Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Arrival of Chaos

“ The night furies, demons of the night, created when lightning struck the Goddess of Death, Hel, having the dark smoke create a shadowy dragon that soon became flesh.

They form friendships with the monsters of freshwater, the kelpies, scaring men into rivers and lakes, sharing their meals, settling as sentinels as the equines drag their victims to the depths of the water.

Both monsters hide in shadows, allies disguised either under the treacherous darkness or beneath a layer of snowy smooth fur and sparkling eyes.

Where one is seen, the other is there. They're always there, watching and waiting to strike, sure to make of your life pure chaos and disgrace. ”

And how both dragon rider and hunter chief wished it wasn't the case. 

It would've made their lives easier, without Toothless stomping on Hiccup's buttons and Mournstar being a pain in Viggo's ass.

Meanwhile, Toothless was very much happy to see an old friend, even happier to see she was still on his side despite the guy she chose as her rider.

Mournstar just found the situation way too fun. She's also sure Toothless would help her make it even more entertaining.

Chapter Text

When a Hunter is Hunted

For since Viggo could remember, kelpies were a constant topic when speaking to children. It was a fundamental part of their tribe’s tale-telling, with many elders and parents using it to educate their young. Even Viggo's grandfather had quite the stories about the supposedly reptilian equines. 

Kelpies are as deceiving as terrible terrors, the man would say, pushing one of Viggo's pieces to the side. Viggo didn't manage to know whether or not the elder believed in the tales, but he avidly listened, taking each word in. They look innocent, hide as small dragons or as beautiful white horses, but then they bite and drag you towards their traps.

During that time, Viggo was like any young child, easily afraid by feeble folktales, and he often steered away from the exact descriptions of his grandfather, despite his mother saying it was okay. 

White horses weren't the terrifying monsters the older man had told him. Nothing would drag him to the water. Terrible terrors were just pests, not kelpies in disguise. No horses had fangs or horns, neither did they have reptilian eyes. The beasts didn't exist.

But…

Viggo still had a moment in his mind. It dwelled like a stubborn resident, sitting comfortably in a corner with its metaphorical arms crossed like a petulant child pretending it couldn't hear his demands for it to leave. It was infuriating. Ridiculous. Childish.

The memory lingered, and eventually he gave in. His hand moved to his gauntlet, removing it sluggishly, calloused fingers hovering over a scar as he exposed his forearm. A horse bite that the oldest healer had once blared was a kelpie bite (decidedly, it was a strange bite, with the odd marks that were just like fangs, and a very young Viggo’s memory included a fanged white horse — regardless, not many believed either the child or the healer.)

He was curious, too much even for his own good. The horse, one tall, blond maned and tailed, had oddly sparkling eyes, those that even dark brown in color, managed to shimmer in gold. Its ears pinned upon seeing him, and its face contorted, muscles tightened in ire, though for a glimmer Viggo swore he was looking at a grinning devil.

Viggo's forearm stung, almost like the white creature was there to bite him again and again. He hissed, nonsense, his mind supplied, and he hastily buckled his gauntlet back in its rightful place.

Regretfully returning to his memories, he could only remember fragments of it, though the pain was as clear as a cloudless day. The equine lunged, maw stretched, locking Viggo's arm and piercing, followed by echoes of shrill screaming and the roaring of a furious horse.

As a child, he must've had some sort of wild imagination, because he swore (even to this day, sometimes) that the horse’s mouth displayed sharp, long fangs glinting moments before they went into his skin.

(He'd always imagined odd things at that age. The usually stretched moving silhouettes of dragons in dimly lit rooms, the swimming bodies of horses beneath ships, dragons displaying other emotions that didn't align with fear and hatred — though he must admit, that part might not be just imagination anymore —, horses with slitted pupils or even cats with wings.)

But that couldn't be, right?

Certainly not. Yes. Surely all of it was just part of childish nonsense.

He frowned, then huffed. “This is pointless. Those damned creatures do not exist, they are just—”

Click.

“Viggo…?”

A voice that sang through the wind, a sound soft and intoxicating, such calls almost whispered, echoing and slowly gaining their strength to weep. Viggo realized too late he was following it, blinking to find his body moving closer and closer to the clearing of the forest he was currently deep within.

Viggo… It chanted, sometimes screaming with anger, other times a mere anguished murmur. He couldn't move or look away from the ominous glow of the clearing, almost like the moon had fallen and was coated in blue algae. A similar glint, tilted almost in a circular shape but far more abnormal.

Not far from him, dragons were around, because of course they were, but not for the usual reasons. Their growls showed restraint, though it hardly worked for their bodies to listen. Like him, they were drawn to that light, the only thing lustrous enough in the middle of that obscure place the hunter just realized something about: he was not in his base.

That worked to freeze him. Finally, his senses supplied, analyzing with him the situation. He looked back. The forest he was in was dense, vines hung from stocky trees, the leaves drooping in almost a sad way, blocking most of the view and access to moonlight (and, consequently, any type of light), moreover, the thick fog was not cooperating with Viggo.

The hunter sighed. He’d been doing that a lot lately. How stressed was he again?

No, why was he following that voice? Was it somebody he knew? It did sound like Hiccup at first, but then it sounded like Ryker, and suddenly he couldn’t recognize it, couldn’t even notice his surroundings, as it seemed.

He hummed, still making sure not to approach that very clearing nor the hypnotized dragons, when an ear-piercing shriek and splashing was heard.

The forest was suddenly erupting with despair as dragons and the nearby wildlife bellowed with the attacked dragon. Large bodies flinched and leaped, wings flapping as they tore the vines and leaves, rustling loudly and snapping, giving moonlight entry. Deer bleated, wolves whimpered and birds screeched, abandoning their territories, their nests, carrying their cubs away, leaving Viggo utterly alone.

It stilled again, just like Viggo’s heart did for a good second.

“So much for having a moment of peace.”

With the desperate cacophony of animals in the distance, Viggo squinted at the clearing. Its glow was brighter, swirling at the edges as it tried to outshine the fog, which was somehow heavier, oppressive and ruining Viggo’s eyesight with how much he was forcing (or trying to) to make them function. All to figure out what he was seeing instead of fleeing and saving himself from an attack, because Viggo just couldn’t be normal.

A figure rose itself. A horse, dull colored in the fog and the obnoxious light, body almost static, with only its mane and tail swaying with the weak breeze that unexpectedly hit Viggo’s body, cruelly cold, as he used to call it.

It slowly tilted its head, abnormally so.

Viggo’s eyes rounded as the damned thing grinned.

It grinned.

It. Grinned.

He saw it. That mouth opening and becoming clear, the grin coming off as dragonic, an uncanny caricature.

And then it lunged.

“VIGGO!”

Feeling his body being shaken like a ragdoll, the hunter snapped open, coming face to face with his older brother. 

Ryker had been, expectedly, screaming in his face, seeming as desperate as the dragons he swore had once surrounded him in a forest… yet he wasn't there any longer? Was… was he hallucinating?

By the Gods, if he was… he was crazier than most men twice his age then. Ah, what would grandfather say, or what would Ryker say if he even disclosed even a little of what he saw, or what he thought he saw. Was it even a hallucination? It felt like he was laying in his bed for a moment, and from the position he found himself in, it did feel like he was sleeping.

What if–

“Are you even awake yet?” 

“Yes, big brother, I am. I'm just… thinking.” Viggo spat, pushing his brother away.

Ryker scoffed. “Course you are, it's always you and that fat brain of yours. But what even is goin’ on in that?” He rudely pointed at Viggo's head, near to poking it.

Viggo simply straightened his back, having sat up in a less undignified posture, and crossed his arms, turning away from his brother. He could feel the elder roll his eyes and smirk like the pathetic brain-dead man he was.

Still, Viggo replied, “It is a complicated topic.”

“Right.” Ryker’s unimpressed blinking was audible. “We still have the little fugitive fucker to find.”

Viggo sucked in a deep breath, turning to his brother with an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “You mean that juvenile monstrous nightmare you let escape?”

“I didn't let it escape, it toppled over the men and ran off before I even got close.”

“Yes, of course.”

Ryker groaned and scowled, but still waited for Viggo to get up and properly check himself. He'd somehow managed to sleep with armor on, and he didn't remember a thing about how he went to sleep. Thor, he could barely think.

Still, he fixed himself up to look presentable and stepped out of the tent with Ryker. His brother was still sending him odd looks, thoughtful (surprisingly), almost like he would say something but was giving up each time. Not like Viggo himself was trying to make him talk. 

They weren't that close anymore to just go around talking randomly. It just wasn't common for them to just talk anyway. Unlike most siblings, Viggo and Ryker had only a thin layer of trust, and even that was slowly ripping, both being at fault for what had happened. The younger knew he was responsible for those horrid gashes and burns in Ryker's back, and the latter knew he was the one to blame for Viggo's neck scars.

Most would say they were now in a complicated situation while being two problematic men.

“Ah! Ryker, sir!” He heard a hunter call, rushing to the brothers, panting and with a bow in hand, the arrows right in his back. “We found the nightmare’s trail!”

“And what’re ya waitin’ for?!” Ryker seethed, clearly agitated because of more than just a rogue youngling, pouring it all on the frightened man. “Take us to it!”

The hunter yelped and rushed off, leading the two into the woods. Thankfully, these weren't intoxicated with fog and neither had the appearance of a swamp, otherwise Viggo would have absolutely freaked out, knowing how stupidly weak he felt the entire time. But unfortunately, it did seem a lot more… disturbing. Fog, humidity and density couldn't compare to seeing such a bloody, scorched trail.

Trees with darkened marks and slashes, some bent and others completely fallen over. Clawed footsteps made their way along the dirt path. There was a dead yak along the way, somehow poking Viggo's buttons far more than usual, perhaps with how it looked.

It was a swarm of different emotions. Weaknesses, sort of. Disgust, pain, fear. 

The yak was laying on a rock, its stomach exploded, fur splattered along with some of its viscera, at least the remaining organs, and blood. Its jaw was slacked open, crooked, possibly broken, with several lacerations around the neck. The yak’s eyes somehow were the worst part of it; rolled back, staring into nothingness with death written boldly in their iris, with the edges reddened.

It was unusual, brutal, unheard of. Dragons like monstrous nightmares were not this violent, unless more dangerous dragon species escaped. Perhaps… the devilish dervish? The moldruffle?

He had to make sure they hadn't let those two escape. “Are you certain that only the monstrous nightmare fled?”

“Pretty sure, sir,” The hunter responded. “We only had time to put the lock in its tail to make sure it wouldn't fly off, and the others were still numb from the dragon-root.”

Viggo's frown felt uncomfortable. His face was tight. “It doesn't make any sense. This kind of thing,” He hastily motioned to the corpse, “Is not normal. No common dragon does this kind of attack on other animals.”

Rather saying, they didn’t. Apparently now they did.

In one quick blink, Ryker's hand weighted in Viggo's shoulder, careful of the spikes of his armor, but there, just reassuring something. Viggo wasn't sure what or even why, but he accepted. 

Better to be comforted by a not-so-trustable brother than to look even more pathetic by shouting and getting aggravated (even if the situation truly called for it, regardless of it being merely a juvenile. But ah, vikings were vikings, and anything Viggo wanted to express at the moment weren't the type of thing a chief of his tribe should show).

Breathing, he turned, brushing his brother’s hand away, and kept walking, though not before shoving the hunter forward and barking for him to show them the end of that trail. Which hopefully would be the monstrous nightmare that would soon be taken down, if the arrows were of any meaning whatsoever.

The thing was, however, that somehow the monstrous nightmare managed to fly away, or was carried off by another dragon, because all they found on that trail were four more animal carcasses and one of their sheeps — barely alive, laying down with a series of wounds — which they had to slit the throat of to put an end to its suffering.

Ryker was furious, it seemed. But Viggo wasn't that focused.

He had to know something else.

What was truly happening?

Please Odin, Viggo was in desperate need of a full-year vacation. 

Perhaps even to be in Valhalla for a few decades.

The breeze was predominantly soft, delicately swaying leaves from the thinnest branches and twigs, rustling bushes, picking up speed at random times and managing to lift fallen leaves and have them swirl in the air before hovering to the ground, making branches creak and stems of flowers bend.

Freshwater traveled at an even speed, the water going into a small waterfall, dropping in an underground cave. Along the river, a group of shapes formed, their outlines glistening slightly, startling the deer and the dragons that stepped up to have a drink. Body after body, the mysterious creatures swam into the cave, entering the dark space and slowly rising themselves.

Out of the water, at least five horns rose, crooked and uneven, the one in the front being broken. The broken horn produced a crackling chime, sending sparkles into the water before it shot a single blast in the ceiling.

Several crystals in the cave seemed to screech, flicking wildly before a soft glow made itself clear, giving the cave a visible appearance — a extremely spacious cave, with large crystals, vines, moss, and even grass and flowers, with a shore where the river ended and other smaller caves, or, better saying, dens and nests.

The light not only revealed the cave itself, but also its residents. An entire colony of feline-bodied raven-colored dragons, the infamous night furies, so rare that not one had been captured by dragon hunters so far, and so rare not much was known about them even by other dragons. 

A ominous species, night furies, with their odd friendships. The five horns showed exactly what visits they were getting that night.

Kelpies.

The five equines slowly ascended from the water, stepping into the shore and shaking themselves dry. The leader was Howlfang, the broken-horned fighter of red patterns and coat, usually known for being loyal to his herd and their friends, but that Nocturne, the alpha (or, well, “queen”) of the colony, knew he had an extremely soft spot for his reckless younger sister.

Nocturne’s eyes, red as blood, fixed on Howlfang as he approached her. The corners of her mouth lifted. “Leader Howlfang,” She greeted, “How are you, my good friend?”

“Alpha Nocturne,” He bowed his head, blowing air out of his nostrils in a snorting sound; a greet. “I am doing well. Sister has brought the younglings dinner tonight."

“That is wonderful!” Chirped Nocturne. “And I must say, I do have wonderful news.”

Howlfang’s eyes glinted in a way Nocturne had seen once. Her tone, cheerful as it was, proved itself to be unusual for the last years, ever since the loss of her hatchling. His eyes glinted in what could be seen as surprise and tints of happiness because she was finally returning to her true self — something even she knew about.

“How so?”

She grinned. The other kelpies approached, having been summoned by Howlfang’s clicks. Meanwhile, the night furies raised their ear plates, apparently not truly aware of what Nocturne had to say.

Apparently it was a surprise.

“I have finally found my hatchling. Wildheart is ALIVE!”

And just like that, the cave erupted in excited night fury shrieks and kelpie roaring in celebration.

Finally, Nocturne's spark was back.

… And that spark was not alone.

Chapter Text

Between Peace and the Arrival of Chaos

Hiccup often enjoyed some time away from other vikings and humans in general. It was an opportunity to think and destress, it worked for him to take a deep breath, lay down in Toothless' back or in the grass and be empty-headed for a while. 

Usually, his friends understood and left him be, and occasionally Heather joined him when she felt overwhelmed.

She was still adapting to being a dragon rider like them, and Windshear, too, was still nervous around the others. Hiccup didn't mind her company, she was quiet and didn't bother him, and Windshear was slowly becoming a frequent companion in his “me-time” moments.

Though today, it was only him, Toothless and some dragons that just randomly decided to live on the Edge (and well, he guessed the wildlife was somewhat involved? Sort of, anyway). Just like it usually was.

Toothless crooned at him, a soft smile on his muzzle as he nuzzled Hiccup's hip. 

They'd both had it rough in the last scuffle with the hunters, Hiccup's arm was striked by some man’s dagger and Toothless was knocked out by a boulder hitting him square in the head. Both weren't really sure how they even woke up back in the Edge besides the others saying they took them back. 

The night fury was unconscious for a longer time than Hiccup was because of how hard the hit was, and both had visible bruises now (Toothless' not being that clear due to his scales, but still there).

Hm. Hiccup probably should go to Fishlegs once he was done. His bandages were rather dirty.

“How are you feeling today bud? Does it hurt?” The dragon grunted, deadpaning and nudging Hiccup's arm. Hiccup scoffed. “I asked you first.”

Toothless groaned, but shook his head no, giving a happy-sounding trill as he raised his head just a bit, letting Hiccup have a closer look at the wound. I'm okay! Look!

He smiled. “Then I’m fine too.”

The dragon smiled, half “you're hopeless” and half “I'm glad”. And finally, they began looking around to do their own things.

Toothless usually used the time and calmness to find a nice spot under the sun and take several naps, though sometimes he was exploring, taking walks, helping parent dragons take care of their hatchlings, and anything that wasn't going to take up too much energy (surprisingly, the hatchlings didn't give him such a hard time).

Today, the first option it was.

Because the moment he found a good little spot of soft grass under the sunlight, he went for the ground with a pleased grunt, rolling around until he found the best sleeping position: completely splattered on the ground, on his back, wings stretched, a full on “fury spluff” sleeping position.

Hiccup snorted at him, rolling his eyes playfully before returning to his own little world with a very shy dragon. Thornshade.

He was one of the most beautiful dragons Hiccup ever encountered in the Edge, with those metallic grey scales that shone in several colors under the sun, with hints of yellow, purple and blue on his wings and crown. When Hiccup flew him from time to time, he got to see that shiny rainbow appear and shimmer along as they moved, and it honestly was so cool.

That thornridge was just a little (uh, not so little, but anyway!) guy who truly wanted to explore things around him and be like any curious dragon, but who was too shy and anxious to do it on his own — probably why he loved Hiccup so much.

The rider helped him deal with his complicated emotions, and in return Thornshade just drowned Hiccup with his love, currently doing it again by nuzzling his cheek on Hiccup's as the rider giggled.

“Okay, okay! Hi, buddy, yeah, I'm seeing you!” Hiccup uselessly tried to stop the dragon with reassurance that yes, he was indeed paying attention, but all it did was make Thornshade chirp and nuzzle harder.

And he only stopped because another dragon, this one being a red hobblegrunt, came gently nipping at him, almost like a parent scolding (softly) a child.

It did make sense why, though. Cinder seemed to be a mother to all dragons she came across, having randomly adopted several dragons and caring for them until they were okay to be on their own. And she made sure no one got too smothering on other dragons and on Hiccup.

Hiccup smiled. “Thank you, Cinder, I really needed some space.”

She grunted contentedly, and Thornshade grumbled, though he did seem to be throwing apologetically looks and growls Hiccup's way, so that meant the motherly scolding was working.

“You're forgiven, bud, let's just not smother others, alright?”

Hiccup petted Thornshade and made sure the dragon wasn't a pouting toddler anymore, then went around the clearing, merely admiring some of the vegetation that had managed to grow there (given all of their problems), untouched and undisturbed, and totally a topic for Fishlegs’ geeking sessions.

He laid down between a couple of lavender and lotus. Not far from him were the gladiolus. Hiccup wasn't exactly a flower guy, Fishlegs was the one more suitable for this kind of thing, but he couldn't deny things when he saw them. 

They were all beautiful, full of colors and with the kind of smell he wanted to rub against himself and have it all with him no matter where.

And they were soothing. Usually he'd just relax by their scent, but sometimes he held them, running his fingers through the petals, until he somehow fell asleep and woke up to Toothless staring at him… for whatever reason.

It was necessary, sometimes, to have that kind of interaction with nature for Hiccup.

And besides, it did lead him to befriending a deathgripper.

… Uh, kind of, anyway.

(He wasn't sure how he befriended that dragon, he just knew she liked flowers and joined him anytime he did anything around them. 

She was a strange specimen. Hiccup called her Enigma, and Enigma was just so fitting for her, she went along with it far too easily.

She was extremely aggressive to most of the other riders, having almost stung the twins at least once, but she adored Hiccup and somewhat liked Heather. Enigma also never really saw Hiccup as a threat, nor did she ever display aggressive behavior towards any of the dragons, despite being a dragon-eater.

Hiccup only ever saw her eat a single dragon, and it wasn't even one she killed herself. Safe to say, Hiccup didn't understand Enigma, thus her name.

But well, she was good company. So… okay?)

Speaking of such, Hiccup felt a weight on his stomach. Enigma. He looked away from the sky and down at the deathgripper, who shot him a little smirk, her eyes squinting slightly, pupils blown in a way it made her look goofy. The rider chuckled and laid back down.

This spot was really good for cloud watching. Comfortable to make him not want to get up and warm because of the dragons around him (as eventually Thornshade joined him and Enigma).

And eventually Hiccup slept, blissfully unaware of the little impostor watching him and Toothless.

Toothless shot up from his slumber. It had darkened significantly, and apparently Windshear decided to join the sleeping pile, which Toothless checked carefully, counting each creature.

Hiccup laid in the middle, an arm swung in Windshear’s face as she curled close to him, her tail on top of Enigma and brushing the tip against a green gronckle. Cinder was tightly curled under Hiccup's leg, serving as some sort of support, the prosthetic hanging over her body. Thornshade served as a pillow for Hiccup, laying down, curved. 

A few others, such as Thorn, a purple nadder, Glacier, a albino monstrous nightmare, and Sharpshot, were hanging around, occasionally waking up and looking around, sniffing, then deeming it safe to sleep again.

The night fury would've done just that, had he not caught Mournstar’s scent, or the ambience.

Kelpies, you see, were known by Toothless' kind about their ancient and rather simple kind of magic, ability-shifting, the one that usually mimicked or stole a dragon’s usual abilities — breathing fire, plasma blasts, spilling lava — but also made illusions. Thankfully, Toothless knew who's illusions those were.

Sluggishly thickening fog and a beam of light near a lake or river. Classic moves from yours truly, Mournstar.

Toothless snorted, following the trail of Mournstar’s scent and the light. Whispers swirled in the wind, calling his name in a mix of voices and sounds, mostly cheerful and in greeting, welcoming him as he went into the little realm surrounded by light.

“Mournstar?” He chittered, looking down at the lake emitting light.

Slowly, a moss-green equine emerged from the water, covered in darker swirling markings, with pointy ears, a crooked horn and a long reptilian tail covered by hair and normal fur. Her mane was thin, both it and her tail’s hair being a near-black color. Certain markings highlighted themselves with their white coloring, including her horn and her nosehorn. 

She was tall, imposing and scary to those who didn't know her, with a slightly mischievous glint to her golden eyes. Toothless shared some of that mischief within him, but now he was more curious than looking to cause trouble, unsure as to why Mournstar only showed up now.

“I heard you changed your name.” Was what she replied.

He blinked, looking slightly sheepish. “My rider has named me Toothless.”

“Toothless…” She tested, then chuckled, the sound coming as a distorted nicker. “It is better than Demon.”

Toothless chortled with her. “Yes, it is.”

“And do guess, Toothless!” Mournstar grinned. Toothless just gurgled, curious. “I may have found my own rider!”

Oh?

Suddenly, he had grunted confusedly, jerking his head up and down towards the kelpie. 

She? Found? Her? Rider?

“What? When? Why?” 

…

“How?” He looked at her up and down again, judgmental, squinting his eyes.

She squealed, clearly offended, stomping her hoof down. “Hey! I am a very enchanting and beautiful mare! Who wouldn't want me as a mount?”

“... What is your relationship with them anyway?”

When Mournstar gave a shaky smile and looked to the side nervously, Toothless tilted his head and gave a big toothy grin, the squinting of his eyes being of how wide he was grinning down at her.

She shyly pawed the ground, pinning her ears. “He may or may not be spiraling into insanity and seeing all of his common equines as foes.”

There was a long pause.

“And I may or may not be deteriorating his mental health every time I attempt to interact.”

Toothless snickered, “And who is the lucky man, starling?”

“I don't know if you know him. I think his name is V… Vig- Ah! Viggo!”

The dragon had snorted, still with a smirk, having looked to the side to laugh it off. Viggo, what a name–

Huh… Viggo.

!

“What?”

The night fury growled, snapping at Mournstar with slitted pupils as she said that, meeting her confused face. She blinked, and gave a clicking noise, horn flicking with sparkles. It was a code: Enemy?

Toothless nodded, slowly and with half-lidded eyes, the pure anger radiating off of its dim glow. He wasn't sure where to aim it, though. It seemed to be the kind of anger that just related to anything with Viggo in it, regardless if it was just a simple mention or just facing the hunter — perhaps Toothless shared a bit too much of his emotions with his rider, but either way, it was justified.

Mournstar didn't seem to catch in his internal conflict and just stepped up to Toothless, using her soft muzzle to nudge against his cheek a few times, pushing him a little.

“Toothless, you are getting nervous.” She pointed out, choosing to keep pushing the topic. “How do you know this human anyway?”

“He is Hiccup's enemy. A dragon hunter.” Toothless replied, adding, “His men were who wounded me and my rider.”

Mournstar’s eyes widened a little, only for her to be smiling a few moments after. “Ah! I see, now it makes sense. But worry not, my not-so-sweet nightling, I shall make sure he will no longer be concerning!”

Toothless blinked, his ear plates pinned against the back of his head and his eyelids falling as he deadpanned once more, staring at her with one of his brow muscles arched. He doubted her, and that much was clear, and because Toothless had his reasons to doubt.

Viggo Grimborn was a ruthless and cruel foe who did not care for dragon and humankind alike, choosing to satisfy his own selfish desires and feed his greed and lust, and Toothless saw him as nothing more than that, only able to (mildly) respect him for his strength — mental, spiritual and physical altogether.

So of course Toothless did not believe a kelpie so reckless, wild and unbreakable (and occasionally tender) as Mournstar could be able to soften a man who only wished to control and exploit others for his benefit.

(And don't get Toothless started on Ryker Grimborn.)

“How?” He asked, sighing deeply and already regretting the fact he would probably help her.

Mournstar grinned. “Have you noticed how human males train their equines, nightling?”

“Not exactly, starling.”

“They use a rather rough kind of training, some fight their horses, others exhaust them, sometimes they, both rider and horse, test each other, and it all comes down to a few necessary factors to ensure the equine is fully domesticated and easily trainable despite the method.”

Toothless was going mildly ill for a moment. Why was that kind of wording familiar?

Still, he let her carry on, actually interested in what she was saying.

“All that one needs to train a horse is time, patience and discipline, even if that discipline includes some level of fighting and violence.”

The night fury blinked. “Are you planning on training him like a horse…?”

Now it was Mournstar who deadpanned. “Of course not, humans are far worse than any other being, it never works.” She scoffed as if it was obvious.

And… well, sort of. 

…

He squinted his eyes, remembering.

No.

Definitely.

“Instead, I will use those methods in my own way.” Mournstar kept on, “I do hope you and your friends are ready for my reign of chaos!”

Toothless rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Mournstar gave another grin and lowered herself in a bow, probably about to say something ridiculous, but standing up quickly as a voice made itself present, startling Toothless and having him look back towards its source. His earlier path.

His name was being called.

Hiccup!

The night fury looked back to see if he could have a final word with Mournstar, however, as predicted, she had rushed off, with the only hints of where she went being the agitated movement of the water and the previous noise of splashing he should have paid attention to as well.

He growled, leaping away from the lake and sprinting towards his rider. She was not free from Toothless yet, and she better be prepared for when he will eventually go after her and be sure her plan will work.

For now he'd be near Hiccup and make sure that he stayed safe.

Chapter Text

A Deal Is Made

Usually, Snotlout didn't exactly pay attention to his enemies so closely to know every little detail.

But oh Thor, those two were acting strange.

And it wasn't the “they're planning something fishy” strange, it was the “something terrible happened or will happen” kind of strange. And Snotlout feared it more than he feared Astrid when she was pissed.

But you may wonder, what would be “acting strange” in Snotlout's eyes?

First off, he wasn't the only one who noticed. After he, Heather and Astrid cleaned out one of the ships and let the captive dragons flee, the girls did comment about the strange behavior and how they didn't seem to focus so much on the fight but on something else entirely.

Well, at least Ryker was just mildly unfocused, actually being one fighting. Viggo, however, was staring at their leader’s… dragon.

It was such an intense stare, accompanied by dark eyebags and a permanent scowl, with his face contorted in something frustrated, tired and a new unreadable emotion. It tracked Toothless' every move and didn't waver even as Hiccup or the dragon himself turned to stare back or both just tried to run away from it, probably weirded out.

Honestly, it felt like the guy was trying to see if something would jump out of the water with how he only turned away once to stare deeply at the water and back at Toothless, almost like he was solving a puzzle or something.

For Thor’s sake, Viggo was so unfocused on the battle around him his brother (who Heather said either hated or feared Viggo) kept having to protect him from all danger.

And okay, maybe Snotlout saw the point. He could see something following the ship, but then, he could swear it was just a scauldron. Was it the dragon making Viggo this… weak? Frustrated, nervous, whatever.

Eventually, Viggo just disappeared.

The moment Snotlout turned to fire at some ship shooting boulders, when most had already been shot down and were moving closer to Ryker and Viggo's ship to know what to do, Viggo just vanished, probably below deck.

(That man wasn't crazy enough to go anywhere else, right?

He hoped not.)

“Snotlout!”

He whipped his head at Hiccup, noticing Toothless was glancing down at the water for a moment. Just a second too long that made Snotlout suspicious, though he didn't voice it, and instead replied with a, “What?”

“I've been calling you for a while.” Hiccup said, “We're going. It's over.”

“But what about Viggo's ship?” Astrid asked, looking at the only visible Grimborn brother, Ryker. 

He glared at them back, but didn't come closer. Didn't attempt to attack. Didn't do anything. Just glared, then moved, barking at his men to make sure the remaining ships, while damaged, didn't just sink.

Hiccup furrowed his brows, shrugging. “I-I— I swore you went there? Toothless is refusing to approach.”

“That is strange.” Fishlegs noted. “But well, I think we should go there without you two, then.”

Toothless growled. He seemed to disagree with Fishlegs, yanking himself around to make sure Hiccup got the hint and began moving away, which didn't happen. Hiccup only nodded at the riders, letting Astrid lead them to the leader ship to check if there were dragons in there.

If only they could do that, that is.

But no. The dragons halted mid-flight.

Hookfang threw his head back, shrieking, hitting Snotlout square in the face and sending the rider down to his back, with the latter giving one of his characteristic shrill yells, angrily squealing at Hookfang. Barf and Belch tangled their necks and seemed dizzy, unsure of what to do, almost like something repelled them from going closer. The twins were just as dizzy, being swayed around until eventually recomposing themselves.

Stormfly just squawked and stopped, somehow the only one aware enough to stop without hurting her rider, who was just confused, peering at Stormfly with a worried look, gingerly petting her dragon as she watched Meatlug halt and turn back, chirping disoriented and flying off to Hiccup's side. 

Windshear also halted, giving a loud bark and flailing her limbs when she almost fell, forgetting to beat her wings. But, it seemed, Heather wasn't having any of that.

She turned to Astrid, who was thankfully close enough. They were both the closest to the ships, just above one.

“Do you think we should go for it?”

“You mean jump down?”

“Yes. We’ll have the dragons up here shooting anyone who tries hurting us, and besides, we already destroyed most of their weapons. The only visible danger here is Ryker, and even he seems tired.”

Astrid frowned, unsure, but sighed and nodded. And both leaped down, their dragons roaring in concern as they landed in the ripped, scorched sails, slipping down and throwing themselves in the deck of the nearest ship. The hunters didn't attack, only backed away. 

There wasn't really what to do left. They're tired. They're vulnerable, their weapons broken, bent and burnt somewhere around the deck, some even deep underwater (said water they don't want to look down at). And the girls were too quick, leaping around. They had dragons, too.

So they let them pass through and get into the ship Ryker is in. The older Grimborn looked exhausted, not in the way one would just after a fight, but in the way one would look after not sleeping and having to fight either way. It was like he hadn't even rested his eyes or relaxed (that if he could actually do that).

“You two.” He said, voice rough, perhaps from the yelling. But it stopped them, because he was near, his sword drawn, though his arm trembled just a little. “If I were you, I wouldn't go in there.”

“And why not? Hiding a dragon you find too pretty to lose?” Astrid went for a sarcastic smile, but she was scowling, so it didn't really work.

Ryker scoffed, amused. “There are no dragons on this ship, ya freed ‘em all already.”

Astrid’s scowl deepened. “As if we’d believe you.”

“It will be better if ya do. There’s nothin’ for you here.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Ryker and Astrid were staring at each other. 

One blocking her path, the other unconsciously making a distraction, just so Heather could slip by and reach the cargo hold.

She leaped down just as hunters distracted themselves with the nadder’s rider and their co-chief.

Heather closed the trapdoor behind her. True to Ryker's words, there were no dragons below deck, not a cage with a captive reptile, not even a scale on the ground, nothing but this odd, familiar tinkling noise and floating sparkles.

The berserker knew exactly what that meant. She remembered it well from when she saw it.

Kelpie magic.

Honestly, a kelpie near the Grimborns didn't seem like such an odd idea.

Speaking of the Grimborns, the younger brother was just by the last cage, holding something, blankly staring at her from the entrance. The tinkling was slightly louder now that she came closer to Viggo. And he seemed to know what she was about to say.

“You're being targeted.” She said, matter-of-factly.

“Such a clever mind,” Viggo carelessly replied in a murmur. Not quite impressed, to the contrary, actually. He deadpanned. “How did you even know?”

“I've seen it before. One targeted me until I found Windshear. Then it stopped, like it respected that I already had a companion.” She replied.

“Ah, how touching. Did it also torture you for two weeks?”

Heather smirked. Cynical. “I wouldn't know. Maybe they try to mirror the people they target?”

Viggo huffed. He seemed amused for a flicking moment.

The tinkling suddenly became shrill, a hissing noise, something unbearable, or nearly unbearable. It's followed by these odd weeping noises, shaky, loud, sobbing, but not human, not dragon-like.

Heather backed away from the source, which she didn't exactly know where it came from, just that it was near Viggo. And the hunter just sighed, seemingly used to it already (Heather could tell he dealt with it a lot, if those eyes said anything to her). He simply waved a hand at her, a clear command: leave.

The berserker hesitated. “I hope you're not planning to do something foolish. Kelpie or not, I won't hesitate to go for it.”

The man paused, now both ignored the obnoxious, grating noises. “And why didn't you right now?”

Heather didn't know what to say. She couldn't find a reason, couldn't find an answer. The entire situation just felt odd.

So she didn't reply to anything. Barely even looked at Viggo.

She turned and left, simple as that.

Astrid was suddenly pulled from her argument with the hunter co-chief by Heather. The berserker seemed so… winded. Wild. Anxious like those dragons up there.

“Astrid, we gotta go.”

“What?” Was her reply, not even able to understand the situation as she was being guided away.

“There aren't dragons down there, it's clear.” Heather paused, she was frowning. “There's something worse happening here, it explains the way the dragons are behaving. I'll explain later.”

Their respective dragons reluctantly moved down close to a ship, still with wide wary eyes and overall nervousness, waiting for their riders to hop on before they flinched away, hastily moving away. It was quite unseen. Astrid, at least, never saw her own dragon this anxious.

The dragons flew off, leaving the hunters as quickly as they could muster, clearly terrified. Except, of course, for Toothless. He was just odd. 

Not scared, not in a hurry. He watched some more, despite Hiccup's complaints and occasional pulls.

He growled. Low. Emitting an additional noise the vikings couldn't pick up, and then accepting to be pulled away.

“Gods, finally!”

The scenario was a familiar one, but it was never the same. She was never able to perfect it. 

Tall trees bent slightly, their trunks hugged by vines that hung from their branches, sometimes squeezing leaves with their strong grip. Colors were dull, mainly a dead kind of green. Hidden between them and some bushes was a lake, rather plain and unremarkable, but that was what allowed Mournstar to slip into the dream.

Even she had to admit it, the fog was obnoxious. Good thing she decided to tone it down a little, make it less stinging and blinding. Perhaps Viggo wouldn't be so upset at her this time.

Mournstar spent the last two weeks testing Viggo, pushing all of his buttons and poking at some fears of his, all through her illusions. Sometimes she went in with her disguise and sometimes she went with her actual form, and both times Viggo had a lot to say to her. He usually had a lot to say to everything around him, really.

She pushed her snout out of the water and sniffed. He was close.

Viggo didn't take long to physically appear, clearly upset, not acknowledging Mournstar at first, and instead only sitting with his back pressed against a tree, near the lake, looking blankly into the water.

“Don't hide now, you insufferable beast, come out of there.”

Mournstar snorted, moving as fast as a slug to leave the water, ascending like a crocodile, her muzzle coming first, then the rest of her head. Viggo was staring at her, brows furrowed more than usual (his fear was always there, it was a strong scent, now accompanied with a few spicy, stinging smudges of anger and the occasional spark of curiosity. An interesting mix), and lips pressed in a thin line, their edges bending down.

Her throat produced a clicking sound, repetitive, as she tilted her head, continuing with it, now using her tongue to make paused clicks, a sort of greeting.

Viggo rolled his eyes at that, “Oh, what? Pretending you cannot speak? Can't we just finish this already?”

She paused. Hesitated. Because Viggo usually wasn't this angry, this… bold, or, well, strange. He usually didn't speak to her, mostly spoke to himself and never answered her calls when she did speak norse.

But now he was suddenly talking to her?

“What happened?”

“What happened?” He repeated, scoffing, clearly forgetting he was speaking to a talking swamp horse, “I'll tell you. Ryker could not stop pestering me the moment we arrived at that bloody base. Either he checked on me like a broody hen, argued with me over how crazy I am or complained about me not acting normal.”

“Oh.”

“And that was accompanied by my father’s “gift”. That ridiculous stingwing is nothing but a curse, though.”

… Stingwing? What was that?

“What even is a stingwing?”

“A dramatically aggressive and irritating small dragon I should name you after, because you do share its traits.”

Mournstar gave an affronted chirp. Not that she didn't expect the answer, but being a “little” dramatic was part of her charm. And given how she built the scenario and had been treating this hunter so far, he was more than aware of that.

Not her fault he too was a dramatic man and she was just intensifying his own personality.

At least half of what she did was that.

“How dare you? That is not what I am!”

Viggo deadpanned at her, cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head, giving her the look. She pinned her ears, letting her horn glow and push some of that thickening fog away.

(She thought of that for a moment, though. Not everything in Viggo's dreams were made by her alone, his emotions played a lot in it. And when the fog thickened, she knew that he was troubled, more than usual.

Because Mournstar hadn't done anything. His emotions, thoughts and feelings did.)

To that, she softened. “You are far more stressed than the normal amount.”

“More than half of my ships are nearly unusable, most of my men are injured in some way, most of my weapons are scorched or broken, my brother is being a mother-henning fool again and you are probably about to torment me, how could I not be stressed?”

Mournstar chirped, sad, with ears low and a tight face of sorrow, and it caught Viggo off guard, making his features morph from anger into surprise as she moved closer to him. Not exactly in touching range, but close enough to make him shift, unsure.

She didn't press closer tonight. Didn't move much. But instead stared into his eyes. 

Usually, the kelpie would use that as a way to make Viggo nervous, wary, even afraid to the point he attempted to move away or lashed out, making sure her staring had elements that would make Viggo fearful, using the white colored disguise of a common horse to trigger emotions. 

But tonight her gaze was soft, and she didn't hide under that equine’s skin. She was simply Mournstar, the large freshwater kelpie, Toothless' friend, and sweet in her own odd way.

(Though Viggo wasn't aware of many of those things. She'd tell him eventually, but for now, he wouldn't know it all.)

He stared back at her, eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me, beast?”

At first, she said nothing. At least until he lost some of that rigidness. Then she hesitantly took a step forward.

“Company.” The word left her mouth, then, she added, “Would it be possible?”

He didn't reply. She stood still.

And both didn't speak.

Unsure of how long they spent there, just breathing together, Mournstar wondered what to say next, not sure if she should be direct or if she should be ambiguous. However, Viggo beat her to it.

“I could feel you near me today. You seemed to follow the night fury, and I’m sure you're aware of your own tales…” He trailed off, looking blankly at nothing, seemingly waiting for a confirmation.

She hesitated once more, flicking her eyes back and forth between her surroundings and Viggo. “If you're wondering whether or not I am on the night fury’s side, yes, I am.”

She could tell he didn't like that. Ah, well, her fault for choosing a hunter, she supposed.

“Say, do you plan on making sure my hunting days are over?”

“It isn't my main plan, but yes. I do.” Mournstar chittered, “Eventually you'll see why. But for now, we should focus on something else. I have a proposal.”

There, Viggo paused. He was reluctant to trust, and it made the air sting a bit more in Mournstar’s eyes. The hunter narrowed his eyes and really looked at her, eventually giving her a slow nod, a little “go on”.

“You'll have me as your horse. I'll be a good steed and won't cause you any more harm, but you'll have to give me a chance, give them a chance.”

“And if I refuse?” 

Her pupils, rounded uncharacteristically for any horse, slitted like a wild dragon’s, sharp as daggers.

“You'll never be able to get rid of me and these dreams of yours will turn into far worse nightmares.”

Viggo blinked, taken aback but surely expecting such an answer. Still, he probably thought of Mournstar as an eerie beast. He feared she'd do something. Bite, lunge, kick, whatever.

She relaxed and let her eyes turn to normal. At least that eased Viggo enough for him to ask again.

“And if it somehow doesn't work out?”

“Then I'll accept your untamable stance and will leave you alone, because at least you tried.”

Viggo hummed, and then froze.

“Untamable stance? Are you…” His gaze flicked to the side, then at her. “Are you acting like I am a feral animal to be tamed?”

She grinned. “Perhaps.”

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head at her, baffled. “But alright, I'll accept your terms and pretend I actually had a real choice when doing this.”

“You'll like it all eventually.”

“I doubt that.” Viggo stubbornly replied, quick and sharp. Oh, Mournstar loved that about him. “But I'll allow you to happily prance around your delusions without saying much on the matter.”

Viggo was lying, of course, because he was a very vocal man when he wanted to, and Mournstar knew he'd get comfortable around her and would start voicing every single one of his opinions, more than he already did.

She just wasn't going to be telling him that, but she knew.

And all she did was chuckle, letting the sound come out as a night fury-like warble. “Then it's settled. Come to the closest lake first thing in the morning, I'll be disguised as a chestnut.”

Viggo seemed like he wished to speak more, yet he just nodded, quiet. For the first time, he let her be close enough for her breath to hit his face without him needing restraints for it to happen.

And for the first time, all she did was allow him the rest of the night in a dreamless sleep, one that was deep and actually let his mind and body rest. Just what he needed.

She then slipped out of the dreamland she created, letting it fade away as her body emerged in an actual lake.

Mournstar had to get going, her physical body was not exactly near Viggo right now, and she had to get there before sunrise.

“What makes you think Viggo is being targeted by a kelpie anyway?”

“Hiccup, look, I– I was targeted once, okay? I've seen those horses around and I know what I saw.”

“I’m not doubting you, but I kinda need context to fully believe it all, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. All we have to do is get Astrid, and then I'll show you where she is. I… I still have contact with that kelpie.”

“... And?”

“And then I'll tell you everything I saw and what I know. We can think of what to do next from there.”

Chapter Text

Bonding... Sort Of

His eye twitched.

Viggo was going to strangle that tiny excuse of a dragon.

Hopefully that bloody horse wouldn't mind having stingwing steak for dinner.

Gods, he despised stingwings and their stinging morning screeching, so painful compared to the migrating birds Viggo was growing used to. So much for him to want some peace from certain things of his homeland.

Inhaling as heavily as he could, his breath left like a huff as Viggo finally mustered to pull himself out of his bed, unconsciously rubbing his neck, grumbling when the stingwing shrieked again, like Ryker's booming laughter. 

Hm, they'd fit together.

Both were frustrating as fucking Hel to deal with.

The hunter chuckled to himself. Ryker as a stingwing owner was hilarious, in fact. He could picture just how chaotic life would get for them. Two insufferable creatures fighting all the time like mindless beasts.

Viggo, only after being done using his brother and thoughts as entertainment, went about his morning routine. Unlike most men (and some women), he cared for how he looked, a trait he acquired from his mother’s family as a whole, and one he was proud of.

(After all, he did feel better when he fixed his appearance to look better than just presentable, it reminded him of the only people he'd truly come to care for and, at some point for some, to love.

Eldrid was his mother. The one who was kind and loving, the one who made sure the tribe understood that her second-born daughter was dead and Viggo existed. She died early into his adulthood, but not without reassuring him he existed.

Revna was not real to her any longer, and who was always in her place was Viggo, and only him.

And his maternal grandfather, Andor, was not as kind, but he was wise and, in his own way, fair. He did not care whether or not it was Revna or Viggo that he saw every so often in his hut for a game, he always called either “child” and taught what he saw fit.

He also died after he announced to the entire village that Viggo was their heir, their future chief and the man who'd lead them to success.

Sometimes Viggo wondered if they were proud of him. Them and his many cousins, aunts and uncles who he hadn't seen in a while. They certainly would be proud.

And they wouldn't send a disgraceful dragon usually owned by women and considered a “womanly” dragon due to its overly dramatic flair to mock him.

Not like Arick Grimborn had done.)

And only when he felt comfortable with the way his beard was groomed and his hair stood, Viggo sighed and braced himself, grabbing his binds as he removed his tunic.

They were once too tight and too hurtful, but a little fixing when in the hands of one of his healers had fixed it up, making binding his chest not as torturing. It still stung to be reminded he had breasts and that they were not small ones, but he was comforted when his tunic laid flat on him.

It made him feel… better, not exactly good and comfortable yet, but better, as he hid more of his skin with his armor. It left him feeling like it finally didn't matter whether or not he was born with different body parts and systems. He was a man, and a dangerous, powerful one.

That was one of the only things that had Viggo present as the confident, strong man he was. And as simple as that could be to an outsider — after all, he was just binding his chest and putting on armor —, that small act was still Viggo's motivator.

It — him facing his mirror, flat chested, in a scene that was just integrated into his routine — almost made him forget the stingwing. And Ryker.

Until his brother’s voice came from out of his tent.

“Viggo, get that damn thing to shut the fuck up or I'll feed it to the terrors!”

Grumbling and sheathing a dagger in his belt, he rapidly pushed the tent flaps away and found that soon-to-be chicken stew inside one of the terrible terror cages. It was small enough to move more than the usual resident would, but not enough to run around.

Next to him was Ryker.

“I assumed you knew just how insufferable and unsilenceable those dragons are. I remember them dive-bombing and screeching at you all the time.”

Ryker scoffed, “It wasn't all the time.”

The stingwing yelled, almost like it was calling the elder in his lies. Ryker glared at it with a look that just screamed to the nearest men that they might receive that as dinner.

“Ryker, don't lie now. Your luck was as wonderful as mine growing up. They targeted you on a daily basis.”

“Whatever you say, brother.” He grumbled, then randomly looked down at the ground

There he found Viggo's riding boots and his more loose trousers, the ones soft against his skin and for riding. The younger brother saw him lift an eyebrow and slowly raise his gaze to look at him in the eye. He seemed surprised.

“Back into riding?”

It took far too long for Viggo to respond.

“... I'll try.” He said, “I–” Have a kelpie to ride, he thought, gazing at the forest, “Have a horse waiting at the clearing. I’m not sure I could have Thyrvi today.”

“She's a feisty horse, wouldn't blame ya,” Chuckled Ryker. He didn't seem to find it suspicious. Too much, at least. “But why the clearing?” 

Viggo merely glanced at him, too focused on the entry of said forest. “I need to be alone for this, brother.”

Ryker's hand found his shoulder again. They held eye contact. “Alright. But if you need my help, you… you know I won't do it again.”

Like that the contact was gone, along with Ryker, who retrieved back into his own tent.

Viggo couldn't understand him these days.

And—

SCREEEECH.

“I swear to all of the Gods— alright, fine, you disgraceful reptile, I'll let you out. Just stop giving me headaches.”

The little devil had the audacity to chortle at him when he flinched as it flew around him.

Viggo was often a fearless man, not one to flinch because of a small dragon, and not even because of larger ones. But stingwings? Oh, those were both the most irritating beings in all of Midgard and the most feared by those who knew their true nature.

Despite not having a powerful firebreath like most dragons, the stingwings had whips for tails and poisonous stings in their wings (and when they used their beak-like muzzles and bit people, it was like several small daggers began tearing your skin).

Their tails, when they rolled and lashed at whatever they wanted to attack, made sure a man would have itching bruises (that if touched would start to burn) and scratches that took nearly an eternity to heal while also scorching your body. And their stings had a venom that wasn't usually lethal, but that would be better if it was instead of leaving intense fevers, constant burning pain and other symptoms of their venom.

So yes, Viggo was very reasonable with his fear. Those creatures were little devils sent to cause greater havoc and pain than any dragon had ever been capable of doing, and that without a single breath of fire.

His stingwing, however, kept enjoying to threaten him until they reached the clearing. Then it finally stopped, looking at the demonic spawn horse by the lake.

A chestnut horse — just as the creature said she'd appear as. She wasn't lying for once — with a bald face and a moderate overo marking. A rather common horse, one might say, and a good disguise for a kelpie. Hm.

She flicked her gaze at the stingwing, expressive as ever, appearing curious yet untrusting after seeing Viggo's tense body (which he wasn't sure was because of the kelpie or the stingwing, or both. Oh well).

Viggo sighed for the uptenth time just this morning, and approached the trickster. He held a simple rope halter (and he had a whip in his belt, but that was for later. A “just in case”, if you will). The mare was clearly unsure, her ears immediately twitching, but she didn't move, and actually let the halter be put in her face.

“At least you're not as much of a liar as I imagined, good for me, I suppose,” He murmured mindlessly. The mare — what could he even call her? — flicked an ear towards him, her eyes still seemingly tracking the stingwing.

And speaking of the little fucker in the clearing, it cawed and dived in a rock, landing and padding around it, laying down like a cat and exchanging the piercing stare. The kelpie snorted, the sound slightly deeper and not like a full horse, but still close enough.

After reassuring himself that the halter was secure, Viggo broke their eye contact battle, though. He tugged, instinctively going gently despite his initial thoughts of being as violent as most hunters were. Fuck that, apparently. He had already messed with his own plan.

(Sometimes being too much like his mother came with more than just the obvious problem.

Really, he couldn't even make this kelpie even mildly pained if his first reactions when dealing with anything that looked like a normal horse were to just be gentle and respect their boundaries.

So much for actually liking normal horses.)

He grumbled, because of course, and kept walking side by side with the mare. It was almost peaceful, and with how he couldn't hear the distorted voice or the roaring and clicking coming from her, he almost relaxed a little more.

But nothing was peaceful with a stingwing.

It randomly landed on his shoulder, making him visibly (and if possible, audibly) shudder, grimacing when its claws scraped his shoulder armor and its tail brushed his back, almost threatening.

The mare had also seemed bothered, but in the “I will dismember this worthless scaly bird” bothered. Her ears pinned against the back of her head and her nostrils flared, her muscles tightening and her jaw locking. 

The stingwing didn't seem to notice either of those reactions.

Not until that mare squealed and lunged at it and made Viggo yelp (yelp. Fucking yelp. Viggo Grimborn did not yelp, he made others utter those distressed sounds. Why the fuck did he have to go through that now?) and move out of the way late enough for her to be able to yank the stingwing off him by its tail, holding its thrashing body.

Viggo felt his hands tremble and his breath come out shaky as he reapproached the mare and the dragon. Gods, why did he tell Ryker he had to be alone? This was pathetic.

“Horse,” Mournstar, a voice supplied. The horse’s eyes shimmered. Viggo didn't correct himself. She wasn't on name level yet. “Put the dragon down. Let it fly away.”

She hesitated, then let go after a double bite, leaving a mark on the dragon’s tail. It screeched and flew off. Not to the base, because those beasts never let a man live in peace, but to the trees, still whimpering, still following.

“I had it under control, mind you,” He lied (it was one of his most obvious lies, and by the way the mare deadpanned, she knew) and gripped the lead rope like it owed him gold.

The mare — Mournstar, but again, she wasn't on name level yet. She had to earn her own name, his trust — snorted, half amused and half concerned, picking on her pace to be side by side. Always where he could see her and vice versa. Both watching each other's movements, both aware.

It somehow gave Viggo security.

“Listen now, horse,” He heard her frustrated huff, and ignored. She ignored his words all the time, so he'd ignore her noises. At least that he could do. “I'll take you to the stables only to properly tack up, then we'll return to the forest and do things calmly. Is that clear?”

The horse nickered. Viggo looked at her, she was already staring, and giving a firm nod at him. Did this disguise block her speaking abilities or was she just testing how well she could mimic a real horse?

Viggo narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pull any stunts today. Or your chances are done for.”

She snorted at him once more, an unreadable glimmer to her eyes. Viggo nodded, content enough with that, for now.

Viggo's very own personal tack. It was usually something most didn't truly care about (his father, for one, had common horse tack despite being chief. He never stood out among his own men), however, Viggo took pride in what was his, especially when he crafted it himself.

His saddle was one made of leather and wood, like most, but with a horn in the shape of a dragon. He made his saddle for the comfort and flair of it, giving himself a higher cantel and unique carvings to the leather. 

His bridle was a cross-over one, with the browband being actually an “x” shape at the forehead, adorned with a ruby.

He had been the one to stitch the wolf hide in the pads and was the one who made whatever other accessories he thought his horses would need — from warm, wool coats to ear protectors.

Now, that mare was using the essential tack. The saddle with small bags and the bridle with a golden bit.

“Hm,” Viggo hummed, cocking his head to the side slightly. Mournstar flicked her eyes to the side, ears twitching, one leg moving to take a step back. “It looks decent enough.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, stepping closer for him to not have to move over and grab onto her. He went for the saddle’s horn and gave a firm, yet soft tug. The mare swayed to the side a little, coming closer.

From that moment on, Viggo, in a way he wasn't sure how, forgot that chestnut was a kelpie.

“Steady,” He murmured absently, “It'll feel odd at first.”

His left boot found the stirrup while he held both the horn and the reins. His other hand moved to the seat and he pushed, adding weight on her back and making her shift a bit, raising her head and flicking her ears down. His other leg went around her and found itself in the other stirrup.

He knew he was gripping those reins like he was afraid she'd buck and he would know exactly what the floor tasted like (again).

Suffice to say, he was quite, well, rusty. 

He hadn't ridden properly in at least a month (which was almost torture for him, mind you, he liked his horses), and now he was being a madman riding a creature that (probably) had never been ridden in her entire life.

But okay. He could deal with that. 

Probably.

A man could dream.

He unconsciously patted her neck, earning a pause and ears pinned. 

Confusion, surprise? If she was expressing anything, he hadn't noticed. “We’ll follow a nearby trail. Come on,”

His heels pressed against her sides and she grunted. Her hooves crunched the gravel and the dirt beneath them, she moved slower at first, picking her pace as they hid from others in the trees. 

(She was definitely still confused, unsure of what to think of Viggo's behavior when he got on her.

It was all so natural once he put that tack on her and began guiding her through the forest. It was like Mournstar was one of his horses, it was almost like he'd forgotten what she put him through, but that wasn't that true either, he still flinched and tensed whenever she shuffled closer and she could feel him grip the reins a bit too tightly at times

Mournstar knew.

She was still feared.

But somewhere along this path they took, Viggo seemed to ignore or forget certain things and worked in a way that felt like instinct. Something programmed and practiced. Done over a hundred times with other horses.

Mournstar… liked it. And it was nice to see this side of him. Quite funny, too. 

A hunter so feared most of his men shivered upon hearing about and so hated by dragons his prey snarled the worst kinds of slurs, was also a gentle rider who seemed to actually like horses, while also being insanely afraid of a dragon smaller than a terrible terror.

Such a peculiar guy. Good to see he still had some more to him than just hunting, at least.)

Their walk was a pleasant one, all issues considered. The kelpie showed herself to be a much calmer version of Thyrvi, but just as curious, sniffing everything and often keeping her head down for that. Had she not been in these parts? Probably, or not. He couldn't really know.

He hummed, still musing over his thoughts even as that tiny monster caught his attention, gently tugging the reins and making the mare stop. The stingwing. It perched on a tree trunk and wasn't attempting to move closer, giving them the most offended side-eye it could muster, looking like a child about to cry.

Mournstar snorted, and suddenly those perked ears were flat. The stingwing hissed, its tiny feather-like head spikes bristling like a nadder’s crown. And Viggo just grumbled.

“I'll have you know that I don't want either of you fighting.” He said, and both creatures let out twin huffs. “And come on, dragon, I'll make sure to move your cage next to Ivar’s tent, surely he wouldn't mind.”

The mare chortled. The noise was somewhat a neigh, but it had a growl to it. Meant to be devilish, perhaps even a little mocking. Viggo… liked that. It was funny, in a way. Maybe this kelpie wasn't such a horrible creature. Maybe.

The stingwing flew ahead of them, Mournstar having managed to nibble it somewhere along the way, laughing when it yelped. It reminded Viggo of something. He was satisfied enough with how this mare acted so far.

Reaching the tents took a while, but soon they were there. Viggo dismounted and struggled a bit more to catch the damn thing, having to corner her along with that horse to finally grab its tail and shove it in its cage. However, it was finally over. He intended on only letting that dragon out (because while he despised and feared it, he would train it. Stingwings were quite valuable. At least Viggo's mother had the few exceptions of well trained and useful dragons) when Mournstar was with him.

For all his issues with her, she was a good horse. She promised to be and was keeping her promise, naturally Viggo would think of that. Either way, it was good to know that.

Viggo wasn't sure he could work alongside his brother like that. Training stingwings was something that required a type of skill that just wouldn't exist if he had to be near Ryker, because they just didn't have that trust in each other anymore.

It didn't make sense for him to call his brother for help anymore. Not after what happened.

Which was why he was going to pick that rose and hope he hasn’t touched its thorns.

The hunter exhaled. He felt tired again, all of the sudden. “Come, horse,”

He began walking to the very location the stingwing would call home. He heard the mare silently follow him, only having her presence known by the way her hooves clicked softly in the stone path.

The moment he dropped the cage in a barrel by Ivar’s tent was when Viggo felt like he was about to meet Odin himself.

“Plannin’ on torturing the old man again, Viggo?”

Viggo’s jaw tensed ever so slightly as he turned, facing his brother. Mournstar’s body seemed to mirror his own’s tension, her ears were fully forward, alerted.

“Ah, Ryker, good to see you.”

Ryker's eyes flicked to the mare, gesturing at her almost accusingly. “I don't remember having this one here.”

“You were never the observant type, brother.”

“Uh-huh, you're just too proud to admit you love to spend the gold on ‘em.”

“Shut it.”

Ryker laughed, Viggo practically pouted, and both the mare and the dragon stared at each other, ignoring their hatred for just a moment.

Then one glared at the other and the dragon squealed, offended.

The brothers grimaced and chose to leave it there. Let it screech in the distance for all they cared, it wasn't a constant problem anymore. Besides, Mournstar seemed very pleased to leave, and Viggo didn't feel like testing that kelpie or himself again with his brother to see, this time.

It took a torturingly long time for any to speak again. Viggo chose a subject just to shove the awkwardness and discomfort away and not have to deal with his thoughts.

“The training went well I assume?” 

Ryker grunted, “If it wasn't for the moldruffle knocking someone with its tail.”

Viggo chuckled, absently fiddling with Mournstar’s reins. “Ah, that one is something, isn't it?”

“Just hope we can get rid of that one soon.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. That dragon is still of use to me.”

“Which means I'll suffer.”

“Obviously.”

Later, once Viggo peeled the tack away from Mournstar and let her run off, she quickly found herself back at that “Ivar” guy’s tent. Staring at the stingwing.

“Frighten my rider again and I shall make sure you won't be seen for a long time.”

It scoffed, “Could ya be any less loyal to that man— wait. How can you even speak Dragonese? You're a horse.”

Mournstar growled. The stingwing hissed, its tail curling.

“I look like one, yes, but don't fool yourself.”

Her fangs unsheathed themselves and she barked at the stingwing. It cowered. Good. That's what it deserved for scaring Viggo like that.

(Even though she was just as guilty of doing that too. But that was totally different.)

“Deceiver.” It snarled.

Mournstar huffed. “Listen to my words and behave. While I can't outright kill you, I can still harm you in different ways, and not a single man or dragon would find out.”

As quickly as she came, Mournstar left, finished or not. She heard the tiny creature’s screeches as she sprinted her way to the forest, diving into that lake and disappearing in the night.

Tomorrow morning she'd come back and hopefully things would be slightly better.

For now, the hunters were allowed to rest (unless they slept near the stingwing’s cage, then they're fucked.)

Chapter Text

Sparkles of Hope

The place Heather took them to was rather odd. It gave Hiccup certain emotions and sensations that just weren't born to fit together, but they did anyway in a sort of weird disconfigured puzzle. An anomaly of feelings and the occasional itching beneath his skin.

Astrid felt it too, he could tell just by the way she randomly scratched her arm and clenched her jaw, all without really thinking of doing it.

It wasn't the usual distant island or the destroyed, dark place without a single living being that would make sense for one to feel weird about. No.

That damn island was as normal as any other, if not more of a rain forest, slightly bigger than the Edge. Massive trees covered with more vegetation, branches that tangled leaves together and more often than not bent against each other. Lakes almost hidden by vegetation and a river flowing into the unknown, deep inside the forest. The woods were somewhat dark, but not exactly intimidatingly dark.

Birds chirped happily and went about their day, an impossibly colorful butterfly flew by here and there, elk grazed somewhere in a clearing, a fox munched on some berries. Hiccup was sure he even saw a bear rubbing its back against a tree.

Of course, as usual, he saw a few dragons here and there, all pacific. A mudraker chilled on the shore with at least three light furies sun-bathing near it, a hobblegrunt trotted by, two raincutters nibbled each other and their kid, and there was this massive crimson goregutter just sleeping face-planted in the grass.

And that flame whipper… Something wasn't right.

Flame whippers were territorial and aggressive, some had chosen to antagonize him and Toothless just because. But that one, that one laying next to the river? It was too peaceful, paralyzed, too numb, almost like it was barely there, just staring into the water, quiet.

Physically it was, of course. Its body was there. But mentally? Hiccup wasn't sure.

It was what left Hiccup feeling odd. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. All of those wild dragons were too calm and peaceful, something you saw only with dragons that were somewhat used to humans. Heather said that place hadn't been explored by anyone but her, as far as she and the nearby islands knew.

“Uh, Heather?”

“You’ll get used to the feeling eventually.”

Hiccup’s eyes immediately squinted, then widened, and he babbled for a moment, “What- how did you– you know what? Never mind.” 

“I hope you're right,” Astrid added. “Thor, this feels worse than dying, fuck–” And she tripped, for good measure.

“Oh, come on, it's just a bit uncomfortable at first, but eventually it's barely anything.” Heather scoffed.

“Says the one used to it to two people who have never seen a damn kelpie before.” 

Heather had just laughed at their misery and lowered herself beside the river, across from the flame whipper. Hiccup gingerly stood next to Astrid as both chose to keep their distance. Their dragons were around Windshear just a few steps away.

It was one of the first times Windshear was the one completely relaxed while the other two were tense.

Heather positioned herself in a way she was kneeling and leaning forward, looking like she was facing her own reflection as her fingers dipped into the water, slowly moving in swirling motions. She was humming (it wasn't a tune Hiccup knew, but he could tell it had some sort of peaceful melancholy to it, but it was sweet, he supposed).

Bubbles began to pop out like boiling water. What followed after was a horn, crooked and pointy, almost like it had been broken yet not. 

Then, a head, almost a fjord in its appearance — cute-ish and stocky. He could easily pass as a normal horse, had he not been a silver horse with red outlines, a weirdly large mouth, with tusks and reptilian green eyes.

“Silverflame,” Heather cooed the same way she did when calling Windshear, laughing as the equine chirped and violently rubbed his face against Heather’s, “I missed you too, it's okay! I get it!”

Silverflame whined but pulled away, letting Heather usher Hiccup and Astrid closer. They didn't move despite her saying he was a docile kelpie. Instead, they shared a look, a silent conversation of sorts. Should they? No? Yes? 

At the end there was a resigned sigh coming from each, then reluctant steps closer to the reptilian horse. He stared at them the whole time, unsure of it all himself, tilting his head to the side and chirping to Heather, questioning all of their life choices what they were doing now.

"I haven't visited in a whole month," Heather began in a attempt to settle something less tense, "But he's still the same goofy guy." She chuckled.

"And you decided to show him to us because…?" Astrid pried. She was the most confused of them.

"First, I didn't want any of you thinking I turned crazy," Unlike someone else, "And second, because it's the best way for me to explain the whole target thing. At least from what I know and had to deal with."

Hiccup chose to get comfortable, telling this would be a long story just from how Heather's face contorted into several types of thoughtful expressions (and because Hiccup was way too curious for his own good and would probably ask about the whole kelpie-fury myth). Astrid had followed him and sat down, leaving Hiccup between her and Heather, surrounded by dragons and the reptilian horse.

"Targeting is basically when a kelpie finds someone interesting enough for them. It's like a cat when it chooses someone to be its owner. Kelpies do the same thing, just for riders." Heather said, "They start with weird dreams, sometimes nightmares. Mine were usually…"

Her adoptive family. Dreams of happy re-encounters and sudden loss. Not exactly nightmares, but something that brought her peace. Silverflame spoke to her of dealing with loss, giving her back to her parents during the dreams, letting them coax her into being someone better.

Sometimes, her biological parents. Oswald and Liv. They spoke to her about being so proud, they warned her about danger, they played together. Then they'd disappear. Silverflame would be there for comfort.

Dagur showed up at times. Her dreams consisted mainly of him having killed her family and him having randomly freed her and disappeared back at Viggo's base. He never said anything, and she couldn't maim him.

Silverflame never let her, and when he spoke to her he was far too ambiguous. "Emotions are often stronger than the mind, but you mustn't let it torch logic. Mindless rage will only make you too much like those you hate than anything. Remember to listen, to hold back, to take care of yourself."

Remember to listen, to hold back, to take care of yourself.

"… Rough. Confusing. I still don't get most of what happened. Like how I don't know what truly happens when you fully accept yourself as a kelpie rider. It just- Windshear appeared and Silverflame chose to not continue with that."

Hiccup nodded slowly. And Astrid was silently looking at the kelpie.

"Do you think Viggo's going to exploit it?" She asked.

Heather, to their surprise, barked a laugh. "He can try, but kelpies are a force of nature. His new horse might protect him and listen to him for most things, but to be his slave? Not a chance."

Astrid narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure? Dragons are considered forces of nature and that never stopped anyone from enslaving them."

"Kelpies are different, Astrid. They can't be brainwashed or controlled, they're loyal to their principles, which means they're loyal to dragons. Night furies specifically, if you know the myths." She nodded towards Toothless, who warbled.

Silverflame chirped at him. Toothless smiled and crooned back. And Hiccup watched like a starving hawk. Was it really a myth? Like, kelpies are real, so it wasn't something weird to think about, right?

"Either we'll see him alone again, if he doesn't accept the kelpie and the kelpie left him alone to do his thing, or he'll be willing to listen to us, which is unlikely."

The kelpie growled something, and Heather blinked at least two times before she added:

"Or we'll see his half-eaten body in a lake somewhere and our main problem turns into Ryker."

Hiccup paused. Blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked at Astrid. She looked at him. She also blinked.

"Wha- w-wait, that's it? Just those options? Seriously?"

The berserker shrugged. "Pretty much."

"We're talking about Viggo Grimborn. He's totally able to just control those things." Astrid spat with a frown.

"Not if it controls him first."

They grew silent. Astrid paused, slightly taken aback, but mostly skeptical, raising a bewildered eyebrow at Heather. Hiccup, however, had a small realization.

"So," He began. "It's true that they can hypnotize people?"

Heather grinned. "There we go, you figured it out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Along with that, let's just say they can threaten people into doing things."

She petted her kelpie and it purred.

"We just have to hope Viggo decided to keep the one targeting him, then maybe we'll have something actually good happening." Astrid sort of mumbled, crossing her arms.

Hiccup chose to look at Toothless. The night fury smirked and nodded at him, making Hiccup smile.

Maybe it wasn't so bad for Viggo to have a magical swamp pony with him.

But while that didn't happen:

"Now can we please have a explanation about those creepily calm dragons? They're seriously freaking me out."

Nocturne landed on a significantly smaller island than her own. It wasn't anything interesting, really, just slightly different than average, with dirt ground instead of grass, slightly thinner trees and a smaller amount of bushes, lighter than most given how the trees were spaced out, and more distant to other islands. Though, again, it was nothing too extravagant.

She sniffed the ground, not a scent was familiar, except for the two furies with her. Rhapsody and Eclipse, two of her dearest friends and main hunting company. Rhapsody was a bit older, just a year or so than Nocturne, with green eyes and a stockier built, while Eclipse was the same age as her, with one eye blue and the other hazel, having rare white markings in her face and paw.

The Alpha's own markings, those golden ones reserved only for dragons and kelpies to see, shimmered under the sun, making her far more visible to the nearby dragons. It was good, in a way, it made them know who to mess with and who to leave alone, but Nocturne was never a fun of attention.

"Please do remind me why we are here again?" Gurgled Eclipse, pushing a twing out of the way with her wing.

Nocturne hummed, sniffing the air, "Looking for a way to find Wildheart, dear. And to hunt the carp this island has."

"I still think that listening to that skrill was not that wise. He was vague, too much so." Huffed Rhapsody, lashing her tail at a bush.

"Please, Shockspine is mostly harmless to us, you should know. He does have a soft spot for Eclipse, for one."

"Forgive me for my suspicious Nocturne, but that skrill is never good news. He is like a cryptid."

"Rhapsody, you're just not used to him, I'm sure he never did anything so bad."

Rhapsody grumbled, but dropped the topic. They could discuss whether or not Shockspine was a evil bastard some other time.

Mainly because something else alarmed them.

Rustling. Way too close.

A awfully human figure appeared among trees, sort of hobbling. The three night furies froze, their wings slightly raised and arched. They weren't sure whether to flee or fight. They were three against one, sure, but still… was it worth the risk?

The figure shuffled its way out of the bushes and trees, revealing to be a man, one very different from hunters in appearance. It made Nocturne pause.

He wasn't exactly tall and imposing, no. He was average, if not just slightly short, in height, with this disheveled red beard and even more unruly red hair. His armor was decent, but it had some tiny, but clear dents and scratch marks. This odd human was visibly strong, having exposed arms that seemed extra strong.

But different things caught Nocturne's attention: wide, manic green eyes, showing the smallest bits of a barely sane mind. And visible scars creating an outline of their own. Sharp, clearly painful; exposing someone who'd endured quite a lot.

The four of them stopped. The man blinked, rubbed his eyes, and more blinking came.

"Oh Thor, I probably hit my head way too many times. I almost believed I was seeing three night furies in front of me." The human laughed, rather… derangedly.

Nocturne's lips curled, her eyes a little wide and concerned for this man, giving a gurgle. Rhapsody was growling a little next to her, and ahead of her Eclipse chirped, tilting her head.

The man walked closer, humming and chuckling to himself. "Oh man, imagine how crazy it'd be? Dagur the Deranged and three night furies. That'd be so-"

He paused. Because his waving hand landed on Eclipse's head and it actually landed, because he wasn't as insane as he clearly believed.

"That-" His eyes were even wilder than before. "Y-you're rEAL?"

To Nocturne's utter horror, this man — Dagur the Deranged — began shrieking, rearing back so violently he fell on his back, still screaming. Eclipse had yelped and jumped, landing on her paws like a feline.

Rhapsody yowled, and Nocturne snarled, "Leave it. He will get over it eventually."

Dagur obviously didn't get over it soon, leaving Rhapsody grumbling about Nocturne being a air-headed lightling (she did earn Nocturne's tail slapping her face, if you're curious). The man flailed like a newborn lamb, throwing his hands in the air and shouting nonsense every time Nocturne nudged closer.

"Oh PLEASE Thor! Tell me I'm fucking dreaming. Please pLEASE PLEASE—"

Nocturne sighed, deciding to just ignore the man's pleas and just asking Eclipse to hold him. She somewhat recognized this faint smell in his armor. It wasn't of another fury, but it was oddly familiar, leading somewhere else in the air — not close, but still a fresh scent.

Rhapsody had stopped her grumbles by then, joining Nocturne in her inspection. By that point, Dagur was just staring fearfully at the two, occasionally glancing back at Eclipse behind him. Eclipse was the kindest, giving a low warble and a attempt at a smile, toothless.

"Huh. I just swore you had teeth two seconds ago. Is Loki playing tricks on me?"

The monochromatic fury just shrugged lightly. Dagur mumbled about being crazier than before, ending up on multiple lines of thought and questioning that would honestly only give Nocturne a headache if she kept listening to it.

Which was precisely why she turned to Rhapsody and listened to her suggestions. "Is it a terrible terror?"

"Probably." Cawed the leader, "Not wild. Female. Smells young. It can be one of those terrible terrors the humans have been using for communication."

"All we have to do is follow the trail." Rhapsody concluded, and deadpanned just after she locked eyes with Nocturne. "And let me guess, we will take him with us?"

"There is something about this human… Shockspine spoke of him before I left. I must seek for more answers, Rhapsody." Nocturne rumbled, exhaling deeply, "So yes, we take him with us and that is final."

She paused just for a moment, staring onto those green eyes of his. Dagur stared back, his eyes showing true horror as Nocturne snarled and he was suddenly being on the receiving end of a pouncing night fury.

And suddenly, they were in the air. One hoping he wouldn't be killed, the other three hoping they'd find what they were searching for the past years.

Chapter Text

Progress and Planning

Hooves dug in the dirt, a grunt coming out of a horse as she picked up a two-beat gait — a trot. Viggo was on her back, his heels, now with small star-shaped spurs, nudged her with uncharacteristic gentleness, urging her to go forward, while his hand occasionally gave soft tugs, reminding her to keep a specific pace.

Mournstar was just on her fourth ride, being dealt with nearly every day. Viggo would have her used to a lot of things she had never experienced before, from grooming, leg, hand and vocal clues and all the way to learning what in Thor's green earth was a pirouette and how to scare a stingwing into behaving.

One of those things, currently, seemed to be learning how to herd other animals. Viggo currently had her antagonizing a young yak. The bull was huffing, bucking the air, low and pathetically, as he ran away from Mournstar and Viggo. The hunter simply asked for Mournstar to follow him with another tug and kick.

She had properly done this twice now. Not the same stubborn bull that refused to go where Viggo wanted, but that annoying stingwing. It was a hobby of hers at this point. She loved antagonizing that one, biting down its tail, stomping around it, chasing it to its cage, and much more.

But… it wasn't so annoying now. Of course, change wasn't happening so quickly, and it still attempted to scare Viggo with its dive-bombing, but there was progress.

Progress Mournstar ignored just so she could chase it down.

"You're losing focus, horse, keep up." Viggo, suddenly and sharply, brought Mournstar back, giving two light kicks to get her faster.

The yak was sprinting away, somehow having went past her again. She had to canter to get to it.

Viggo's legs tightened around her as she began running after the yak, sharply turning next to him to turn the youngster around. The yak mooed, bucking low like a child having a tantrum. 

Mournstar heard Viggo's chuckle. "Isn't he beautiful? So wild and full of himself. It's one of the only things I learned to admire about dragons."

She burred, the noise similar to a bicker, but less soft. The hunter sounded fond as he spoke of the misbehaving creatures — or what he called misbehaving (Mournstar was not sure what to think of it, she'd only seen yaks as prey and wasn't familiar with them to know if it was truly misbehaving or just confused like most wild animals when being tamed.

It could be both, she eventually realized, and thus left that line of thought for dream-world talk. Viggo's views on "the art of taming", his words not hers, were actually interesting, it often made her realize just how ironic it was.

A dragon hunter that found it wrong to whip a horse because it was just a confused, scared creature. That was really interesting.)

Viggo's hand made contact with her neck — not a conscious touch, something absent-minded, just some pats, a "you're doing good". She paused for a second, chewing on the metal perfectly placed in her mouth, then blinked out of it, using her body to push the yak towards its pen, finally finishing that torturous task.

"Very well," Was all she got, along with the criticism, "But you had a rather slow reaction time today, we'll go back on that soon enough."

Mournstar drew a heavy breath, huffing it out as her ears pinned and she deadpanned. 

It was around then that Viggo's older brother, Ryker, had shown up; from behind, not exactly sudden, but not fully expected.

"Already herding them all around?" He asked, giving a light snicker.

The kelpie definitely didn't know most things about Viggo (she'd only known he was bitten by another kelpie and somewhat plagued by it because of his scent. The ones that feared kelpies always had a different smell — fear was something distinctive, and the only way she could tell. And how she knew about the bite at all? Stalking). But she was well aware of some things by now.

For one, Viggo was a man very fond of his grandfather and clearly held love for his mother, though he always used his father as insults, which Mournstar took as pure hatred.

And Ryker… He seemed to be a delicate matter. Something fragile the way a newborn of any species was, something that was personal and not spoken of. There was always a lingering tension every time they interacted, always a nearly unseen flinch whenever one came too close, with the postures of men ready to move away or defend themselves. There was a unspoken past between them that neither wanted to address, but that both wanted to forget.

She could tell by the way Ryker winced at Viggo's scar every time he rubbed his neck and how Viggo's eyebrows would twitch and his lips would curl whenever he caught a glimpse of Ryker's shoulders and back, with those ugly, burnt scars — those two had a complex past.

They so desperately wanted to rekindle their relationship, even the cattle could tell. The dragons could tell, and they were just in these men's lives for fleeting moments (they're only lasting longer because of Mournstar's influence, but Viggo will probably have to do something about it. 

The others, lesser thinking creatures as they were, were starting to notice and were getting too curious.)

But still… They didn't seem able to do what they wanted, not yet. 

Viggo was slightly more tense on her now, slowly turning her around to face Ryker.

"There has been progress," Said Viggo, "I wanted to give her a chance to prove herself."

Ryker seemed equally as tense as Mournstar took a step closer. She snorted the way normal horses did when alerted, the noise coming deep from her throat like a rumble. Still, Ryker didn't seem too affected (but Mournstar was sure he could feel her energy. He grew uneasy soon after their first meeting).

"It's still morning, Viggo, give the lass a break,"

Viggo narrowed his eyes. "No."

The elder seemed taken aback, blinking. "No? Just no?"

Mournstar gave him a look and sighed, making low movements to paw the dirt beneath her while Viggo decided he'd make himself extra comfortable in the saddle, probably staring at Ryker due to the man's slight discomfort. Viggo loved to do that, just stare and wait for people to somehow figure out what he wanted.

It didn't work most of the time, which meant the hunter would get passive-aggressive and act like other people were just ignoring his wants for no reason, even though he knew exactly what was happening; but Viggo was one confident, stubborn man, and kept doing it.

Today it worked, and Ryker just sighed, rolled his eyes and left, waving dismissively at Viggo, who simply let out a upset "hm", close to being a full scoff, but not quite.

Today also seemed like a day Viggo didn't want his brother around, perhaps even more than usual, making Mournstar stand still until Ryker was completely out of view.

A pat. A click of a tongue. They were back to moving, the reins leaning towards the left indicated where to turn, and Viggo's lack of leg aids left her only walking away from the pens — the one she was in was connected to a second one, where at least three bulls were now locked in.

"I will take you to the lake." Viggo announced, low, only for her ears to catch, "And we'll take the pest with us."

The pest, she grumbled. That just meant they'd have that stingwing around. Ugh.

Somewhere away, in one of the lesser known taverns by the south, Hiccup and Heather followed Silverflame's songs, leaving their dragons just outside.

Their plan was a dubious one, made after the kelpie began nudging them both earlier in the day (and this time Astrid wasn't around, which could be better or worse, or maybe both at the same time).

The tavern didn't have a lot of people, but not the usual vikings, instead, being men and women dressed in ways Hiccup had never seen — them all in loose, flowy tunics and baggy trousers, having tall riding boots and hats, drinking some odd drink with herbs in gourds that had metal straws and kept being passed around in their social circles.

Outside Hiccup had seen paddocks, green beautiful pens with a bunch of horses, with several saddles just perched on stands with bridles, pieces of armor and what-more sprawled on each saddle, probably to their respective horses and riders. Said animals were just grazing, with at least two having raised their head when the kelpie sang, others pinning their ears at Toothless and Windshear.

The people at the tavern didn't appear to hear it, neither Hiccup could, with their laughter and conversations. Silverflame wasn't a loud singer, or a screecher, so really, you'd only hear him in almost full quietude.

"Hey, you two," Shouted a man, who seemed like the tavern keeper, in a welcoming tone. "Y'want somethin'?"

"Oh, uh, not yet, thank you." Heather replied before Hiccup could. "We're just… passing by."

The woman beside him tutted, "I think that you two need to relax." She smiled, picking up the gourd handed to her by another lady, "Maybe a bit of heartbrew will do you nicely."

"… Heartbrew?"

"Ah, outsiders, eh?" The man cocked his head, grinning. "We'll explain it to y'all, just come in, we'll make space."

The other people agreed with him, nodding, with one moving over to drag two seats to their table, having others scooting around to make up spots for the stools. Heather looked at Hiccup, and the night fury's rider just slumped his shoulders in defeat and approached the group as they laughed and greeted him — and eventually Heather.

Sure, they were meant to follow a kelpie, but maybe they could stop by and rest among other people. They were traveling for hours now, they stopped at the tavern specifically for that, so why not?

"Heartbrew is a part of my tribe and the ones near mine's culture, it's a drink you share with anyone you want to, really." Explained the man, "It's simple, just hot water and herbs — the urtadrykkjar ones, to be clear. But if ya want, you can add some other stuff to it."

The woman added, "This one has a bit of cinnamon in it, it's believed to be good for your health." She then offered the gourd to Hiccup, who slowly wrapped it with his hands, reluctant, still.

Heather decided to speak while Hiccup contemplated whether or not he could actually drink it. "It's so surprising to see anyone as relaxed as you are. No armor at all?"

Some looked among themselves, still lighthearted, with another woman, an older brown-haired lady with those really beautiful brown boots, replying with a, "Well, this is a place to relax and it's only really frequented by our people, so we don't feel like having that heavy weight on us."

"Also, we wouldn't leave our horses unattended if this place was dangerous." Spoke a younger male.

"But what of yourselves?" The tavern keeper asked, just when Hiccup finally decided to take a sip.

Heartbrew was a rather bitter drink, very much like tea, but it had something that tasted good about it, which was probably the cinnamon, but still. It was good. Not the best drink Hiccup ever had, but it was a close one — bitter things were some of Hiccup's favorites.

"Oh, well…" Heather began, very unsure, Hiccup could tell.

So he continued, "We're just making sure our enemy isn't going to be worse than he already is, it's basically what we've been doing."

The circle stopped speaking, suddenly tensing up, even if slightly, and turning to Hiccup and Heather. The woman who served Hiccup cocked her head, eyes narrowing. "Your enemy? Who?"

Hiccup took a pause, really, really considering his words and choices as he slowly passed the gourd to Heather, who took a sip after a lot of inspecting, nervous and paranoid as she was.

"Uh… Viggo Grimborn."

If those vikings were already tense, they managed to get even more stiff, some bristling and others completely freezing. The tavern keeper widened his eyes, and the woman's flashed in recognition.

"You are Hiccup Haddock? The night fury's rider?"

"How did you—"

"You are our Chief's enemy?"

Heather almost dropped the gourd, having slammed it on the table as she just choked on the brew and her own saliva.

And all Hiccup pathetically mustered was a, "… What?"

"By Odin, you really are." 

There had been torturous minutes of silence before anyone spoke again. Hiccup felt like either that kelpie created a insane illusion, or he was dreaming and going crazy at the same time.

He just couldn't believe he just sat on a circle full of Viggo's people and drank their cultural brew like it was nothing, and now they were all staring down at him with wide eyes and— complete… awe?

Yeah. They seemed so… impressed, shocked. Not angry.

"You're Stoick's Heir?"

Hiccup blinked and nodded, all slowly. "Yeah."

"Gods of Asgard," The tavern keeper mumbled, then laughed, "Ryker's descriptions don't do you justice, my boy,"

The dragon rider just deadpanned. "I should've imagined."

A woman from the crowd — one tall and strong, with her almost-curly hair in a long bob, with a layer tied, wearing mostly black clothing along with a coat, having her skin darker than the other vikings. Her boots had spurs and her belt had spikes. She was someone who stuck out just with her presence — didn't laugh while others did, she still seemed baffled, though a spark flicked in her gaze.

"Hiccup," She said, her voice deeper than the other women Hiccup heard, making him a bit nervous with how she stared down at him. "We must speak. Privately."

She didn't ask for anyone to leave, and instead rose herself, having managed to fully quiet down the group. Hiccup caught himself following her soon after, motioning for Heather to stay as they went outside, catching small phrases of reassurance to the berserker, who had to be freaking out.

Gods, Hiccup couldn't tell these were Viggo's people. Not his hunters, because he was sure the actual dragon hunters weren't around there, but still. Viggo Grimborn had such unique people and, apparently, culture… Did he also have horses?

The woman soon pulled him out of his thoughts, "I never thought I'd be talking to you, for me the chance was so slim it didn't exist. But thank whatever brought you here, because both you, Viggo and Ryker have to get your shit together."

Hiccup blinked really hard, surprised at how calm the woman was when Toothless and Windshear rose their heads from the bushes. And also surprised this was how she started their conversation.

"Huh?" Was all he murmured.

She glanced at him, not having stopped until she reached the paddock, and turned around, not minding the few horses that came closer, nickering in curiosity.

(To himself, Hiccup wondered what Silverflame was up to. The kelpie had silenced himself for a while now, but his presence could still be felt, if the tingling in his skin told Hiccup anything.)

"I may not have been all around, but I grew around Viggo and Ryker, and they have been telling me every little piece of information about themselves, even their own issues with each other."

Hiccup listened, but he was confused, what the fuck did that have to do with him—?

"— And you are a full dragon symphatizer, I know it, I've heard the tales, the talks, the gossips. You have been actively trying to end with dragon hunting, and that's their main issue now."

"I—" Oh Gods.

"You managed to change the ways of your own village," She went on, "You're planning on doing the same with those muttonheads, aren't you?"

"I mean, I don't know? I'll do what I can."

"I'll take that as a yes." The woman — Thor, he needed to know her name — waved dismissively, sending a hard gaze his way. "And—" A sigh, "Gods, Hiccup, if you could change Berk's ways, I'm sure you can do this. And you'll have to if you don't want bloodshed."

She went closer and grabbed Hiccup's shoulders, a rather sorrow glow to her eyes as she began talking.

"Don't continue this war and end our livelihood without having alternatives, without, I don't know, whacking Viggo and Ryker in the head with a mace and telling them you have something better to offer than dragon-hunting. Just please, don't let us to die. I worry for these men out there, for Viggo, and even for Ryker."

Hiccup was rendered completely speechless. Was this why Silverflame stopped? Because they reached exactly where the kelpie guided them to?

"I-I— how can I do it? My own tribe's one thing, what about yours?"

"You shouldn't worry about the ones at Árgoð, we're peaceful enough to just accept what Viggo says… except for a elder, but that is irrelevant." Her hands squeezed his shoulders. "Worry about Viggo and Ryker. Talk one of them out of it and the other will eventually follow. My only tip is that you go for Viggo."

Hiccup nodded. "Right… and what if it doesn't work?"

That woman just stopped, looked at Hiccup straight in the eye and all the way down to his prosthetic, then back up, smirked, and just said. "It will."

Eventually, Heather had gotten out. The lady smiled reassuringly at Hiccup and began stepping back into the tavern, stopping by the doors and looking at both riders.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, regardless of everything that surrounds us." She flashed a charming grin, "The name's Valdis."

Heather looked between them. Valdis had went inside at that point. "What did you two talk about?"

Hiccup's eyes glimmered. "I have a idea." He grinned, wide and bright, "Come on! We gotta tell the others!"

They were alone again. Viggo and Mournstar.

It was the late evening, the moonlight was gentle, unlike sunlight during the afternoon, and Viggo seemed as relaxed as he could be around her, which was progress.

His hand gingerly laid in her muzzle, rubbing the softer skin and moving to her forehead, where he couldn't exactly move much, given she had been allowed to turn back into her actual form, so her horn was in his way. Still, the petting didn't stop, and she was quite glad.

"You're not in name-level yet." Viggo announced as Mournstar warbled. Damn it. "But you're above being a nameless horse."

She gurgled, what does that even mean?

(She also realized he seemed to understand her now, which was a huge progress. It meant she was getting what she wanted… at least one of those things. Mournstar had no idea how she'd make Viggo stop hunting — eventually her threats and her illusions would just make Viggo choose Valhalla over Midgard.)

"It means I won't call you the name you want, but you'll receive a… nickname, in a way, so it's easier for us to communicate."

Ah, alright, it's reasonable, Mournstar nickered.

After a stretch of silence, Viggo looked at her and whispered:

"Frelsi."

Freedom.