Red Reaper Rose: Thanks for your review! Enemy of My Enemy is also one of favorites, precisely because of the character development of Hiccup as well as Dagur. It's very interesting that you point out the development of the dynamic shots/fight scenes as starting in this episode; I never noticed that before!

BeyondTheMoon1203: Thank you so much for your review, you're always so kind! I've never written a character quite like Dagur before, but I'm really enjoying it so far! And Hiccup, as well. I feel like you see a lot of the dark and light struggling inside both of them. As for the man at the end of the last chapter... I'll let you keep guessing ;)

Anyhoo, back to the story!

Chapter 3: Not-So-Covert Ops

Dagur grunted in pain and gingerly massaged his right shoulder. He rolled it slightly then instantly regretted it when it complained at him. He forgot about that stupid arrow that he had taken for Hiccup. Not it helped, he thought bitterly, Hiccup's voice ringing through his head.

Hiccup had called him a fake. A fake. Maybe Dagur was a fake. Maybe he always would be. After all, had not Dagur been about to make a beeline for the ship? Had he not been about to leave his brother and his dragon at the mercy of those dragon hunters, of Viggo?

Dagur shook his head, dispelling the cloud of toxic thoughts. Yes, the taste of darkness was familiar to him. It was a black honey that once you tasted a drop, you hungered for more yet were more unsatisfied with each larger portion you got. Some resisted this pull, but he strangely never did. Why not give into the darkness, dive in, and have fun? But now…

He clenched his fists in defiance. Now, he had to fight. Now, he had to resist the pull back for another taste. Now, he had to change. Now, he had to be better, for Hiccup's sake. For Heather's sake.

An irritated snort brought his attention to the Night Fury directly behind him. He turned around to find the dragon shaking off twigs and leaves that had attached themselves to his body during their ungraceful descent into the forest. The dragon eyed him and gave another snort.

"I didn't mean to make it so rough, man," Dagur defended apologetically. Then, he attempted a slight grin. "And at least we didn't die, right? Live to fight another day."

He broke into his maniacal laugh but this only elicited an eye roll from Toothless.

"Look, I'm trying my best." Dagur placed his hands on his hips. "Need I remind you, I'm used to land travel. Y'know, on the ground? On the sea? This whole flying thing? New territory, literally. The Archipelago wasn't built in a day."

Toothless glanced down, falling silent. Then, meeting the Berserker's eye level once more, he gave a nod.

Dagur ventured a smile to the Night Fury. "Aw, you're a good boy. I'm so glad we're bonding, you and I." He attempted to throw his arms around the dragon's neck when the Night Fury jerked his head sharply back. In dismay, his arms fell to his sides. "Not a hugger, gotcha. I'm gonna head towards the Markets now."

Dagur began walking when he heard Toothless' pounding footsteps behind him. Halting, he turned towards the dragon.

"Uh, what are you doing? You can't follow me."

The dragon cocked his head with a bemused grunt.

"It's a cesspool of Dragon Hunters down there, and you're, no offense-" Dagur waved his hand at the Night Fury. "-on the top of their 'dragons most wanted' list."

Toothless nodded his head in annoyed fashion, as if saying, "You think I don't know that?"

"Toothless, come on, I get that you wanna help. But if we're gonna do this, you're gonna hafta sit this one out. How do I explain to Hiccup if I get you captured?"

Toothless huffed exasperatedly, his shoulders slumping.

"Look, you can still come. Maybe not into the Markets," said Dagur. He waited for the dragon to meet his gaze, and he offered him a smile. "I could use you shadowing me, though; You are pretty stealthy."

After a brief pause, the Night Fury returned with a small nod, and he began to follow Dagur through the forest towards the Markets. Fir trees branches tickled Dagur's bare arms. He waded through the long heather as well as the occasional brambles which snagged at the straps of his weatherbeaten boots. Upon glancing up through the canopy, he distinguished the first few stars peeking out of the black canvas sky. The dark was coming, and time was fading fast. Hopefully, he would discover something of use to them. After Dagur stepped over a fallen, rotting log, he paused in his tracks. His spine went rigid. His ears pricked at the faint, muddled sound of deep voices.

Excitement coursing through him like a drug, he crept a few paces further where the forest began to thin, Toothless following closely behind him. With one hand, Dagur drew back a large branch curtaining the edge of the forest to reveal an open, torchlit plaza about twenty feet away. Several booths stationed around the space were being closed up and their goods carted away to storage by the merchants. Several passersby were strolling about, heading their separate ways. Dagur's eye caught sight of a group of rather jovial men-Hunters, from what Dagur could distinguish- who were sauntering towards a large wooden hut. When they opened the door, chatter and music wafted out of it.

"Bingo!" Dagur whispered in a singsong voice. He glanced over his shoulder when Toothless warbled in confusion. "It's a tavern, the perfect spot for information. Everyone is super social in these kinds of places. Especially after a drink or two."

Toothless shook his head.

Dagur threw his arms out. "What? You think it's a bad idea? You can trust me. It's not like I'm gonna have any."

Again, the Night Fury shook his head and growled lowly. After Dagur mumbled something about "rusty with my Dragonese," Toothless nodded towards the noisy tavern then put a paw over his eyes.

"Oh, low visibility. I…hadn't thought of that." Dagur scratched his chin contemplatively. He squinted his eyes in a survey of the tavern and spotted a thick layer of bracken growing up about a stone's throw from the open side windows. "Well, luckily for you, that spot's pretty good, and it's dark now. Hiccup told me once that Night Furies own the night, right?"

The Night Fury's face curved into a determined smile.

"If anything goes wrong, you can pull me outta there. Alright?" Fixing his gaze forward, he rolled his neck with a crack. "Wish me luck."

Dagur ventured out, ungracefully tripping over a damp branch hidden in the heather. Briefly, he glanced back when the Night Fury made a small rhythmic noise that sounded an awful lot like laughter then carried on. Passing a booth, he found an tattered, abandoned cloak hanging on a peg. He swiped it, draped it over his shoulders, and pulled the hood over his head. Despite him having vanished from all knowledge for several months, men in the tavern still might recognize him.

He pushed open the door to the tavern. He blinked, his eyes unaccustomed to the warm, orange light within. Cacophonic chatter from the several viking men pushed around Dagur's. The several tables encircling him made the space feel cramped and confined like a cell. Fiddle and lute sang through the space. He passed a group of drunken men banged their half-drained pints atop their round table, spilling mead on the tabletop and down their shirt fronts. One of them garbled out a slurred and offkey rendition of a barbaric folksong.

"RUUUULE BARBARIANS, BAR-HIC!-BARIANS RULE THE WAVES!

VIKINGS-HIC-NEVER, NEV-HIC!-NEVER BE SLAVES!"

Dagur clenched his jaw at the terrible sound. He was worse than the prisoner he was neighbors with on Outcast Island. As he passed by, the man spilled remnants of his mug down Dagur's cloak.

"Ohh, 'M'sorry 'bout that, mate." The man's grubby hands flubbed their way to Dagur, trying to wipe off the mead which now stenched him. "M'fault-"

Dagur slapped the hands away. The viking gazed blearily up at him. Stupid, wasted fool. He should teach this drunkard a lesson. A broken nose would set him straight-

Dagur gritted his teeth and cleared his throat. "Uh, don't worry about it, friend. It was an accident."

He lightly patted the man's shoulder before hastily moving towards the main bar. He settled on a tall stool. He glanced to his left, then to his right, scanning the room for any sign of the hunters, but he found no trace of them. Strange, he was sure that they came in here. Did he just miss them?

Dagur's heart skipped a beat when he saw Toothless' eyes staring at him from outside the open window, glowing in the dark like emerald lanterns. The Berserker eyed him in frustrated horror, giving him his best "what-are-you-doing-you're-supposed-to-be-stealthy" face. The eyes went half-lidded as if deadpanning.

"Get. Down. Now," mouthed Dagur.

"So-"

Dagur turned his eyes forward to the beefy blonde barmaid.

She wiped a dishcloth at a spot on the brim of a mug. "What'll it be?"

Before he opened his mouth, a man sank into the stool beside him. Dagur glimpsed to the right to find a lean yet muscular man. The man made eye contact with him, his dark eyes boring into Dagur's soul. He wore the telltale Dragon Hunter armor with a small wisp of black hair peeking out from the front of his helm.

"A pint for me and my friend, my good woman," drawled the hunter, his accent all too familiar.

The woman filled two mugs, the mead bubbling out from the barrel spigot like liquid molasses. She plopped them down on the countertop, and the hunter passed the woman three golden doubloons.

"Thanks, but I don't drink," Dagur said as soon as the barmaid left. Yet he found himself fingering the heavenly smelling mug despite himself.

The Hunter chuckled, sipping his mead. "Come now, Dagur, we both know that's not true. And remove the hood; no need to hide your identity from me."

Dagur pulled back the hood and ruffled his receding crimson hair. "Fancy meeting you here, Lars Number Two. What gave me away?"

"It's Lars the Second," corrected the hunter. "And that cloak is what gave you away."

Dagur's eyes narrowed. "I thought it was pretty covert."

"Well, if you're going for 'covert,' " chuckled Lars, "you're really failing; The whole reason I noticed you was because of that thing. Do tell, which poor old beggar did you steal that from?"

Dagur shook his head with a chuckle. "Always so observant, eh, Lars?"

Lars sipped his tankard once more. Dagur did likewise. He had to keep up appearances, after all.

"So-" Dagur wiped his mouth, relishing the taste on his tongue. "What brings you here to the Northern Markets? Besides their excellent brew."

"I was going to ask the same of you." Lars sent down his mug, laying his forearms atop the counter, absentmindedly scratching the underside of his right. "You're gone for months. You don't come calling. You don't write."

Dagur paused, unsure which story he should use. Perhaps, the truth -or part of it- was the best option. "I… had some issues to take care of. Then, I got shipwrecked."

"Really? How awful." Lars' voice, although attempting sympathy, sounded like poisoned honey. "And you managed to find me?"

"A kind friend helped me off the island a month ago, helped me find you. After all," Dagur continued, nonchalantly, "I still need to bring those Dragon Riders down. And, for whatever reason, Viggo's not been very chatty these days."
"He's in hiding," Lars responded, his eyes fixed on his tankard.

"Really?" Dagur feigned surprise, then chuckled a little. "Man, shipwrecked can leave you terribly-"

"Dagur." Lars shook his head with a chuckle. "Don't take me for a fool."

Dagur blinked. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Oh, I think you do. Honestly, do you not think that your sudden disappearance went unnoticed?" Lars turned his torso towards him, his face curved in a smirk that resembled that of his cousin's. "You're a deserter."

Panic stabbed Dagur in the chest. "A deserter?" He tried a nonchalant chuckle, but his nerves bled through like ink on parchment. "The rumors people come up with."

"Maybe. But last I heard, you were asked to kill the traitor." Lars sipped his tankard, licked his lips. "Your sister, right? But you couldn't do it. You let her go. If you ever find Viggo, it'll be when he's running you through," continued Lars. "And if you think I'll tell you anything, you're sorely mistaken."

Dagur's nails scratched the countertop. He grinded his teeth. Calm down, he though to himself. He might lead me to Viggo. If I can just convince him.

"Okay, I made a mistake," Dagur said with a shrug.

"Oh, you think?"

"I let Heather get the better of me down in that cave. And I got shipwrecked trying to clean up that mess. If Viggo will give me another chance, I can end her and the Dragon Riders."

Lars rolled his eyes. "Please. You expect me to believe that you would kill your own sister?"

Dagur narrowed his eyes. "We may have been sired by the same man, but that doesn't make her my sister. Why do you think I sent her adrift? She's nothing more than the same pink, squirming larva that she was then."

A black, tense feeling squeezed Dagur's chest. The venom of his words were poisoning him, clenching his heart. He hated everything he had spat out. He hated himself for speaking.

Because it was all a lie.

But Lars seemed to buy it, as he let out a chuckle.

"Well," he began, his voice sweet, sympathetic poison. "if only Viggo was as forgiving as you are zealous. So sorry, Dagur, but second chances are not in the cards."

"Hmm. I suppose you would know better than most, eh, Lars?" Dagur retorted lightly.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I mean, if memory serves-" Dagur scratched his beard, a smirk playing on his face. "You did the exact same thing, didn't you?"

Lars eyed him, his dark eyes full of icy fury.

"Hey, that attack on Dragon's Edge, it was pretty scary," continued Dagur with a delighted giggle. He missed the feeling of reveling in his enemy's frustration; it was addictive, intoxicating like a drug. "So scary that you joined a bunch of men in running. Viggo's own little cousin, a coward. He can't have been very happy about that, could he?"

Lars' eyes were livid with a fire that would decimate a village. His hand ran over his right forearm.

Dagur twisted his face in sympathy. "Aw, did little Lars get punished for shaming his family? Big, scary Viggo rough you up?"

"You have no idea what I've suffered, Berserker," snarled Lars, his face suddenly inches from Dagur's. "So unless you want me to end your miserable life right now, you shut your face."

Dagur backed down, leaning away. "I just need a second chance. I was humiliated. I'm sure you understand."

Lars drew back with a snarl, crossing his arms over his chest. He took a deep gulp of his mead, draining the tankard and exhaling calmly. "Of course I do. Well-" He rose from his seat as two other hunters flocked around him. "I suppose there might be a way you could redeem yourself. As it so happens, my men have important business to attend to."

A silent alarm flared in Dagur's brain. "What business?"

"Sailing to Changewing Island," said Lars with a smile. "Uncommonly rare and quite helpful. Perhaps, Viggo might allow you back…if you prove yourself helpful."

Dagur forced a grin. "I appreciate it, Lars. I'd be honored."

Lars waved a hand for Dagur to come. He followed them, noticing that they were heading towards the back exit. As he passed the window, he glanced out the window for any sign of the Night Fury, but there was none. Had Toothless left entirely?

An unsettling feeling lurched in the pit of his stomach as they stepped out into the dark. His hand went to his belt, fingering the hilts of two concealed knives. He glanced around. The space around them was dark, empty. Dagur blinked several times, trying to adjust his vision.

"Not to be a smart aleck," began Dagur, jerking a thumb behind him, "But I'm pretty sure the dock is that way."

"I know," Lars said nonchalantly as he stopped in his tracks.

Dagur stood still. He gently slid both knives out, keeping it concealed within the folds of his cloak. He had to be an idiot to not recognize that this was not good.

Lars turned to face him, his hand resting on the hilt in his belt. "We're not going to the ship yet. There's one more thing I have to take care of."

"Really?" Dagur stalled, his eyes darting left and right. Where was that Night Fury when you needed him? "Geez, Lars Two. Viggo gives you a second chance, and you get a lot more responsibilities."

Lars sucked in air through his teeth. "Yes, I was allowed one, but not without consequences." He took a step towards Dagur who slowly and cautiously backpedaled. "I'm not free; I never will be. But…if I bring something valuable to my cousin... if I bring him a prize, then perhaps I can change that."

Dagur narrowed his eyes. "You were never gonna vouch for me, huh?"

"Please, do you think I actually believed your story?" scoffed Lars, shaking his head slightly to the side. He unsheathed his sword. "I'm not an idiot, Berserker."

"No, true. You're just a coward," retorted Dagur calmly.

Lars' dark eyes flashed in cold rage. He took another step and his men advanced behind him. "Maybe. But after I bring Viggo your head, I'll be vindicated."

Blood pounded in Dagur's ears; Digging his heels in the dirt, he pulled out his knives, gripping one in each hand. "Sorry, but I think I'm keeping my head."

Lars and his men burst into raucous laughter.

"Bringing daggers to a sword fight?" Lars shook his head, then flourished his sword. "Maybe you're right. Your head is empty and useless; I'll bring him your body instead."

Dagur rolled his head. "Really, Lars? I can't beat you and two guys?"

Wicked laughter came from behind him. Dagur twisted around and found two other men. His gaze zoomed in on the massive battle axes that each man hefted in their beefy hands, glinting dangerously in the cold moonlight.

And that Night Fury was conveniently not shadowing him.

"Ugh," Dagur groaned. "This is going well."

Simultaneously and without prompt, the hunters charged at Dagur from all sides.