Berk had certainly seen better days. Astrid put her hand to the ice splashed over the front of the Great Hall, as if someone had decorated it with cream, admiring how its smooth, glossy facets shone in the summer sun.

There weren't many people left on the island, but it still felt crowded, people jostling for the limited space and muttering at passersby. She looked out over the village, at the swathes of ice that had barely even started to melt. So much destruction, so much in ruin; and worse than just needing to rebuild, they needed to clear this infernal ice first.

But they would rebuild. Vikings weren't the sharpest tools, Astrid was coming to truly realise, but they also did not tend to forget something they'd needed to do for generations. No, the muttering and grumbling from most of those passing through the narrow tunnel into the Hall was mostly on the subject of being left out of the fun.

The ships had set sail, any damaged by the attacking dragons of two days ago having been quickly salvaged, to assert Viking pride over the human element of the enemy army that had for some reason been left behind. Spitelout had abandoned all duties here to lead that charge, declaring that if she was desperate enough for his advice at this point then she really was in trouble. Jorgensons would be Jorgensons, she supposed.

Still, that army made her uneasy; not the army itself, just the fact that it existed. While there may or may not be another 'Bewilderbeast', as Fishlegs had reported it after the first day of interrogating Hiccup, the fact remained that an army encompassing dragons was possible, and Berk could again be set upon with next to no warning. Tactically, she wasn't sure she could fault that madman for sending the dragons ahead of the ships, that would have otherwise allowed advanced warning of their arrival to prepare and bring at least the Berserkers into it to level the playing field. She still wasn't sure what they could have done about the Bewilderbeast, but they would have had a fighting chance.

She exhaled, watching as her warm breath blew ripples in the thin film of water sliding over her reflection, further distorting it. She looked almost as weary as she felt. Several people had voiced respect for her no-nonsense attitude and delegation, but really she was just trying to get people to leave her alone so she could take a breather. She was glad the ships had left, everything was much quieter for her in their absence and they would be happier for the fight.

"Thor, Astrid," Fishlegs said, appearing from the trench carved through the ice up the stairs to the Great Hall, "when was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday," she said disinterestedly. "Maybe Tyr's Day."

"Umm… Yesterday was Thor's Day, not Odin's. It's Frigga's Day today."

"Eh," she grunted, shrugging it off. "How's Hiccup?"

"In pain," Fishlegs said simply. "But he's coping. It's been a real chore to get anything useful out of him. Plenty about this ice nest though-"

Someone shoved their way past him, barely bothering to offer a glance and a grunt, forcing him to brace himself against the ice wall. "Maybe we could go inside?" he offered plaintively.

"Into the village," Astrid decided, preferring the fresh air, and started leading him back down, her boots splashing in the trickles of water running down the steps.

"Okay," he agreed, shuffling up behind her and then pressing himself to the side to let someone else pass; they wisely gave Astrid a wide enough berth. "No more Night Furies, but he heard of some, and they found… umm, Stoick's wife."

Astrid nodded, taking that all in. She hadn't seen Stoick's wife… since… "Wait, who?"

She heard Fishlegs shuffle nervously behind her. "Ehhh, she'll probably be coming back with Stoick. He's pretty beat up-"

"Keep that quiet," she cut in. "People have enough to worry about right now."

"Well I hope you're used to this, because I think you're going to be standing in a while," he said more cheerily than he had any right to.

"Great," Astrid groaned as she stepped over the puddle that had formed at the bottom of the stairs. "Guess I'll…"

She trailed off, listening to the shouting echoing faintly up the village with a weary sigh, recognising the signs of a massive brawl brewing; the dragon intermittently roaring over the top of it was not encouraging. "Let me deal with this first…"

Stormfly was taking a much-needed break, unfortunately, so she could only jog down to the commotion herself. Fishlegs followed, which turned out to be a good thing. "What kind of dragon is that?" she asked him – four wings, and a wide head rimmed with horns and long frills, it stood head, shoulders, Viking, and yak above the people crowding around it, and it was clearly aggravated. "Fishlegs," she announced loudly, "start taking names so I know who to put on ice breaking duty."

"Ack, count me outta tha'," a wholesomely familiar voice replied as the din quietened. "Ah've had enough o' blasted ice ter see me ter Hel an' back."

"Gobber!" Astrid shouted gleefully, shoving people aside to reach him and firmly clasp his proffered hand.

"Hoo, quite tha grip on ya there, lass," he whistled. "Ah see everythin' a' home is how we left it." He looked up and around at the ice still encasing many of the surrounding homes. "More or less. Mind clearin' a path?"

"Cloudjumper needs place for rest," a woman asked in a stilted, harried voice from between the big dragon's wings, behind Gobber. "Please, we should go to Chief's hut."

"It's occupied," Astrid replied without thinking, stepping around Gobber to address her – "Chief!" she blurted out, seeing the thin woman offering support for Stoick, though he was trying to appear as if he didn't need it. He looked terrible, face dark and sunken, beard badly matted, and that aside from his right arm missing entirely around which his clothes were caked with blood.

Astrid blinked, then stared incredulously at the crowd around them. "What in Frigga's name are you all doing gawking here!? Hot bath, hot meal, Gothi, all in the Chief's hut! And someone get him up there! Whoever's last is on ice breaking duty as long as there's still ice!" Everyone murmured abashedly and started hurrying to comply. "Fishlegs, how are those names coming?"

She wasn't surprised to see Ruffnut leaning over his shoulder, pointing people out to him as he scribbled in a little notebook. "Pretty good," he said loudly, "we can do the rest from memory." What a surprise, everyone started moving a lot more quickly; they had called her bluff the first time, possibly thinking she couldn't enforce it, but they had quickly been put in their place by the many important people keen to have their homes defrosting a little more quickly.

She then nearly scolded the woman for landing all the way down here instead of up at the hut directly, but the dragon looked exhausted. "I know, I know," the woman was murmuring to it, stroking its head while it crooned back at her. Astrid decided to let it slide.

For his part, Stoick was looking around, though it seemed he could drop unconscious as quickly as a Thorston could lie. His gaze wandered around the villagers, then settled on Astrid.

He gave her a curt, if weary, nod, and began shuffling forwards, clearly struggling with every step but determined to prove he wasn't as defeated as he looked. "Don't worry," she said quietly to him, "I'll sort everything out until you're ready to go again." For some reason, he laughed at that; a quiet, pained laugh, but one of amusement nonetheless.

Gobber walked up next to her, tugging his belt back up over his gut. "Ah'll assume tha' since the dragons are all runnin' aroun' an' all, yeh dealt wit' the big ice spittin' one?"

"Yeah," Astrid hedged. "The Furies beat it off. It's still out there somewhere but apparently it can't take control of anything again." If it showed up again, they could beat it back with numbers.

"Sound abou' righ'," he replied jovially, then waved his hook and started trudging up the village; someone seemed to have found a Gronckle to give Stoick a lift, so he was in good hands. "Where's Spitelou' go' to? We should patch our tales together."

"Off making his own," she groaned. "There's a whole army of Drago's ships sailing here, most of the village is off with him to rout them."

Gobber paused, glancing across at her. "An' 'e's left you in charge?"

"I was in charge, and he left, so I guess so. When that thing showed up, everyone only saw 'giant dragon' and ran to the nearest authority."

He chuckled. "Tha'd be you then. Ah'm gonna need a few stiff drinks after all tha's 'appened, then ah'll fill ya in on it."

Astrid had a sinking feeling as she walked beside him. "You don't want to know what happened here?"

"Eh, yeh seem ta have it in 'and," he said, waving her off. "Firs', ah need ta ge' blind drunk."

That figured. She held back a sigh and mentally prepared herself for more information and responsibility.

Wanderer slinked up the steps to the alpha's den, his heart racing and his limbs heavy with dread. It was long into the cool night, some light clouds obscuring many of the sky-sparks above, but while the splashes of ice everywhere lit up the nest, the den before him seemed shadowed and ominous.

That was just his imagination, he was sure… but so much had happened in such a short time. Old fears had been dredged up and made reality, and his Dreamer had…

He shook his head and quietly nosed open the latch, then slowly pressed himself into the gap and through the door.

For all his subtleness was worth, both Dreamer and his sire were watching him from near the fire. Dreamer's leg was bound in white not-skins, similarly to how his wing had been fixed, and the Long-Paw alpha was relaxed into his chair. Unable to back out of it now, Wanderer stepped inside, pushed the door closed, and approached the alpha.

Stoick stared at him with warm, understanding eyes coloured with sympathy and pain. Wanderer walked up to him to nose at where his arm should be and scent the wound, then shrank back with an apologetic whimper. The rough paw that gently stroked his head was little comfort, as was the weakly muttered forgiveness. He hadn't been entirely in control of himself at the time, but he had still allowed himself to be tricked into attacking, with severe consequence; there was no reason to be hanging on to even the slightest hint of grudge from that past life.

Still, there was nothing further to do but just bear the responsibility and move on. He licked the paw stroking his head before reluctantly turning to walk around the fire and face his Dreamer.

The other Nightstriker stared sullenly at the floor between them, having since splayed his paws out to lean on his side. Wanderer tried to appreciate the gesture, though it meant little, even before taking his injured leg into account. "What you do?" Wanderer asked him quietly.

Dreamer was quiet for a pawful of heartbeats before responding. "Many things," he said quietly. "Alpha not was dead yet. He… tell me things. About Nightstrikers, about what happen much time past. About… big alpha-dragons. He tell me how do those things."

"You give me bad thoughts," Wanderer whimpered. After a stammering attempt to find words to proceed, he instead keened fear, worry, pawing at his head. He felt violated, not only by the bad alpha but also by his Dreamer, his trusted Dreamer!

"I needed do that," Dreamer moaned, his tone heavy with apologetic, worry. "I needed help you get free. Help you fight…" He pawed at the ground, picking at a small gap with a claw. "Alpha taught me much after… you were taken. But I wanted forget that. I did forget. Not remember how."

So… No, Wanderer shook his head in denial, "You gave me thoughts before then, when I-..." He guiltily glanced over at Dreamer's Sire.

Dreamer looked up at him and tilted his head in confusion. "I did then? I not even know…"

"I wanted kill your sire," he grumbled. "You tell me you not want me do that… Not could stop shot but could maybe not kill…"

"So I did before Alpha told me how," Dreamer said slowly, and Wanderer grunted. Then Dreamer narrowed his eyes. "You rather you kill my sire?"

Wanderer huffed, dismissing the stupid question; of course not. "But you would have," Dreamer said with a light growl, "if I not do that."

"It not about that," Wanderer growled back at him.

"What it about?" Dreamer pressed, not quite aggressively but bordering on it.

"I not like that… you can give me bad thoughts!" He shuffled his paws, aimlessly stamping the wooden ground, wanting to pace but not wanting to stand. "I trust you, but how I can trust that? You could just tell me trust you!"

With a slight whimper of pain, Dreamer stood, then hopped over to him, sitting down within striking distance. "You are stronger than me," he said levelly.

"But-"

"You are faster," Dreamer barked over him. "Bigger. I practise fighting with you, but I never win fight. I never will win fight. You throw fight, that not me winning. That just fun."

"You-"

"I need trust you," Dreamer cut him off again. "If you want kill me, I not could stop you. I never could stop you. When we hatch again, you could let me starve. You not do that." He stared pleading into Wanderer's eyes. "I not do that also."

That didn't make him feel much better, but he reluctantly had to acknowledge what Dreamer was saying. "I still not like it," he grumbled, feeling his wings lower back to his sides.

Dreamer huffed. "I not know how do that now. I only know it needs fire."

That was the other thing. Wanderer tentatively warbled enquiry, dreading what Dreamer might say. He had spent long enough waiting for his fire again, to lose it once more would be torture, but his plasma hadn't replenished since the fight; if anything it felt more empty than when he normally had none, a dark coldness in his chest and all the way down his back.

"We will have fire again," Dreamer crooned. "That… I not remember how do that also. I think… some plasma is needed for make more. But when do… that, uses all plasma. Need make it again, but take longer when have none left."

All Wanderer really understood of that was that it was temporary, which was enough for him. He still had his air-fire, could still warm a rock, he just couldn't shoot it. He suspected he also wouldn't be able to transfer to a new body… but as long as this was temporary, it was fine.

Dreamer purred quietly, tentatively, shuffling his paws. "Are… we good…?"

He still didn't like it… but Wanderer shuffled up against him, nestling in close. "Sleeping alone is cold," he mumbled, settling down against his side, and Dreamer chuckled as he lay down as well. "But… please, not do that again… I was trapped with bad thoughts for much time, not want think you could…"

"I never want use that again," Dreamer assured him with a nuzzle; even though he knew Dreamer wouldn't want to, it felt good to hear him say it.

A loud, obnoxious noise brought both Nightstrikers' attention to the Long-Paw alpha, slumped in his chair with his head resting on his good shoulder and his eyes closed. Wanderer huffed and settled back down.

"But," Dreamer purred with amusement, turning to look back at him, "if you cold, why on that side? Fire is over here."

Wanderer responded by putting a wing over him, letting it soak in the heat from the fire instead. Dreamer swatted at it with a plaintive growl, blocking him from the fire as it was, but he soon fidgeted a bit to get comfortable and settled down, purring content.

The vibration felt good against Wanderer's side – his body had still not recovered from the ordeal, even aside from his fire, but that purr rolling through him was relaxing, comforting his tortured muscles. He did not remember doing anything specific while under control, that was all just a dark haze, but he knew he had been flying for a very long time and there had been a Long-Paw on his back.

And after all that, he'd fought off another giant, a… false-King, while Dreamer had done something to him that had caused his fire to burn hotter than his body could properly handle. So not only were all his muscles cramping and strained with overexertion, but there was a dull throbbing down his spine that made it difficult to get comfortable even if it was not actively painful.

But Dreamer's purring, pressed to his side, was comforting enough that he finally felt himself relaxing… Perhaps, enough to finally sleep…

Claws scraping the mouth of the den roused him. "Dam?" he chirped blearily, then cracked his mouth in a cavernous yawn-

He yelped as jaws closed down on his scruff, and he was lifted from the ground… mostly. His hindlegs scrabbled to find purchase, kicking up dirt as he was dragged, but though he writhed to show his dislike for this treatment, he instinctively remained silent.

An explosion above, followed by another, and another. He couldn't see, the light of the sky-fire was dreadfully bright and he was not fully awake however quickly that was changing with Dam's fearful breaths blowing over his shoulder, but the shrieking in the distance, eager, hungry shrieks, had him desperately trying to wake from the nightmare.

When that did not work, he whimpered quietly. Like most of his nightmares, his limbs felt slow and sluggish, even beyond the exhaustion that gripped them, and the shrieks were getting closer, promising to bite and claw at him and tear into him and he wished he would just wake up already…!

Dam dropped him, and he fell limply in the grass and leaves – before he could even think about rising, sharp teeth bit into the base of his tail, and he yipped as he leapt to his paws. "Run!" Dam hissed, slapping his tail with hers as she leaped past him, and something about her wide, fearful eyes silenced any objections he might have had. He was sore, he was tired, but he ran after her, his life-beats pounding through his chest.

Through scattered shafts of light, darting between trees, he tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on above, but the sky was too bright to see anything through the ever-shifting leaves. All he had to go off were the explosions, more than he could count, the shrieks of hunting and pain, and distant fires crackling in all directions.

A sudden change in the forest ahead of them gave him pause, but Dam did not hesitate to fire at the strange creatures blocking their path, and leapt into their midst with a snarl and outstretched claws. He added his own fire, though he wasn't very good at it yet, to kill more of the things that were most certainly trying to hurt Dam; they had to be Long-Paws, Sire and Dam had told him about them but he had never seen any before now.

Dam groaned, hanging her head and panting hoarsely in the midst of strewn bodies and splintered trees and other strange things, and then she turned her head back to him. "We need fly now, but not above trees-"

She was cut off by something crashing down through the canopy to land near her, a nightmarish thing of sharp spikes and a long stinging tail whipping up aggressively behind it and long tusks that seemed to be getting longer as it snarled and leapt-

He cowered and backed away, hoping he wasn't noticed as Dam hit it directly in the face with a shot before leaping around and away from it – another one crashed through the canopy, thudding into the ground terrifyingly close by, and also leapt at Dam, closely followed by a larger, third one – no, that was Sire fighting one! Sire was burning with light, and looked furious, pinning and clawing it, but nothing could-

A cold numbness gripped him as a long claw flipped out from the foreleg of the thing and stabbed straight through Sire's wing, tearing right out of the back of it. Sire roared in pain even as he wrestled with the thing, and then he shot a stream of fire into its face and it jerked wildly before going limp, but a moment later was knocked off it by another one…

He fled. Dam had said not to fly above the trees, so he ran and ran as far as he could, as fast as he could, desperately wishing he would wake from this nightmare so he could snuggle up under anyone's wings again and listen to them purr at him that everything was okay…

Eventually, his legs gave out. He couldn't run any further. Maybe he could fly, but he had to hope that someone would come for him. Sire was still teaching him to use his fire… Sire was telling him about leaving his nest… Dam was telling him about females… That all felt so long ago… He didn't even know how many nights ago that had been…

He was exposed where he was, so he forced himself back to his paws, legs burning and breaths rattling in his chest, and dragged himself to a nearby shrub. There, he collapsed into the leaves and coarse branches, letting them cover him at least a little better than just lying out in the open.

Silence was not what he wanted to hear, but there was only the rustling of the leaves as the wind blew through them to soothe his fears, and it was hardly effective at that. He lay there in a daze, panting and waiting, watching for someone… or something… to come for him.

He stilled his breaths when that moment eventually came, brisk pawsteps making no attempt at silence, and he remained motionless; partly because he was still exhausted, partly because moving might draw attention to him. But when Dam emerged from the trees, her back glowing brightly and a wing trailing limply in the leaves, he whined relief and shakily rolled upright.

Relief, she crooned as she trotted up to him. He wanted to lick the blood from her face – one of her ears was missing – but she pressed her snout to his head and purred deeply. "You need fly," she whined quietly, sadly.

"Sire?" he asked, looking up at her.

She whined in sheer grief, bowing her head against his and closing her eyes… which then snapped open and narrowed, her ear going up, and she backed away and looked to where she had come from.

Fly, she screeched, the sound loud in his head, and he found himself rising to his paws and backing away to spread his wings. He had to fly, to somewhere cold and far where he would find one to take care of him, who needed to know… His body did not hurt any more, and he was good at flying through trees; he had practised much with Sire. He could not turn back now. He had to fly. Even as the last thing he saw of Dam was something falling onto her and driving two long talons into her back-

He jolted awake, briefly clawing at the wood underneath him and throwing out his wings before being grabbed and held down, a comforting croon and soft, worried purr rolling into his ears.

A pawful of racing life-beats and tense, gasping breaths later, Wanderer choked and whimpered, curling up in his Dreamer's embrace where he keened and sobbed the loss of his family anew. It was long in the past, but so many reminders had been too much to bear.

This pain and grief was old, familiar, but he quietly keened for far longer than he could ever remember doing before. Long enough that Dreamer fell asleep on him, snoring into his ears; that was comforting, in a sense, and they were both exhausted.

But… Wanderer was tired of running, of hiding. After a final sniffle and a long, shaky breath, he felt better. Cleaner. He was fed up with running, with hiding. He was strong. His Dreamer was strong. He didn't have to be afraid any longer.

Dreamer banked sharply in the warm summer air, angling down to the farm he'd spotted a commotion on. As he backwinged into a landing on a sturdy fence post, doing his best to ignore the disgusting eel pinned to it, he snarled angrily at the big dragon inside the large enclosure, and it dropped the sheep hanging limply from its mouth.

The sheep just flopped to the ground, unmoving. Great, another one… He hopped down from the post, shaking his head at the nauseating stench emanating from it, then stalked over to the carcass and placed a paw on it. "Mine," he growled, staring the dragon down, what Fishlegs had dubbed a 'Thunderclaw'; probably due to their tendency to stampede. "Mine," he repeated, tipping his head at the rest of the flock, crowded around the other end of the field in the distance.

The Thunderclaw, bowing and offering plaintive whimpers, backed up, conceding to Dreamer's authority. For now. Eventually it would get hungry again and wonder if the easy meals out in the open here would be better than the ones roaming the forest. This particular type of dragon seemed to prefer land-prey to fish, where it could get it; which was a nuisance, because they had plenty of fish, but their livestock was still recovering from when the Outcasts had attacked.

He growled with a toss of his head, and the Thunderclaw took off, its wings carrying it ponderously into the sky and off towards the forests. They also couldn't be allowed to just hunt out all the wild game… but that was a whole other issue.

"Thanks fer nothin'," the farmer grumbled behind him, quieter than he probably thought Dreamer could hear. Dreamer shot him a glare before inspecting the carcass. It was dead all right, he just hadn't got here in time… which was the few moments for a dragon to swoop down for the kill. How tedious.

He looked directly at the farmer, pointing a wing at him, then pawed at the wool still on the sheep. He then pawed at his chest and pointed with a wing back at the village.

"Look," the farmer huffed, "ah dunno wha' yer tryin' ter tell me. Stupid fandangled dragons. Ah'm jus' gonna shear it, then you can 'av it, ah don' care." Without waiting for an answer, he stomped up, hefted the sheep onto his shoulder, and carried it off, muttering all the while. Dreamer rolled his eyes.

Wrrr, now how to dissuade dragons from stealing from this field? He discreetly relieved himself around the fence, he'd tried that with another field and hadn't yet had another dragon steal from there. Perhaps he should mark all of them…

He glanced around the big field. It would take him days to get through them all, and a lot of drinking. What an onerous chore…

The sheep all huddled in the far corner of the field, and he found himself staring at them, wondering at what point everything had come full circle and he'd landed exactly where he'd hoped to avoid in his human life. It wasn't even as if he only had to deal with dragons, because humans and dragons were so intertwined in this village, it was nearly impossible to do anything without involving both.

He sighed again and limped up to the sheep, hemming them in with his outstretched wings and then letting them desperately press past him in order to flee, marking them with traces of his scent. Might as well, while he had the time, and it might persist if the farmer had to move them out of this field for whatever reason.

That done, he flew up to the barn, waited the short time for the farmer to finish shearing the wool from the carcass, then carefully picked it up and headed back to the village. He dropped it off behind the kitchens with a bark to announce the impromptu delivery, then left before he could be subjected to any more complaining.

Nnggg, he also needed to go order the new arrivals around some more… They really did not want to do anything on their own, just waiting until they got too hungry or restless to bear it, at which point many of them did take matters into their own paws but with fiery tempers and reckless abandon. What a pain. At least he had 'met' them all now and introduced them to his scent, which made them less likely to rampage in the village again…

As long as his scent was actually prevalent in the village. This was so tedious.

He put all that off for the moment to alight on the roof of the Chief's hut, where he spent a lot of his resting time. Of anywhere, this was the last place he needed a wild dragon crashing through because they'd decided it looked like a nice place to claim, and it was nice and high which allowed him to ignore all but the most shouty of protestors, who were usually set straight for disturbing Sire before long.

Gingerly arranging his injured leg, and then the rest of his limbs, he balanced himself over the peak of the hut, then set his head down between the wooden wings that adorned the front of the roof and let his eyes fall shut. Being Chief, or Alpha in his case, seemed a delicate balancing act between doing enough that things didn't become unmanageable later, while not so much as to completely burn out. Given he was starting burned out, injured and healing to boot, it was a difficult task.

He really hadn't intended on returning to Berk… but here he was. The sounds were familiar, slamming doors, boots on stone and dirt, the trundling of carts, shouting, lots of shouting… The muted impacts of a pickaxe into ice was new, though it was somewhat reminiscent of Gobber hammering in the forge with the rhythms it beat. Three weeks later and the stuff still persisted, though that over the Great Hall had melted quickly enough.

His ear flicked at a series of more immediate sounds, originating from the very structure he lay on. He cracked an eye to see Dam deftly climbing up, hooking her staff on the horns of the dragon carving that protruded from just below the roof. She moved as if she weighed nothing, lifting herself up to stand on the wooden dragon's neck, squarely and surely. "You look tired," she crooned, stepping up to him to stroke his head.

"Yes," he agreed half-heartedly, "but much I need do…" He really should be getting back to it, but he just couldn't summon the energy right now; his body felt as if it was made of lead. Three weeks since the battle, and he still felt the need to sleep constantly.

"They dragons," she rumbled, "how much you need do? Not like for Long-Paw nest."

Nothing like each other, but yet, much more alike than he would have thought. "They were trapped for much time," he mumbled. "Not know how should behave. Not know how be dragons. It all I can do for stop them taking this nest's prey…"

"Oh, honey," she hummed sadly, scratching in small circles around his ear. "Well… I know dragons. I could handle that, if you want?"

He whined pleading at her, pressing his head into her hand. "But, you helping Sire…"

"Hardly," she scoffed. "He sleeps most of the time, and when I offered to cook, he politely told me if he's going to die, he'd rather go in battle." She said that with a dry smile, though she was clearly hating that she couldn't help more. "Besides, all these people… They want talk, brag, try get me tell them stories… It would be good to be among dragons again."

"Thank you," he purred, then wearily lifted his head to lick her arm before tipping his head up at the lower flats on the main island. "They nesting up there."

She accepted the offered scent without any fuss, casually wiping it on her tunic with a slight smile. "Me helping will be good. Give me thing for do. Excuse if I want leave. Thank you." She purred and nuzzled him, pressing her face to his. "You rest now."

He purred back at her and settled down again, feeling the urge to sleep. His leg was starting to ache, which tended to happen once he stopped distracting himself, and an escape from that discomfort was very tempting. He felt better about the dragons freed from Drago too, now that they had someone to properly care for them…

Though it didn't really mean he would need to do less than he had been already. Just that people would just be less aggravated about it all. But that was a relief in its own right.

"Ya smell that, Hookie?" Snotlout shouted, standing in the saddle and taking a deep breath of the crisp summer air. "Smells like adventure!"

Hookfang huffed, tossing his head in a halfhearted attempt to shake Snotlout from the saddle. It didn't work, of course, he was a brave and daring hero who had long since figured out how not to fall out of his own saddle. Living for so long on the wing had made him even more graceful and suave, if he did say so himself, which he did.

Only a few months had passed since he'd left Berk, and never had he felt more free. This was what he was made for! Roaming the winds, flitting between the little villages dotting the islands off the southern mainland, helping out here and there and generally just showing off. He and Hookfang had burned a few pirate ships, routed some bandits, even helped out with a minor dragon problem. Turned out, people were willing to pay pretty well for it, though there was a limit to how much he could carry.

Being a hero was great in its own right, though. He'd accidentally discovered that being a humble hero, accomplishing noble deeds for little more than the use of a bed and some supplies for the road, usually made for quite a companionable night. He never would have figured that out had he not had a streak of bad luck and been more interested in filling his belly than working over that one rich lord and his pretty daughter…

But such thoughts were counterproductive when there was adventure to be had! He dropped into the saddle and pulled Hookfang into a dive, just to feel the rush of flight, speeding northeast, further out of the Archipelago than he had ever been! It was actually quite nice out here in the summer, only pretty white clouds in the otherwise blue sky, the sun warm on his arms, flotsam bobbing in the choppy waves…

He frowned and took them down for a closer look, staring at the water. Bits of barrels, crates, and splintered wood littered the sea for as far as he could see, some of it sporting pieces of warped iron. "The Hel happened here?" he asked rhetorically, and Hookfang growled as he looked around himself.

"Take us up," Snotlout asked, pulling lightly on the saddle, and they soared back into the air. Now that he knew what to look for, there was a dark smudge on the water, stretching away into the distance, which they angled to follow.

He just couldn't believe how much debris there was. It just kept going, on and on… He had to have passed enough wood to rebuild Berk twice over by now, and it still stretched as far as he could see ahead of him. He was venturing back towards familiar waters now, but he was curious.

The end of the trail, when he reached it hours later, was pretty boring, just a big round collection of more debris. More wood, much of it in more recognisable shapes such as intact barrels and pieces of ship hull, as well as scraps of cloth and other unidentifiable things, bobbed in the water, much of it obscured under brown froth. He descended until he could make out some of the larger pieces more clearly, recognising the marks of dragon fire when he saw it. "I said it before," he said, frowning at the water and crossing his arms, "and I'll say it again. The Hel happened here?"

In the distance, an odd shape on the waterline caught his attention, and he directed Hookfang over to it. It turned out to be scraps of a sail clinging to a mast protruding from the waves, the crest strange and unfamiliar; what he could make of it above the waterline was the hilt of a sword that appeared to have been stabbed into the head of something with horns.

The ship it was attached to had sunk, but only so far. The dark shape he could see beneath the surface was huge, more like three ships all attached side by side, and another sail loosely drifted with the current. It… almost looked as if there was another ship under it, propping it up. And when he started looking, he noticed many more masts drifting just below the surface. A massive sea battle had taken place here…

"Well, no survivors," Snotlout surmised. "Who knows. Let's go grab some of those barrels and find somewhere to crash for the night."

"Silence," Stoick Haddock commanded, not in an overly loud voice but one that stilled the crowd's murmuring nonetheless, coming down to them from the steps to the Great Hall as it was. He lowered his hand – just the one hand, now, something he was certain he would never get used to – and took a deep breath.

The entire village stretched out below him, both its people and its mark on the map. No longer marred by ice, it looked radiant in the light of the setting sun, the buildings this high up having been rebuilt already. Even many of the dragons were watching, most from the roofs of houses, including the Furies lying next to each other on the roof of his own house.

"My people," he said solemnly, projecting his voice out over them. "I have led you for a good many years. Worst Thor-forsaken years of my life, I tell you." Laughter and cheering broke out among the crowd. "I'm not even joking," he said jovially, "you lot are terrible." They knew that, of course, and were proud of it; they were Vikings, after all. "But I'm proud of what we've accomplished. Together, as a tribe."

He tapped his fist against his chest in respect. "We may not have been the ones to win the long war." A customary moment of silence to remember heroes in Valhalla. "But we sure as Hel fought to keep it buried! So that we, and our children, and our children's children, may prosper!

"But it comes time in a man's life when he realises he is getting old. Now, don't get me wrong," he pointed out at the crowd, "I could still thrash any one o' you lot. And I will if I have to. But… I have a debt of time to repay." He smiled warmly at Valka, who smiled up at him from where she stood slightly off to the side of the crowd, blinking back tears.

Stoick nodded at Gothi, standing on the steps with him, and she gestured for him to kneel. The village was silent as he dropped to a knee, bowing his head so that she could reach him.

The old woman raised her staff and waved it over his head, then out towards the villagers; he had always thought she looked as if she was trying to swat an annoying fly for this bit. Then she planted her staff firmly on the step, the loud clack echoing down the village, before wiping her thumb over his forehead; despite never having seen her reach for charcoal, he knew she had left a black smudge where his Chieftain's Symbol had been drawn.

That was his part of the process done. He walked down to stand with his wife as Astrid was beckoned up to receive her own Chieftain's Symbol, but he had seen all this before. A world of responsibility had lifted from his shoulders, and he sighed with relief, leaning back and basking in the light.

"That was brave of you," Valka said quietly as he stood next to her, putting an arm around her – then had to walk around to put her on his other side, where he still had an arm to hold her with. He was still getting used to that.

"Strength is not always about how much we can lift," Astrid was now saying, the charcoal distinct on her forehead. "How far we can throw an axe, how many enemies we can kill, it means nothing! We have now fought two of the largest dragons on Midgard. And we're still here!

"Strength is not about killing the biggest dragon. How long would we have lasted without Gobber's weapons? The farmers' fields? The hunters' and fishermens' catches? The loggers' lumber? Any of the roles each and every one of us play in this tribe? And now, our dragons?"

Stormfly suddenly swooped into a landing to stand beside her, and she took a moment to stroke her dragon's snout. "Risky," Stoick murmured, and Valka elbowed him.

"Strength is what we can make together," Astrid continued. "What we can accomplish together. Under Stoick, we have survived the harshest conditions, and we did it together! And now we will thrive, and we will do it together!"

A deep draconic bark drowned out the start of the tribe cheering – closely followed by the sky spontaneously erupting into flame. What appeared to be every dragon was facing skyward, filling it with fire of all colours. The heat was immense, and may have curled a few beards, not to mention the sheer sound of dragonfire magnified hundreds of times over.

"That, they won't forget," Stoick mumbled, impressed despite himself, as Astrid mounted her dragon and took off over the heads of the onlookers as the fire died down.

"She'll make a great Chief," Valka agreed; he was pretty sure that's what she had said, anyway, it was hard to hear over the ongoing din.

Dreamer purred, feeling particularly pleased with himself as he watched Astrid and Stormfly rise into the sky. That felt like the most productive thing he had done as alpha yet, though it had certainly been one of the easiest.

"Fly with me!" Wanderer barked, leaping off the roof, and Dreamer hummed warmly as he followed.

They flew a great spiral up towards the light clouds, chasing and racing each other at once, and easily caught up with Astrid. Stormfly was a fast dragon, but she was carrying extra weight, however slim, and she had nothing on a Nightstriker. "I didn't know you were going to do that!" Astrid shouted even as she laughed. "I was just dreading silence or slow clapping or something and you go and do that!?" She and Stormfly whirled so that she could try to reach out and swat at them, but they rolled around the pair, easily staying out of reach.

Chief Astrid, Dreamer thought to himself as they laughed and played. Life moves on… It had only been a few months since they had been fighting the hunters, Viggo and Krogan conspiring to trap all the dragons in the Greater Archipelago. And they had all only been just a bunch of kids when they'd left on that journey.

"I want fly!" Wanderer barked, then pulled into a short swoop to speed ahead.

"You flying already!" Dreamer barked after him, beating his wings to catch up. It was slower, but he had the height advantage now! Wanderer was forced to bank sharply to the side to avoid Dreamer dropping down on top of him. Dreamer then led them back down to the village, the air screeching as he swooped under the bridge at the back of the islet and pulled up the other side to race back into the sky.

"Yes!" Wanderer crowed, floating up next to him as they both relaxed their wings to let gravity take them. "We should fly!" And then they were falling again, their sound-sight rising in volume as they rapidly picked up speed, pulling up just shy of the village and sending dozens of dragons flapping into the air behind them.

"We still flying," Dreamer shouted uneasily, a little concerned for his friend's sanity. Their recovery had been long and arduous, particularly for Dreamer, and their fire was only now, over a month later, starting to replenish, but not yet enough to use.

They again rose straight up into the air, but this time Wanderer stretched his wings at the apex of their climb, and held himself in a hover. "No," he said, as Dreamer pulled into a hover with him, confused. "Fly with me," he repeated quietly, drifting a little to the side and tilting his head at the vast horizon beyond, ablaze with the setting sky-fire.

Dreamer stared at him, at the sky beyond. "Fly?" he asked weakly.

"I want fly," Wanderer crooned, drifting closer, so close Dreamer could feel the displaced air from his wingbeats. "I want you fly with me…"

"I…" Dreamer stared helplessly between him and the horizon. "I am alpha," he whimpered. "I not can leave them… They need me…"

"Maybe," Wanderer crooned. "But… I need you also… You not need do anything for them. You give them much already."

"Yes," Dreamer agreed slowly. "Soon… First I need-"

"Nothing," Wanderer barked quietly. "They always will need you. They always will take from you. But you not need give them anything."

Dreamer's head spun. His breaths were heavy in his chest. How many times over the last month had he just wanted to drop everything and leave? And now, faced with the prospect…

"We… say we leaving?" he asked. This is really happening…

"We say as Nightstrikers," Wanderer hummed, his face eager and excited, tail twitching even as it balanced him.

"As Nightstrikers," Dreamer agreed, wondering if he was asleep and imagining this whole thing.

But the wind under his wings as they glided over the village, the soft light of the dying sky-fire, the pull of the ground below… He took a deep breath and roared, as loud as he possibly could, and Wanderer joined in beside him. Dreamer gave him a happy, hopeful croon before folding his wings.

For the last time, their sub-wings cut through the winds above Berk, for the last time this cold air shrieked as they sliced through it. He watched the Long-Paw nest approach as they dove, side by side, all the places he had grown up leaping out to him as he stared. His house, where he had spent endless nights in his room in the loft. The forge, where he had repaired what had to be thousands of weapons and built contraptions for all sorts of things. The docks, where he had played as a boy, and where he and Wanderer had scrounged for fish, after…

There were not so good memories too. Snotlout had once beaten him up in that alley… There was the storehouse he and Wanderer had been injured in… Gobber's house… It was all part of it.

And then he threw out his wings and wrenched himself out of the dive to hurtle to the horizon, towards… something. Danger, risk, more bad memories, undoubtedly… but something new and exciting.

He couldn't wait.

Fishlegs stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the lower fields to watch the two black specks disappear into the distance, feeling melancholy… and not surprised in the slightest.

Hiccup had become progressively more distant as time went on. He had still been Hiccup, but… more and more a dragon. He didn't want to talk all night about dragons, he was one now. He didn't want to tell Fishlegs all about Night Furies, those were his own secrets to keep.

Perhaps, he had always been better off a dragon. That drive, that passion, it may have all stemmed from a deep desire to just… fly. To go and live with those he felt an affinity with, separate himself from those who had always been so cruel to him. Fishlegs couldn't blame him.

And… he could relate a little, too. He was an Ingerman at heart, of course, knowledge would always be his primary pursuit… but, he had to admit, it was an alluring prospect; dragons were incredible creatures.

"Man," Tuffnut said as he walked up beside him, "he made a way better dragon than he did a Viking."

"Yeah," Fishlegs agreed-

He startled, losing his balance and wheeling his arms in an attempt to stop himself from falling very far down the cliff he found himself staring down, but a hand quickly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. "You knew!?" he practically shrieked, whirling on Tuffnut.

The man's wide eyes stared at him, then glanced out at the horizon and back to him. "Uh… yeah? Didn't you? I thought that's why we called him Hiccup?"

Fishlegs gaped at him. "No! We didn't even..." He stopped and took a long, deep breath, trying to organise his thoughts into something coherent.

"Well, it was obvious," Tuffnut said, waving dismissively. "Toothless disappears, then two of him come back? They even smell the same. Like, they weren't even trying to hide it."

"I… But you… He…" Fishlegs rubbed his head, trying to slow his deep breaths to stop his head spinning. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Why did you… everything!?"

Tuffnut raised an eyebrow. "What was I gonna do, shame him? Can you imagine what it would be like being turned into a baby dragon? Like, ugh, all that dragony stuff you'd need to do. And not having hands! Man, that'd be so weird…" He flexed his fingers, staring at them in fascination. "But he had to grow up all over again, with nobody. I always kinda felt sorry for him, not having a mum, ya know? He needed help, it would've been a special kind of stupid to call him out on it."

All the blood in Fishlegs' body suddenly felt as if it had somewhere much more important to be. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, going back to staring out at the horizon. "Well… On his behalf, thanks, Tuff. I'm sure he appreciates it."

"He'd better," Tuffnut grumbled. "That guy, in the body of a Night Fury? That's someone to stay firmly on the good side of, I tell ya. Ya hear that!?" He dramatically pointed out over the water. "You better not die out there! Or I'm gonna… do terrible things! Just you wait! Man, things are gonna be way more boring now…"

"Unbelievable," Fishlegs muttered, shaking his head. "Come on, Tuff. I'm sure we can find something interesting to do." His heart sank even further as he remembered the many unruly dragons Hiccup had just left behind, now without an alpha. "But hopefully not too interesting…"

Author's Notes

And so concludes Act 3. I always knew it would be shorter than the others, though 1 and 2 ended up being much longer than anticipated. There wasn't much to show here that hadn't already been covered though – in addition to working with material from a single movie rather than multi-season series, he had already learned many of the lessons from the second film and got to almost where he needed to be for Act 4.

Yes, there is a fourth act! Three-act structure is apparently common enough that multiple people thought this was the finale, in which case this is probably a pleasant surprise to some! And now, we venture so far from the beaten track that this isn't going to resemble anything from the franchise. You guys are in for a wild ride…