This winter was a necessary time of recuperation. Dreamer knew he had cracked under the pressure of the fight with the hunters, repeatedly putting himself and his friends in danger as he failed to cope with the stress. He could admit it, but the problem was what to do about it.

The thing about stress was that it was much easier to prevent from building up than it was to alleviate. That was why this winter had been so important, because not only were he and the riders restricted in what they could do, so were the hunters. He was safer in the knowledge that they weren't out there trapping dragons by the hundred, so with a slow and difficult change of mindset, he could stop holding himself responsible for their actions.

Which, thinking about objectively while lying on the warm rock of his den, was a stupid mentality in the first place. He may be in a unique position to help, but the needs of his own nest, and himself, had to come first. That wasn't to say he wouldn't keep fighting of course, to stick to his methodology with the Viking stubbornness he'd somehow retained, because it was good to help others. He reflected on that as he stretched out a little further on the gloriously warm rock, which had inexplicably become a lot warmer around their makeshift den since he'd helped the Eruptodon.

He had about two more weeks of winter to enjoy this, before the winds warmed and the dragons returned to their home islands. Two more weeks before he would again be fighting the hunters, probably finding out where they had all gone over the winter. Hopefully they'd given up and gone home, that would be ideal, but it seemed unlikely; Vikings were too stubborn to just abandon a hunt.

Two more weeks… The last two months had flown by, and he honestly couldn't say what he'd been doing for much of it. The thought of going back to the fight wasn't particularly pleasant, but it still felt distant. Perhaps he should be thinking of a way to stop the hunters more permanently, but he'd been unable to find an answer so far. Better to just take a break and come back to it with a fresh mind, a new perspective.

A dark shape plummeted from the clouds into the village as Dreamer watched through lidded eyes, Wanderer returning from scouting. Not that the hunters had done anything other than vanish, but it ensured they wouldn't be taken entirely by surprise if they did try something. He stretched again, digging his claws into the rock and pulling with a contented groan, but somehow never fulfilled his intent of getting up before that same dark shape flew back up into sight.

He lost sight of him as he neared the mountain, not flying directly to the den so as to keep its location hidden – not really a necessity, but it was more comfortable this way – and then in seemingly no time at all, his undoubtedly freezing-cold friend was bounding into their little den. From this angle, it was pretty clear he'd put on a fair bit of weight; probably a result of how much they were eating, particularly after scouting.

"All hunters gone now," Wanderer churred uncertainly, then nuzzled Dreamer's head; his nose was indeed very cold. "I not know what this mean…"

"I also," Dreamer huffed, lifting a wing. "I not think they stop hunting. Maybe new alpha take them. Wrrr, we wait for warming-season. Then find them. Maybe find way for stop them."

Wanderer purred as he took the offered place and shuffled right up against him, and Dreamer held him close with his wing. The scales pressed to his side were freezing, but he didn't really want to be chased today – not least of which because it would likely end with those cold scales on his belly instead – and he would warm up again soon enough anyway.

This was nice. Just lying there, enjoying each other's company, sharing warmth; even if that warmth-sharing was one-way at the moment. Wanderer had been so incredibly patient with him, even while being severely neglected. Dreamer thought back guiltily to all the times Wanderer had tried to play with him, and he'd blown him off or ignored him…

Never again. He shuffled to hook his left paws over his now not so cold friend and pulled him to his chest, wrapping him up, and happy purrs rumbled into his chest to match his own. This was how winters were meant to be spent, warm and cozy. Soon he would need to ensure everything was prepared to return to Dragon's Nest, then for when they shed their hides – his hadn't quite fully recovered from falling into the volcano – but for now, he could enjoy the moment. He just hoped he could remember how to do that when all the hunters inevitably turned up again.

The den at the Long-Paw nest had been warm and cozy, but Wanderer did a happy roll in the air as he and his nest-kin neared their small-land and his own den came into sight. The other den had been nice and warm, but this one was his and Dreamer's, their claim made surely and thoroughly. He also didn't want to be shedding on a small-land covered in Long-Paws, just the pawful here admittedly made him a little uncomfortable at the thought.

But he trusted these Long-Paws, at least as far as to not try to take advantage of the Nightstrikers while they clawed their old hides off.

Challenge, Dreamer growled playfully at him, and flapped hard to pull ahead of the slow nest-kin they were flying with. Wanderer growled back, working his wings to catch up. Grrr, all this excessive eating had made him heavy and slow; it was good to eat much, on occasion, but not too often. It didn't help that his hide felt tight and a little stiff, but at least Dreamer was flying those same winds.

He was still the faster flier, and grinned as he passed his Dreamer, though he really had to work for it as with all the times they'd raced during the cold-season. That made him feel warm and happy, thinking back to that; Dreamer seemed happier and more relaxed than he had in seasons.

But it didn't mean he was going to let Dreamer win, of course, that was for sires to do with their hatchlings.

One intense sprint later, he daintily touched down outside the big den in the middle of the nest, taking his time landing with a toothy grin because he had time to spare-

His hackles bunched and his grin turned into a silent snarl as he caught the scent drifting from the open door of the den, forgetting about the race entirely in the face of danger. He placed his paws deliberately, soundlessly; although he may have already announced his presence, it was better to provide as little information as possible. He peeked around the door, just enough of a glance to see the rot-head not-alpha inside, sitting on the floor with his legs twisted in a way that looked uncomfortable.

His eyes were closed, and those dangerous long paws were resting on his legs. There was no sign or scent of any sharp claws, but this specific Long-Paw was not defenceless without one.

Wanderer prowled inside, carefully touching his paws to the tree-things that made up the ground so that his claws did not scrape. He could fire, but this one had proven capable of reacting with next to no warning. His sensitive ears picked up Dreamer alighting outside, the only sound the wind brushing from his wings, so there was help for this hunt if he needed it.

The rot-head did not respond, hadn't seemed to notice them, so Wanderer prowled around to the side. The first this Long-Paw knew of his presence would be too late, but if something did happen, he wanted to give Dreamer a clear shot.

Now in position, he moved swiftly and silently, bearing down on the not-alpha with intent to kill, and brought his paws up to strike. His teeth bared, and his target had still not reacted – finally, it would die, here, now!

Too late, the Long-Paw noticed the attack. Too late even for one as fast as him, too late to do anything other than die!

But instead of trying to defend himself or fight back, he exhaled, bowed his head, and slumped.

Wanderer drove his paws into the neck and shoulder presented to him, unable to back out of the attack even had he wanted to – but he did pull his claws back, so that he only drove the rot-head into the ground instead of impaling his throat.

The rot-head, Dagur, sprawled on the ground, still making absolutely no move to defend himself. Why, Wanderer snarled at the back of his head. He made no sound, and no movement beyond his limp body succumbing to the weight bearing down on him.

Why? The Long-Paw's breathing became laboured as Wanderer leaned more heavily onto him. Why!? He roared in outrage, the sound painful to his own ears inside the den.

He wanted to drive his claws down, crush the body beneath him and tear off its head! He wanted to flame the corpse and relieve himself on the remains! He wanted to take violent and savage revenge for what had been done to his Dreamer!

Why won't you fight!? A twitch, a struggle, a defiant glance, anything to justify the death he would swiftly receive! But there was nothing! He started building up a shot, the plasma screeching in his throat, and still nothing but resignation!

He fired, aiming the shot past Dreamer where it flew outside and disappeared into the distance to explode who knew how far away, he didn't care. Dreamer was sitting on his haunches, watching curiously.

Dreamer, watching him stand on this Long-Paw, had not interfered, had not pleaded with him to not kill.

He snarled bitterly and stepped off, watching, wary of an attack even if he expected none. This was a Long-Paw to keep vigil of out of principle, even if he had just forfeited his life, as he had done to Dreamer.

Dagur remained sprawled on the ground for a little longer before picking himself back up, returning to that awkward sitting position; Wanderer had little doubt that if he caught any Long-Paw in that position, even this one, he would be able to kill them in numerous ways with ease.

"Why?" he asked Dreamer.

"Ask him," Dreamer replied with a gesture at the Long-Paw in the room.

Wanderer huffed. "Not that. Why you not stop me?"

"Should I?" Dreamer warbled. "Sire give him chance. We give him chance. He still hunt us. Maybe no more chances. I not know what we should do." His tail flicked back and forth behind him, and his eyes drifted over the walls and roof of the den. "I not can kill if not needed, not can kill him if he not fight." His eyes returned to Wanderer. "But I not stop you killing him. If you can kill defenceless person."

"He not defenceless," Wanderer growled, but he wilted under Dreamer's stare. There was no accusation in it, or in the tone, but put that way by his Dreamer, he could never kill someone without good reason; what was in the past was not a good reason.

Dagur turned a little to look at him, and he glared back. Just give me reason…

Dreamer turned his head to bark outside, and a cacophony of wings preceded paws thumping down on the wood outside.

"Dagur!?" Astrid shouted, hefting her claw and stepping forward, but Dreamer blocked her with a wing.

"Sorry," Dagur said happily in his wild, twisting tone as the Long-Paws crowded at the door, "no free shots from you lot."

"Well well well," Snotlout crowed haughtily, "if it isn't Dagur the Deranged." Wanderer cocked his head at the strange use of the name – what was 'deranged', and what did it mean to 'Dagur' it? – but put it from his mind to focus on what was going on.

"'Sup snot hat?" Dagur replied flippantly, and Wanderer held back an inappropriate chortle.

"Why are you here, Dagur?" Astrid asked sternly while Snotlout frantically tried to think of a comeback.

Dagur shrugged. "Honestly, I was kind of hoping I'd find Heather here. You… haven't seen her, have you?"

"What do you want with her?" Astrid asked suspiciously.

"It's a long story, I'd rather not," Dagur replied, suddenly sounding very bored, and Wanderer growled warningly; just because he was being spared did not mean his comfort would be considered. "...Is it just me, or do these guys understand me?"

"Oh they understand you all right," Snotlout said smugly. "Don't you, Hiccup?"

Dreamer barely flicked an ear, more in irritation than response, while Astrid stared wryly at him. "Maybe let the grownups talk," she said condescendingly. Snotlout stared furiously at her, putting a paw to his heavy claw-

"Look, whatever," Dagur groaned, "I need Heather's help to… help me see some things the right way. I need to kill a Night Fury-"

Wanderer growled again, baring his teeth and preparing to strike, while Dreamer added his own growl.

"-to unite the Berserkers," he continued without a hitch. "But," and he gave a significant look to both Nightstrikers, "I need Heather's help to lead, and she kind of seems to hate me, but she likes you guys. So if I kill you she's gonna hate me and then I'm screwed, and the Berserkers are screwed, but if I don't kill you then the Berserkers won't recognise me. I need… argh, what's that word… perspective, yeah. From someone I'm not going to snap in half."

Snotlout huffed. "How about-"

"No offence snot pants," Dagur cut him off, untwisting one of his rear paws to plant it on the ground, "but if you tell me what to do I'm gonna rip out your spine and beat you with it." The words were delivered with a calm sincerity that left little doubt he was serious.

"Hah!" Dagur laughed in the tense silence, "Ah Thor, I just thought of myself actually doing that. I mean, I'd certainly try, but ugh that'd just be messy." Wanderer shuffled, thoroughly disturbed by how quickly this Long-Paw flicked between attitudes; he had been on the precipice of violence one moment, and jovial the next.

"Yeah," Tuffnut agreed, "like it'd come out in little bits that aren't good for anything except maybe shoving down his throat or something."

"I doubt it'd shut him up though," Ruffnut mused.

"Little off topic here," Astrid said with a grin at Snotlout, who looked unnerved. "You can't be Chief of the Berserkers, you were deposed."

"Says who?" Dagur said challengingly. "Way I see it, there aren't any Berserkers anymore. What's to say I can't pick up the pieces and start a new tribe?"

"In the same place," Ruffnut deadpanned, "with the same name."

"Exactly!" Dagur exclaimed happily. "I like you two. You can join. Well, Heather will need to approve."

Dreamer's wings audibly hit the ground, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Slowly, a huge grin spread across his face, and he shot Wanderer a gleeful, excited glance before turning to Astrid. "Where his nest now?" he asked her with a low excited purr, picking up his wings and ruffling them.

"What?" she asked, then her forehead descended over her eyes in a Long-Paw-thinking way. "They're on Berserk… Well, a lot of them seem to be out here."

"Yes," Dreamer purred smugly. "They here, hunting dragons. Hunting us." He tipped his head at Dagur. "He want take them away."

Silence met that statement, Astrid and the others staring at him with widening eyes.

"Is it just me," Dagur whispered to Wanderer, "or is she talking to a dragon?"

Wanderer sidled away from him, remaining ready to fire or lunge at an instant's notice.

Ruffnut groaned mightily. "Would someone please fill me in here!?"

The slow rocking of the boat did little to put Viggo at ease; nothing ever did, these days. He lay on the cot in his cabin, staring vacantly at the ceiling in the darkness, but sleep did not come.

One moment, he'd been in control of everything. Hundreds of dragon hunters at his command, his trustworthy brother to keep them focused and in line so that he could focus his energy into progressing his plans. The Dragon Eye within reach, with the mysterious black lens ready to have its secrets laid bare; he held up that lens to stare through it in the dim light, though he did not recall taking it from his pauldron. The Night Furies, cornered and helpless.

Not so helpless, it turned out. It was obvious now, that they would keep a portion of fire for themselves, for emergencies; Viggo himself would do the same, and had employed similar strategies in the past. A safety, for use when there was no other choice to ensure their own survival. Naturally, when their reluctance to kill was considered, that meant Ryker had given no other choice; he had been worried about the danger the Furies posed, and would have thought that keeping both was unnecessarily risky.

That was the most infuriating part of all this. Viggo could not fault his opponents for having good strategy. He could only fault himself for underestimating them, and Ryker for pushing them too far.

And now… Ryker was gone. One moment was all it had taken to lose almost everything. One moment, in which Viggo had underestimated his opponent, and Ryker had not respected his, something neither of them had any excuse for. One moment, followed by a harrowing journey clinging to the back of a deep sea dragon, and a few hours of treading water.

Not his most elegant escape, admittedly. And he wasn't sure exactly when the Dragon Eye had been damaged, whether by Dreamer, or himself, or just from being underwater for so long.

He grabbed the device from the open drawer bedside the cot and fitted the Night Fury lens to it. The answers he sought were literally in his hands, if only he could read them… Tick, tick, tick, tak-...

Viggo grimaced in frustration as the dial hitched and spun loosely, then yanked the lens from it and tossed the device back into the drawer with a crash of clutter. Taking it apart was a tedious and time-consuming process, and not one to undertake on a swaying boat. He also didn't have the pin he was now certain was needed to fix it. No matter.

At least he knew Krogan wanted both Night Furies alive. He didn't know why, but he didn't intend to let the strange man have them purely out of principle; never hand out a weapon without an appropriate shield to withstand it. But he was a necessary evil, Viggo did not have that inexplicable way with people that kept them motivated and doing as told.

It was a very different game he played with Krogan than what he had played with Ryker. He and his brother had trusted each other implicitly, looked out for each other, had each other's back, covered each other's weaknesses. Krogan, on the other hand, undoubtedly intended to betray him. The question was which of them would walk away from it…

"For the love of Thor, just let me sleep," he mumbled, holding his hand to his head. He'd been over all this a thousand times, thought of a hundred things he could have done better, but none of that helped him now. He needed to rest, then get set up ready for the assault to be carried out. A surprise attack in a moment of weakness, before they knew there was anyone left to attack them. But the only plan that ever reliably survived contact with the enemy was improvisation, so he needed to sleep.

How he wished now to hear that stern voice chastising him for not sleeping…

Dreamer roused from a light and fitful sleep at the crack of dawn, already writhing uncomfortably. He liked his thick hide with its strong scales, but he could do without needing to tear it all off at the end of every winter. He wanted to get it over with soon, but it didn't quite feel ready yet, and things weren't yet settled at Dragon's Nest, particularly with Dagur turning up. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.

A sound outside lifted his ear, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted to lie where he was for now, and do nothing.

Wanderer stirred next to him, also flexing in discomfort with a groan and a flick of an ear at the persisting sounds outside. Dreamer snorted drowsily, and shuffled more firmly up against him. Doing nothing was good. He was safely tucked away in his den, not attacking, just lying here with his friend.

He didn't know what to do about Dagur. Nothing aggressive, of course. He was a dangerous Long-Paw, but very direct in his methods, there was no chance this was a scheme or something. And yet, it was the principle of the thing, they couldn't just let him roam freely. Even if that was exactly what they'd done, in a sense, escorting him in his little boat around to the other side of the island and then stranding him there. He couldn't just walk across the island to get to them, that would take him several days. But he could just disappear into the forest and need to be tracked down, which would be dangerous.

Dreamer pawed at his head. A solution to the problem with the hunters had presented itself, finally, and if he could only figure out the details it could potentially be done without needing to attack anyone. Well, the hunters weren't all Berserkers, but most of them were. It was a huge step in the right direction, anyway.

Though, it would mean making Dagur Chief again… Stoick might not be happy with that. Hopefully Dreamer could convince him that Heather would keep things in check. Berk wouldn't attack them over it.

He lifted his head to look through the passage into the main chamber of the den with a scowl. Those sounds really were persistent, loud, obnoxious, and aggressive- no, not aggressive. He huffed and lay his head on his paws.

First they needed to find Heather. Knowing her, she had probably ingratiated herself into one of the hunter factions, subtly keeping them away from dragons and sabotaging them from the inside, so that they couldn't attack. She was a very strong and independent woman, definitely a good person to keep a firm hand on Dagur, who in turn could hopefully keep the Berserkers in check.

Keep Dagur somewhere, find Heather, then they could all sit down and talk about how they were going to do this. Dreamer rolled his eyes, that promised to be a fun-

He lifted his head again at a clattering sound in the main chamber of the den, feeling Wanderer do the same beside him. They shared a glance with each other, then… stood and… padded out of the sleeping chamber. It was too strange to ignore.

The sounds outside hadn't ceased, but it was what had entered his den that was making Dreamer wary. It took him a few moments to spot the foreign object, a long straight shaft of wood, and he padded over to it to scent it. He recognised it as one of the long bolts from Astrid's ballista, and it had her fresh scent on it. But what was it doing here?

He really should be doing nothing, but this was weird. Astrid was an incredible shot with that weapon, there was no way she'd missed.

Wanderer turned back into the warm and inviting sleeping chamber, and-

Dreamer, finding himself halfway back to bed as well, growled in confusion, then… turned and… walked to the entrance. Why… is this so difficult?

A strange four-winged dragon flew over the nest, flinging a fireball – from its tail – at Astrid's hut, which all the riders were standing on, to be blocked by Ruffnut's shield. He watched as Meatlug carried a barrel up to the roof, then buzzed down to the deck and lay on her side, unbothered by everything going on. Tuffnut was pointing at Dreamer and shouting.

This… wasn't right.

Almost automatically, when something didn't add up, Dreamer stopped and inspected his thoughts. Don't attack. Do nothing. He growled and shook his head, trying to navigate his way through the conflict. His nest was being attacked. Do nothing. Defend! Don't attack.

"Hiccup!" Astrid shouted up at him, then swivelled the ballista and fired a bolt at several of the strange dragons that were now all coming in at once. The projectile took one in the wing, and it screeched as it faltered and fell out of formation, but the other five dragons all swooped into range and fired on the hut. Astrid vaulted her weapon to block one shot with her shield, Snotlout and Ruffnut blocked another each, and two impacted further down where Fishlegs and Tuffnut scrambled to douse; by the scorch marks, this had been going on a little while.

Dreamer shook his head again, he was still doing nothing! Yes, doing nothing was good-

He spun and leaped inside, quickly taking the corner to the sleeping chamber and sliding to a halt by Wanderer, who seemed to be dozing. He could never harm his Wanderer, but he pawed at him and squeaked desperately… Wait, why was he-

Another feeble explosion outside reminded him, and Wanderer cracked open an eye. "Death-Song!" Dreamer barked, trying to fix that thought in his own mind. He wasn't even sure it was a Death Song, it was more difficult to ignore this time, not just adding to his thoughts but infecting them, twisting them into thinking he should be doing something when really he should be doing nothing…

No- that wasn't right, the Nest was under attack! "Death-Song!" he barked again. "Danger!"

Wanderer's eyes gradually narrowed, and he shook his head and stood. "Bad… thoughts," he growled, taking deliberate steps.

He was moving, and Dreamer led him to the entrance of their den, but rather than relief he felt stressed and anxious; he knew they needed to be moving, but his own head was telling him that was a failure, not a success, and that they should be doing nothing.

He growled and shook his head again, then leaped into the air, his taut hide straining over his chest and around his shoulders. He could identify the foreign thoughts, but they were gripping him at a deeper level, not only putting thoughts in his head but affecting how he thought as well, skewing his sense of right and wrong. He needed to remember that, and think about it all with a cold logic.

He took stock of where he was, drifting out over the ocean – then growled at himself and sharply banked around, flying through the midst of half a dozen dragons that happened to be in his way, big green things with four wings. They were holding something stretched between them, but they weren't aggressive, so Dreamer ignored them, ducking and weaving between them to get back to everyone else. Immediately his attention went to Wanderer, also with half a dozen of the big green dragons on his tail, also stretching something out over him-

That cut straight through any foreign thoughts, and Dreamer fired at the net without hesitation. The dragon on the opposite side of it shrieked and banked away while the riders fumbled with the ropes, subsequently tearing the rider from one and tangling the net in the others' wings to send it plummeting down to the water, roaring all the way.

Dreamer snarled angrily at all this fighting, recognising the bad thinking was only fuelling his own thoughts on the matter, but Wanderer was safe for a little longer. And then he snarled again at a hot impact on his lower back, and looked back to see the dragons tailing him were all firing at him, shooting fireballs from their mouths and flinging them from their tails.

Doing anything about them would – another fireball hit his flank – require doing something – a hot impact struck his shoulders, and his wings seized for a moment – that might endanger the riders on them, which he really didn't-

A fireball clipped his ear and exploded right by his head, slapping him in the face with a wave of fire, and he bared his teeth. He didn't have to take this! These people were trying to capture him and Wanderer, for who knew what reason, and he'd had more than enough of that in his life!

He felt a gust through his frills, but couldn't get his wings around in time to catch it – Odin curse this stifling hide! – and banked around more slowly than he would have liked, slow enough for them to follow him around. He returned fire, a big concussive shot right into the middle of his pursuers that stunned one of the dragons and distracted the riders long enough for them to fall out of formation. It allowed him to bank sharply around the other way and come up around them, yanking one from the saddle with a worrying snapping sound and tossing him out over the water.

"Are you sure your men know how to ride dragons?" Viggo asked, giving the tall man a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Krogan gritted, staring intently at the fighting over and in the Riders' base from where they stood on the cliff overlooking it.

Viggo allowed himself a small smile, clasping his hands behind his back. "I only ask because I have seen these riders in action, and I was wondering whether they were exceptionally skilled or your men were exceptionally mundane."

"My men are not impeded by the Sjarmör," he replied with a calm but strained patience, "while they cannot even fly."

"Because you specifically subjected these Singetails to the Death Song beforehand, until they were immune to it," Viggo countered. "That is no skill on your riders' part."

"And yet, here we are," Krogan said with a gesture at the scene before them.

The Night Furies were flying clumsily and without focus while Krogan's riders stretched nets out over them. The Riders huddled on their hut, five Singetails keeping them occupied and unable to do more than take opportunistic shots at the swooping attackers.

But they were still dangerous opponents, something Krogan was busy learning. There had been twenty-two Singetails at the start of the attack. Five of them had been injured and downed by Astrid on that exceptional ballista – although by now she had to be running low on ammo and the remainder were being much more cautious – and one of the Furies suddenly took out two more by firing on them and getting them tangled in the net they had been about to drop over the other Fury.

"The Riders' dragons do not fly off when their rider dismounts," Viggo pointed out as he watched a newly riderless Singetail pry the chains from its head and flee while its rider plummeted to the water below. Krogan's only response was a low, agitated growl.

It probably wasn't smart to be aggravating him, but it made Viggo feel a little better about… everything. Krogan thought he could just waltz in, take over his operation, and wrap everything up in a few months? What they were doing with the Death Song was clever, but that was only possible using his work with the lens that he had only recently acquired, through months of weaving a delicate web of schemes.

Ryker would have wanted to do this, send everything in all at once while the Furies were distracted by their apparently intense shedding cycle, but it was foolish. They were revealing their hand with the Death Song too soon, before using it to draw in dragons over great distances as Krogan planned. Ryker would have understood that, eventually. Krogan wasn't interested, but the failure this promised to be would give Viggo enough leverage to put him in his place.

He openly winced at a blue explosion erupting in the stupidly tight cluster of Krogan's riders, almost able to feel the aggravation rising in the man beside him. All in all, this was going exactly as he'd foreseen. And if he had the measure of the captain of Krogan's riders…

Viggo's smug grin widened as the five Singetails pinning down the Riders pulled out and took up pursuit of the nearest Fury, engaging in an intense firefight full of yellow-orange streaks punctuated by blue flashes and the thunderous percussion of Fury fire. Even hindered in mind and body, the black dragons outflew Krogan's comparatively amateur riders and shrugged off the numerous hits they took, but there was just no hope for them against such overwhelming odds. He glanced at the Terrible Terror staring vacantly out of the cage hanging from Krogan's giant armoured dragon. As long as the Death Song, chained to the deck of a ship behind a sea stack to the west, continued to exert its pacifying effect, the Furies and Riders couldn't win this fight.

And on thinking of the Riders, they had abandoned the hut and were running to their dragons. Those common dragons would be totally useless in a fight, of course, lacking the sheer aerial prowess to best the Singetails while under the effect of the Death Song, but they were good for one other thing. "This is where you reveal a secret reserve of fresh, rested Singetails," Viggo prompted hopefully; he expected Krogan to fail, but he really wanted to get his hands on the Night Furies.

Unfortunately, Krogan took a long, tense breath, and they could do nothing but watch as the six dragons all broke out of the fighting and fled over the island, slowly pulling ahead of the exhausted Singetails.

It seemed unwise to make further comment, so they stood in silence until the remaining Singetails returned with their riders, who had their heads bowed in shame. Eight in total remained of the original twenty-two.

Two of them stole a glance at Viggo, who breathed a small sigh of relief. He'd subtly spoken to three of them, just in case some didn't make it, ensuring they knew exactly how this was going to go down, to begin the process of regaining control. Now they knew that Krogan had ignored Viggo's advice and been beaten because of it.

He fully expected the Death Song to be liberated as well, somehow, so he'd ensured the Berserkers on the ship with it were all disgruntled with the way things were going, and knew that it was Krogan who had put them there. They too would spread word among the ranks.

"Someone explain this to me," Krogan said slowly; behind him, Viggo rolled his eyes. "Nobody? How could you have failed so severely to best your adversaries with every advantage you could be given?" He apparently didn't expect an answer, because nobody spoke, and he didn't reprimand them for it. Viggo would be more than happy to point out what had gone wrong, and why, but Krogan clearly didn't share his opinion that all blame fell squarely on the one in charge.

"Burn everything to the ground," Krogan announced haughtily, "and make it snappy. I want us out of here before the mind control gives out."

"What of the men in the water?" Viggo asked, peering down the cliff to the deathly cold water below.

"What about them?" Krogan asked coldly as his riders took off.

Viggo grimaced, then stared pityingly as the huts and bridges were systematically subjected to streams of fire. He had not personally laid eyes on the Riders' home before today, and was pleasantly surprised by the pragmatism they had built it with. Access was almost a secondary concern, given they could likely just fly between huts as needed, and everything was held together with sturdy beams that were likely almost as thick as the trees they had been cut from. The designs were simple and rugged, but with a flair of creativity here and there in the style of the dragons they rode. It was impressive, for a handful of kids.

The thick wood took time to catch alight, but once it did, it burned fiercely, the flames reaching high into the sky.

The quenching sky-fire shone soberly over the wide bay, cold wind humming mournfully through the rock pillars as Dreamer backwinged into a landing, kicking up black clouds.

"It's all gone," Astrid said disbelievingly as she climbed out of Stormfly's saddle, her boots sinking into the ash. Ruffnut had been yelling since the Nest had come into sight, and even Wanderer looked sad, sniffing morosely at a smouldering lump of what had once been part of the communal hut. Snotlout seemed the least affected, and appeared to be looting the remains of his own hut, but perhaps that wasn't so surprising given his attitude recently.

There wasn't any point thinking 'if only'. They had tried their best, Dreamer had tried his best, it just hadn't been enough.

This new opponent was nothing like Viggo. In a strange twist, the Nightstrikers' tight hides, almost ready to shed, had actually served as an additional layer of protection while also preventing them from manoeuvring as easily. Not that he was usually susceptible to fire, but each of those fireballs had a solid punch behind it, and enough of them would wear him down; as it was, he felt bruised from nose to tail.

He'd also been a bit preoccupied fighting his own thoughts to pay much attention to the fact that those dragons had carried riders. But, from what Fishlegs had seen and recounted, it didn't seem to be the dragon's choice, they had chains around their heads and through their mouths, and abandoned their riders at the first opportunity. He hoped he hadn't killed any… But perhaps that was still a mercy over what little life they likely had.

There hadn't really been much of value to lose at the Nest, at least. The chest of gold was still buried on the nearest mountain, and the Dragon Eye had been lost with Viggo. Mainly sentimental things, like Astrid's old axe. It was a shame to lose the bench saw, with its clever pulley system, but peering over the edge, he could see the blade in the shallow water below. Maybe they could take it back to Berk for Gobber.

"Hiccup," Fishlegs called out solemnly, flying up on Meatlug to where the communal hut had been. "We can't… stay here."

Dreamer looked up at the cave near the top of the cliff overlooking the bay, the view now unimpeded by structures and bridges. "No," he agreed, not least because it was still too cold for humans to safely spend the night outside. And now would be the worst time to catch a cold.

"What are we going to do about Dagur?" Astrid asked, sounding a little shaken.

Oh, right, him. There was a lot that needed doing, Dagur could wait a day. He likely wasn't going anywhere.

Summons! Dreamer roared, and Hookfang and Barf and Belch snatched up their riders and brought them to join everyone else, kicking up more clouds of the soot that covered the pillar. Snotlout and the twins were dropped out of their saddles around Astrid and Fishlegs, the dragons then standing protectively over their riders and shielding them from the chill breeze.

Dreamer took a deep breath. "These hunters burn our nest," he growled, pacing in front of the assembly. "They try take me, Wanderer," he snarled angrily. "We still here! This," he swiped a paw through the ash to scatter it into the wind, "was made for living here. But we here for fight hunters."

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "They not want us live here? Grrr, then we fight! Ruffnut, find cave for this night. Not need big cave, just one night." The twins glanced at each other, surprised, but then Tuffnut translated and Ruffnut nodded. "Fishlegs, look around here," he kicked at a crumbling lump of blackened wood, "find any things we can use." Fishlegs nodded eagerly. "Snotlout, find food. I think you can catch two land-prey…"

"Two boars?" Snotlout echoed. "Ha! I'll catch four!"

That was the spirit! "Astrid, Tuffnut…" He offered his back. "We need find Death-Song. But it can give us bad thoughts. We need you for tell us if we do stupid thing."

Kind understanding flickered across their faces, and Wanderer nuzzled him with a purr before offering Tuffnut his own back.

"Next light," Dreamer growled while Astrid got comfortable on his shoulders, "we find… female Long-Paw with Sharp-Scale." Huff, so much for his inspiring speech. "Then we claw at these hunters until nothing left!"

He roared defiance, challenge! out across the sea, and the other dragons roared with him, the riders adding their remotivated shouts as they all leaped onto action.

Winter was cold. Life was cold too, so that was fitting.

Heather hadn't had much of a warm life, which she'd recently had a long time to reflect on. She loved her mother, but the woman had been shy, quiet, more preoccupied with keeping the house clean than spending time with her daughter.

She had a new perspective on that now. What kind of man had the Berserker Chief, her father, been? Not so heartless to simply have her killed, though she wasn't all that thankful for that. Heartless enough to just send her away. And what was her mother to him? An illicit lover? Someone to grope while his wife was away? Heather had a few ideas from what she had observed, certain behaviours and reactions to things, but no real answers. She would likely never have answers.

It really shouldn't matter, but it made her feel unwanted. "You'll never leave me, will you girl?" she asked Windshear; her voice was hoarse, having gone unused for so long. Her dragon crooned reassuringly and shot a short stream of fire at the rock beside Heather before adjusting her wing over her and nuzzling into her lap.

Heather stroked the hard forehead of her dragon, chuckling bitterly to herself. Windshear, her best friend in all the world, was a dragon. But not just any dragon… One that was covered in hard, cold plates with sharp edges that prevented anyone from getting too close and comfortable. Just like herself, really.

Windshear lifted her head and looked outside, as if she had heard something, then looked to Heather with a low rumble. Heather stared at the bright green eye – and then was deposited on the ground as the Razorwhip got up. She growled her annoyance as her dragon walked out of the cave, but made no move to stop her; she was probably just going to grab a bite to eat or something.

She contemplated getting up to eat from the stores, but she wasn't hungry enough to bother yet. She was on an island stockpiled with emergency rations, but one specifically chosen by Viggo for its hostility. The intention was that nobody could live here, the landscape impossible to traverse and holding no fresh water… but having a dragon often circumvented the rules imposed onto others, and the snow everywhere was easy enough for Windshear to melt.

The wingbeats, and the soft landing that followed, were unfamiliar sounds to Heather, though she wasn't worried; she had more than enough dried meat to feed a hungry dragon. It wasn't until the Night Fury walked into the cave and fixed her with his wide green eyes that she realised her lack of worry was simple apathy.

She groaned, just making whatever sound wanted to come out, and tucked her knees up to her chin. Dragons were incredibly intuitive, she suspected she'd just told him more about how she was feeling than she knew herself.

Indeed, he trotted up to her and wound around her, allowing her to lean back into him. He was cold… but she could nestle into him more closely, and his chest and paws were soft…

She wasn't aware of dozing off, but she woke to a warm, purring embrace that almost brought tears to her eyes. She did wish sometimes that Windshear wasn't quite so armoured… and, if she was honest, that she could be this comfortable with, say, Fishlegs… He looked quite cuddly… But right now, feeling starved of contact, she enjoyed what she was being given. Windshear was reclining across from them, simply watching, and Heather glared back at her; she had no doubt gone out to fetch the Night Fury, cheeky dragon.

His head craned around to look at her with one startlingly green eye, chin flat to the ground. She was fairly sure this was Hiccup, he looked at things with wonder, curiosity, and understanding, while Toothy had an older, more mature and realistic gaze. But she wasn't sure, they were difficult to tell apart at the best of times.

She hummed, then winced and grinned at the same time as he nuzzled the side of her head and snorted hotly through her hair. He deserved the chin scratching she gave him, and he crooned in delight.

But he wasn't her dragon, or anyone's dragon for that matter. "Why?" she asked with a tilt of her head. Why was he here, spending time with her…

He crooned – even the sounds he made were softer than Windshear's – and firmly nudged her with his snout, shuffling a bit so that she was reclining against his hindleg and flank. "Things… Wrrr, our nest was attacked."

"What?" she asked with a squeak. "Any hurts?"

"No," he swiped, and she relaxed again, leaning back into him. "But they burn our nest."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just let out a low hum, no doubt communicating her sympathy in tone alone.

He dipped his flat head with a purr. "Not worry. We not need nest. Have plan for stop hunters now…"

That was good news if she had ever heard it, but the way his gaze drifted away from her, and how he trailed off with the last few words… "What?" she asked.

He grunted and tossed his head, then looked back to her with wide eyes. "I told you false, when you ask about your blood-kin," he said, abruptly changing topics.

"Figured that out, did you," she said dryly; that would have been helpful to know a few months ago.

"No, I not," he said with a huff. "I…" He grunted and shook his head again. "That long story. But I talk with him."

"You? Talked with Dagur?"

"Wrrr, he talked. He not try kill us now."

They sat there in silence for a little while, while that sunk in. Dagur had been obsessed with killing a Night Fury, it was pretty much all he ever wanted to talk about. "You also?" she asked.

A growl rumbled through his body, and his whole face seemed to flatten even as it split to reveal his teeth. "I never forgive him," he snarled, but then his features settled and his eyes dilated again. "But I not need kill him…" He eyed her again, and she felt strangely uncomfortable under his gaze. "You much like dragon," he mused, and she blinked. Where was he going with all this? "I just tell you. We want him take hunters away. He their alpha, they will follow him."

"You want… him help you?" she asked incredulously.

Hiccup rumbled noncommittally. "Not me. He stop hunting us because he say you tell him… something. He not say what. I want you talk with him."

"Him," she said flatly. "You want me help him? How?" What exactly could she help him with?

He rumbled again, shuffling his paws. "I not can explain. He should tell you."

She just stared at him. "The man you've been hunting and running from this whole time, who's been trying and almost succeeding to kill you, you just want us all to sit down and have a friendly chat!?"

"Yes," he said levelly, staring back at her.

"...This is crazy," she said, and for some reason he actually chuckled at that. "Fine, whatever. I'll sit down with him. But you, Toothy, and Windshear will be there too." For security. She didn't think Dagur was going to kill her, not if he hadn't before, but she'd feel more comfortable with their claws and fire to back her up.

He shrugged, apparently fine with that. "Fine," she huffed. "Let's go meet my brother."