Broken

Chapter 25: Unraveling

The ocean was cool and calm and as dark as the sky above it.  Nothing moved across the 
placid waters except the small rippling waves slowly rolling to the beach.  The waning 
moon was reflected by those waves.  The endless rumpled expanse looked as though a 
whole host of tiny stars lay just under the surface, each appearing and disappearing in a 
heartbeat.  The peaceful rhythm of waves reaching the nearby shore and folding 
themselves onto the rocks went unnoticed by the single figure that stood there.

That figure was studying the waters, staring deep into their inky, star speckled depths.  It 
cast its gaze back and forth, trying to locate something hidden beneath the miniscule 
waves.  It paced impatiently up and down the rocky beach.  A splash caught its attention 
but only for a moment.  A single wave, larger than the others.  Nothing more.

Finally there was a louder sound; a body surfaced some distance out, breaking the pattern 
of waves into jagged and irregular ripples.  The figure on the beach watched closely but 
was frustrated as the body plunged back below the surface.

With an irritated hop and a brief flapping of its wings, the brightscale rose several lengths 
into the air and loosed a short blast of fire into the water a safe distance from where he 
believed the First Hunter was swimming.

Two Hearts came up immediately, looking about for whoever had tried to get his 
attention.  Even in the weak light he could easily see the brightscale standing at the 
water's edge.  He couldn't scent the individual; his nose was full of the biting aroma of 
salt water and the heavier, flatter odor of wet rocks.

He dove once more, using slow, lazy sweeps of his wings to propel himself toward the 
shore.  The muscles and joints of his wings ached a bit.  He'd been swimming for some 
time, trying to get his thoughts to fly in a single direction.  The distraction the brightscale 
offered was welcome; he was no closer to understanding the problems he currently faced 
than earlier that evening when he'd slipped into the refreshingly cool waters.

When his claws caught the stony beach, he hoisted himself out with a tremendous rush of 
water draining off his long body and wide wings.  He lumbered out onto the shore, 
feeling his full weight again as the water no longer gave him its lift.  Like thick, clinging 
air, the water was always reluctant to give him back to the solid world.  Two Hearts gave 
a shuddering, twitching flick of all the muscles down both flanks and two hard snaps of 
his wings to rid himself of most of the water that clung to them.  He settled his large 
wings at a slight angle to encourage the rest of the sea water to drain from them.  Thus 
removed from the ocean and once again a creature of the sky and land, he turned to his 
nest mate.

Two Hearts was pleased to see the brightscale was Flicktail, one of the Kin Featherstone 
had released from the preytooth's stone pit to fight against the Great Eel.  Flicktail and he 
had been working recently to give the brightscale more preytooth words so he could catch 
his bond partner's thoughts.  Flicktail had bonded strongly to a female preytooth, one that 
his own flight mate had once seemed to desire.

Oddly, Featherstone's desire had since gone cold and he could only assume the female's 
receptive time had passed.  Her scent never changed to mark her as carrying young so he 
thought something else must have interfered with their mating ritual.  He suspected it had 
been all the turmoil that surrounded them before and after the death of the Great Eel.

He greeted Flicktail warmly but that one didn't respond.  Puzzled, he took a deeper 
breath, trying to catch the brightscale's scent.  When he did his wings flared and he 
growled very low in his throat.  Fear was coming off his nest mate almost as strongly as 
the scent of death had come from Fire Nest.  Whatever threat there was, to his Kin, his 
new nest or the preytooths within it, he would meet it with a liver full of fire.

"First Hunter," croaked the brightscale.  Now that he knew something was wrong he 
could also see his nest mate was trembling.  The powerful muscles in those sturdy legs 
and down the length of that dangerous tail were shivering.

"My fire is ready, my liver is hot.  Where is the enemy?"

Still the Kin hesitated.  What could be wrong that a healthy Kin would be so strongly 
effected?  This was a brightscale who'd fought against the enemy of all Kin, who had 
allowed a preytooth to climb upon his back and give him directions without any of the 
preparations the First Hunter had needed.  Something was very wrong here.

A tiny thought sparked in his mind.  He pushed it away, unwilling to let it take hold.

"Two Hearts."  No more than a stuttering grunt could the frightened brightscale put into 
the name.  The heavy legs slowly folded and the narrow chest met the ground.  The fear 
pouring from him was trying to crawl up the ghostwing's legs and burrow inside him.  He 
wouldn't let it.  He mustn't.

"Speak, please."

Flicktail's wings were quivering now.  His eyes, reflecting the weak light from the sky, 
were wide and staring.

"Thralls!"  The great head, rimmed with many huge spikes, twitched slightly.  "Thralls in 
the nest!"

The fear pierced him through and through, extinguishing his liver's fire and leaving a 
desolate field of snow in its place.

*************************************************

He didn't know why he was on the docks.  He didn't know why he was surrounded by 
baskets of eels.  His confusion grew when he realized he had eels draped over his 
shoulders, stuffed into his shirt and dangling from his sleeves.  He raised his arms and 
saw a singularly large eel in his hands.  He had no idea when or why he'd picked it up.  
The black and yellow sea creature was gasping, trying to breathe.

It was not a good idea for so many eels to be on the docks.  He needed to get rid of them.  
Raising it to his mouth, he prepared to consume the biggest one first.

It grunted at him.

He paused, wondering why the sound was so familiar.  Before he could continue it 
grunted again.  Then something touched his eel covered shoulder.

The smell of sea water and dragon hide came to him and he opened his eyes.  His small 
window was open, letting in just enough light to see the outline of his friend.  A beautiful 
pair of luminous yellow-green eyes stared back at him.

"Hiccup."

Now the fishy, burnt bone scent of dragon breath washed over him, scrubbing away the 
remnants of his odd dream.  Toothless leaned forward and gently nosed his chin, this time 
adding a brief lick across his exposed neck.  He pulled his arm out from his blanket and 
laid his hand on the warm, wet snout.

Wet?

Raising his head, Hiccup ran his palm from his dragon's nose to his rounded eye ridge 
and down the side of his head.

Definitely wet.  Toothless had just been swimming.  Now he knew why he smelled sea 
water.

"Hiccup."

"Toothless," he responded blearily.  He glanced out the window.  No sign of dawn.  
"Wha's wrong?  You alright?"

"Yes."

Hiccup's arm thumped to the bed.  He lowered his head, closed his eyes and felt his grip 
on the world slipping.  The darkness seemed to open below him and welcome him back.

"Hiccup."

"Uhh."

"Yes."

"Mmm."

His upper arm was gripped and he was dragged upright.  His eyes shot open.  
"Wharyoodoon?"

"Yes.  Yes."

Hiccup sometimes had trouble waking in the morning.  He occasionally slept late if 
others would allow it.  And it was even harder after having already been woken for some 
emergency earlier in the night.

His heart gave a sudden lurch and he gasped.  The memory came back to him.  Stoick had 
roused him out of bed with far less consideration after an incident in the northeast field 
had caused Yrsa to ring the alarm bell.  The whole of that confusing and disturbing 
occurrence had left him feeling unsettled and wishing he had known how to answer his 
father's questions.  More, he'd wanted to know where the Night Fury had gone for the 
night.

He struggled to pull the wandering pieces of his mind together.  Toothless' presence 
meant he could get the answers Stoick had wanted.  But immediately after that thought 
was another realization.  Something about this current situation was very much off.

Hiccup looked at Toothless.  The dragon was in his room.  This was not a first, but it did 
mean that the Fury had let himself into the Haddock house, climbed the stairs to the loft 
where he slept and nudged him awake.  His father was not standing beside the dragon 
demanding attention, so Toothless must have come to him very quietly.

He looked at his upper arm.  His friend was still sitting beside his bed, one foreleg 
reaching out and the clawed paw carefully but firmly gripping him and holding him up.

"Toothless.  What's wrong?  What's going on?"

The paw let go and the foreleg shifted down to the floor but the dragon's stare was as 
intense as ever.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes.  Yes."  Toothless shifted his lean hips to one side and carefully brought the end of 
his tail around until it lay on the bed.  The foreleg came up again and the paw patted the 
incomplete appendage.  "Yes."

"Umm..."  Hiccup was missing something.  Why did he keep saying-  "Oh."  He was 
getting 'yes' and 'fly' mixed up again.  Toothless wanted Hiccup to put the flying rig on 
him.

Jarred awake for the second time in one night, it took a little longer for him to start 
thinking clearly.  But now that he was as alert as he could possibly be, he became aware 
of what was going on.  Unfortunately this new situation made him as uncomfortable as 
the previous one had.

The evening's shepherds had witnessed what sounded very much like a raid from before 
the battle.  It had been a limited raid, yes, and one without casualties but a raid all the 
same.  Now his dragon had returned after being gone all evening and wanted to fly.  
Hiccup couldn't believe the two events were unrelated.

"Toothless, my dad wants to talk to you.  Something happened tonight that-"

"No."  This time there was no confusion.  The faintly luminous eyes moved side to side 
as the ink colored dragon shook his head.  Another unhappy realization suddenly came to 
him.  Toothless' growly, grunting voice was much subdued.  The Fury was essentially 
whispering.  That meant he didn't want to wake Stoick, didn't want to talk to Stoick and 
didn't want to answer questions.

Hiccup had questions of his own, and they were largely the same questions his father 
would ask if he were awake.

"Did you know that dragons came and took some sheep tonight?"

The eyes blinked and then slowly closed.  He could see the wide head tilt down, as 
though ashamed.  "Yes."

He set aside any worries that admission implied and asked what seemed to him to be the 
more important question.  "Is that why you want to fly now?"

The head came up, the eyes opened.  "Yes.  Fly."  He could hear the difference now.

After completing and testing the improved flying rig for Toothless, Hiccup had sworn to 
himself that his dragon had to have access to flight any time he wanted it.  Otherwise the 
changes he'd made would be meaningless.  Independence was worthless if Hiccup 
refused to hook up the rig that would allow the Fury to fly on his own.  To the young 
Viking this meant that at any time and under any conditions that Toothless wanted to fly, 
he was bound to grant the dragon's request.

Even in the dead of night under suspicious circumstances.

Surely Toothless would not place the village in jeopardy or thwart Stoick's efforts to 
protect it.  If he felt it was more important to go somewhere than to explain himself to the 
chief, why should his rider question him?

Hiccup decided.  Not that he could have really denied Toothless in a time of need, but 
reassuring himself at least allowed him to feel less traitorous for not informing his father 
of his dragon's return.

It took a bit of time.  After climbing out of bed and getting dressed, he put his oak and 
iron leg on, moving carefully to keep it from thumping the floor too hard.  Stoick was a 
heavy sleeper so the occasional rough bump or knock didn't affect him.  They made their 
way downstairs, Toothless leading the way.

Hiccup was both worried and puzzled about how such a large being could move quietly 
within a house, let alone down the steep, narrow stairs that connected the loft to the main 
room.  With the limited light from a shrunken moon barely making the walls and floors 
visible, he was just able to see how the Fury managed.  First he tightly compressed his 
wings, as he had within Freygerd's small cottage.  Then he worked his front legs down 
the first few steps.  His hind legs, which were not really made for traversing stairs, were 
accommodated by using his heavy tail as a prop.  The tail would press down against the 
stairs, supporting his back end.  Then the rear legs would lift and move to the next step 
down.  It was a strange process to watch.  It was also nearly silent.

Stoick was breathing the slow and steady way he did when fast asleep.  Hiccup gently 
picked up all the pieces of the flying rig, careful to keep the large metal portions from 
clanging together.  Toothless used his claws to pull open the door and they were soon 
outside.  They moved a distance from the house and set to work.

The sky was clear and the stars helped make up the missing light from the moon, which 
looked like it had a large bite taken out of it.  Long practice allowed Hiccup's nimble 
fingers to make quick work of the task, regardless of the light.

When all was ready, Hiccup made to mount his dragon.  Toothless stepped away, 
grunting, "No."  The young man stood, confused and at a loss.

"What?"  A feeling of dread slowly came over him, unwanted and unwelcome.  
"Toothless, what's wrong?"

The dragon dropped his head between his forelegs to see where the extra controllers 
dangled near his rear legs.  He carefully worked his hind paws until the wooden pegs 
were securely clasped.  When he was satisfied he turned to face his rider.  "Hiccup."

The young Haddock stepped up to the Night Fury's head, placed his hands under the 
wide jaw and stared into those bright eyes.  Even a weak moon's light made them shine.

"Toothless, please.  Let me come.  I can help you with... whatever's going on."  It felt 
like a bad dream.  Why would the Fury want to leave him behind?

The dragon only stared a moment.  Then he slowly shook his head.  He closed his eyes 
once more and stretched his neck, pushing the tip of his nose into the center of Hiccup's 
thin chest.  A deep, purring growl sent little vibrations into his stomach.

Hiccup leaned forward and pressed his cheek to the top of Toothless' head.  Worry 
struggled with trust.  He believed his best friend knew what he was doing.  But what if he 
needed help and couldn't get back?  How would he even know if something bad 
happened while he was gone?  His fears and faith pulled at him, back and forth as quickly 
as his own rapid heartbeat.

When he pulled back and looked once more into the Fury's eyes he knew trust had won, 
but only by the slimmest of margins.  He caught himself wishing he hadn't changed the 
flying rig.  But he immediately knew that wasn't true.  It was only his concern for his 
friend, his desire to stay with him, to help him.  "Please, be careful."  Toothless said 
something short but he couldn't make it out, some word he'd not quite learned or one he 
never had.  "And come back as soon as you can."

The dragon crouched and leapt, powerful muscles propelling him well over Hiccup's 
head before the first sweep of the huge wings buffeted him.  It took only a few seconds 
for the black night air to swallow him, leaving only the receding sound of wings.

Hiccup stared at the empty sky for several minutes.  Something his father had said not 
long ago came back to him.  'That's how a parent feels when their child becomes an adult 
and leaves for their own life.'  But Toothless was no child.  He was a fully grown dragon 
capable of taking care of himself.

He was also the most important thing in the world to a skinny young Viking who was not 
going to get any more sleep that night.

*************************************************

It was well past dawn when he opened his eyes.  His usual habit was to rise as or before 
the sun made its appearance.  Emergencies tended to play havoc with habits, though.  
Last night's crisis had certainly cost him a lot of sleep, so he wasn't bothered much to 
have slept late.  What bothered him was waking to an empty house.

Hiccup should have been there.

Stoick made himself a simple breakfast of bread, berries and water.  The bread was 
excellent, up to the Harald's usual standards.  The berries weren't quite ripe, though.  
Some ale would have helped with that.  Everything tasted better with some good ale, but 
currently he had none in the house.  He would have to visit the Ingermans to see about 
getting another keg.  He would do that after he found his son.  If he found his son.

Hiccup had not responded well to the news they'd gotten during the night.  The boy 
sometimes had trouble waking fully when his sleep was interrupted.  He'd even been 
known to occasionally sleep through a raid in years past.  But it hadn't just been a weary 
mind and body that had been the problem.  He'd had trouble believing there had even 
been a raid.  While Signy and her father reported the incident to Stoick, Hiccup had stood 
nearby shaking his head in disbelief.

His son knew the gravity of this new situation, he was sure.  He'd made it clear to him 
last night.  There was no room for sentimentality or favoritism.  If the Night Fury and the 
other dragons were truly as Hiccup claimed then they needed to answer for their 
behavior.  Theft of food could not be tolerated.  Just because no one died as a result 
didn't make the loss any more bearable.  If he'd truly taken the message to heart, his son 
was out right now trying to locate the beasts responsible.  The chief would rather have 
found him at the table, the Night Fury at his side and ready to answer the questions he 
wanted answered.

Once he finished his meal, Stoick headed out the door to look for Hiccup.  That's when 
he noticed the empty spot by the door, opposite the pile of firewood.

Toothless' flying rig was gone.

He stared at the place where Hiccup usually set the complicated leather and iron 
contraption, trying not to let his feelings get the better of him.  As both his father and his 
chief, Stoick had lots of practice controlling the frustration and disappointment the boy 
often caused.  Keeping a level head and making wise decisions rather than angry ones 
was in everyone's interest.  Stoick was good at it, having had lots of practice.

This, however, smacked of something he didn't want to consider: a willingness on 
Hiccup's part to protect a creature based on what it was rather than what it had done.  The 
boy had deliberately taken the dragon flying - or allowed it to fly on its own - when he 
knew full well it needed to account for what had happened.  The notion that his own child 
would intentionally hinder his efforts to protect the village and their livestock set a fire in 
his belly.  How could Hiccup do such a thing?

Realizing the anger was taking control, Stoick set that thought aside.  He leaned one arm 
against the door frame and placed his other hand on his brow.  He needed to think a 
moment.  There was something wrong with what was going on in his mind.  He took a 
few deep breaths and tried to let his thoughts settle.

Hiccup was devoted to the Fury.  Likewise the dragon was devoted to his son.  They 
protected one another.  Either would defend the other against Stoick if it felt necessary.  
They'd both proven that, the Fury having done so most recently.  But what of other 
dragons?  How far did Hiccup's devotion extend?  Would his son allow some other 
beast's needs to outweigh the needs of the village?

No.  Stoick shook his head and thrust that thought away as unworthy.  He knew his son 
better than that.  The question was not 'how could he do such a thing?'  It was 'could he 
do such a thing?'  And the answer was 'no.'

So why had they left?

Stoick could think of several reasons, none of which had anything to do with protecting 
thieving dragons.

The great hall was not far behind his house, so he turned and headed that way.  There 
were a few folks coming and going from that immense chamber carved directly into the 
mountain.  Those heading in were bringing food for storage or preparation for the 
evening's meal and those leaving had most likely already done so.  Freya's handling of 
communal meals was nothing short of exceptional but the work couldn't be done without 
plenty of help.

The doors stood wide and the fire in the central pit had already burned low.  Warmer 
weather and earlier light meant less need of a large fire.  It also meant less smoke and an 
easier chance to catch a whiff of what had been made for the morning meal.  Stoick could 
smell a hint of crisply fried ham and eggs as well as the usual scent of the staple porridge 
that many folks had to break their fast.  It made his bread and berries seem a poorer 
choice.

The only people in the hall, however, were those helping clean up after the last meal and 
prepare for the next.  Hiccup wasn't here, nor were his friends.  The hall was a common 
place for them to seek each other's support or comfort after suffering a setback.

And the raid had certainly been a setback, at least to Stoick's way of thinking.  It had 
gone directly against what his son and that clever black dragon had seemed to claim 
recently.  The afternoon the three of them had spent around the Haddock hearth, Stoick 
and Hiccup speaking and the Fury doodling in the ashes, was still fresh in his mind.  
There had been one key question the chief had wanted answered: would the dragons 
promise to never again take aggressive actions against Berk.  Hiccup's dragon had 
seemed to make the claim that dragons wanted peace with Vikings.  According to his son, 
the crude figures scratched in the gray dust had meant 'Viking no hurt dragon/dragon no 
hurt Viking.'

When the chief asked how they could trust them, the dragon repeated the same 
explanation his son had put forth shortly after the battle.  Supposedly dragons, which 
were actually large scaly people, had acted against their will.  The Red Death had been 
responsible for somehow forcing them to keep it fed.  Stoick hadn't put any real thought 
into the how and why of dragon raids, even after the discovery and death of that mind-
boggling monster.  But once it was dead, dragons had undeniably started behaving 
differently.  The raids had stopped, the fighting had ended.  There was no good reason to 
question what had happened before or why.

Until now.  The Red Death was certainly still dead and now dragons were starting to go 
back to their old ways.

Of course there was still the possibility that the season was actually responsible.  It was 
spring; animals were thoroughly occupied with having and raising young.  That might be 
the reason for snatching easy food from Berk.  And so far, no dragons had actually 
attacked a villager.  It could be that in another month or two, the problem would simply 
go away.

But maybe it wouldn't.

He left the hall and made his way to Freygerd's cottage.  Another possibility was that 
Hiccup wanted council from the elder.  The boy hadn't taken advantage of her wisdom 
until recently.  Word had come to him that he had visited her a few weeks ago.  Perhaps 
he had sought her out again.  Stoick had spoken to her several times of late, hoping for 
some insight into how to handle the new problems that came from Vikings and dragons 
living together.  Surely she would have some words to offer, some guidance to give.

Her door was standing open, as it often was.  When he called her name, however, she 
failed to appear.  He stepped up to the door and peered inside.  With a mild grunt of 
irritation, he lowered himself to one knee to look below the level of hanging pots and 
baskets.  Still he saw nothing.

He walked around her small house and looked out at the sprawling fields behind the hill.  
They were dotted with lone trees, stray boulders and sprays of flowering plants.  It took a 
little time to spot her, but eventually he found her diminutive form out among the gentle 
waves of a green ocean.  Her back was to him and she disappeared a moment as she 
stooped to gather something she'd found.  She moved a few steps and then stooped again.

So Hiccup had not come here to ask for her wisdom and she was hunting the herbs and 
seeds that she used and stored.  Had he not felt he needed council on this matter?  Did he 
believe he knew enough about the situation that he could disappear to do... whatever it 
was he was doing?

He frowned slightly.  Stoick still wasn't used to thinking of dragons as having real minds.  
Hiccup had access to any information he needed about dragons.  The Night Fury had 
proved to him he could communicate in a limited fashion with his drawing spike.  What 
need would the boy have of Freygerd's knowledge?

So had the dragon influenced Hiccup's behavior this morning?  Had they left without 
speaking to their chief at the Fury's request?  And if so, why?  To find answers?  Or 
something else?

A sudden, ugly thought came to him, one that made the hair on his massive arms stand on 
end.

If the Fury was truly intelligent, could it deceive Vikings if it so chose?

Two images revisited him, one right after the other.  The first was a relatively small black 
dragon unleashing a bolt of blue fire so powerful it slammed the Red Death to the 
ground.  The second was that powerful black dragon nuzzling his sleeping son with great 
tenderness.  The spectrum of the Fury's hatred and allegiance was distilled within those 
two images.  And Hiccup was as much the focus of that allegiance as the Red Death was 
the focus of hatred.  Where would deception fit within such an allegiance?

Did the dragon's allegiance to Hiccup extend to other Vikings?  Did the Fury even care 
what other dragons did, so long as its own pet Viking was kept safe?

Stoick's bread and berries turned slowly to acid as he left Freygerd's cottage.

His thoughts were turning in small, dark circles as he wandered through the village.  He 
found himself standing before the smithy.  He had gone to the next best place to find 
Hiccup even as his mind gnawed at the doubts that lay strewn before him.  Gobber's 
forge was another typical place to find his son hiding, burying himself in work or design.

The master smith was absent, the forge was cold and even the Terrible Terrors were 
missing from his rooftop.  There was no one around except those who were going about 
their daily routines nearby.  Stoick waved absently to those who greeted him; he was too 
distracted to do more.  He went to the trouble to squeeze into the small storage room in 
back that his son had claimed as a work room, but for naught.

Stoick looked around at the clutter of tools and material, not really seeing his 
surroundings but the large sea colored eyes of a mysterious flying reptile.

What was the Night Fury, truly?

It was powerful, rare.  It was intelligent, capable of emotion.  It was as complex in its 
own way as any ordinary Viking.  So what was it?  Was it a person, a Viking with a 
different form?  Was it a clever animal, capable of mimicking what it saw?  What were 
its intentions, its desires?

Was it Stoick's friend or enemy?  Was there any way to know before some final, fatal test 
came to pass?

The hair on his arms was trying to stand up again.

He turned abruptly, heading to the only other place the two might be.  Assuming they 
were still on the island.

He didn't need to actually make the long walk down the wooden ramps to the docks.  
From the top of the cliffs he could see every empty spot down on the water where a ship 
could be tied.  Currently there were two ships still tethered; both were undergoing minor 
repairs.  The rest were out to drop nets or visit other nearby islands for hunting.  There 
was no way for either his son or the dragon to hide down there.

Hiccup regularly fed the Fury from the daily hauls of fish and game, often simply waiting 
on the docks to see who would offer a portion of their take.  The pair never left the docks 
empty handed.  While many folks were still not comfortable or happy about the presence 
of dragons on the island, there were also many who saw Hiccup as a hero and his dragon 
as a worthy steed.  Hiccup would sometimes do some fishing from the docks to help, but 
his time was limited of late.  The offerings of grateful villagers on the docks made 
keeping the black dragon fed a manageable task.

Another new thought came to Stoick as he looked down upon the empty docks.  For all 
the power and ability the Night Fury possessed, it could not feed itself.  Its very life came 
from Hiccup.  As the boy told the story, that was what allowed them to cross the hostile 
territory Viking and dragons claimed and meet on neutral ground.  Hiccup fed the 
downed dragon, earned its trust and thus tamed it.

No.  Not tamed.  Befriended.  Each had set aside good reason to distrust and allowed the 
other to get close.  As events unfolded, Hiccup gained knowledge of dragons never 
before known and the dragon gained survival, a new chance at flight and a first chance to 
kill the tormentor of all dragons.  So Hiccup said.

So now the Fury had a new life, closely tied to Hiccup.  It protected the boy, watched 
over him and seemed content with their interdependence.

That wasn't true, either.  Not any more.  The hair on his arms tried once more to stand on 
end, and this time it rose up straight as a new picture came to him.

The Night Fury no longer needed Hiccup to feed him.  His son had used his strange gift 
for design to create a way for the dragon to fly without a rider.  It was no longer tied to 
him.  It no longer needed him to go anywhere or do anything it chose.  Had it been 
waiting for that all along?

Was that why dragons were now feeling bold enough to start raiding once more?  
Because they no longer needed one particular Viking's help to keep their... leader alive?

Was that what the Fury was?  Was it the leader of the dragons?  Could it be possible it 
had gotten what it needed from Hiccup and had left him behind?

Or taken him?

The small, dark circles his thoughts had traveled became smaller and darker.

Stoick looked up, wondering where that one dragon had gone.  His eyes searched a 
mostly cloudless, empty sky.  The recent storm had swept the air of Midgard clean.  In 
the distance he spotted two dragons, flying well apart.  One seemed to be reddish yellow, 
the other greenish gold.  Where was it?

When his gaze returned to the ground he happened to notice a small figure on the nearby 
cliffs.  It was standing, looking up and turning slow circles.  His first thought was to 
berate himself.  Why hadn't he thought of that?

Between that thought and his first step toward his son, he realized he was immensely 
grateful the Fury hadn't taken his boy with him when he left.  The last and most 
worrisome thought before he reached Hiccup was that the conversation they were about 
to have was going to be a very difficult one.

Stoick didn't want to accuse.  He didn't know what had happened between the dragon 
and his son so he had no reason to assume the worst.  He tried to think of a way to calmly 
approach the topic that was obviously foremost in both their minds.  Yet when he came 
close enough for Hiccup to notice him, all he could see was the way his son froze for 
several heartbeats.  Then he saw the minute slumping of his narrow shoulders and guilty 
breaking of eye contact.  It was the 'I am caught, I am defeated' look from his childhood.  
Stoick hated it and as a result the first words out of his mouth had the same tone they'd 
had so long ago, before Hiccup had saved both Berk and his own father from destruction.

"Well, where's your dragon?"

Hiccup swallowed.  It was all so familiar; the pause before answering, the tiny shrug, the 
small voice confessing to well-intended but ill-fated adventures.  He felt his fists ball 
themselves up and plant themselves on his hips, his old habit to keep from taking a 
frustrated swat at a thinly boned boy who couldn't withstand a casual blow like an adult.

"I don't know."

It wasn't a confession or an apology.  It was a simple, quiet statement filled with sorrow 
and it threw a bucket of snow on the rekindling fire in Stoick's heart.  He leaned back 
slightly, noticing the look on his son's face for the first time.  The lean frame might have 
been speaking of guilt, but the eyes and the mouth spoke only of a deep pain.  He sighed, 
knowing the conversation was going to be even harder than he'd expected.

He laid a careful hand on Hiccup's shoulder and asked, "What happened?"

The boy kept his composure.  Oddly, when he turned toward him and lifted his head to 
speak, the bright morning sunshine highlighted the newest sprouts of facial hair on his 
rounded chin.  Signs of manhood, Stoick thought.

"I'm sorry, dad.  He..."  Each word had risen in pitch.  He clenched his jaw a moment, 
fought with his emotions.  This time he kept his voice level.  "He wanted to leave.  He 
didn't say where he was going, or what he was doing.  I asked-"  His jaw clenched again, 
and this time so did the small fists.  "I asked if he was leaving because of what 
happened."

Stoick felt a new flush of heat.  At least one answer might be had.

"He said yes."

That wasn't enough.  "Nothing else?"

Hiccup hesitated.  "Only that he didn't... didn't want to..."

Stoick felt certain he knew what the dragon didn't want to do.

"He wouldn't let me go with him!"

Stoick's anger was again tempered by the poorly disguised anguish.  But he also saw 
another answer in that statement.  The Fury had left Hiccup behind.

He didn't want to draw hasty conclusions.  But it felt to him that there was something out 
of balance between Hiccup and his dragon.  If his idea was right, he needed to prepare his 
son for some truly bitter disappointment in the near future.

"Son."  He squeezed the shoulder under his large hand.  "Why do you think he left now?  
What do you think he's doing?"

Hiccup immediately shook his head, but he also said, "Maybe he's going to ask the other 
dragons to stop taking food.  Maybe, maybe he's even going to get the sheep back.  
He's... he could do that."  And there, plain and heartbreaking to see, was the doubt in his 
son's eyes.  That told him more than anything else.

"Hiccup."  He took back his hand.  His son was breaching adulthood.  He needed to treat 
him like a man.  Still, he spoke gently.  "You said that dragons are like us.  You said they 
are like people."

The boy - young man - frowned.  "They *are* people."

"Can they lie?"

It all played out on his face.  He'd never considered it.  The very idea baffled him.  Then 
it made him angry.  A touch of the true Viking spirit, and only in regards to that powerful 
and mysterious dragon.

"Why would you say that?"

"Why are the dragons gone?  Are they breeding, or is it something else?"

He lost him again.  This was important, though.  He waited for his son to work it out.  It 
didn't help.

"I- I don't know."

"Why are they stealing food and raiding the sheep pens?  Are they feeding young, or is it 
something else?"

A weak shake of the head.  "I don't know."

"Why did the only Night Fury we know of decide to leave in the middle of the night?  
Why did he sneak away?"

That struck a nerve.  "I told you I don't know!"

"What *do* you know, Hiccup?  What *can* you know?  Can you *really* talk to him, 
son?"

Real anger blossomed.  "You did!  We both did!"

"Talk, Hiccup, not draw funny pictures.  Can he speak Norse like a Norseman?"

Stoick saw sudden disdain in Hiccup's eyes at the suggestion.

"Of course not!  His mouth isn't made for it!  Just like my throat can't say his words!"

To drive his point home, he leaned down to stare directly into Hiccup's eyes.  "If you 
can't really speak to him then what do you really know about him?  Do you know who he 
is?"

As smart as he was, Hiccup still couldn't follow him.  Or wouldn't, for the sake of his 
supposed friendship.  "Who he is?"

"Is he the leader of the dragons?"

Stoick knew his son well enough to see his confusion was real.  This also hadn't occurred 
to him.  "Leader?"

"People have leaders.  If dragons are like people then they must have a leader.  Is he their 
leader?"

"I... I don't..."

Another idea suddenly came to him, one that gave even him chills.  His voice grew quiet 
as it spilled from his mind.  "Was the Red Death their leader?"  If it had been, what did 
that say about the Fury's behavior?  "Did he get you to help him kill their leader so he 
could take its place?"

Hiccup obviously rejected that idea out of hand.  "WHAT?  How could you even think 
that?"

"Because it's possible and he's not here to say different, is he?  What would he say if he 
was here?  Would he say yes?  Or no?"  He placed a single finger in the middle of his 
son's chest and pushed slightly.  "And could you tell if he was lying?"

The young man looked truly upset.  It seemed to him, however, that his distress came not 
just from the ideas his father was suggesting but also from the possibility that he was 
right.

"Why are you doing this?"

That was easy to answer.  "Because I'm the chief and it's my responsibility to keep Berk 
safe.  I used to have to protect my village from large, powerful dumb animals.  Now I 
may have to protect it from large, powerful *smart* animals."

Hiccup said nothing more.  He didn't seem able.

"Maybe you're right, Hiccup.  Maybe dragons really are as smart as Vikings.  But 
Vikings know how to lie.  Vikings know how to deceive.  So maybe dragons do, too."

Anger, rage even.  Or desperation.  His voice went so high it was impossible to tell.  
"Toothless would never lie to me!"

Moments slid by, measured in hammering heartbeats.  He could see the pulsing of the 
large veins in his son's neck.  He waited until Hiccup seemed to be listening again.  He 
stared hard at him and said in a quiet, deliberate tone, "How do you know that?"

Hiccup's world was falling apart, he could see it.  It brought him no pleasure to do it.  
Stoick's ideas had enough merit to open the boy's eyes to the possibilities.  Hiccup's first 
step into manhood, into leadership, would have to be an unpleasant one.  Stoick's had 
been.

*************************************************

It had been a rough morning.

Astrid's house was empty.  Her mother was with her sister Freya in the great hall 
preparing meals while her father was spending the day helping the Haralds with the 
grinding.  She sat by herself on the steps of her house and watched the rising sun turn a 
sullen sky into ribbons of pink fire and lumpy golden fleece.

She felt strangely abandoned.  She understood her parents were helping with the 
everyday work that kept the village alive, but she would have liked to have spoken to 
them, asked for their advice.  Not that they really could have helped with the problem she 
had, since it was her dragon's absence that was bothering her most.

Astrid considered herself a stable, strong minded and strong willed person.  The majority 
of her life until last autumn had been spent working her way toward a singularly 
important goal: to protect her family and village by being a ruthlessly effective destroyer 
of dragons.  Her efforts to achieve that goal had carried her through many hardships and 
disappointments.  When Hiccup turned everything, including her goals, upside down she 
took pride in being able to adjust.  And she hadn't just managed to get by with the new 
way of things.  She thrived by them.

When she learned there would probably be other, unforeseen consequences of the new 
ways, she started to have doubts.  Uncertainty had crept into her mind, taking the joy out 
of many things.  The troubling notion of being placed within an arranged marriage 
threatened to undo everything she'd accomplished for herself.  Worse, it was possible 
those aspects of her life Hiccup had changed for the better might well be completely 
ruined for her.

On top of all this, she was now trying to deal with yet another major change in her world.  
Folkvardr, the Deadly Nadder who'd become such an important part of her new life, had 
been revealed to be far more than she would have ever believed.  All dragons, Hiccup had 
said and Toothless had proved, were as smart and complex as Vikings.  They were 
people, with thoughts and feelings and language.

This had proved to be a much harder change to adjust to than anything previously.

Dragons could be tamed and trusted?  The proof was at hand, in Hiccup and his dragon.  
She might be required to marry a stranger, leave her home and family, and possibly even 
leave behind her newly acquired reptilian friend?  Unfortunate and maybe even unfair, 
but she believed she could find a way to still serve her village, be its protector and 
perhaps enjoy her life.  Eventually.

But tell her the beasts that had tormented her tribe, changed from foes to friends and were 
now doing so much to feed and protect her village were, in fact, people?  The idea warred 
with itself in her mind every single day.  To look at them was to see animals, nothing 
more than smart beasts that had been trained to view cooperation with Vikings as 
beneficial.

The few afternoons she'd spent with Folk, Toothless and Hiccup, trying to speak to him 
and getting actual answers had quickly become something she both desired and dreaded.  
She found there were questions she didn't want to ask, answers she didn't want to hear.  
She started to feel unworthy of her dragon's friendship, and that warred with itself in her 
mind also.  How long had dragons raided and killed the villagers of Berk?  How many 
dragons had been injured or slain by those same villagers?  Was it right to ignore all that 
had happened on both sides of that conflict? 

There was also the personal history the two of them had.  Astrid had been trying to figure 
out how to approach that subject, to ask the questions, to gauge how her dragon felt about 
what had happened in the arena during their fights.  The affection the Nadder consistently 
showed her made his feelings about her plain.  That didn't mean there weren't apologies 
owed on each side.  Often she struggled with the idea of bringing that up and dealing with 
it or letting it lie between them, pretending it hadn't happened or that it didn't matter.  
Not dealing with it felt cowardly to her and she hated that.  But she'd never had to 
converse with a person she'd once considered an animal that needed killing.  Those 
thoughts tied her in knots that made her stomach ache.

As much as she struggled to understand these ideas, it upset her even more when 
Folkvardr had turned up missing after Yrsa had waked the village to news of a dragon 
raid.  Astrid had wanted to be close to her dragon and be assured that he had not 
participated in this new and puzzling attack on the flocks.  She had made her way behind 
the house to find his lean-to empty.  His absence didn't mean he'd been involved in the 
raid but it did leave the question unanswered.

She had no idea where Folkvardr went when he left her alone.  There were times she'd 
seen him fishing or bathing off Ingifast's beach.  Many times she had seen him flying 
with other dragons, chasing each other through the skies like oversized songbirds, dizzy 
with the scent of spring in their noses.  Where he went when he disappeared she could 
only guess.  To hunt, almost certainly.  To find a mate, perhaps.  But what else?  What 
other things occupied him when he was gone?

By the time the brilliant fires among the clouds had been extinguished and the sun was 
fully above the eastern horizon, Astrid knew she needed to either get on with her daily 
chores or give in to her anxiety and look for her dragon.  Searching for an independent 
creature that could fly would almost certainly be a hopeless task but she was worried 
enough that she was nearly ready to try anyway.

Just as she stood, ready to make her decision and either head into the house or go to 
Ingifast's beach, there was a familiar warbling squawk from behind and above her.  Her 
heart leapt with joyous relief as the very dragon she'd wanted to find came winging in 
over her head.  Folkvardr squawked again, turned awkwardly and tried to land without 
properly slowing down.  With a desperate flaring of his wings, the Nadder forced himself 
down to the ground.  His legs took the brunt of his hard landing, his large claws tearing 
up the grassy ground as his momentum kept him moving.  He staggered gracelessly, 
stumbled and wound up hopping a few times as he tried to get his body, legs and wings to 
all change direction at once.

Astrid watched, both amused and happy and still worried as Folkvardr got himself under 
control and moved quickly to her side.  His squawks turned to soft trilling as he 
approached.  She raised her arms to him and stepped forward.  They came together, his 
chest and head bobbing low to meet her height and her cheek pressed to the tip of his 
sloping snout.  She stroked his lower jaw and told him how happy she was to see him 
safe and sound.

When she stepped back a bit to look him over his nose followed her, pressing into her 
shoulder.  Still he crooned to her, a quiet sound that seemed to reflect similar feelings in 
him.  She stepped back again and still he followed her.  He seemed quite frantic to have 
some physical reassurance from his rider and Astrid was quite willing to give it.  They 
wound up pressed together, snout to shoulder, for some minutes.  She continued to stroke 
his lower jaw and spoke soothingly to him.

Finally he calmed enough that she could lean back and look him in the nearest eye.  "Are 
you ok?"

He gurgled and chittered a bit but gave no other indication he understood the question.

"Is something wrong?"

Again he gave her no clear response and she started to feel that frustration she'd 
experienced when she'd first tried to speak to him.  Fortunately she knew how to improve 
her chances of getting an answer: she reduced her question to a single word.

"Bad?"

Folkvardr froze, blinked at her.  His mouth dropped open slightly, making it look as 
though he wanted to speak to her.  Or perhaps he was trying to remember a different way 
to respond.

A moment later he seemed to prove it was the latter.  His toothy jaw snapped shut and he 
made a deliberate if jerky up and down motion with his head.  So there *was* something 
wrong.  Astrid could only assume it had something to do with the events of the previous 
evening.  Without help from their translator partners, she doubted she could work out the 
source of Folkvardr's distress.  She knew what she needed to ask next.

"Hiccup?"

The Nadder reacted immediately this time, nodding emphatically.  He also stepped back 
from her, turned his side toward her and crouched with the nearest wing held slightly 
back to aid in her mounting.  He wasn't saddled and that concerned her a bit.  But after 
she had nimbly worked her way onto his back and leaned forward to brace herself he took 
off at a loping run, his wings partially extended for better balance.

With Hiccup and Toothless' help she would be able to get some kind of grip on her 
concerns for Folkvardr.  It occurred to her that her dragon may actually have something 
to say about the raid that had gotten everything stirred up.  And as she bounced with the 
unaccustomed motion of her Nadder's heavy stride she tried to think how to ask 
Toothless for help with her dragon.  She had an epiphany instead.

For an instant, everything went still.  She didn't feel the warm body shifting beneath her, 
didn't smell the usual scent of spring flowers, greening grass and salt air.  All that 
occupied her mind at that moment was a singular black dragon that represented 
something she had never considered before.  Of course she'd never had a *reason* to 
consider it before.

'Night Fury' had once meant 'unseen terror.'  Her introduction to him had placed that 
single dragon into a new category: 'pet dragon.'  But over the last week or so she had, 
without realizing it, come to think of him as a strange mixture of Hiccup, Freygerd and 
Stoick.  He was unique, powerful, yet now almost inseparable in thought from his rider.  
When she imagined Hiccup, Toothless was always there in her thoughts with him.

He also seemed wise, somewhat like Freygerd.  He appeared to understand as no one else 
could how the whole 'Vikings and dragons' way of life would succeed.  It had always 
been Hiccup who had acted as though he were finding the answers to the questions Berk 
had about dragons.  But Toothless had been the source of much of the knowledge Hiccup 
had gained.

And he had what Stoick had; a commanding presence among his own.  She'd seen it 
several times without understanding it.  Even between Folkvardr and him, their behavior 
had pointed to a measure of deference on the Nadder's part.

Now it all made sense.  Toothless was, among dragons, what Hiccup would be in time; a 
leader of his... people.

Had the gods sent him?

Had they placed their hands on Hiccup's long enough to ensure that one strange, Hiccup-
built weapon would work and bring Toothless into Berk's fold?

Before that line of thought could go any further, Folkvardr came to a gentle stop in front 
of the Haddock house.  There was no sign of him outside and the door was closed.  She 
slid from her dragon's back and knocked on the door.  When she didn't get an answer she 
pushed it open enough to poke her head in.  "Hiccup?  Chief?"  No answer.

She needed to fly.  Her chance of finding them would improve significantly if she were 
airborne.  "Come on Folk, let's get you saddled.  Home."

So she lost a bit of time letting her dragon carry her back to her house and putting the 
saddle on him.  Once they were aloft she scanned the skies for the Fury, hoping to spot 
him quickly.  Her luck wasn't that good.

When Astrid finally did find him she saw he wasn't alone.  He was on the cliff 
overlooking the harbor and Stoick was with him.  She hesitated, not wanting to intrude on 
a father-son talk.  Moments later, however, the chief walked away.  She leaned forward 
to signal a descent and Folkvardr took them down.

There was a moment, a disturbing instant when he realized they were approaching and 
about to land.  She met his eyes and was shocked to see him in a state she hadn't seen 
since he'd nearly burned Gobber's smithy down years and years ago.  The horrified, 
haunted look of anguish on his face in that one instant nearly made her pull up on her 
saddle and get Folk to fly them back home.  Whatever had just happened between him 
and his father was fresh and raw and would likely make it impossible for the boy to have 
a meaningful conversation with her about her problems.

In the next instant, however, she realized that whatever had passed between Stoick and 
Hiccup had likely been related to, if not directly about, the questions she had.  There 
wouldn't be a better or more appropriate time to talk to him and - 

Where was Toothless?

They landed; she dismounted and took a few steps closer to him.  The morning breeze 
was bringing the usual sounds and smells while the three of them stood there.  She looked 
around, cast her eyes upward toward the empty sky, and then focused on Hiccup again.  
The picture came clear to her in a flash.  He was here, looking for his missing dragon, 
Stoick had spoken to him and now he was still standing here, alone and looking at the 
grass instead of the sky.

Toothless was gone and Hiccup was distraught.  She asked the only question that would 
make sense.

"What's happened?"

His eyes closed and his small hands formed fists so tightly his knuckles paled in the 
morning sun.  He offered no other response.  She would have to dig deeper.

"Where's Toothless?"

His jaw clenched silently but his head came up.  He looked at her as if she were 
deliberately tormenting him and couldn't understand why she would be so callous and 
unfeeling.  Once more and against her wishes she felt the age-old frustration and anger at 
the boy who had so often sown seeds of chaos without even realizing it.  She wanted to 
smash through all the confusion and silence and get to the root of it all.  She tried with a 
single word, impatiently spoken.

"Well?"

The anguish that bloomed on his face gave her pause.  The pain in his voice sparked 
genuine concern amidst the anxiety.

"I don't know, ok?  I don't know where he went!  Right now all I know is he wouldn't 
take me.  I don't know why or where he went or anything.  He just left me there!"

Astrid had genuine sympathy for him.  Those had been the same kind of words that 
echoed in her heart as she tried to decide about looking for Folkvardr.  She knew that 
feeling all too well to judge him harshly for it.  Glancing over her shoulder at her Nadder, 
she remembered the relief that had come drifting over her house and plummeting into her 
heart.  She had that comfort to offer, the simple reminder of what had apparently slipped 
away in his moment of confusion and fear.

"You know he'll be back.  He won't leave you."

"I..."  He gave a tiny shake of his head and his eyes dropped.  "I don't..."  His fists shook.  
His voice shriveled.  "What if dad is right?"  She saw the muscles of his jaw clenching 
over and over.  "Why wouldn't he take me?  We're a... a team."  The last words were 
whispered, all else having been forgotten.  Including her.

It had been a rough morning.  And now she stood looking at Hiccup as though he were a 
reflection in a deep still pool.  She saw her own doubts, the lack of clear understanding 
and the fear it spawned.  And a new tide of anger welled up.  It was split equally, 
however.  She'd doubted, he doubted.  She'd feared, he feared.  And Folkvardr had 
shown her the foolishness of her doubts.  The anger at herself for doubting the dragon 
rivaled only her anger at Hiccup for doubting Toothless.

Astrid couldn't very well hit herself so she let Hiccup have both halves.  She stepped 
close, made a fist and punched him hard enough in the shoulder to turn him halfway 
around.  He staggered and almost fell.  She'd actually forgotten his false leg didn't let 
him handle such movements easily.

"OW!"

Good.  He was paying attention.  She let the anger out; not all the way because some of it 
was hers and belonged only to her.  She would address her own flaws later, in her own 
way.  But for him she spared nothing of what he deserved.

"Don't you dare."

He was torn between his worry for Toothless and her inexplicable attack.  She needed to 
be clearer.

"Don't you dare think that way about him.  You know better."  The words were a growl, 
as low and fierce as she could make them.  She was making no idle threats.  And he was 
listening; she could see it in his face.  He'd heard her words and was trying to puzzle 
them out.  He needed a little more help.  "He's *your* dragon and *I* know him better 
than that."

Hiccup rubbed his arm, frowning and looking hurt.  Slowly, though, the frown faded and 
a tiny glimmer of hope shone in his eyes.  One more push.

"Hiccup, whatever's going on, we can figure it out.  With their help."  She didn't need to 
elaborate on who 'they' were.  He knew.  "Folkvardr was gone this morning.  I... I 
worried about him."  She hesitated as she heard a sound behind her; heavy footsteps, 
coming near her.  Without turning or looking behind her, she waited.  A hint of warmth 
came to her right ear and she reached up to caress the scaly jowl, never taking her eyes 
from Hiccup.  "He came back.  Toothless will come back."  The powerful jaw she rubbed 
brushed gently against her neck.  She could have kissed the dragon in that moment, 
knowing he was helping the best way he knew how.

A slow, gradual smile crept across his face.  He nodded.  "Yeah.  You're right.  He 
wouldn't leave me.  Not forever."  After a moment the smile faded.  "But why did he 
leave?  And why wouldn't he take me?"

She wanted to answer him.  She'd come to him searching for her own answers and found 
he had none.  But Astrid was just as ignorant of the Fury's whereabouts and intentions as 
he was.  There were also the other questions she'd considered this morning, but she 
didn't raise them.  Things were complicated enough.  Thinking back to that moment of 
decision that morning, she realized she did have a simple and practical solution to offer.

She tipped her head toward her Nadder.  "How about we go looking for him?"

His eyes lit up and she grinned.  Within moments they were airborne.

*************************************************


(c)Wirewolf 2013

"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission