The Berserker family was eating breakfast. All three of them had worked on the meal. Dagur made the bread, Heather prepared the porridge, and Oswald made more of his fruit recipes. They were laughing and sharing stories, then it all stopped. The siblings continued laughing while Oswald went silent. A hurt look was in his eyes as he turned to his son.

"You sent her away," he said, devastated.

Dagur could think of no response and the older man rose from his seat. He walked out of the hut and to the docks. The two Berserkers got up and tried to follow him, but he would not slow down. Oswald just kept walking and got onto a vessel's deck, setting sail. As soon as he did, the sky darkened with the signs of a storm. Lightning flashed and hit the ship in several places. Water quickly poured onto the starboard, filling new holes created by the blasts and adding weight that the ship could not manage. It began to sink and the siblings could only watch in horror as their father's head went below the waves. They had been too far away to get there in time. Heather was crying and turned to glare at Dagur.

"He wouldn't have left if it wasn't for you."

The chief again was at a loss for words, but it felt like his heart was breaking. Heather went to the stables and got on Windshear's back.

"You've never wanted this to be my home, so it won't be."

As the Berserker flew off with her Razorwhip, Dagur woke up. He ran a hand through his hair and heaved heavy breaths.

"Serves me right for sleeping," he thought. "I should've known better."

Like he usually did after a night like this, Dagur got up and got ready for the day. It was tempting to go to his father's room and just tell him everything if it meant that he would prevent that nightmare from coming true. The only reason he did not do this was because he had agreed to wait. Dagur hesitantly went to the stables and greeted the dragons.

"Hey, Strykie, Windshear." To the former, he asked, "Up for some night flying?"

The Triple Stryke made a happy roar and Dagur grinned. He opened up the stables and hopped onto the dragon's back. Truthfully, he did not even have to ask. Sleuther was always willing to do some night flying. The chief was grateful for that because it really helped him calm down for the morning. They did this until it was a reasonable hour, then returned to the stables. Dagur went back home to greet the other Berserkers, but they were not there. His thoughts drifted to his dream.

"No, that's not what happened," he thought, shaking his head. "They're probably just out in the tribe."

Leaving, the redhead went to check on things. Still, he did not find anyone. He was getting more and more worried. Spotting one of the soldiers, he approached the man.

"Herald, have you seen Heather or my dad?"

"Aye, Chief. They went sailing an hour ago."

Dagur felt a pit in his stomach. "Did they look upset?"

"No, I'd say that they looked really happy."

This put a smile on the chief's face. "That's all I needed to know. I'll take care of some stuff while they're doing that."

Dagur left to tend to some chiefly duties as his other relatives enjoyed their time together. Earlier that day, Heather had gotten up. She barely slept the previous night, she had been too excited to rest for long. Her father was back and in a room just a few steps away from hers. She got to see his face, speak with him, and just be his daughter again for the first time in over a decade. It was one way she was envious of her Berkian friends. They had families. It was true that she had Dagur, but he was not the same as having a parent again. Even if Heather did not need someone to make decisions for her or take care of her, she missed how it was to just get advice from a parental figure or share concerns with one. As the searches continued and the siblings saw nothing beyond the journal, Heather felt that she would forever be an orphan. For that to not be the case seemed nothing short of a miracle. Heather left her room and just as she did, she saw Oswald leaving his. The two paused before laughing.

"Great minds think alike," the man said.

"I guess they do," she agreed. "Did you have a hard time sleeping?"

"Far from. I slept more soundly than I had since leaving. I just wanted to get an early start to spend time with you."

This touched the rider's heart. "That's what I was doing too."

"Again, great minds!"

"You're definitely right about that! I'm going to get ready for the day and then I'm up for going anywhere with you."

"I was hoping you would be. I've been thinking about going sailing with you. Do you think that's something you'd enjoy?"

"I'd love it. I'll be ready soon."

The Vikings left the home, going off to prepare for the upcoming day. Oswald walked and saw many familiar faces. They eagerly approached him and he told his tales of Vanaheim. As minutes passed, he left to start heading to the docks. On the way, he saw and grinned at one of the Berserkers.

"Hello, Herald. How have you been?"

"Good, Ch…"

Smiling, the man said, "Just Oswald now."

"Good, Oswald. I'm not used to saying that."

"Honestly, I'm not used to hearing it, but I'll get used to it. Heather and I are going to go sailing in a few minutes. It was so much fun when she was younger. I remember when she first was tall enough to reach the helm. I think you were there too, Herald. Do you recall that?"

The other man's brows furrowed. "No, I don't remember."

"It's a shame that you don't. We hosted a celebration on board the ship."

The other Berserker paused unsurely. "You said Heather was tall enough to reach the helm?"

"It was one of her favorite birthdays. I'd bet my best ax on that."

Oswald was looking upwards with a peaceful expression on his face. When Herald did not say anything for a little bit, he turned to him in surprise.

"Is something wrong?"

"How old was Heather then?"

Oswald started to answer, then stopped as a frown crossed his face. "Odd. I'm not sure. You'd think I'd remember that part. It was probably her tenth birthday. I wouldn't have let her steer otherwise...That still doesn't seem quite right, though. Maybe she was eleven."

The father put a hand to his forehead, frowning deeper. He felt strange. His knees buckled slightly under him, but the other Berserker helped steady him.

"I never get dizzy. Guess I'm still recovering from the shock of being back home." Oswald squared his shoulders. "Well, I won't let this stop Heather and me from having an excellent afternoon. Thanks for the help, Herald, I'll see you later."

Herald considered going after the man, but he was already going up the ramp to the ship. Oswald got to the deck and closed his eyes as the familiar feeling of wind blew on his face and through his hair. It was something he would never get tired of experiencing. Doing this was enough to nearly put him in a trance.

"Ready, Dad?" Heather asked, bringing the Berserker out of his relaxed state.

Oswald turned to look at her and saw her happy smile. She loved getting to say "Dad" again. He returned the smile and untied the rope which attached the ship to the dock. Then, he gestured to the helm. Heather blinked at the wheel with some hesitation.

"You want me to steer? I've never sailed before."

The father frowned slightly. "Yes, you have. I used to take you all the time."

Heather opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. "Right, sorry. I meant to say that it's just been a really long time. The last time I sailed was with you, so I'm rusty. Would you mind teaching me some of the basics again?"

"I wouldn't mind at all. It'll be like you're my baby girl again," the former chief said with a smile.

He went over to the helm with her and began explaining how to operate the sail properly to prevent the vessel from being steered off course.

"Now, even if there's a really bad storm, you'll be fine."

"Have you ever been in a really bad storm?"

"More than I can count." Oswald stroked his beard thoughtfully. "One time, I was knocked overboard."

Heather's eyes widened in surprise. "How'd you get back on board? Did one of the Berserkers help you?"

"No, but it was because they weren't there. I liked to have this time alone." Oswald stopped talking for a moment. "I'm surprised you don't remember that. If you and your brother weren't with me, I'd sail on my own."

Heather mentally chided herself. This was trickier than she thought it was going to be. She wondered how she would get to learn more about the man while still acting as though she knew everything about him.

"I can be a bit forgetful, I guess," she said.

The man looked at her in concern. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry, dear."

"It's okay," the rider quickly said. "I just might ask you to remind me of a few things like this from time to time."

Oswald glanced down in contemplation. "You might not be alone in struggling to remember things."

"I'm not?" Heather asked carefully.

"No," the older Berserker answered, eyebrows pinched together. "It seemed like Herald also was struggling. I hope that he'll be able to remember things better. The same for you."

The young woman silently released a breath she had been holding. Oswald did not notice and stepped closer to the side of the boat with a longing look in his eyes as he stared at the waves.

"Before going to get your gift, I used to sail a lot."

"Did you go anywhere in particular?"

"Not necessarily. I just liked how calm it was on the sea."

"It seems pretty calm on the island too."

Oswald shook his head. "It really isn't. Our Vikings aren't rowdy like the Berkians. That said, there are so many that it's impossible to really be at peace here."

Heather tilted her head at him. "I'm not sure I get what you mean."

"Come here for a moment."

The dragon rider saw he had his hands placed against the side of the ship, leaning forward and pushing himself up slightly. A smile was on the man's face and Heather could not help it from reaching her own.

"Do you hear that, Heather?"

The younger Berserker tried to focus on any new sounds but found none. "I don't."

"Really listen. What do you hear?"

Again, she tried, closing her eyes. "I hear waves crashing and the wind in the sail."

"Exactly. Aren't they the most beautiful sounds you've ever heard? No presence from thousands of people, no stress, no noise–just music. Feel the wooden spokes on the helm, smell the saltwater and how you can tell the fish are near the surface, and absorb the calmness of it all. Doesn't it fill you with peace?"

"I guess it really is nice." Heather's face lit up as she smiled. "Do you have a favorite place you've gone to?"

"A favorite place…good question. I went to a land where the natives spoke French. It's such a beautiful language. It's much gentler than Nordic. I think I brought back some wine from there. There was a dessert that I brought back for you too. I was so happy that you liked it."

The rider smiled even though she wished she could have shared that memory with him. Still, that did not stop her from learning how to communicate with him like this. As he laughed, she did as well. Even if she did not know the joke, his laugh was contagious enough to make hers genuine. This was the best game of playing pretend she had ever engaged in with someone. Time passed and Heather's skills improved.

"Your cousin was wrong for that," the man said, shaking his head in amusement. "Helen knew how scared you were of boars and for good reason."

"Honestly. I'm surprised she didn't think it was weird to not want to be around a wild, tusked creature that has a habit of eating whoever's in its path."

"But I guess you got over that fear so much that you now have fanged and clawed creatures that you view as friends."

"Excellent point, so maybe she just saw something in me that I didn't yet."

Oswald nodded, a proud look in his eyes. His smile faded as the ship started to turn.

"What are you doing?" he asked, an unhappy expression appearing on his face.

"I figured that we should head back."

"Already?"

"It's been over three hours, Dad."

"It has?" The man put a hand to his forehead. "I guess I wasn't paying attention. It seemed like we had only been here for a few minutes."

With some worry, Heather regarded the man. She kept turning the vessel and led them back home. Surprised, she noticed Oswald's slightly sad expression.

"We can come out here again later this week if you want. Maybe even tomorrow."

This put a smile on Oswald's face as he nodded. "I really do love being out here and our times on the sea have always been my favorite. You have no idea how much I missed them when I was away."

Heather gave him a small grin and pulled them into the harbor. When they went down the ramp, she noticed how her father was waving to another Berserker. The rider squinted at the other man, unsure of his identity. There were so many Berserkers on the island that she really only knew a handful of them.

"Ansson!" Oswald called happily.

When he said this, the girl's face paled and she caught his arm before he could approach the redhead. Oswald stopped and turned to her in confusion. He saw her concerned frown and regarded her in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Dagur told me to steer clear of Ansson. He said he's a jerk."

"Ansson? No, you must be thinking of someone else. Maybe Abner. He was always a little snippy."

"I'm pretty sure he said the guy was Ansson."

Oswald shook his head. "I'll prove it to you. Let's say hi."

The man patted her hand before taking back his arm and going over to the other Berserker. Once Ansson saw him, he sneered.

"So much for you being dead," he commented.

Oswald balked, lifting an eyebrow, then nodded his head. "I'm sure it seemed like I'd died, but I just was shipwrecked."

Ansson chuckled. "I knew he didn't have the guts."

The older man was unsure who he was referring to, so he focused on his goal. "How have you been? I was trying to tell Heather how you and Dagur were so close as lads. You were like a big brother to him."

Silence followed his words until the redhead burst out laughing. "Me and Dainty? Brothers? You've developed a sense of humor during your time away from here, I see."

Oswald began frowning at him. "I'm not joking. You two would always spend time together."

"I guess that's technically true," Ansson said, wiping away a tear from all the laughter. "That's certainly one way to look at it, but Dainty and I were nothing like brothers."

"Maybe you were more like a sitter then. You watched out for him when I'd be busy dealing with various matters."

The sailor scratched his beard, finding a fish and tossing it into the water again. "I think you hit your head. I never watched out for Dainty."

"Yes, you did, and why do you keep referring to him as that?"

"Because that's what I've always called him."

"That doesn't sound like a nice nickname."

"It's not meant to be one."

Oswald frowned at the ground, utterly perplexed. "You would always be around him."

Ansson nodded his head. "Finally, an accurate statement. I was around him all the time because I liked picking on him. It was fun seeing the little lunatic get embarrassed and then mad."

The father's frown became deeper. "He's not a lunatic."

"Okay, sure. You've been saying wrong things this whole conversation. Why stop now?"

Heather could see her father getting more confused and upset. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Dad, let's just go."

"No, Ansson's pretending," Oswald insisted. "This isn't a funny joke. A…Abominable. That's what you were called. Dagur would call you that a lot. You helped teach him how to fight."

The man stood taller, a sinister look covering his face. "I didn't help him with anything. If he learned to fight because of me, it was because he was tired of having broken bones."

This time, Heather felt herself start getting hot with anger. She looked away from Oswald and to Ansson with a snarl.

"You fought my brother?"

"I'd hardly call it a fight, girlie," he taunted. "I'd attack your brother. Get it straight."

Heather's hand itched for her ax, but she restrained herself. Oswald was struggling to do the same and kept shaking his head.

"No, no, that's not right. Where was I?"

Ansson shrugged. "Who knows? I didn't keep track of you. Why would I?"

"What do you mean why would you? You were just attacking the chief's son! You'd think you'd want to make sure the chief didn't find out about it."

The redhead regarded him in confusion. "Oswald, you knew."

"I did not know about that."

"Like I said, you knew. I don't know how you wouldn't have. Not like he wouldn't go limping home every other day, covered in bruises and blood. At least one time, you saw the process."

"Then, I must have forgotten, but I'm sure I punished you for that."

Ansson shook his head and Oswald's blood boiled.

"Yes, I did," he growled. "I wouldn't have let you attack my son without there being repercussions."

The other man seemed like he was amused by the elder's reactions. Heather watched him, squinting some to examine him closer.

"You don't look like you're in your twenties."

"I'm not."

"You're definitely not younger than that."

"Right again."

Heather felt herself getting angrier. "So, you couldn't be less than nine years older than Dagur. Why were you picking on him?"

"Because I could and it was fun."

Oswald let out a low growl. "You did not. This entire thing is a ruse–a joke in poor taste that I don't appreciate."

"Ask anyone. It wasn't a secret."

"Anyone who confirms your lie is part of this. It must be in celebration of Loki. I outlawed Loki Day celebrations long ago."

Irritated, Ansson walked over to the two Vikings. Heather drew her ax and he lifted his hands.

"I'm not attacking. I'm providing proof."

Ansson gestured to his right arm. On it, the father and daughter saw a tattoo of Dagur. A fist was being brought down on the top of his head. Heather looked up at Ansson in disgust.

"What type of psycho tattoos his bully target onto himself?"

"You're in the wrong family to start calling people psychos."

Oswald glared at the man. "My son is not psychotic."

Ansson looked behind them, smirking. "If you don't believe me, ask him for yourself."

The pair turned and saw Dagur. He had been worried when more hours went by and no ships pulled into the harbor. The chief had started coming back to the docks to see if he could spot something or go get his family if it was necessary. When he saw who they were speaking with, he picked up his pace. Dagur got between Ansson and the others.

"Let's go," he said.

He began ushering them off the docks. Ansson sneered after him, then chuckled and lifted a hand to the side of his mouth.

"Knew you were too soft to actually kill your old man, Dainty," he called after them.

Oswald stopped walking and looked at his son. "Kill? Why would he say that?"

Ansson noticed the pause and grinned. "Didn't you know, Oswald? Your own son said he killed you."

"I never said that," Dagur said, trying to remain calm.

"Right. My mistake. You just let us think it. All this time, you could've sent us out to search. I guess being in charge was more important to you."

"Ansson," Dagur answered tensely, "there's really no reason for there to still be bad blood between us. Years have passed. If there's a problem you have, bring it to the next meeting and I'll address it."

"Years would pass before I finished detailing every problem I had with you."

"Then, if you won't work with me to help fix them, there's no point in still being upset."

"I'll be upset whenever I want to. You can't stop that, Chief Dainty."

The younger redhead's hands were balled into fists. "Stop calling me that."

"Or what? You'll do something crazy? That's a given knowing you."

Dagur was seething, but he took several deep breaths. It would not help anything to attack the bully. Looking at his father, he saw how troubled he appeared. What mattered more to the chief was getting him back home and making sure he was fine. Dagur ignored the next string of insults from Ansson and began leading the others back. Upset, the sailor went forward and reached for Heather's arm. Dagur saw and grabbed his hand, painfully twisting it behind the man.

"No one touches my family," he warned, a venom in his voice.

Dagur let go and shoved Ansson back. The other redhead rubbed his aching wrist and spat in the chief's direction.

"You're still dainty. A real Berserker would've broken my wrist."

Dagur just took another breath and kept bringing the others to the main part of the village. When they were there, Oswald regarded him with a lost look.

"Was he telling the truth?" he asked, horrified. "Everyone thought you'd killed me?"

Dagur hesitated. "Yes, they did, but I really never said that I did it."

"But you let them believe it? Why would you do something like that? I thought they at least knew that I was gone, not just assumed that I was murdered by my own heir!"

The redhead struggled with his answer. His father's harsh gaze was on him and he felt like he was freezing up.

"I…didn't know what else to do. It just seemed like the best option at the time."

"The best option?" Oswald questioned. "The best option didn't involve telling them that I had gone missing? You just heard them accuse you of patricide and decided that was a fine legacy to have?"

"W-well, th-that wasn't what I was trying to…"

Dagur trailed off as his father's frown deepened. He could not get his thoughts together to express what he was trying to say and could tell that the delay was just further frustrating the older Berserker. The redhead wished that their Vikings were more rambunctious so that a random fight could break out if only to get Oswald's attention on someone else for even a moment. Heather saw this and went over to her brother.

"Dad, Dagur was still a teenager when you left. If what we saw with Ansson was any indication, I can see why he'd want the others to be too scared to try to mess with him. What if he told them you were gone and they tried to use that opportunity to take over?"

Oswald considered this for a moment. He looked between his children, seeing Heather's earnest frown and Dagur's ashamed expression.

"They wouldn't have followed me," the redhead explained, having used the moment when Heather was talking to collect his ideas better. "No one respected me after everything with Ansson. There would've been a major fight for power if I'd said what actually happened."

Gradually, Oswald's frown faded. "I guess that makes sense." The man sighed. "Just now, you handled the situation with Ansson well. I could've sworn you two were friends." He shook his head and shut his eyes. "I've got a splitting headache. I'm going to make some tea and lie down back at the hut."

Without waiting for a response, the man began returning to their home. When he was out of earshot, Heather turned to Dagur.

"You missed this part, but he was really upset when he found out about Ansson. I was too. Why didn't you tell me?"

Dagur shrugged nonchalantly. "It wasn't relevant."

"I mean, I guess it wasn't necessary, but you could have told me."

"I don't like talking about things like that. Besides, it's just normal bullying stuff."

"There's nothing normal about him getting you tattooed onto him."

Dagur shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "That tattoo always made me feel weird too."

"It should have. It's creepy." Heather paused, looking worried. "He said that Dad knew. Was he telling the truth?"

Her brother considered what his response would be. He did not want to change her perception of the man, but he also did not want to lie to her. Heather made it easier on him by seeing his answer.

"He was."

Dagur gave a small nod of his head.

"And Dad never did anything?"

"I had to get stronger, so it worked out."

Heather was not satisfied with this, but her attention shifted when she heard a crash. The siblings hurried home and saw several pots of water on the ground, spilling. Oswald had a hand against his temple and was steadying himself on the wall. Dagur led him to a chair and Heather began cleaning up the mess.

"I don't know what happened," he said. "Everything just started spinning. This has never happened before today, but this is the second time now."

"When was the first?" Dagur asked, concerned.

"This morning. Herald helped me before I fell."

"Dad, you should've said something," Heather chastised. "We didn't have to go sailing."

"I know, but I missed sailing with you so much and you seemed so excited."

The siblings shared a look before Dagur raised their father to his feet.

"We'll make you some tea. You just lay down for now."

"I won't fight you about that."

Dagur took the man to his room. Oswald leaned back onto his bed, closing his eyes. The chief propped him up comfortably with pillows. Just before he left, his father caught his hand.

"I meant what I said about you handling the situation with Ansson well. You were reasonable while still protecting your sister. It made me proud."

Dagur smiled sadly at the man. "Thanks, Dad."

Oswald closed his eyes again and Dagur left to prepare the tea. Heather was already on the job and she turned to see a stern look in his eyes.

"When you're done with that," he said, "we need to talk.