed.
Dreamer hummed thoughtfully. "I think that right. I try." He took a breath, focused, adjusted the air-fire as he released it…
And totally failed the shot altogether, accomplishing only what probably looked like a flaming belch.
"Do not let on to the twins that you can do that," Fishlegs warned with a laugh, still scribbling furiously.
Dreamer huffed at him, then tried again. The shot struck the tree with the desired cracking explosion, and again the shockwave felt like being hit with the surface of the lake.
"Good!" Wanderer barked happily. "We practise on prey-things." The three of them looked around the cold, desolate forest. "…We practise when warming-season come," he clarified.
"There are still boars out there," Fishlegs pointed out.
"You want hunt in that?" Wanderer huffed at him, gesturing with a wing.
"I'm not a fire-breathing lizard," Fishlegs countered. "Though I'll tell you what, I'd love some fresh meat… I got used to it when we had it all the time. We could set the spit up over the fire in the communal hut."
Dreamer found his mouth was watering, and vigorously shook his head. But it did sound like a really good idea, however unpleasant the hunt itself would be… "Maybe," he huffed.
Fishlegs pumped his fist in between making notes; he hadn't actually stopped writing yet. "Keep some of your fire if you can, got something to show you with the Dragon Eye." He spoke with a veiled excitement, though the only lens he could actually use without the Nightstrikers was the Gronckle one. Apparently, Nightstrikers could use all the lenses they had, but the other dragons could only use their respective lens.
"Yes, I keep some fire," Wanderer huffed before Dreamer could ask him.
Dreamer bumped heads with him happily, then expended his two remaining shots on a pair of trees, making them as small as possible and just getting a feel for the new way of shooting. "What happen if use less air?" he asked, working his mouth and trying to feel if he could get the balance to go the other way.
"Not can do that," Wanderer hummed, having huddled to the ground.
Indeed, he couldn't work out how to close the air off as he was doing with the fire part of it. It didn't seem as if it would be all that useful, but he was curious what it would do.
Well, he was out of plasma anyway, and though he still had air-fire left, it felt… as if it lacked pressure or something. It was a strange sensation.
"That's it?" Fishlegs asked, apparently done with taking notes.
"Yes, no more plasma," Dreamer acknowledged, then offered his shoulder. Fishlegs was easily the heaviest of the riders, and the weight was quite pronounced on his back, but it didn't weigh him down enough to hold him to the ground.
Although, he thought wryly as he struggled to gain lift in the cold air, some thermals would be nice. It was amazing how much of a difference it made, but he could handle it. By far the bigger discomfort was Fishlegs squeezing around his neck, lacking anything to hold on to.
They landed on the ground outside Fishlegs' hut without incident, and hurried inside. Of course, Wanderer immediately went to Meatlug's slab and flamed it, then huddled on the warm rock with a happy groan. Dreamer very nearly shoved him over to enjoy it with him, but remembered at the last moment that Fishlegs wanted to show him something.
Actually, he already felt he could flame again. After this…
"So when I was working with Toothy earlier," Fishlegs explained as he set the Dragon Eye on a crude stand in front of Wanderer, "I tried messing with all these settings on it. Don't worry, I took detailed notes on what they were originally, what I changed them to, and how."
Dreamer turned his objection into a yawn, hoping it wasn't obvious.
"Anyway, I found this…"
Wanderer lit his mouth, lighting up the wall with…
"You find another eye?" Dreamer asked, confused. They hadn't had a lens for the Catastrophic Quaken before winter, and Johann hadn't had any at all, but that was what was prominently displayed on the wall.
"No, that's the thing," Fishlegs said excitedly, "this is the Gronckle lens! There was a whole other dragon on it we didn't even know about!"
Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, then approached the images and reared up to get a closer look.
"This explains how the hunters were so prepared." He ran his finger along one of the spines protruding from the image of the Quaken. "See, these spines have these nerves in them, I think they're how the Quaken 'sees' when it's curled up. Kind of like how you see with sound, maybe?"
"Not with sound, I think," Dreamer mused, "but similar, yes." What looked like little imperfections in the image were actually just extremely fine details, there was a sort of jagged hollow core to each of the spines and faint waves radiating around them. It made sense once it had been explained to him, but figuring it out in the first place would involve a lot of guesswork…
Or a boulder-class dragon enthusiast. Fishlegs was already going on about its hide, detailing the layers and that they were similar to Gronckles but additionally had large stiff scales over its back and sides. There was also an astonishing amount of muscle around its chest, explaining how such a heavy dragon could fly, though it would consume a lot of energy to do so.
He let Fishlegs have his fun, not wanting to interrupt, but had to ask the question when they got onto the density of its claws and teeth. "You try other eyes with this?"
"Yeah but nothing yet," Fishlegs replied, tracing one of the symbols surrounding the dragon. "This specific combination of settings doesn't change some lenses and doesn't show anything on others, I think there are more on there but there's so many combinations. It's going to take a while to go through them all."
Dreamer went back to the Dragon Eye, surprised to find Wanderer practically snoring, his mouth partially open to reveal the glow but otherwise looking relaxed and asleep. There had to be a better way of doing this…
As the sun set over a particular island in the Barbaric Archipelago, a dense and impenetrable cloud rose from the shore and crept across the ground. The island's inhabitants watched curiously, uncertainly, unsure what to think or do, as it gradually picked up speed.
The first people enveloped by the smoke descended into coughing fits, too slow to react but providing warning to others to raise the cloths they wore around their necks. Shouting started soon after, incoherent and confused. Weapons were wrenched away by unseen forces, helmets too, then tools, armour, buckles, anything metal, heedless of the wearers or their dragonskin apparel.
Chaos reigned supreme. Nobody knew what was happening, other than that the smoke was alive. Within the cloud that had spread over half the island, smaller, denser clouds roamed inside it, swarming on people and structures, both of which often collapsed afterwards. There was shouting, begging, desperation, many ways in which the fear manifested itself, all adding to the grand discordant symphony with seemingly no end.
While this went on, tendrils tentatively reached into the forest covering the other half of the island, searching… and then, finally, the bulk of the cloud surged forward, leaving a cold despair in its wake as the light breeze slowly cleared the air.
Vikings blinked their eyes clear of the smoke, frantically looking around for something to fight, though few still held weapons to fight with. Some people were running, though there was nowhere to go; perhaps they didn't care. They were stopped anyway.
Many had been injured, cuts and gouges that healed into impressive scars. Much was broken, but it was all eventually repaired and rebuilt. A lot was stolen, all recovered from the dragons responsible for the attack.
All would remember this as a wild and exciting time, many would drink to it and tell their stories fondly. It all came and went quickly, in a matter of days, and everything returned to normal. By the time anyone realised what had actually been taken, it was far too late.
Returning to Berk for the second time in a few days was honestly no more or less underwhelming than the first. Though the cold-season was finally departing Dragon's Nest, its icy talons still very much gripped this tough little islet.
Still, today there were signs of activity and life. Vikings busily cleared snow from the main paths and waded through it everywhere else, some of the more adventurous fishermen were taking to the sea, there were even a few dragons in the air, likely those hatched the previous winter and thus too young to mate yet.
Even still, it felt… somewhat dull.
Dreamer shook his head and focused on landing in the field at the bottom of the village, being sure not to drop Astrid to the ground too heavily, and then worked his shoulders. He couldn't complain, it had been his suggestion in the first place, but he really wasn't used to flying with the weight on his back, not for so long.
"You are not a comfortable dragon to sit on for hours," Astrid griped as she stretched beside him.
Dreamer turned on her, ready with a scathing remark… then closed his mouth, thinking that having a comfortable back wasn't exactly a compliment, so by extension she hadn't insulted him.
"I do appreciate the ride though," she continued sincerely, oblivious to his reaction. "Thanks."
"Definitely, thanks a lot," Fishlegs agreed, then caught his foot on Wanderer's wing as he dismounted and fell into the snow with a startled shout.
Dreamer purred, and was then distracted by wings beating the air towards them. "Toothy, Hiccup!" a loud, deep, jovial voice called out, followed by a deafening roar that had him staggering.
His mouth fell open a little as Stoick descended on Thornado. Despite being on Berk for over a whole season after the two had partnered, he'd never seen them actually fly together. The Chief was too proud to accept training, and too stubborn to admit it would make his life easier, but… here he was, riding a dragon, and looking reasonably natural in doing so. It was surreal.
Stoick dismounted carefully but surely, and Dreamer happily bounded over to him, ecstatic with this revelation. "Woah there," Stoick shouted, grabbing Dreamer in a bear hug that cracked his back. "Have you grown again?" he asked in a playfully scolding tone as he let him go. Dreamer purred, holding himself high; with his forepaws on the ground he wasn't quite as tall as his sire, but he was getting there. "By Odin Toothy, I think you've grown even more than him!"
Wanderer, trotting up to join them, shot Dreamer a smug grin, so Dreamer tackled him. They were tired from the flight, and for having made it three times in as many days, twice while carrying passengers, but he wasn't feeling it much right now. He expected to sleep long into the next light though.
A chorus of loud, shrill roars interrupted them, and when Dreamer's ears stopped ringing he heard Stoick chuckling. "Seems I've found a few more fledglings to keep myself occupied," the big man said fondly, though with a dark, sad tone underneath.
Three Thunderdrum fledglings, each maybe the size of Dreamer's head, dropped into a clumsy landing and bounded up to the Nightstrikers, who hurriedly got to their paws. The little dragons loudly and cheerfully roared at them, and Dreamer couldn't help but flinch and press his ears to his neck, but when they were done he offered them a purr.
Their jovial expressions quickly turned confused and then disinterested, and they hopped over to Thornado, the four of them happily shouting and roaring at each other.
"Keep it down yeh bunch o' howling draugrs!" Stoick bellowed at them, and the four Thunderdrums shouted happily back at him before taking off. "By Thor they're a handful though," he grunted as he watched them go. "How are things going at… Dragon's Nest, did you call it?" Dreamer nodded happily, and Stoick laughed. "Well I can't say it isn't appropriate."
"It's going well," Astrid supplied, walking up and clasping his proffered hand, then starting the walk up into the village. "Good to see you again Chief. There are a lot of hunters out there, all organised under some guy called Viggo Grimborn. You'd think he's a Southerner by the way he talks, I guess."
"It's a Norse name," Stoick mused thoughtfully. "I don't know of any Grimborn clans though."
"Weird. Anyway, the Furies destroy their masts to limit their mobility, but we've had a few skirmishes. Some… went better than others."
"You're standing here now," Stoick replied proudly. "You just don't admit where it didn't quite work out so well," he added conspiratorially. "Is Snotlout…?"
"Still at the Nest," she said dryly. "He's fine, he just didn't want to come. Convenient, saved the Furies a third trip."
"Jorgensons are rarely convenient," Stoick added just as dryly, then lowered his voice. "I think it's for the best. He's a bit of a sore spot for Spitelout, since you flogged him so soundly in that race."
"Yeah, he's been acting really weird too. You know he hasn't hit on me once since then? Not that I'm complaining, it's just like… like when Hiccup was suddenly popular." Stoick hummed knowingly at that.
The peculiar emphasis she put on his name said she was speaking about him… Not him now, but before he was a Nightstriker, though he was the same person, she just didn't know…
This was making his head hurt.
Wanderer, who was trailing along, huffed at him and tossed his head impatiently, gesturing to the sky.
But Astrid noticed, and smiled slyly as she walked. "How's the Snoggletog feast coming along Chief?" she asked, glancing back and grinning as Wanderer froze.
"Good, actually, we brought it forward a day for when you got here, so we can start now. How'd you know?"
"Just a lucky-"
Wanderer bowled past her to sprint up the path, kicking up sprays of snow everywhere, and Dreamer churred apologetically at them before hurrying after him.
Fishlegs wasn't… quite used to having the rapturous attention of his entire family, but while he was extremely nervous and kept stumbling over his words, he was positively giddy at being the centre of attention.
"Incredible," his uncle said levelly, "a device that stores information… One might wonder why they didn't just use a book, though working with dragons isn't a good environment for parchment, and certainly not paper. May I see a lens?"
"Erm…" Fishlegs spotted the empty bag, and looked around the crowd. "If you can find one. They were all in that bag." A lot of minor arguments suddenly broke out as the people without lenses realised they'd been passed around, and fought to get one. Well, if it got out of hand, Aunt Ragnhild was in the back to sort it out. "If there's as much as a smear of grease on one, I'm never bringing it back!" he warned. "Anyway, I've looked, until you put them in the Dragon Eye they're just clear glass, or they look like it. I don't know how it works, and I'm not going to try taking it apart to find out."
He did his best to answer the barrage of questions that followed, not even getting time to go over the image itself before the Gronckle's lava faded, the images on the wall going with it. He decided to wait until there weren't any more questions before waking his cousin's dragon to provide more.
They were all pretty good questions too, though he didn't have an answer to most of them. In general he just had to agree that it was a hideously complicated system, but had no idea as to why it had been made to work the way it did.
"Has everyone seen a lens ye'?" Ragnhild suddenly barked from the back, and everyone froze. A few hands went up, and lenses were sullenly passed to them to inspect. She watched sternly as they looked, and then they were all passed forward at the flick of her wrist. "Good," she said with a nod, "Fishlegs, a moment o' yer time, if yeh will."
Fishlegs gulped, and took a step forward-
"Bring yer device," she added with a sideways glare at the rest of the family; she seemed suspicious they would tamper with it, probably for good reason. He nodded again and retrieved it and the lenses before following her to a table behind a pillar.
She took a seat, her back to most of the Hall, and motioned him to sit opposite her. He stumbled into the chair, having absolutely no idea what she was about to say and simultaneously dreading and anticipating finding out.
"Ah assume Stoick'll tell Astrid, an' she'll tell you, bu' yeh should know, lad," she said ominously, not needing to speak loudly over the distant sounds of the feast. "We been gettin' weird rumours, o' someone ridin' a dragon."
"Not one of us?" he blurted out, his tension transitioning into fierce curiosity.
"None o' you lot ride a dragon o' metal, an' ah doubt yeh be burnin' down ships an' houses."
"No, definitely not," he hastily agreed, intrigued by the concept of a dragon made of metal. "But… That means there's another rider out there, someone else… Wait, houses? Where?"
"Ah dunno exactly, started someplace south. Tha' were a while afore winter, prolly 'appened afore yeh left. Last we 'eard they were goin' east."
"That does seem to be where everything's happening these days," Fishlegs mused. "Thanks for the heads up, we'll keep an eye out."
She gave him a stern look, and he wilted again… then put the Dragon Eye into her waiting hand. "I was going to show you," he muttered, but she just snorted as she carefully satisfied her curiosity.
"I swear, you guys all had the worst timing to get homesick."
Dreamer groaned, flexing his hindclaws just next to his neck, beside his ear. Should he listen to Snotlout, who had just barged into their den probably the moment he noticed they were back at Dragon's Nest, or should he ignore the rider in favour of a few lengthy but satisfying hours of clawing at his irritated hide?
He should probably at least see what it was about. He walked out into the main chamber and fixed Snotlout, sat on Hookfang in the entrance to the cave, with a level glare. "What?" he huffed, and Hookfang snorted back at him.
"Ran into a hunter ship yesterday, they said Viggo wants to talk," Snotlout said impetuously. "Said to be there on a little island just north of where we met him in two weeks. I figured you'd be in."
"You talked with them?" Dreamer asked incredulously. "You should be careful!"
"They were waving a white flag- Look, it's a Viking thing, it was fine. I said I'd deliver the message, message delivered!" He tugged on Hookfang's horns, and they fell backwards out of the cave.
Rrr, 'two weeks' wasn't a very specific time frame, given Viggo would have given the message to the boat with no knowledge of exactly when it would be delivered. Snotlout should have thought to get more details.
But then, thinking about it, Viggo was a man of specifics... If Snotlout had been told two weeks, they must be planning on sailing back and arranging it based on exactly when it had been delivered, which explained the timeframe. Worst case scenario, nobody would be there and it would just be a regular patrol.
Two weeks as of yesterday then. That would give them plenty of time to get Stormfly's and Meatlug's fledglings settled somewhere, get their shedding out of the way, Johann would be sure to make a visit soon to pick up what came out of that, and then it was business as usual, more or less.
Speaking of his shedding… he twitched from head to tail, writhing uncomfortably, and turned to find some relief in his friend's claws.
Astrid leaped from Stormfly's saddle as they descended, axe in one hand and dagger in the other, taking a spur-of-the-moment opportunity to sink the short blade into the sail and shred it from top to bottom.
She immediately regretted doing so, with how quickly the bottom yard rose to meet her, but her quick reflexes got her feet under her to absorb the impact and leap off it. She landed in a roll and immediately spun, slashing deeply into two hunters' legs and quickly taking stock of the situation.
The only net launcher was already a smoking ruin, courtesy of one of the Furies before they landed, and there were only a few hunters on the deck to start with. The rest were in the cabin, of which the doorway was blocked by a flaming Hookfang and jeering Snotlout.
Even the twins were joining in on the fray, Tuffnut swinging a mace that was far too heavy at a hunter who was surely about to gut him… But then Ruffnut darted in with a pair of daggers, forcing him to react to the faster threat, then jumped away just in time for Tuffnut to finish swinging and embed the heavy weapon into the hunter's stomach.
Astrid winced in sympathy as the man slowly keeled forwards and curled in on himself, even as she dodged and deflected sword strikes with her axe. This hunter was stronger than her, she was quick despite the weight of her weapon and could hold him off… but she knew she couldn't take him on her own.
But she wasn't on her own. "Stormfly!" she called out, and the hunter was soon moving considerably slower with a Nadder spine jutting out of his shoulder. "I don't suppose you want to go lay down for a while?" she asked sweetly, stepping forwards as he staggered backwards.
He scoffed at her, face scrunching angrily. "This is-"
Whatever he was saying was cut off as Astrid jabbed her axe upwards, catching the bottom of his jaw and knocking him out cold. "Too bad, you don't get a choice," she said as he collapsed-
She hurriedly grabbed his shirt and pulled him forwards, so that he didn't fall on the spine in his back; that could turn the wound from a neat scar to something far worse, depending on how he fell on it.
The twins hefted up the cargo doors, and a Nadder quickly clawed its way out and flapped into the air, closely followed by a Gronckle buzzing out and a second Nadder. "Clear!" Fishlegs called up before emerging on Meatlug a moment later, which was just as well because Snotlout was unsurprisingly having trouble holding the remaining hunters back at the door.
Stormfly was posturing around it, not able to get around Hookfang and Snotlout, but Astrid leaped onto her neck to direct her. A warning shot of white-hot fire hit just above the door, instantly charring the wood, then a second hit the frame. Not entirely inside the cabin, as she was at an angle, but it forced the hunters shoving their way out to hastily retreat or suffer some serious burns. If it also forced Snotlout and Hookfang back, that was fine because they were supposed to be leaving anyway.
Snotlout shouted something likely obscene as he stumbled back, then took the moment to jump on Hookfang and follow her into the air. The Furies startled her a little, their fresh hides almost gleaming in the sunlight as they came out of nowhere to pass either side of her, but that wasn't anything unusual.
The fights were becoming normal and routine, a feeling that hadn't abated over winter, she was finding herself better able to focus on her surroundings and keep track of where everyone was and what they were doing. The Furies, however, somehow evaded her notice or moved too quickly to follow.
She stretched and put the thoughts from her mind, just happy to be back in the fight.
This really couldn't have happened at a worse time. Dreamer was anxious to leave, to find out what Viggo wanted to talk about, not to mention it was a beautiful day for flying, but...
"I am afraid I have been put into a most uncomfortable position," Johann said morosely to Astrid. "The pieces you traded me were very well received, of course, but they… well, they want a full set from the one Fury, so to speak."
"A whole Night Fury hide?" Astrid asked slowly, and Dreamer, watching from afar, rumbled curiously. "I'm not sure you have the reputation to take such a loan," she said dryly.
"I'm not sure I deserved that," Johann huffed, though his voice was heavy with regret. "But I do not intend to take a loan." He pulled out a small chest and opened it for her, though Dreamer couldn't quite see the contents.
"Give me a moment." Astrid leaped off his ship to the pier and jogged up to the flat from where Dreamer was watching with Fishlegs, who was ready to take off; they were still waiting on the twins and Snotlout. "He wants all of your hide, or… Yeah, you can tell them apart by scent or something, can't you?"
"Yes," Dreamer replied absently. Johann must be offering them gold, which was something he hadn't considered. It would mean actually having something of real value – though the Dragon Eye already fell into that category, even more so as its knowledge and use against the hunters could not be priced or replaced. Perhaps having a stash of gold in a safe place would even be beneficial, if they kept the Dragon Eye in a safer place within that; any would-be raiders who found the gold would not think to look further into the same place.
Even still, that was a small chest. Johann was very tight-lipped about his business and its value, but Dreamer had tagged along with his sire when he'd been able to sneak in and so had an idea of how much dragon scales were worth. At best, they were being offered enough for a Nadder's hide, and not even one in top condition.
He decided to push his luck a bit. "I get my shed hide," he explained. "Tell him he find hollow-tree-thing that fit it, then fill that."
Astrid blinked at him, struggling to work through the words, but Fishlegs stepped in. "You mean, take a chest that would fit the hide, and fill it with gold? Huh, yeah that sounds like a fair trade."
"Alright, I'll do that," Astrid agreed, then jogged back down to the merchant.
"...Shouldn't she be wondering how a dragon has a sense of value?" Fishlegs asked quietly.
Dreamer shrugged with a grin and leaped into the air, preparing himself for an arduous task of sniffing scraps of their dead hide and sorting one from the other. He'd almost thought to do it while they'd been shedding, he'd even been thinking somewhat rationally through most of it, but for some reason he'd decided not to bother. Next time he was definitely doing it.
Wanderer, who had been wheeling above, joined him to find out what was going on, and between them the task wasn't too bad. When they returned to the pier and dropped a crude crate stuffed with black scraps next to the boat, Johann simultaneously boggled and winced. Which was a fair reaction, there was quite a lot of it, probably about a thousand gold pieces with the deal Astrid had hopefully brokered. Better than the hundred or so he'd originally offered.
Still, a similarly sized chest was selected, and Johann descended into his hold and returned with it, straining to lift it back onto the deck. Dreamer knew Johann too well to think he wouldn't have come prepared, and would be making a small fortune off it anyway. He also knew Astrid, and that she wouldn't have backed down or agreed on anything less. Most people would not get away with that with the sly trader, but Astrid was not most people, and they were trading a rare commodity.
"Uh, what are we going to do with all that?" Fishlegs asked as Astrid hefted the chest up the ramp. "Stick it in our hut?"
"I put it in my den," Dreamer offered; though not impossible, it was extremely difficult to get to without a dragon. That was where they were keeping the Dragon Eye when they left the Nest for any period of time, so it would suffice for a short-term solution. He took the chest from Astrid – which proved to be extremely awkward while ensuring it wouldn't tip over and spill its contents into the bay – and carried it up to his den. Landing proved to be even more awkward.
With it safely tucked away, and Johann already departing, he licked the fresh grazes on the back of his paws, and then barked summons as he soared up to where Wanderer was circling overhead again. The twins and Snotlout emerged from their huts to join them shortly after, Astrid and Fishlegs then took off from where they'd been waiting by the pier, and they were finally getting underway to this meeting. Dreamer set a brutal pace, by the other dragons' standards, wanting to make up for lost time.
And of course, the flight started with arguing… This was really getting tiresome. For some reason, Astrid seemed to think her grudge vindicated since visiting Berk and was acting pompous, while Snotlout naturally pushed back by being even more sardonic and rebellious. Apparently there'd been some incident where he'd stolen her axe – which was quite a feat, she literally slept with the thing as it had been given to her by her departed mother – and used it to pick the mud from Hookfang's claws. His belt knife would have done the job far more easily, he clearly just wanted to spite her for whatever reason.
So, of course, in their next sparring session she nearly beat him through the gates of Valhalla…
It gave him something to think about as the morning wore on, though the sea passed below them slowly.
After snarling the squabbling pair down for what must have been the fifth time, Dreamer groaned under his breath and glanced back at everyone else. Fishlegs was flipping through a notebook looking very bored, Ruffnut appeared to be asleep, and Tuffnut was staring at the water with the eyes of someone contemplating the merits of jumping.
This had passed through 'ridiculous' and was now intruding into 'absurd'. From what he understood of Viking grudges, the solutions were generally to give both participants a big stick and let them have at it, which either resolved as mutual respect or one essentially asserting dominance, or they would avoid each other with a commitment that bordered on obsessive.
But this team was too small for them to always avoid each other, and any fights that came to blows were far too one-sided with Snotlout's raw strength falling victim to Astrid's superior combat skill. He was then too stubborn and proud to admit defeat, though Dreamer didn't know what was actually keeping him here in the first place.
Astrid clearly held ambitions, if not of leading the group as a whole then at least by asserting herself as an authority figure over the other riders; Dreamer didn't mind that in the slightest, it was convenient to let her handle things while he focused on the hunters. However, he didn't know what her problem was with Snotlout specifically, though he was pretty sure his problem with her stemmed from the Thawfest games.
An unknown factor on both sides, and neither willing to talk about it rationally. Letting them sort it out between themselves wasn't working...
Those thoughts were firmly pushed from his mind as they passed over the old hunter camp where they'd first met Viggo. The remains of the hut were still visible on the hill, among patches of snow, though the wood littering the ground was dark with rot. He'd felt no satisfaction at destroying the structure, but nature was reclaiming the island, which was good; it had clearly served as a hunter outpost for many months at least, by the trodden ground and wide straight path through the forest.
It did not take long from there to find the island Viggo had requested for the meeting, the two landmasses were almost within sight of each other. It was also surrounded by several ships armed with launchers, and a ring of hunters lined its tall cliffs.
Viggo's distinct form, with his short black hair and beard, heavy pauldrons, and stiff posture, sat cross-legged in a field of blue flowers that were blooming in the melting snow. Today he had a pale silver shield on his back in addition to his regular armour and heavy sword, and the rings around his eyes didn't look quite as dark.
The man did not stand as he noticed the dragons' approach, but he did gesture to a wide stump that sat in the field in front of him. Dreamer didn't like this at all…
But Viggo was not reckless. "Fish-Legs, come," Dreamer barked. "Others watch."
"We'll cover you," Astrid confirmed.
Dreamer nodded, and began a slow descent. Viggo watched him impassively, and he watched back, searching for those subtle tells. He pulled into a hover, just above the stump, reading Viggo's every tiny movement. A measured breath holding back a sigh, a tiny roll of his eyes, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head… He was impatient, but not tense, or wary of those wheeling far above.
Dreamer dropped onto the stump, instantly realising it was not a stump but rather just a wide log that had been placed there. Fishlegs brought Meatlug down to the ground next to him-
"I would not do that, were I you," Viggo warned, a hint of surprise to his words. "Do you not recognise blue oleander? Its pollen is quite poisonous to dragons, including Gronckles."
Fishlegs hurriedly pulled up again, and Dreamer growled and spread his wings.
"I think I am being reasonable," the hunter said casually, "I need some sort of assurance that you would not simply kill me or carry me off. Extreme measures are necessary for dragons such as yourself. Just as you need assurance," he gestured to the sky and the dragons circling in it, "that my men will not simply shoot you. I truly do only wish to talk."
Dreamer eyed him suspiciously, then shuffled over to give Fishlegs room to hop down from his dragon, who then heeded a signal to join the other riders.
Viggo clasped his hands. "Excellent. Now," he addressed Fishlegs, "will you be speaking for your group?"
"Uh, no," Fishlegs replied nervously, "just translating, really. Huh, I do remember reading about oleanders… I don't think he's bluffing."
Hiccup huffed in acknowledgement, then sat on his haunches and stared down at Viggo; any superiority he felt from being higher was negated by having Fishlegs squashed up to his side.
"Very well," Viggo said amiably. "To put it bluntly, I want a truce. It is not profitable to run this operation with you flying around and crippling every ship you come across, to say nothing of freeing the dragons we capture and injuring my men in the process."
"One, I hurt much," Dreamer snarled back.
"Wait, you what?" Fishlegs squeaked in confusion. "When was this?" Dreamer just shot him an annoyed glance. "Oh… Uh, one hunter he hurt a lot…?"
"Fascinating," Viggo said quietly. "Is this language common to dragons, or was it invented?" Dreamer snarled again. "Very well, yes, him. Fear not, he is in Valhalla, by his bet."
Dreamer was floored, his wing brushing down Fishlegs' back as he sagged. That might be better than spending a life with no legs, but…
"You truly are averse to killing? Curious, most curious… He was already dead. Internal injuries, a slow poison. I am not a monster, Dreamer. He wanted to go out fighting, you simply granted his wish, in a sense. Speaking of poison, I am sure you are eager to conclude our business?" He tossed a rolled parchment to Fishlegs, who opened it cautiously and then held it for Dreamer to examine. "A truce. We will divide this region between us, I will limit my operation to the north where you will refrain from interfering, and likewise we will do nothing in the south."
If Viggo was trying to keep him off-balance, it was working; Dreamer wasn't sure if he felt ill because of the hunter he'd killed but not, or the apparent poison surrounding him, or both. "I want think about this," he said to Fishlegs.
"I currently have no operations in what is marked there as your territory," Viggo advised dryly after Fishlegs relayed the request, "and I am sure that if you wish to void it then I shall find out quickly enough, assuming you do not simply sink us on the way out."
Dreamer nodded and spread his wings, then grabbed Fishlegs by the biceps and lifted him into the air as the rider squawked in surprise. Viggo immediately stood and strode sideways to the edge of the island, keeping an eye on Dreamer, then simply dropped off the cliff and out of sight.
The hunters remained, crossbows in hands but not aimed. Any aggression on either side would still be met with a bloody battle, it wasn't in either of their interests.
Anyway, Dreamer wanted a better look at this map. Meatlug dropped down to meet them, and Dreamer dropped Fishlegs on her back before barking at the others to follow him.
They flew to the abandoned hunter camp on the nearby island, landing right in the middle of it. Grass had reclaimed most of the site, what was visible of it under the old snow, but the docks still stood and the trodden paths remained barren. It provided room for him to spread out the map… then growl off everyone crowding around him.
He inspected the parchment while Fishlegs filled them in. Was Viggo actually offering a truce? Probably. But Dreamer didn't know what was beyond this map, or for that matter how accurate it was, it actually outlined far more islands than they'd already explored. He quickly located Dragon's Nest about two thirds the way down the offered territory, and this island about halfway between that and the border. It was definitely a larger area than what they already considered theirs.
But he wasn't interested in taking the offer, more in the offer itself… He huffed, and everyone quickly huddled back around him. "I want know what here," he said, fighting off an urge to growl them away again, and tapped a large island with a claw. It was right at the edge of the border, on Viggo's side, and he was curious what made Viggo think that island in particular was worth keeping.
Maybe it was nothing… but he didn't think so.
Author's Notes
It's been a while since I talked to you guys. Let's have a catchup.
I'm doing fairly well in establishing a buffer, though some grievances with work put me out of commission for over a week and set me back. I'm not going to put any timescales on it but I should be able to return to weekly updates in the near future, though I can't guarantee it'll last. I'd rather be updating weekly, but that pesky life thing keeps getting in the way.
I'd also like to say that VigoGrimborne has been a great help as the beta of this story, not only in finding the inconsistencies and such but also in giving me the confidence to proceed knowing that what I've written is stable. I think a lot of my recent inability to get the chapters out was an uncertainty in the previous chapter, which has been more of an issue with things growing more complex (as things involving Viggo inevitably do). You'll get an idea of that over the next two chapters, and there's even more going on than what is seen.
On a side note, I've had fun correcting a lot of the inconsistencies and problems with RTTE (be prepared for a bit of a rant on this in two chapters). Particularly sail times versus the dragons' mobility, it's such a great balance to Viggo's cunning and resources versus the riders' inexperience and significantly smaller group.