Dreamer looped happily in the cold air, partly to get his muscles working and warm but also because he was enjoying himself.

Wanderer glanced across at him, then beat his wings to pull ahead – oh no you don't! Dreamer took chase, following as his friend swerved and banked sharply around little eddies in the wind that they instinctively knew were there.

Challenge, cheerful, fun! he roared, revelling in every moment; the way the wind blew around his frills and spines and over his body, his broad wings cutting through the air and working it like a master craftsman, his fins the precision instruments to fine-tune his flight, the sheer altitude they were flying at, so high up that it felt as if the two of them were the only things of significance in the whole world… THIS is how a dragon should live! Now if only he could catch his friend, who then levelled off for a moment to tauntingly flick his tail-fins closed a few times… Grrr…

Wanderer suddenly angled upwards and beat his wings hard, rapidly ascending higher into the sky, and Dreamer followed suit. In moments like this, he realised that he was miles above Midgard, out in the middle of open water with potentially no land in sight, nothing to carry him but his own flesh and muscle, moving at speeds Vikings could only dream of. It was invigorating.

And then Wanderer disappeared into the nearest cloud, and the moment gave way to focus on his hunt. He angled his sub-wings in just the right way that the air screeched as it passed him, then had to beat his wings a bit harder to pick up enough speed to get any range on it.

Hrrr, Wanderer was nowhere to be seen. That was simple enough to fix. He exhaled, calmed his mind to remember the steps, inhaled, then worked some plasma into his throat.

It bucked around, as it always did while he was flying, but he wrestled it with practised ease into the two halves. It started similarly to firing, which he could do nearly instantly without thinking on the details, but he was somewhat less familiar with this process.

The only way to describe it was that he barked through it, leaving him with a curious sense of sound he couldn't hear that instantly disappeared into the open air.

Less than a heartbeat later, the distinct form of a Nightstriker flashed at him through the clouds, off to his right, and he angled towards it with a roar of challenge! Wanderer would probably try to angle away, so he repeated the process and fired off another burst of sound, confirming the change of direction and banking swiftly to cut him off.

He was blind, the thick cloud whipping around him and completely obscuring his sight, and yet the vague shape of his friend was just a little further ahead, now he was close enough to see him with sound. It was-

Another ping reached him, indistinct and distant, closely followed by another; two sound-sight-barks, two echoes from the same source. He probably wouldn't have even noticed it if he had been closer to the water, where the sound could penetrate the surface and show him the seabed. It had to be a ship, but so far away he couldn't even figure out how big it was…

He settled on ignoring it to focus on his hunt – it would still be there once they'd had their fun – but the blurry shape ahead pulled back to fly next to him. He wasn't going to let that opportunity slip, and folded his sub-wings to cut off his sound-sight and immediately ducked under Wanderer. He grabbed him, sinking claws into his flanks and shoulders, and teeth into his neck. Got you!

Wanderer yipped and they promptly dropped, quickly falling out of the cloud and towards the distant water below. Dreamer laughed and pushed away, easily catching himself and fleeing the inevitable retribution that was undoubtedly on his tail. If he could make it to the ship then he would win!

Dreamer rolled upside down and flapped to propel himself downwards, aiding the pull of gravity to send him hurtling to the water below. His sub-wings flicked out reflexively, and he tucked everything in a little tighter at the fuzzy shape hot on his tail. Nearing the water below, he threw out his wings and banked sharply to the side, narrowly dodging the claws that swiped for him, then swerved back towards the boat. Yes-!

Something swatted his tail, wildly disrupting his flight, and then Wanderer practically dropped on it. Eyes wide and teeth clenched, he flared his wings, slowing dramatically, though it did not feel so slow when he clipped the water and was thrown sideways, tumbling over the surface – it wasn't a hard surface, but it tugged and yanked at him, then slapped him in the face before he sank far enough into it that he stopped skipping over it.

His nose stung with salt, a horrible feeling that crept all the way down to the back of his throat… and that was the worst he could say of his crash; Nightstrikers were very hardy creatures. He shook his head, floating in the little waves, and glared as Wanderer circled above him, laughing.

The best payback would be to find a fish to carry up and eat it in front of him, but there weren't any around. Dreamer huffed and ducked down, then kicked his way out of the water and laboured back up into the air. Blegh, now he felt all salty.

"That look fun!" Wanderer chirped with a toothy grin. Dreamer just growled lightly, setting his nose for the ship.

It didn't take long to reach, a strange little thing with its sail furled and nobody on the deck. They circled above it, watching for some kind of sign or movement, but it looked abandoned, just floating in the water without direction.

He shared a look with Wanderer, then slowly and warily drifted down, watching for any movement and keeping an eye out for arrowslits and any other potential traps, ready to throw himself out of the way at a moment's notice. He had not felt slow before the winter, but now he felt like a drawn ballista, a taut string ready to leap into action at the slightest trigger; the difference was remarkable.

A strong odour drifted up to him, that of blood. A lot of it. He could see splashes of it on the wood too, now that he knew to look, all arrayed around the door to the small cabin on the deck. He touched down gently, ready to leap back up if needed, but he was certain something else was going on here. Some sort of raid on the ship was his first guess, but that didn't quite sit right with what he was looking at; no bodies, no damage, but the blood just left there to dry, and the ship floating aimlessly on the waves besides.

He touched a claw to the latch to lift it, noticing more blood on that, and hopped back as the door slowly swung open.

His eyes narrowed and adjusted inside as best they could, enough to see there was no movement and nothing strange inside, and he crept forward again. Simple furniture, with an unmoving mound on the bed. The scent of more blood, still fresh, and a faint but rank stench of a chamber pot.

And then as he thought it couldn't possibly get any weirder, as he crossed the threshold, he simultaneously recognised both the sight and the scent of the one on board, reeling at the implications.

Viggo was alive. But by his dry and ragged breaths, and the thick scent of his blood in the air… perhaps not for long.

"You're sure you'll be okay?" Heather asked, eyeing Dagur sceptically from Windshear's back. They were on the deck of the last ship to set out looking for more Berserkers, providing a background noise of tightening ropes and flapping sails.

"I've survived this long, haven't I?" he replied gleefully, grinning from ear to ear. Then his expression flicked to serious. "Really, I'll be fine. It's nice that you care though!"

"Okay," she agreed. "Besides, we might send each other crazy if we're together much longer."

She had to smile as he totally lost it, wheezing for breath and doubling over at the joke. "Wait," he suddenly said, staring up at her with his brows furrowed, "that was a joke, right?" She nodded at him, and he resumed cracking up. "Crazy! Ha! Good one sis!"

"Yeah yeah," she said with a grin, shaking her head. "Stay out of trouble."

"Me?" he asked innocently, without any hint of the humour he had been displaying only a moment ago.

"Yes, you," she teased, swinging a leg at him that he easily swatted away. "I'll try to catch up in a few days. Don't wait up." With that, she readied herself to take off, and Windshear instantly took the prompt and bounded into the sky.

She was long since used to Dagur's eccentricities, the way he flipped between emotions in the blink of an eye and usually totally missed the subtleties of conversation. It made perfect sense now, of course, after he had taken the time to explain and she knew what questions to ask. He could come across as dense, but he was actually quite an intelligent man, in his own way… Just absolutely terrible at reading people, to the point he occasionally had to ask if she was joking regardless of how it was delivered. He just tended to assume the best of his people, so if something could either be a joke or an insult, he assumed it was a joke.

Which was for the best, given how swiftly he responded to insults that were clearly meant as such. She shuddered, remembering the multiple occasions over the last few days where someone had challenged him and he had just reached out and broken their arm, in that strange way that looked slow but left no time to react and regardless of how muscled said arm was. There was no doubt about it, he was the strongest Berserker, by a long shot, and he made it dreadfully clear to anyone questioning it.

But it was necessary. Even despite his reputation, he still got challenged, still had to prove himself. These were not a people to take a light hand with.

And yet, despite all the violence and posturing, she continued to surprise herself with how easily she was falling into place with it all. It was strange, because her interactions were an act. Big burly men slapped her on the back with hearty laughter, commending her on a good fight, and she responded with confidence and blustering. But under it, she was afraid that they were all going to discover who she really was, toss her out to live on her own again, and the idea terrified her. But under that, she really did want to beat the idiots senseless and jeer and laugh with them, exactly as she was acting on the surface. Hopefully, in time, she would be confident enough in herself to drop the act; she knew nobody would even notice, but she needed to believe it too.

She chuckled to herself as Windshear levelled off. A bit over a week, and this already was already starting to feel normal. Dagur, the Berserkers, all of it. Maybe that was why she was hesitant to accept it, to allow herself to feel at home, because she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She hadn't felt like this since she'd been a little kid.

Although, she had to admit, it was exhausting. She tied the straps around her ankles to hold her to the saddle, then lay back with a deep sigh, adjusting her axe a bit so she could lie on it comfortably and then looking out to the side, past Windshear's wing, to the distant horizon.

Everything was in motion. The Berserkers were sailing out to find others to bring back. She was certain that would work, they already had a promise of fighting and were all frustrated at how it was playing out, and they all knew that Dagur was significantly more likely to deliver. Though they wouldn't be hunting dragons… She would probably need to turn them on the other Hunters. Hiccup didn't seem to have thought that bit through, but it was out of his paws now. The Berserkers needed a fight, and there was a convenient target that was both despicable and already disliked by the Berserkers.

He likely wouldn't be happy with her, but she was still adhering to the promise she'd made to him, if only just, and he couldn't afford to kill her now. She had some time to head off that particular confrontation with the Night Fury anyway, while the rest of the tribe was brought in; she wasn't needed for that part. He'd understand, he was a smart dragon.

She spent much of the short flight working that conversation over in her head, trying to guess his reactions and figure out how to respond to them. The calming beat of Windshear's wings, the cold wind blowing over her offset by the faint warmth of the sun, it was all very peaceful, leaving her to her thoughts. She only realised they were there when her dragon subtly pitched forwards, angling to descend.

Windshear announced their presence with a happy roar, keenly looking over the forest below, then angled towards some reply that Heather lost to the wind rushing past. She was nervous as they slowed to descend into a small clearing, but confident; compared to wrangling Dagur and a hundred Berserkers, what was one Night Fury?

...Best not to think on that. Windshear touched down, immediately greeted by an excited and playful Nadder. "Hey Stormfly," Heather said warmly as she jumped down, then stroked the dragon's head and held it just at the wrong angle to lick her. "Yeah yeah," she laughed as Windshear impatiently nudged her side, then started unhooking the straps of the saddle.

"There-" she said, and was nearly knocked off her feet as the two dragons took off through the trees. "Thor, girl, I need to get you some friends," she chuckled as she looked around, slinging the saddlebag over her shoulder and tucking the saddle under her arm.

"Heather!" a familiar and welcome voice called out, and she spotted Fishlegs up a steep and rocky incline a short distance away.

"I think my dragon ran off," she called back up to him, looking around the empty clearing. "Are you guys far away?"

"Not too far," he replied, then began picking his way down; he was adorably careful in his movements, so soft and gentle… "The dragons are taking some time off, we pushed them pretty hard to find all those ships. I don't think Ragnarok is gonna wake Meatlug."

"I'm sure we can handle a walk." She jogged over and met him as he reached the bottom. He instantly grabbed the saddlebag, tossing it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, but she held the saddle away from him. "I got this one," she said playfully, "it's only fair."

"Relative to body mass, you're carrying three times as much," he said smugly, walking around her and trying to take the big lump of leather while she stepped and ducked away from him. "I do not think that is fair at all."

"But if you take that, then I won't have anything," she laughed. "How does that work 'relative'?"

He stopped and stroked his chin. "Hmm… The two would be incomparable. Besides, you haven't got nothing, you've got your axe."

"Oh, yeah, this thing is great." She unhooked it from her back and weighed it in her hand. "But it really doesn't weigh a lot. I don't think that counts."

"More than if it didn't have weights in it," he countered, snatching for the saddle – too slow to catch her – then huffed. "Are they working okay? I know you said you felt your old axe was too light when open, but I think this one is even lighter than that."

"Oh yeah," she said emphatically, "I had a chance to use them at the feast." She looked at the axe, then the saddle, because she wanted to demonstrate – and his hand shot out faster than she was expecting and snatched the saddle off her. She pouted at him. "Fine. But just while I show you this."

"Not a chance," he said pompously.

Heather rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, then flipped the axe open, feeling the click as it locked in place, then pressed the nub and spun the weapon so that the weights slid to the ends. "It's a really weird balance," she explained, slowly and deliberately moving it about herself. "It's hard to keep the blades facing the right way. But I… uh… got really angry at something…"

He nodded knowingly at her, prompting her to proceed, and she grinned thankfully. "And in that state, I dunno, I just do stuff without thinking about it. Really cool stuff, like I had it spinning so fast it was humming. " She was not going to try that now, it felt like a great way to lose an arm. "I was actually cutting pieces off the other guy's weapon. It was perfect." She pressed the sides of the hinge together, unlocking it, then yanked it back to flip the weapon back into a single axe, and jumped at Fishlegs, throwing her arms around his wide shoulders. "Thank you, Fishlegs," she said into his rough tunic.

"Eheh, no problem," he said rigidly, and awkwardly patted her on the back.

She rolled her eyes and stepped back, trying to take the saddle with her, but he held it too tightly and then turned such that it pulled it right out of her grip. "We'd better head back, there's… something Hiccup will probably want to show you. You don't know any medicine, do you?"

"Medicine?" she echoed as they faced the rocky incline. "Not more than the basics. Why, is someone hurt?"

"Not one of us," he assured her, taking the first step up. "Hiccup and Toothy found someone on a boat. Really weird. We'll know more when he wakes up. If he wakes up."

That sounded interesting. "Sure, I can at least be another set of eyes." The conversation died out as they focused on climbing the treacherous slope, Fishlegs easily coping with her things. She'd need to get him back for that later. Hopefully it was his turn to cook tonight, and she could surprise him, maybe get her dragon to catch something.

They walked in a comfortable, easy silence, and true to his word it wasn't that far at all to the little camp, not much more than a few logs set up around a dead fire, and… what looked like a sail strung up between some trees as a sort of makeshift tent. How peculiar.

Astrid emerged from the tent as they approached. "Heather," she greeted warmly with the hush of one talking around someone sleeping, and they bumped armguards while Fishlegs dropped off her stuff. "How'd it all go?"

"Everyone's on their way, just as planned," Heather confirmed, rolling and stretching her shoulders. "I hear you've got… something? Fishlegs was kind of light on the details."

"Something," Astrid mused, "that's one way to put it." She went back to the makeshift tent and parted the blanket that made up the door, inviting her in.

Heather raised an eyebrow at her and ducked inside, then blinked at finding possibly the last person she expected. "I thought you said he was dead?" she whispered over her shoulder.

"That's what Hiccup said," Astrid agreed, peering inside. "Apparently not. Not yet, anyway, he's in bad shape."

Heather lifted the blanket to look Viggo over, then gently lifted the cloth on his bare chest to look under it. "Who stitched this?" she asked.

"I did," Astrid confirmed.

"What," Heather murmured to herself, "did you use a door handle instead of a needle?" There was a lot of bruising and scrapes around what looked like a fairly straightforward stab wound, and the stitches themselves were all over the place. But it didn't stink of infection, it wasn't bleeding, and Viggo was still breathing. He'd probably pull through. "Bit cold in here," she observed. Warmer than expected, but not warm enough.

"He's got a heated rock under his bed," Astrid explained. "But we should let him rest."

Heather slipped out of the tent and ensured it was all sealed up again. "So they just found him like that? He has a stab wound, they couldn't have done it."

"That's what they said," Astrid confirmed. "But it's not like he's been floating like that all winter. Who knows." She gestured with her axe, and Heather drew her own and followed. "He's got a lot to answer for when he wakes up, but we don't think he's the one who's been leading them. Well, it might be, his brother kind of did get blown apart." Heather had to agree that would very likely change anyone.

They passed Fishlegs, who had an armful of firewood. "I'll see you at dinner," Heather said to him, and he flinched before smiling and nodding back at her. That was weird, she was certain that reaction wasn't anything to do with her… "Who's cooking tonight?" she quietly asked Astrid.

"I am," Astrid replied cheerfully. "So we'd better not be out too long, it'll start getting dark soon."

Heather leaned in and lowered her voice. "Actually, do you mind if I take over?"

"Oh, so you don't think I can cook either?" Astrid shot back abrasively.

"I very specifically did not say that," Heather hedged, suddenly understanding Fishlegs' reaction and becoming more determined. "I just like to help out, cooking is something I learned on Berk and I want to repay that favour. Come on, we can go catch something to eat."

Astrid squinted at her, then glanced back to the camp. "Ohhh, I see…"

"Nooo no no no," Heather backtracked, "it's not like that!"

"But you want it to be like that!"

Heather groaned. "Can't we just have some girl time? Beat each other senseless before tracking down and slaughtering some hapless creature?"

"Oh, naturally," Astrid agreed cheerily, cutting a vine out of their way with her axe. "We can talk while we do that."

"You first then," Heather said with a smirk. "Who's the guy who's caught the eye of the mighty Astrid?"

Astrid snorted. "Nobody. Not… There's nobody."

"Buuuuut?" Heather teased. "I'm not gonna talk if you won't," she sang.

They walked in silence for several paces. Then Astrid looked around warily. "...Fine." She pointed her axe at her. "But you'll sorely regret it if you ever repeat this to anyone."

"Mmm, sounds saucy," Heather laughed, brushing off the threat. If she wasn't allowed to talk, then neither was Astrid, which made her a little more comfortable. "Go on then."

Astrid sighed. "So, there was this guy…"

"Was?"

"...Yeah. Was."

Where? Who? What? When? Why?

Viggo's breath hitched as he tried to move, and found that he couldn't. The wound in his side hurt even more than when he'd got it, which was an impressive feat, and he was drained of energy. He reflexively swallowed, finding he could, because there was water in his mouth-

There was still water in his mouth. Precious, life-granting water! The questions could wait, he wouldn't get answers while dead. "Ng." It was all he could do.

"More?" came a hazy, feminine voice, and all he could do was grunt again. Pathetic.

But if it brought more water, he would swallow his pride, for now. His right arm, the side of his wound, was weak beyond moving, but he could raise his left, and waved away the water after a few more sips. "Prop me up," he whispered; there was only so much coddling he could cope with.

"Not really an option," the voice said. It was familiar.

So, where was he? He cracked open an eye, finding something white suspended around him, draped over what looked like a branch. The ground didn't seem to be rocking, at least he didn't think so, so he wasn't on his ship anymore.

Who was with him? The four traitors were dead, and this voice was female. And blonde. "Astrid?" he murmured.

"So you're actually awake this time?" the girl asked, setting aside the water and folding her arms.

This time? They weren't even a night out at sea before his 'trusted' Hunters turned on him, when they thought him asleep – and thank Thor he had grown suspicious from the mysterious blood in the nick of time – but of course they hadn't bothered to load food or water. As best he could tell, three days at sea… Who knew how long between then and now.

So what was he doing here? He would have laughed, were he able to. He was of no use to the Riders now. The wound in his side throbbed painfully, and he groaned again, trying to keep thinking to keep his mind occupied. Maybe he could give them some information, but they were perfectly capable of getting it themselves, if not as quickly, and he knew nothing of what Krogan planned to do from now.

"Why?" he asked. Why not just leave him to die?

"Hel if I know," Astrid mumbled. "Dragons don't exactly think like us. But he hasn't steered us wrong yet."

Dreamer. That promised an interesting conversation at some point. A dragon who does not kill, with very few exceptions, and even goes out of his way to save his enemies…

"My armour," he groaned, trying to sit up. The lens-!

"Hey, you'll tear the stitches out," Astrid said, putting a firm hand on his shoulder that he had no chance of fighting. "It's here…" Her voice was laden with suspicion.

"Sentimental," he muttered. No sense giving her reason to go searching.

The next thing he knew, it was dark, and the tent was empty. He had some recollection of the conversation, though he wasn't relying on any of that being accurate; the only reason he could distinguish it from his dreams was that it was in the same location as he was now.

He had more strength now, at least, and gripped the edge of the bed with his left hand to prop himself up-

A gasp escaped him, and there was a sudden silence that had not been there before. He barely dared breathe, knowing he was in enemy hands.

"There's water to your left, Viggo," someone said from outside. "We'll talk in the morning. Go back to sleep."

He located the cup by his left hand, a simple task once he knew to look for it, and managed to splash some water into his mouth.

When he next woke, it was day again, and after mustering his energy, he managed to sit up. His armour was indeed in a pile in the corner, and it was unlikely they'd searched it thoroughly enough to find the lens. Still, he wanted to check…

But he was also aware that he hadn't eaten anything, at least not that he was aware of, in at least five days. Not a good combination with blood loss. This was making itself known in the form of a horrible, head-splitting lightheadedness.

When his vision cleared and he could peer through his fingers, he found Astrid and a Night Fury had entered the tent, and were watching him. "Feel up to eating something?" she asked. "You've been out a while."

"How long?"

"Two days since we picked you up."

"Eggs would be perfect." When well cooked, they were good food and easy to digest.

"We don't-... Oh, apparently we can do that." There were some low draconic sounds, the dragon leaning out of the tent. "While we wait for that, mind telling us what exactly you were doing, you know, dying on your own out there? Start with how you survived drowning."

He sighed, seeing no reason to refuse answers, then started explaining. How he'd escaped with the aid of the Shellfire, been picked up and ditched the ship, taken more than a moment to grieve… Then found it all but impossible to round everyone up again.

He explained how Krogan had sidled his way into things and helped bring order, in his own way, but far too much of it. Viggo thought he'd managed to turn the tables on the foreigner, but somehow all the hunters had been turned against him in the meantime. The only one who had remained loyal, at least the only one he knew of, had died for it… a mere drop of his blood in the wrong place providing all the warning needed; it had saved his life, igniting suspicion and allowing him to catch the real traitors off-guard.

Not off-guard enough, it seemed. Well, he had been exhausted. Still, he should have thought to check the supplies himself, not just assume sufficient food and water had been loaded. At least they had been stupid enough to gloat that he had nowhere within three days' sailing to make land without being attacked on sight; though even now, he didn't see how he could survive the same again, this had been pure chance and he wasn't out of the water yet.

"So," he concluded, "I now find myself in the company of my opponents, injured, weak, with no plans and no allies. What will you do now?" He addressed the question to the Night Fury, as he knew it was the real master that led these Riders, whatever his idiot Hunters thought. In hindsight, that disagreement might have been part of what had turned them all against him; he had never understood Ryker's insistence on oversimplifying many such details.

"We want to show you our way," Astrid said, though she didn't sound happy about it. "Think you can stand?"

"That is an odd proposition," Viggo mused, then managed to stand – and shivered, suddenly reminded it was still winter, or near enough, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. He took the opportunity to check his wound, where the sword had gone in a palm under his armpit, alongside his ribs, and carefully pulled the cloth away from it… "Who stitched this?"

"Well, apparently it wasn't worth a moment of your time," Astrid said dryly. Whatever was she talking about?

No matter. The wound was sealed, at any rate, and the cloth appeared clean, so he pressed it back to his skin and gingerly, painfully, retrieved his clothes and armour. Not only did it provide a little more protection against the cold, but he was able to subtly check the presence of the lens as he fitted his pauldrons; still there, to his relief. Then something else caught his eye. "You are allowing me my sword?" he asked, finding it at the bottom of the pile.

"You think it'll do you any good?" Astrid asked, amused.

"It is more the principle," Viggo reasoned, though he still strapped it to his back; on the opposite side, so he could draw it with his working hand.

She watched the dragon for a moment while it spoke. "Hiccup says to forget everything you know."

Vikings and their names. He shook his head as they turned and exited the tend, then followed cautiously.

It wasn't until he was presented with the sight of the dragons and people casually interacting that he realised he didn't have any preconceptions or assumptions about how the Riders behaved when they weren't fighting the Hunters. The squat boy, Fishlegs, was sat on his Gronckle, which was snoring on its back, to cook some eggs on a skillet over the fire. Heather was there too, which didn't surprise him in the slightest, though she was playing with her Razorwhip and Astrid's Nadder as if they were dogs, throwing big sticks for them to chase after.

The other Night Fury, 'Toothy' – another inane moniker – was lying on his side by the fire, clearly enjoying the warmth. The twins appeared to be hanging from a tree a short distance away, laughing and shouting as their Zippleback headbutted them around. "And the Nightmare?" Viggo asked Dreamer, seeing this for what it was.

Dreamer grumbled, and Astrid rolled her eyes. "Snotlout has some… alternative ideas on how we should do things," she said, an edge of frustration to her voice. "You probably won't see him, and I'm not actually sure what'll happen if you do."

"Duly noted," Viggo said worriedly; by all reports, the kid was a wildcard. "And what, exactly, do you hope to accomplish with this little demonstration?"

"That dragons aren't monsters," Astrid said simply. "Dangerous, sure, but also friendly, when approached the right way. Well, most of them. But the others aren't really an issue when you've got a friend to lend you their wings." The Nadder suddenly sprinted across the camp, stopping just short of Astrid to nuzzle her and receive strokes across her head. Was it purring? How peculiar.

Viggo stroked his beard, finding it unacceptably scruffy. "A few tame dragons does not make for much of a convincing argument. Krogan has as much himself. But you can skip this charade. Krogan has united the Dragon Hunters to his own cause, and you have seen his methods… Had it been up to me, your base would not have been attacked at all, and certainly not burned. He is approaching my campaign with the same zeal, and our interests no longer align."

He dropped onto one of the logs by the fire, sitting with his back to the warm flames and gently putting a hand to his aching wound. "Not to mention he, and the Hunters, have betrayed me. I cannot overlook that. I cannot promise where we will be at the end of all this, but I will help you take him down."

Astrid and the dragon conferred for a few moments, though Viggo was too weary and pained to attempt to decipher it now.

"You said yourself, you have nothing left," Astrid summarised. "Tell him you have no scheme, that you have told us everything."

He huffed, opening his mouth-... And suddenly realised that was a promise he could not honestly make. He hadn't even answered before Dreamer's eyes, staring at him expectantly, narrowed to slits.

Dreamer growled, pacing back and forth a short distance from the camp, while Heather and Astrid leaned against nearby trees.

"We can't trust him," Astrid exclaimed, sounding frustrated.

"I don't think it's that simple," Heather said thoughtfully. "He's not lying, I don't think he would lie to you-"

"I know if he lie," Dreamer huffed. "But that not mean we can trust him."

"Exactly," she agreed. "But it's not a black and white question. Break it down further than that. We know that Krogan, and probably all the dragon hunters, want him dead."

"'Probably' doesn't cut it," Astrid said cuttingly. "We should assume someone is looking for him, like last time."

Yes, last time… Ryker had not been given any instructions, so Viggo had been able to deny he had a plan while trusting his brother to break him out.

"And then there's Krogan's resources," Heather continued. "The private army, we can handle… The Berserkers need a fight anyway."

Dreamer growled, halting his pacing to examine her. "You mean kill them."

"It's out of my hands," she said carefully. "There's a war brewing, whatever we do. Viggo and Krogan have been winding them up for two years, it was always going to explode in their faces. The best we can do is make sure no innocents get caught in the crossfire."

He sighed. "Why Long-Paws always want kill…"

"It's just the way of things," Astrid said with a shrug. "It's a thrill, fighting for your life. You'd rather everyone just sat inside all day? And it brings people together, forces them to work together and get stronger. Otherwise we'd never have survived the-... Well, a time when dragons were less friendly with us."

Heather adjusted her long, dark hair. "Getting a little sidetracked," she said, flicking her head. "More to the point is what to do with all this. What does this change?"

"Not much," Dreamer conceded, not wanting to leave the other discussion at that but not seeing what he could do about it. "We know hunters have Dragon Eye. We need get it back. We also now know where hunters are. I go there this night. Decide what do after that."

"We should prioritise the Dragon Eye," Heather advised. "There's still a chance it's where Viggo left it. Windshear and I should come with you. We'll go there first, then keep going to the main base, see what we're working against."

Dreamer let out a low, thoughtful hum. Everything was suddenly moving so quickly, which was fantastic, but he couldn't afford to let himself get swept up in the current.

Snotlout yelled as loud as he could from Hookfang's back, high up in the sky where the petty people were far away and irrelevant.

What was he supposed to do? He was supposed to be a Viking, and couldn't go back home until he could tell his dad as such. But the people around him weren't behaving like Vikings, they were behaving like… something that wasn't a Viking!

And then Toothy and Hiccup had flown a rolled sail back to camp, strung up between them with ropes, which had turned out to hold Viggo, back from the dead. Night Furies mustn't be that impressive, if they couldn't even kill someone right; he knew that was a stupid thought, but he didn't care. But did they execute him? Ransom him? No, of course not, Hiccup wanted to talk to him. Not even torture him or anything, he wanted to try to convert him to his stupid ways or something.

Now they were all down there talking, planning on sneaking around and doing other un-Vikingly things. Granted, they were five dragon riders and six dragons, they couldn't just take on an army by themselves, but this was overly cautious and with too many restrictions. This would have been over long ago if they'd just burned the ships they'd come across, that would have been the Viking way! He'd have dozens of stories to drink to, and the scars to prove them.

The open sky beckoned, an enticing escape from his conundrum… He could just fly away, never to hear of any of these idiots ever again…

On the other hand, he'd already missed out on the final battle once, and he wasn't making that mistake again, not when that was what they were likely planning right now.

The trouble was that he couldn't figure out how to reconcile all this in his head. He had to be a Viking, but how could he do that when the ones calling the shots weren't Vikings? It was so unfair, Astrid didn't need to prove anything so why did she get to call the shots?

Hookfang grunted, slowing a little to glide and turn his head to look at him. Those big green eyes dilated and the Monstrous Nightmare gave a low bark.

"You're right, Hooky," Snotlout said, patting the long neck. "I can play their games, it doesn't matter what they think. It only matters what I think. And I know I'm a Viking."

He was the strongest, most fearless of the riders, the original dragon riders. He'd been flying a dragon when his dad had still been fighting them, which made him an elite among all the dragon riders of Berk, of the world even, and he was the best Viking of that elite.

Yes, he could tell his father, to his face, that he was a Viking. Even neck-deep in all this weakness, he was a Viking. "I am a Viking!"

The night wind was never as strong as it could be during the day, particularly in these hours before dawn, but it was constant. Flying in it was pleasant, a calm and relaxing activity without needing to wrestle the numerous eddies and prolific turbulence that marred it under the light of the sky-fire. Dreamer appreciated it, even while staring down at the hunter base below; he had been neglecting the little things recently, which he was discovering was an important part of life.

The base was exactly where Viggo had said it was, in the middle of a cluster of islands not far from where they'd picked him up, and his scratched-out approximation of its layout was accurate enough for Dreamer to get his bearings. The docks were an easy point of reference, host to some twenty ships, some of which were anchored offshore. From there were the storehouses, then simple smithies and other production and maintenance buildings, a section of out-of-the-way huts for the privileged, and tents at the back for the average hunters.

He chuffed at Wanderer, who chuffed back, then warily descended; his friend would remain above, watching for threats, just in case.

Heather adjusted her grip on him as they descended, reminding him she was there. Windshear would not have gone unseen descending into the camp, and if he had to carry Heather down then he might as well do so for the whole trip, as he was much faster than her Razorwhip.

Being well after midnight, the camp was silent and still, but there were still patrols wandering the streets. They had little chance of spotting a Nightstriker against the sky though, allowing him to get down close and figure out exactly which hut had been Viggo's. Around here somewhere… He was looking for one slightly wider hut on its own, at the end of a short row. He thought he could see the row, but there was no hut on the end of it.

Just a black blot on the ground.

He landed delicately on the next roof, which was charred at the edges despite being a good two body-lengths from the pile of charred wood. His ears twitched and swivelled, focusing on spots of his surroundings at a time, and when there was no indication of anyone nearby, he hopped down, and Heather nimbly slid from his shoulders.

"They burned it?" she whispered, bewildered.

It certainly looked like it. It was difficult to see any colour in the dim light, but he had a feeling there wasn't much other than black to see.

Heather picked her way through the debris, herself and her clothes covered in char before they'd left. With her black hair, she could lie down and go unnoticed until dawn, possibly beyond that. "The door was here," she said, moving to a space by the path.

Right, he needed to focus. He started scenting the ruin, leaving the extrapolation to Heather.

"Walk in here… Ah, here's the bed."

Finding nothing of interest, he hopped over to where she was standing by some scraps of what had likely been a heavy skin blanket, and located a pile of charcoal beside it. "Wait," he hissed quietly as she reached for it, inspecting it carefully.

It had been disturbed, after it had been burned down. There was a bit of exposed wood that wasn't charred, and an appropriately sized empty space in the ash. He grumbled, then pawed through it, finding only little bits of metal that had likely once been tools and trinkets of some kind, now useless even for their iron.

"I'm guessing it's not there then," Heather sighed quietly. "Anything else we can do here?" He nudged her leg with his shoulder, and she slipped back onto him.

As he ascended back into the sky, he reflected on what it meant. Krogan likely had it now, but he, or someone else, had retrieved it after the hut had burned. He mustn't have cared about it all that much, or he would have checked before allowing the fire to start. But it also meant that Viggo had been entirely truthful, in this part at least.

"It not there," he explained to Wanderer as they reached him, setting out for the second objective of this flight.

Wanderer huffed, uninterested in the device as he was, and set a comfortable cruising speed.

Dreamer continued thinking as they flew, about the whole situation. There was mounting evidence that the hunters really were set against Viggo, for whatever reason, almost down to the man. Krogan had to have had a hand in that, but Viggo himself seemed different, beyond what would be expected from being at the point of starvation. He was… somehow lesser, some of the light faded from his eyes. Grief for his brother, possibly, something any Viking would scorn.

And he had to assume Krogan had the Dragon Eye, though it was possible it was a trophy under some random hunter's bed. Aside from how useful its wealth of information could be to Berk, it was extremely dangerous to just leave floating around. It would need to be found.

As they flew, the sky-fire slowly lit the horizon, dimming the sky-sparks that were faintly visible through the thin clouds above. They had timed it perfectly, arriving with some few minutes to have a quick look from overhead with another set of eyes, ones that were familiar with how the hunters worked and what to look for.

And what they found chilled him to his core.

He had been to this island before, a while ago, his memory for geography snapping into place and telling him what should be here – an island that had originally been the home of some twenty Spine-Tails, containing forests, a few packs of boars to hunt, and a pool of cloudy but drinkable water near the base of the little mountain.

Now, the land itself looked grey and dead, nothing but fields of stumps, and the pool had been broken open. Smoke billowed into the sky from a few places, the sources difficult to make out, and even the water around it looked off-colour somehow.

He and Wanderer snarled, and Heather gasped. "They're not just hunting dragons," she said faintly, "they're stripping everything away, making it uninhabitable… If they do this for every island…"

Then the dragons would all be forced into a corner, until they could do nothing but fight back. And with the weapons he could see on these ships, net launchers and other things he did not recognise, plus what were likely Singetails caged on the decks…

And at the head of it all, anchored offshore, was the same giant ship that had been at Viggo's auction, now even further outfitted for war. It bristled with weapons around its deck and even poking out of the hull itself, some of which he could only guess at the function of. Near the main cabin was a big dragon, though it took up only a tiny fraction of the deck. That must be Krogan's dragon, whatever it was. He was here.

Dreamer had wondered what kind of person would be a less preferable opponent to Viggo. He had a feeling he was finding out.

Author's Notes

Whew, the next two chapters were very difficult to write for various reasons, including a crippling writer's block that lasted almost a week. BUT, pending beta approval, they finally wrap up the second act! Now I can start on the third, which will go back to a more fluffy, fuzzly focus on our Fury duo that I know you guys love so much =P

Here's to the new year!