Flashfreeze, Part Three: The Interior

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Even when it was just a shadow in the ice it was awesome, because finally he'd actually found it! It was real!

He wants it a lot.

…well, someone had found it, but Dagur was the only one with the sheer brilliance to think of looking for it at all, so it was basically the same thing.

And now it's here!

And so is he.

"What's taking so long?" Dagur demands, trying to get a grip on his red hair before remembering that he'd cut it all short after he'd torn out a handful by accident.

It's not his fault he has so many muscles. Oh wait. It is.

Instead he presses his hands against his head as if it might explode if he let go – he's so excited that it might, it really might – and glares at anyone stupid enough to turn away and look at him. "What are you looking at?" he accuses the nearest man.

The man hurriedly gets back to hacking at the ice with a pick. Ye gods. No one has any spirit.

"Not so hard!" he snaps. "If you hurt it, I'll feed you to it! Hmm," he breaks off to wonder, forgetting about the man. "There's a thought. What am I going to feed my lovely, legendary, glorious, real Skrill when it's finally all mine? There's nothing to hunt on this godsforsaken iceberg. I haven't gotten to shoot anything all day."

There'd been quite a lot of chaos when he'd fired some crossbow bolts at the walls of this ice cave.

Dagur is usually all for chaos, but when his Berserkers are cringing and lying on the floor and screaming like the cowards they are, afraid of a few ricocheting razor-sharp bolts, they're not digging out his Skrill, and Dagur wants his Skrill!

Is that so hard to understand?

Instead he taps his fingers against the stock of his favorite crossbow and stares covetously at the shadow in the ice, slowly emerging as ice falls away with every ringing strike. It's driving him mad, waiting. He wants to shove them all aside and grab their picks and tear through the ice like a godsdamn Whispering Death and set it free right now. He's thought about running up to it and just plastering himself against the ice to be as close as possible to the epically powerful, totally awesome lightning-spitting dragon he's heard stories about all his life. The only thing – so far – that's stopped him from doing so is knowing that it would just melt all over him and make him look wet and stupid.

"Hello, beautiful," he says to the imprisoned dragon, grinning, and licks at his lips just to make sure he's not actually drooling over it. "You are going to be so awesome!"

All around him, Berserkers chip at the walls with ice axes and picks. Only a dark blur had been visible, when whoever it was who'd had the initiative to go this deep into yet another iceberg had found it. Dagur really must figure out who that was and keep a careful eye on him. He doesn't like clever people, not close up. Dagur prefers it when he's the cleverest person in the room or, preferably, on the island.

A couple of lazy shirkers are hiding behind the piles of dragon-catching stuff they hauled in here, enough to capture a dozen dragons, probably. He's got nets, chains, hooks, ropes, flares, spears, axes, swords, more ropes, and possibly even a keg of ale under all that. (Dagur isn't totally convinced that last is actually for the dragon.) Abandoned on top of it all are some cobbled-together muzzles made to fit the tanner's best guess at the shape of a Skrill's jaw. The man insisted that just because he'd seen it on their sails all his life didn't mean he knew exactly what it looks like. But Dagur will know it when he sees it properly. How could he not?

He's about to yell at them, but then he's distracted by another patrol returns from exploring the tunnels that turn this iceberg into a maze. All that whining about being in this cave, and they weren't happy about going out there either. Nothing makes idiots happy.

"Well?" he demands of the trio. "Anyone out there?"

The tallest, holding his hands over the flame of the nearest torch, looks at him reproachfully. "No, sir," he says. "No one knows we're here. I really don't think –"

Dagur picks up the nearest piece of ice and wings it at him. The man ducks and it shatters against the wall behind him, showering all three of them with a miniature hailstorm. "You're not here to think!" Dagur screams at him. "It's not your job to think! I do the thinking! And I think once word gets out, everyone in the Archipelago is going to want to steal my Skrill! We'll do all the work and those idiots on Berk with their bloody tame dragons are going to swoop in and try to take it away!"

The thought of Berk and its insufferable Berkians heats his blood back up again – warm coats are for wimps who just can't work up a decent rage – and Dagur throws another piece of ice at the wall, wishing that it was Berk bursting apart and disappearing. Or that there was someone here to throw it at. Preferably that jumped-up little minx Astrid. Or her pet Nadder. Or any of Berk's pet dragons.

Dagur can't bear to be upstaged. Even when his useless lumpof a father was chief – such a waste of time, the man was utterly lacking in imagination – his son had always been the center of attention. He'd always been the loudest, the strongest, the cleverest, the bravest, the fiercest – and anyone who thought otherwise quickly learned that more than anything else, Dagur could always be the meanest.

One way or another, he always won. If he had to cheat or bully his way to victory, or just plain ignore anyone trying to prove him wrong, then that was still winning.

And he's got to be the craziest.

He can't imagine how boring everyone else's world must be. They should be grateful he tries so hard to make it that much more interesting. They all owe him, really. He works at making their lives more than just the endless dull drudgery of boring stuff like crops and sheep and digging wells and…whatever else normal people do all day, and what kind of thanks does he get?

Anyway, if he shouts loud enough, no one will get in his way. And then he can do things that might be fun, or that will keep his minions too busy to start asking awkward questions, like "Why are we doing this?"

Dagur hates that question. But he's got a really good answer: throwing smart-mouthed people overboard. Works great.

"I had a perfectly good chance to go out raiding, now that there haven't been any dragon attacks for a while," he justifies to himself. "Tame dragons are cheating!"

Since someone else had thought of it first, at least.

"How dare they?" Dagur asks of no one in particular. "How dare they be crazier than me? I'll show them! Look at this, Astrid! You play around with your little dragons. I've got a Skrill!"

He's going to get himself a Skrill, and then he's going to be the one laughing. How hard can it be, anyway, if Astrid can do it?

He laughs. Dagur likes laughing. A lot.

Other people don't seem to like it. He likes that too. So he laughs some more.

He can do better than Berk's dopey common dumb beasts. Only some ice stands between him and better, as he shoves aside his minions for another closer look.

A little more of the ice has melted away, and what was only a silhouette is a little clearer now. Its eyes are frozen open, bright and fierce like poisoned gold, and its wings are spread. He thinks its jaw might be open in a scream or a roar, teeth showing as lighter points in the dark maw.

"Look at that snarl!" he almost sighs. Sighs are for weak people, but this almost justifies one. "My Skrill is a fighter! It didn't just lie down and give up and get buried! Something must have trapped it here!"

He can't imagine what, but that doesn't matter. An avalanche? A battle? If so, Dagur wants that dragon too. An ice-blasting warrior dragon. Neat! Except they'd probably fight. Although that would be pretty awesome too.

All his life, he's heard stories about the legendary Skrill. Sometimes the legends were about its power to control lightning. They said it was the deadliest and most ruthless beast ever seen in the Archipelago, except maybe for a Night Fury, but there's never been one of those around here, and Dagur doesn't think they really exist. And sometimes the stories were about its fate, that it was somewhere out there, frozen in ice, waiting to be found. There were stories about quests to find the Skrill, and the many (mostly terrible) things that happened to the warriors who went looking.

But nothing was worse than the endings. All the warriors in the stories got sidetracked, had adventures, battled gods, got blown to the ends of the earth, and so on, and so forth – boring! What about the Skrill?

None of the stories talked about it being found. Heroes in stories were stupid. How could they get distracted from something as awesome as a Skrill?

He could do better than that. Even if his father had insisted, over and over, that they had enough dragon problems without going looking for one more.

But then his boring, softhearted, absolute pushover of a father had vanished, leaving his son in command of the Berserkers, and Dagur had laughed in satisfaction and set out to show everyone that while Oswald the bloody Agreeable had been no Berserker at all, his son had all the fire in his belly that the father had lacked.

And then the dragon raids that had kept his tribe pinned down on their island, as fun as those fights had been, had stopped.

And then he'd taken his fleet to Berk, and tame dragons had boxed their ears and sent them away, while the beasts' masters laughed.

It was the perfect time to go Skrill hunting.

"It's destiny! The symbol of our tribe, just waiting to be found. It's going to be so glad to get out! Maybe I won't have to feed any of you lot to it after all."

Most of the minions flinch as they lean on their picks and axes and stay out of his way. People are so gullible. Dagur laughs some more.

"Well? What are you all standing around for! Get it out!"

They get back to work at once, and Dagur stalks away feeling like he's done his bit to keep them motivated. He prowls the ice cave keeping a wary eye out for spies and saboteurs and enemies and people gossiping behind his back about him being paranoid.

He knows there's someone else here. Or something else. He's heard them. Strange sounds deeper within the ice, or down the tunnels, or yowling distantly far above, all around, flitting from place to place like ghosts. Faint sounds, certainly, but Dagur is a hunter. He knows how to listen for sounds that don't belong and the small signs of something hiding from him. Some time ago, while the diggers were taking a rest, right before he shouted at them for being lazy and then turned that shift out to go patrol while shoving tools into the hands of the patrollers and commanding them to take over, he saw a brief shower of ice tumble from one of the cracks up towards the high roof of the cave.

There had been no one up there to dislodge it, and there was no digging going on at the time – the minions were still sorting themselves out. So there has to be someone else here.

Dagur's going to find them and shoot them. He wants to shoot something.

The torches that light the cave are always flickering, but an extra movement catches his eye, up near one of those cracks. For just a moment, a shadow is cast across the ice.

"I see you," Dagur singsongs to himself, grinning again, his mood changing as quickly as the light. "Think you're clever, huh?"

He raises his crossbow and sights along it as the shadow – it's long and heavy-headed and has horns, and he thinks it might be a dragon – grows and spreads and loses all shape. If he can just make the shot…

The angle is wrong, and Dagur lowers the bow again and scowls.

He just needs a better angle.

"Aha!" he shouts to himself, as his eyes fall on one of the many chunks of ice jutting from the walls. Slinging his weapon over his shoulder, he runs to the lump of ice against the opposite wall, pushing past an unfortunate Berserker who happened to be in his way. "Move!"

Dagur draws his two boot knives and leaps as far as he can, stabbing them deep into the ice while his boots scramble for a grip. Finding it, he makes his way up and over the debris. A glance over his shoulder as he climbs shows him that the shadow – it might be several shadows – is still there, changing shape like the surface of a pot of boiling water. And over the racket of metal against ice, and a couple of baffled cries of "Sir?", there are yipping, yowling noises coming from that dark flaw in the ice.

He's not quite level with it, but he's closer than he was. From here he can see that there are an ill-assorted bunch of little dragons crouching in the lip of the crevice, staring down into the cave like oglers at a funeral. As he watches, one of them vanishes backwards into the darkness as if something had yanked it by the tail – it even squeaks faintly. But a different one takes its place.

Dagur lowers his voice to a triumphant hiss. "Gotcha!" He stabs his knife down and wedges one boot against it, leveling his crossbow and taking aim.

Damned if he cares where it ricochets to. He doesn't plan to miss.

Up this high, the cave is broken and rough, full of cracks and notches and openings, a maze in ice. This iceberg is riddled with cracks and full of corners. Up here, he might as well be in a dark and overgrown forest. Dagur closes one eye as he tracks the overexcited little Nadder – he's quite taken against Nadders recently – but he still notices when something moves in one of the closer gaps.

The torches below flare up as someone moves them, and Dagur glances away from the small dragons, distracted towards the nearer danger as it coils and twists and hisses threateningly.

The creature is dark in the reflected light from the torches, half-hidden by the ice and indistinct. Still, Dagur can feel it staring at him. He stares back. Whatever it is crouches, poised to leap, and Dagur can hear its scales scrape against the ice as clearly as its snarl. The sound blends into the whistle-shriek of a dragon diving to the attack, and Dagur swivels to point the crossbow at it at once, shouting an incoherent battle-cry.

Before he can get a shot off, it leaps backwards, disappearing into the forest of stalag-whatever-they're-calleds.

"Wary, are you?" Dagur growls at it. "Oh yeah. You know arrows, huh? Come out and fight!" It's smaller than he is. He could take it. "Bring it on, ya runty little lizard!"

Nothing moves in the darkness.

"No? Didn't think so."

But the moment he starts to turn back towards the little dragons in their niche, Dagur sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he looks back, there it is again. He still can't make out what kind of dragon it is.

It raises a paw and claws at the air, howling.

"Oh, you want me to shoot you? Is that it? Hold still!"

The creature doesn't hold still, and Dagur's shot misses, bouncing off the stalag-whatevers and falling away. He keeps losing sight of it as the light flickers.

"Hold the torches still!" Dagur yells down at them, adding "Idiots!" for good measure. "When I get my Skrill, you're gonna be charcoal," he warns the dragon.

It shrieks at him and backs away as he slaps another bolt into the firing mechanism and winches the bow to its full draw again. Dagur likes crossbows. They put big holes in things. But they aren't quick.

By the time he looks up again, it's gone. Any one of the patches of shadow or pieces of ice could hide it.

"Dumb beast," Dagur mutters, and then curses viciously. The small dragons are now nowhere to be seen.

He doesn't have time to get properly mad, though – a shout from below breaks into his fuming.

"Sir! It's moving!"

"What?" Dagur screams back, rage washed away by excitement. He forgets about the other dragons entirely. "Everyone get away from it! It's mine!"

He yanks his knife from the ice and leaps carelessly from ledge to ice block, landing on the floor of the cave again in a single enormous jump.

The noise he makes is not at all a scream of delight. "Look at it!" he cries. "Look at it, look at it, isn't it the most beautiful thing! What am I gonna call it? Deathstrike! No! Thunderbolt! No! Killer! No! All of it! Deathstrike Thunderbolt Killer the Awesome! Yes!"

It's a bit of a mouthful. He'll work on that.

Beneath the last, tiny, insignificant sheet of ice, that golden eye blinks, and the pupil shrinks against the light of the torches. Something cracks as the Skrill shifts, as its shoulders heave, as one heavily clawed back paw gathers itself and kicks out. A jaw frozen open begins to close as trickles of lightning crawl across the inside of the ice.

Dagur realizes his mouth is open, too, and closes it. Through clenched teeth, he whispers, "Get the chains."

His minions break and run. He half expects them all to make for the tunnel out of here, but instead the clanking of metal tells him that they're actually doing what they're told for once. Still, he can't look away to check on them.

The Skrill spreads its wings, and its head turns away – and then it lashes out, and ice explodes, and it's out.

It stumbles, at first, still groggy and disoriented from its long sleep. One of its wings and a back paw are still trapped in the ice, but it's still the most impressive dragon Dagur has ever seen.

"It's terrifying!" he shouts, thrilled. "I love it! It's going to be mine! I must have it!"

Everyone will have to take him seriously now! He can take whatever he wants and do whatever he wants, with this creature obeying him. And it's his by right, it's a Berserker dragon, he deserves it!

"Charge!" yells Dagur.

The Skrill does not like being charged at by Berserkers wielding lances and hooked poles. Even that is awesome. He doesn't want some meek little lapdog of a dragon fawning over him and making nice – he wants a warrior! But Dagur is going to have to teach it who's boss around here.

That would be him. For the record.

It snaps at the net thrown over its head, links snagging in the spiny ruff protecting the back of its neck, but as it does, Dagur grabs a length of chain off the minion immediately at hand and dives at the nearest back paw. The other one is raised to shake off the last of the ice, so there's a brief moment when all its weight is on the paw that's just had a chain wrapped around it. Dagur clicks the clasp home and dodges away before all those claws can lift and tear at him.

"Yes!" he exults, back on his own feet again. "More chains! More nets! Get me the muzzle!"

Enough Berserkers grab hold of the edges of the net to weigh its head down, and Dagur wraps the thick leather around its jaws. The muzzle doesn't quite fit right, he notices, frustrated, even as he waves at everyone to back away.

The Skrill looks at the chain around its ankle, tracks it to the gang of men, a dozen strong, holding the other end as if their lives depend on it. They do. Its eyes roll, trying to look at the muzzle. It looks at the men with nets and hooks ready. It looks up at the ice above its head, and all around.

Its head swivels around, and its jaws open as far as they can. Lightning crackles between them in the narrow gap.

"Hey, you can't do that!" Dagur shouts at it. "You need the sky!"

It seems the Skrill hasn't heard the same stories.

"Uh oh," he accidentally says out loud.

Everything after that happens in flashes. There's a lot of running for cover no matter how much Dagur screams at the cowards to hold their ground. There's enough shouting to deafen a man. Lightning strikes up towards the roof, and shards of ice pour down on them all. There's the tortured grinding sound of collapsing, shifting, lurching ice. The Skrill rears to its full height, shaking its head in an attempt to get the muzzle off, and roars, a strangled cry of balked rage.

"Come on, come on, come on," Dagur mutters, hoping no one can hear him. Probably not. They're all hiding. "Give it up, come to Dagur!"

Flashes of all sorts of colors are going off behind his eyes like he's been staring at the sun, echoes of the lightning cutting through the dimness of the ice cavern. The place has probably never been so bright. At first, Dagur thinks that the blasts of purplish fire are no different from the blue stars bouncing back from the floor, or the red flares burning through the air, or the jagged white afterimages crisscrossing the cave, or the smoky greenish clouds wafting around.

Dagur knows those lights aren't real, and he's mad enough to not care even if they are, so he gathers himself and raises his fists – he seems to have lost his crossbow – and glares through the light show. "Stop that!" he shouts at the beast. "You're mine! Just admit it already!"

But the handful of Berserkers trying to toss a hooked chain around one wing leap back and fall over their own feet as one of those purple blasts strikes against the ice before them. Another flies right past a man with a net, so close that his hair sizzles.

Blinding sparks run up and down the leg chain like a blazing river, and it clatters to the ice as the soldiers snatch their hands back and reel, struck numb and twitching ridiculously.

Another purple-bright fireball bursts against the Skrill's jaws, and the muzzle falls away, twisted and scorched.

Freed, the Skrill screams.

"What's wrong with you!" Dagur screams back at it. "Why aren't you doing what I want?"

Doesn't it understand how awesome it's going to be? But noooo… It's as useless as everyone else! He comes here to set it loose into glorious battle, and it's just frightened and desperate.

Maybe it's confused. "That's it! You're just not properly awake yet!"

It shrieks furiously.

Dagur gulps, ears ringing. "Or maybe you are."

And it wants out. Taking off into flight, it casts about, nosing towards one corner of the chamber only to pull away and make for another, twisting and turning and thrashing, making small aborted lunges and sudden retreats. The dangling leg chain rattles against the ice like dancing bones.

In an instant, it makes its choice and its escape, diving for the widest of the tunnels and disappearing.

That tunnel happens to go nowhere near the outside, Dagur knows. It's about the only thing he does know, for a moment. The world is still all flashes and echoes. Then he remembers the rest of it.

"No!" Dagur screams into the sudden silence at no one in particular. "No! It's mine! And you let it get away! All of you are useless! Get up! Move! I'm going after it! I want that dragon!"

Hiccup trembles with the ice as it howls and shudders all around. He crouches low to Toothless' shoulders and hides his face in the nape of his partner-beloved's neck, wanting to vanish into his skin so that they will be one dragon all mixed up together and safe.

His shaking is from fear as much as cold, as the deep ice shatters away like rain. Perhaps that is the way of things. The lightning has woken the rain. Perhaps the creaking and crying out of the shifting ice will be thunder roaring answer soon and they will be swallowed by a storm they cannot fly from.

Together Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss huddle with the small ones hiding beneath Toothless' body. The hatchlings are frightened again, remembering scared-lost-alone only now. Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss hissed and snarled at them no come-here no go you bad no careful danger no stay-back danger here! but still they scuttled away to put their paws over the ledge and stare at the strange doings of humans.

You here, said the little fire-spinning one with scales like grass in shadows, jaw gaping in a grin, and her body said not-afraid.

And then the shrieking pfikingr Alpha had climbed to hunt them, and still the little ones did not see or care to startle at it. They do not know biting arrows.

It was not a good thought to run alone and howl among the ice to make the pfikingr turn and look away. But Hiccup knows that if pfikingr see his Toothless-self, then they will chase, and the dragon-pair want only to escape from this ice place and fly back to the new nest.

And they will never again lead humans back to a nest where their family waits.

Even curled up and hidden against the heart-fire warmth of Toothless' scales, Hiccup bristles at the memory of being seen,of meaning to be seen. There was poison in the movements and signals of the pfikingr, a wanting-to-hurt, and a wrongness in his voice as he yowled in the meaningless way that pfikingr speak to dragons when they do not want to be understood, when they are not even trying.

But it was not as terrible as the wrongness of the Knotted Man who was, and the Knotted Man is not anymore, so instead the young dragon had hissed all the fear splashing inside him at the man and did not stay still to let him pounce.

No more ice falls striking from above, and the iceberg does not moan in the pain from its burns again, so carefully, Toothless rises to all his paws, and Hiccup sits up with him. They trill and whimper and croon soft sounds to each other, checking you safe yes hurt? hurt? good yes worry worry careful fear fear you here here here you me us good.

Hiccup twists to nose at one shoulder, flinching as he nudges a point that will be mottled and dark and painful beneath his scales soon. The movement leaps through both of them, and Toothless startles with him, whining hurt!

It does not disturb either of them that Toothless should whimper for Hiccup's pain. They are so attuned to each other that Toothless' shoulder hurts in sympathy, a fainter but really-true echo of the bruise blooming across his heart-beloved's paler skin.

The runaways tumble around Toothless' paws, chirruping excitement and look! and curious and amazement as they swat at the fallen-away pieces of ice and twist around their own tails to see the ways the ice has changed.

Toothless growls at them, frustrated. If they were themselves alone Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss would already be away, but the hatchlings will not follow!

They are too small still, Hiccup knows, nudging his nose against Toothless' scales and petting calm easy peace no-fight not-important us together yes good love-you with his paws. For Toothless, he manages a small and broken-stuttering purr. The hatchlings do not see signals that say together and follow and this-way; they do not listen. It is not in them yet to follow neatly.

Hiccup does not consciously recognize the miniscule signals that let dragons fly together as a swarming flock, dodging and diving and soaring around each other in a shifting cloud, as signals. He could not think how to say them. But his body knows how to speak. His instincts know how to listen. It is a thing of dragons, to know how to fly together.

The hatchlings would fly tumbling and veering and crashing, and they would think it a very great game, Hiccup knows. And it is a great game, but now is for running and hiding and escaping, and not for playing.

No, he says in touch, shifting his weight away from the exploring hatchlings when Toothless would have turned and snapped at them.

Toothless looks over his shoulder reproachfully. Silly! he protests, huffing. Danger here us go yes-urgent us go now us fly now frightened!

Hiccup closes his eyes at him in a slow, affectionate blink. Proud, he says, raising his shoulders and lifting his jaw. You love-you proud triumph brave good. He yowls a traps warning, and the exultant whistling cry that means free go fly-away free-to-fly, and mimics the sound of Toothless' blasting fire. Good good good, he praises Toothless for letting the lightning-fierce dragon loose, for burning away the things that bind noses and jaws so that dragons cannot bite or flame or spit or roar.

Somewhere inside him there is wailingand hiding and fearand shaking that rattles fangs and does not stop, like being too cold to know what warmth is, when the warmth of safe-warm heart-fires burns as if enemies had turned their fires against him. Somewhere inside there are memories inside of home-ice shattering and screaming, of the ground shaking beneath their paws, of everything that is safe and home and loved torn into and bleeding, violated and vulnerable.

He shoves these things away and buries them like mess and turns his tail to them, knowing that now is not good for being afraid.

Far away, echoing through the cracks and broken places, there is a cry thick with frustration, and all the hatchlings startle and leap and run back to Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss, chirping and pressing themselves against his sides, promising to stay close.

Hiccup checks for them all in a glance. There is the fire-skin hatchling who led them and is Ringleader, and the Grass Shadows fire-spinning one who is her friend. There is the rock-skin Loyal little dragon and the blue-spikes cousin he protects who Flutters and follows him. He can hold the idea of pair and pair in his jaws more easily than the many of them all.

To Toothless, he signals c'mon, and they slink out of their hiding place. They step carefully, looking for the way out into the sky again. Ice that was thin and waving as grass lies shattered on the ground like snow, and ice that was fangs is broken and only tree stumps now. It is not smooth and fragile and strange anymore. Now it is more like an island shore when storm waves have played with the boulders and tossed them around like toys until they break and be small sharp-biting stones.

Uncertain, Toothless whines, ear-flaps going back at the new shapes of the ice. Don't-like.

Together they leaped and padded and flew through many passages through the ice, searching and watchful always for the pfikingr that were in the ice too. And now all of the scents and shapes and the sounds of the shapes have changed as the ice shakes against the lightning in its heart.

A human would be afraid, lost in the near-darkness, surrounded by strange forms and unstable surfaces.

But Hiccup is a dragon, and he can do things that humans cannot.

One of these things is knowing where he is.

His mother taught him to draw long ago. Seeing the world from above, dragon that he is, it was an easy pounce to drawing the shapes of ways to go and places that are, and to holding those shapes inside his skull to remember. His caves and his sky, both equally his home, are places of ups and downs as much as turns and glides. When he made his wings and learned to fly on his own, he learned to remember where the currents in the air were – the updrafts, the thermals, the strong gusts, the doldrums and dead spots – even when he could not see them.

Inside the ice is no different from inside the sky that way. It has ups and downs and wanderings and veers and spirals and stops, and is of remembering and knowing as much sight.

This way, he gestures to Toothless, pointing to another tunnel. The low spaces and narrow passages of the hidden places of the wailing iceberg are making him nervous. As they retrace their pawsteps with the hatchlings scuttling at their tail, the distant crashes and screams and strikes of the trapped lightning-fierce dragon echo through the ice, and the iceberg roars and moans in protest and pain.

Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss have fled too many avalanches – blinding and devouring and destroying – to be comfortable with shifting ice, and here they cannot fly away quickly. There is nowhere to fly.

If the iceberg bites them, they will be trapped more tightly than in any human biting metal jaws.

So they coil around ice fangs and leap to the backs of stones and crawl low and creeping and slide carefully down slopes so that Toothless must turn and dig in his claws and climb down backwards and blind. He does not like to do so, but his Hiccup-self watches for him. Still, he bristles and shakes himself, snorting don't-like! as Hiccup purrs to him and the hatchlings tumble down chattering laughter-laughter-laughter fast fast fast falling!

Only Toothless' broad tail-fins stop Grass Shadows from skidding into the open space beyond. It is more than large enough to fly in, and a ledge on this side falls away into deep blue vanishing far below and rears up empty and gaping high above. But the air is still and slow, and there is no open sky to be found there. When they whistled at it in their searching, it answered empty. On the other side of the crevasse is a gap that leads into a wide tunnel.

There were human tracks in the wide tunnel before, but even humans would be better than being swallowed for always by ice.

Still, it is an open space, and when the little flock makes its way out onto the broad ledge looking out over it, Hiccup raises his jaw and closes his eyes, turning his face up to it as if it were the sun. The hood of his scale-skins falls back and away, letting the cold of the iceberg nip at his skin, and his shoulders heave in a chirruping sigh that says relief open nervous scared trapped no-trapped no-more enough nervous very-much-so. Beneath his paws, Toothless clicks and rumbles and croons careful together us together yes good protect careful careful nervous alert in reply.

There? Ringleader asks, whistling nervous and looking at the tunnel beyond the crevasse.

You fly, Hiccup gestures to her, imitating her flight with one paw even as Toothless spreads his wings in agreement.

An echoing scream howls through the chamber, and lightning blazes up from the crevasse, and the lightning-fierce dragon hurtles from the dark depths, twisting and roaring and thrashing.

From Toothless' shoulders, Hiccup freezes, watching it carefully, curious and wondering and wary, tense with uncertainty and with maybe-fear.

It is almost as dark as they are, but with more color to its scales and lighter on its belly. It does not have front paws, only wings, but many of their dragon-cousins are like that. It has spikes all around its head and lightning dances between them, and along the tips of its wings, and across its claws, and coiling around its tail. It hides beneath its own light.

Every dragon speaks with its own signals, but Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss do not need to know this one well to understand it.

It screams rage and frustration and trapped and hurting. It lashes out at the ice all around, and when shards of it burst and fall, the lightning-fierce one flinches away.

There is a deep fresh cut over one eye, Hiccup sees, and that eye is all but closed. But he cannot reach out to it and pet and soothe and command still! The lightning-fierce dragon is too angry at all things.

The hatchlings wail and shrink away, and the strange dragon whips around, its good eye fixed on the movement. It howls threat!

Defiance! Toothless roars back. His body fights to leap away, or to rear and spread his wings and claw at the air and scream challenge, but the little ones crowded around his belly hold him back. No! you no! I fight!

In the movements of his body and in fierce growls and chattering fangs, his signals say bad bad bad dislike danger threat wrong scared rival-threat challenge go-away go-away wrong bad bad chase me scared chase fight yes yes yes!

Hiccup trills confusion, beneath it all, not understanding, but flinching away from the threat of lightning they cannot fly away from. Lightning is a strange thing and he does not understand it. Lightning bites very quick and burns very fierce.

Threat! Toothless snarls. Wrong! His claws dig at the ice, tearing it up, and his fangs are bared and ready to snap. Fire burns in his throat, bright and constant.

Above, the lightning-fierce dragon hurls itself against the ice, but it cannot shoulder the ice aside. The nets across its head are torn away, but the chain still wrapped around its back paw rattles against the ice, catching in cracks and pulling the dragon from its flight. Howling frustration, it folds its wings and falls.

When it lands on their ledge, it uncoils from its crouch and hisses threat.

Hiccup whines, protesting, as Toothless drops a shoulder to signal down even as the black dragon braces ready to fight. But he trusts Toothless, and untangles himself from the flying-with, keeping close to Toothless' side and in his shadow.

You guard, Toothless says with only a glance, eyes flicking from Hiccup to the tangle of hatchlings all trying to hide behind each other.

He does not like it at all at all at all, but he understands. Toothless cannot fight something attacking them and protect the little ones, but they are two-who-are-one and Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss can do both.

You you you you come here you come NOW follow quick careful you here, Hiccup gestures to the hatchlings, creeping back towards the slope and the scattered, broken ice.

As the lightning fades and flickers out, the lightning-fierce dragon spreads its wings and stalks across the ledge, glaring at Toothless. It bares its teeth, all its signals saying aggression and enemy!

The two dragons snap and snarl at each other. The stranger lunges at Toothless, and the black dragon roars at it until it retreats. He spreads his wings to be bigger and his tail whips ready to strike. Protecting! he growls. Mine! Go-away! I protect! I fierce!

Among the ice, the hatchlings hide close against Hiccup's sides as he whines anxious at their fighting. Flutters nips at his paw, catching it in her jaws and tugging at it, when he ignores her pleading to be petted. But he snatches it away and digs his claws into the snow. No no, he thinks aloud, a lifelong habit. No no no no-fight danger here ice no-fight us go Toothless-beloved scared away us urgent-important fly-away!

They should not be fighting! They should be escaping!

The stranger tries to circle and prowl around, fangs bared and lightning snapping, but Toothless holds his ground between the terrifying trapped-and-raging lightning and the hatchlings and his heart-mine guarding them. He claws at the air between them and howls denial and fierce and mine even as his body tries to crouch fear.But neither dragon will back down, and Hiccup cannot bear it.

Enough! Hiccup roars, a sound to stop a game or turn aside a reaching paw or chase away a pestering flock-mate. To the wide-eyed hatchlings, silent with mingled terror and wonder, he snarls stay! fierce and sure enough that they go still all over as if stung unmoving. Leaping from his perch, Hiccup races to Toothless' side, half-running, half-stumbling, graceless but quick.

Toothless' jaws are open, showing fangs and fire, but Hiccup does not hesitate to shove his smaller shoulder against his partner's, nor to leap in front of those jaws and rear to his full height, raising his claws and meeting the stranger's golden eyes, one bright and one hurting, with his own. He knows as sure as falling, as sure as sunlight, as sure as air, that Toothless will not hurt him.

It is an unthinkable thing – not just a wrong thing, but a thing that cannot be thought. The thought is a shape that cannot be picked up and chewed into small pieces to taste and understand. Hiccup can no more put together the thought Toothless will hurt me than he can swallow the sea.

Enough, he says more quietly, lowering one paw to rest on Toothless' nose. Down.

Toothless cries no unsure fear you careful no here danger! low in his throat.

The lightning-fierce dragon recoils, just a step, pulling away as it tries to understand, and Hiccup looks away from it into green eyes filled with love love love fear-for-you.

Calm-quiet-reassurance, Hiccup answers, running the back of his paw up and down between Toothless' eyes in an affectionate caress. His soft cry, a cautious questioning sound, asks, Trust?

His Toothless-half shoves at him gently, crowding close. But he bows his head beneath his beloved-one's touch even as he looks past Hiccup, watching the lightning-fierce dragon. You yes always yes love-you trust-you fear-for-you danger careful love-you…

Setting his shoulders, Hiccup turns back to the lightning-fierce dragon where it crouches, coiling and snarling, ready to strike. Sparks burst against its scales in bright flashes, and it has many fangs all bared.

It stares at him, and there is hatred in its eyes.

Hiccup cannot understand that – he has done nothing to this dragon. Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss have only snarled at it a bit. They did not strike ice to make it tremble and fall and wound, or throw nets and chains.

And then he remembers the feeling of the hood of his scale-skins falling back from his face, and he remembers that he is standing as humans do even though he has his scales and his claws are sharp. He struggles to put those things together and understand how the strange dragon might see him.

At once he wants to slink away and hide and wail in darkness where no one can see him, to cover his face and his fur beneath the scales that he should have, look away and not see confusion-hatred-recognition-enemy-threat in dragon eyes.

But he cannot signal to a dragon he does not know with the hood hiding his eyes. When he tries to wear it and speak to even his flock-kin who know him well, they catch him and nudge him and tug at it with claws and jaws until they can see his face and his eyes again. Light On Water traps him with the many coils of her tail and licks at him, insisting on grooming fur and not scales. It is strange-different for dragons to have fur, but his family is used to him as he is. His signals are muted and muffled and confused when he is hidden away.

At his back he can sense Toothless rumbling in anger and protectiveness, and if he steps away then Toothless will leap at the stranger who was trapped in ice, and they will fight, and they should not. There is nothing here to fight over except escape, and they will not find the sky by fighting!

Toothless is very very very brave, but the lightning-fierce dragon is veryangry and veryfrightening, and Hiccup is afraid for him. And to protect Toothless from harm, Hiccup will do anything. He would die, if to die was a needful thing. Without Toothless, he could not be. He knows this for sure now.

He knows the taste of alone that is want-to-die.

And he knows what he is.

So he faces the lightning-fierce stranger with his face bare, and believes.

No-fight! Hiccup snarls, swiping at the stranger with his claws splayed out and then turning his shoulder to it, huffing as if it is very boring, to fight.

tt-th-ss, he rattles the sounds that mean the one he loves most in all the world, for all their life, this-one-here no-fight down no-threat back-away calm peace no-fight.

Every movement complaining reluctance, Toothless steps away just a little bit. He does not hide his fangs, but he shows them less, and his growls are unhappy and not as much raging.

Hiccup blinks gratitude love-you always always always at him.

But, you, Hiccup gestures, and pretends to be the lightning-fierce one, spreading his own wings and stalking and turning his head as it does, hissing and clicking in imitation of lightning. Enough! You threat curious wondering cautious? Us fight!

He meets its eyes, glaring challenge fierce strong not-afraid confident, and then looks away, don't-want and no-threat. But he watches it out of the corner of his eyes, not letting it disappear under his nose.

Us, he retreats to join Toothless, linking them with touch, us go flying go us out-away far no-threat!

They only want to leave.

Sparks crawl across the stranger-dragon's scales, and Hiccup sets himself between the lightning-fierce cousin and Toothless-heart-of-mine again. It rumbles and hisses and glares, rolling its one good eye to look at the little dragon all over.

Quietly, Toothless steps into his own pawprints, resting his nose between Hiccup's shoulders, nudging at the new fins to be more like Toothless-self.

Mine beloved mine, says Toothless, low and all but silent.

You, the lightning-fierce one growls at last, lowering its head to look at Hiccup at his own height, and roars danger-enemy-human!

Hiccup does not hesitate. Even as fangs flash in the light from new sparks, he pounces forward where it cannot see him, where it must trust his scent and his sounds and his touch. He sets his claws on the lightning-cousin's nose for only a blink, and roars denial, refusal, conviction. Dragon!

All his faith, and all his confidence, pour themselves into the sound like ice melt bursting its banks and washing all the debris of a long winter out to the sea and gone. He is half of Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss, and they face down Alphas and win! They are leaders themselves, not Alphas maybe, but beloved and trusted by the greatest of kings.

He will not be intimidated by one who knows him not at all.

At once it leaps away, and Hiccup lets it go, lifting his claws so that they do not tear into a nose as soft as Toothless'. The chain around its back paw jangles roughly as it alights on an outcropping of ice and half-hidden stone.

From there, it pants and ruffles its wings and crouches and stares at Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss as they twine together again and at the hatchlings peeking out with big eyes from behind their hiding place.

Toothless pushes his beloved-one over, making soft grunts and croons of relief and affection, and Hiccup pets at him before rolling to crouch on his haunches and whistle for attention.

That? he points, when Lightning-Fierce looks at him.

It shifts its leg, and the chain rattles.

Me, Hiccup offers, sidling out from Toothless' shadow again. He stretches out his clever paws to be seen, snapping at the twinge of fear-shame that tries to crawl from its cave and bite him. They are claws still. They are as they should be.

Slowly, pawstep by pawstep, Hiccup edges towards Lightning-Fierce, looking up with every movement and watching its jaws carefully for sparks and snarls. Lightning is faster than dragons, even Toothless-love.

But its sparks are fading and tired and go out before they have gone even a little way along its jaws.

At the base of the stone, he settles and waits. The ice is cold against his scales, but he will go no closer, without permission.

He waits long enough for Loyal to grow restless and rumble a question, quickly scolded to hush! by Toothless. But at once the quiet, desperate whimpers that Toothless is making – they tear at Hiccup deep inside, but he must try – start again, broken only for a moment.

Then he hears the sound of wide wings spreading, and Lightning-Fierce leaps from its stone and lands close beside him, shuffling nearer in wary movements.

Good good good you safe gratitude careful safe you good happy me, Hiccup trills, reaching out and tapping curiously at the chain. He is aware of the long claws only a breath from his throat and underbelly, and the burning-blazing scent of faded-away sparks. But he cannot watch the dragon and the trap.

Toothless will watch; they are two-who-are-one and have two sets of eyes.

It is not at all a tangled-up and small-pieces and sharp-edges trap. It is only a push-and-hook sort of clasp. Hiccup has a pair just like it, but smaller, that he has used in some of the flying-with harnesses he and Toothless-beloved have made, when there are binding straps on it.

As soon as the chain falls away, Lightning-Fierce tenses and leaps, beating its wings hard enough to scatter snow and tumble Hiccup into a drift of it. He pulls himself out of it sputtering but purring.

Toothless promptly knocks him back into it, unable to stop as his paws slide across the ice, bowling his beloved-companion over in delight.

By the time they have purred and chattered and trilled and petted and comforted each other, Lightning-Fierce has disappeared again into the tunnels of the iceberg.

And then, of course, all the hatchlings jump on Hiccup too.

He pushes them away chuckling in the manner of dragons, and leaps easily back to Toothless' shoulders. C'mon! he gestures to them, and Toothless points his nose to the tunnel beyond the crevasse again.

It is good to fly again even for not much more than a leap, and Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss could fly even in the tunnel if they were alone, but the hatchlings swarm about them like happy bees, shrieking and chittering and whistling fast fast fast us go yes excited flying hurry-hurry excited can't-catch-us fast happy like us like flying together! So Toothless runs, turning and climbing as Hiccup guides him with touches against his sides and his shoulders.

Now they do not need to crawl careful with bellies low and heads down and shoulders drawn in tight through small spaces, and soon Toothless raises his nose and chirrups sky!

He can smell open air.

But even as he does, he rumbles uneasy, and he growls low in his chest, and his paws slow from their racing towards the brightness close now.

Hiccup's nose does not hunt scents as well, but the smallest breath of distant wind ventures down into the ice, and he too smells fire.

Toothless' growls become a snarl as they come at last into a wide-open cave, the throat of the tunnel becoming a gaping mouth that had fangs once – they are shattered and broken now with shivering – and the open sky beyond. Outside there are flat places and paths to follow and spires to perch on, and the sides of the iceberg falling away into the sea.

But beyond the mouth of the cave there are the human ships they saw before, and waiting within the cave there are pfikingr.

They hold sharp things ready to strike with, tall branches with wicked curved claws at their tips, and long-claw blades, and broad chopping blades, and heavy-striking things, and biting arrows. They have nets all of metal, and they have chains. Tame fires burn at their feet and all around as they wait in ambush, and their signals say ready and angry and watchful and most of all scared.

Before them their Alpha paces, yowling at his followers and clawing at himself and shouting even at the ice above him and his own paws. The movements of his body scream furious and the chopping blade in his paw claws want-to-hurt!

He shouts at the humans, and not yet at the small dragon-flock hesitating at the back of the cave.

But his pfikingr see and they stare, and their signals say afraid even more so, and the Shouting Man turns to see what has frightened them.

Hiccup recognizes his reaction as The Thing That Humans Do. The Thing That Humans Do is to see Toothless-beloved-one, and to stare with hunger-to-have as if Toothless were a most delicious fish or the best of all toys. It is for human paws to reach forward to snatch, and at the same time for human bodies to pull away frightened and cowering. It is for eyes to go very wide, and for jaws to drop as if to gulp and swallow.

The Thing That Humans Do unsettles him; it is a backing-away careful thing and a threatening thing mixed all together and strange. Toothless-heart is not to snatch at and not to eat!

The voice of the Shouting Man whines in surprise and amazement and with wanting as he shouts many pfikingr sounds that Hiccup does not understand, but in among them the Shouting Man makes the noise that Hiccup has begun to distinguish as the human sound for Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss.

Hiccup thinks it quite right that humans should use the sound fuh-ree for them. He knows that sound because Uh strrrrTT made it for him, on a best-of-all day when a very good trick worked very well, and of course they are fuh-ree. But it annoys him that humans should follow that sound with trying to trap them in nets.

Humans make no sense.

Dragons would never confuse the sound that means free with an attack to catch.

Still, he flinches away, reluctant still to have human eyes on them. His instincts are to hide, to not be seen, to turn and to run.

But the sky is just beyond.

But the humans have tangle-nets, and the hatchlings swarming about, whimpering uncertain and fear and then snarling small threats, are too small to fight.

Toothless rumbles a question, sensing his partner's anxiety and sharing it. His shoulders draw in tight and his wings spread, ready to leap, ready to flee, and his tail lashes. His claws tear at the trodden-down snow beneath them as the eyes of the Shouting Man flick over them, from Toothless crouched tense and defensive, to the hatchlings wavering in the air. Ringleader wraps herself around a fang of ice and clings to it, digging in her claws even as it shudders, even as all the ice shudders.

But the eyes of the Shouting Man do not fix on the young dragon crouched low to Toothless' shoulders. With a very great effort, as he scrabbles at the high sheer walls of panic-fear to climb to a place where there is open air and thinking, Hiccup understands that the pfikingr does not see him. His scales are as dark as Toothless' – they were Toothless' scales once, until Toothless shed them and did not need them anymore – and his fins are the same, and in the glancing light of sky beyond and flickering fires, the pfikingr sees them as the single self they know they are.

The thought burns through his own small heart-fires, and he warms himself against it even as the Shouting Man turns a bit to scream at his pfikingr followers, lifting his chopping blade and gesturing in ways that might mean follow to them. But the pfikingr pull away and their paws shake and their staring is want-to-run and not want-to-fight.

This makes the Shouting Man very angry.

No, Hiccup growls, curling his claws across Toothless' shoulders, and through touch he says to his other half determination, that they will not turn and run, they will not be afraid. They will not brush so close to escape, and then veer away as if from waving wings that startle.

When they were smaller, Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss would have fled whimpering and howling from human eyes always. They have learned more of humans since then.

Inside they still wear bright scars from the Knotted Man, who tore them apart and shattered them and broke them until they were small and hurting and cast aside. But this Shouting Man is not so terrible, and they do not have to be afraid.

Together they choose daring, and brave.

All this they say to each other and understand even as the Shouting Man turns away from his humans with annoyed-angry-frustrated-giving-up for them and ready-to-fight for Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss.

So they can stand unflinching, together. They can stare down the pfikingr who stand in their way, and they can prepare to leap and pounce if the Shouting Man does not stand aside.

They will not be trapped here, Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss choose, and they will not cower and slink away.

Instead Toothless shows his fangs and roars go-away us fierce danger us fight threat go-away you here not-afraid! as Hiccup screams their triumph of fearless together flying yes free-to-fly free yes us protect,and behind and all around them the hatchlings puff out their chests and spit small fires and make small roars of their own.

And far away and deep below there is another sound, but louder and louder beneath the sound of their challenge.

The Shouting Man screams back at them, but Hiccup is not listening. He can understand humans sometimes if he tries very hard and if they try too, but he does not care to do so now.

When he glances back into the tunnel at their tail, there are flashes of light within, and there is a terrible screeeeeeeeeeeeeeee sound like metal scraping against ice.

Down! Hiccup signals, pouncing at Toothless' shoulders to push him and shrieking danger-alert-scatter-NOW! to the hatchlings. He sees them dive away in all directions even as Toothless hits the ground unquestioningly, without hesitation, without doubt.

The passage explodes into brightness and the singing-inside-skulls feeling of lightning striking too close, and the deafening furious scream of Lightning-Fierce who has followed in their pawsteps soft and quiet and clever, tracking the strange-but-sure little dragon that had promised that he and his flock meant to escape from the ice and fly away.

It wants only to escape, too.

Its wingtips tear against the sides of the tunnel and sparks fly from them as if lightning could be pulled from ice, and it hovers for only a moment over the dragon-pair flattened as small and not-in-the-way as possible against the ground.

Then it sees the humans gathered together ready to strike, guarding the way out.

Lightning-Fierce screams joy and rage and excitement and free even as the Shouting Man screams back at it, and fresh lightning roars from its jaws, lashing out at the Shouting Man and his chopping blade. It blasts at the pfikingr with their nets, and lunges into the pack of them. Its wings knock away the claws of the long branches, and its lightning strikes away sharp splinters of ice that burst from the walls of the cave.

Lightning-Fierce fights wild and uncontrollable and snarling, and its cries are thick with joy-at-fighting as much as anger or wanting-to-fly.

It is very bright, and even to Hiccup and Toothless, who like to fly in storms, it is too loud and too fierce to face. They turn their eyes away and watch only in glances as Lightning-Fierce takes their fight from them.

Very small so only Toothless knows, Hiccup shrugs in the way of dragons. It was not a thing he would wail and hiss and snarl to keep, that fight. The dragon-cousin can have it, if the fight is a joyful thing for it to have.

Toothless' sides heave in a hough that is laughing a bit.

Lightning-Fierce swats the last of the humans aside, and races for the mouth of the cave, and in an instant it is out and away.

Sitting up, Hiccup whistles sharply, calling the hatchlings to follow. The small ones race to their side crying distress and fear, and Toothless yips hurry!

Toothless does not leap into the air, knowing instinctively that the beating of his wings will knock the smaller dragons about if they try to fly too. Instead he runs, picking his way among stunned and whimpering humans and their sharp things fallen all around.

The Shouting Man sits up enough to stare at him still and to reach out a snatching paw.

Toothless snaps at the paw, and in the same movement Hiccup spins and lashes out, drawing his own small sharp-claw blade.

The Shouting Man draws his paw back untouched with a shrieking yelp, all his body startling so that all of him pulls away from the black dragon. His eyes track the flashing of the blade, and the paw wrapped around it.

Now he sees that Toothless is not alone, and his signals twitch with shock that becomes rage-confusion as he blinks and shakes his head and stares. Hiccup meets his eyes for only a moment, meeting that rage with defiance and baring his own fangs – they are not afraid of pfikingr always!

They are braver and stronger and smarter than that!

But the Shouting Man is reeling stunned still, and humans do not taste good to bite. So when Toothless tenses to strike, Hiccup signals no and not-interested and not-important. He turns his shoulder to the Shouting Man and sheathes his sharp-claw blade again as Toothless thinks and moves and decides no-fight with him.

And instead Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss race onward towards the sunlight and the sky.

The humans are forgotten as soon as the hatchlings take off into the open air, free of the iceberg at last, and Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss follow them, all of them flying up and up and up in a rejoicing, excited spiral.

It is best of all to have sky all around again. Hiccup yowls happy relief happy you me we us together safe happy love-you love-you brave yes us good fierce sky here now sky sky sky us flying up up up! and Toothless purrs love-you always relief flying relief love love love back to him.

There are heavy clouds in the distance, and Hiccup can see a shadow in the sky fleeing to them, disappearing quick and silent. But Grass Shadows tumbles over and over in eager flips and rolls almost close enough to touch, trilling her delight at being out in the air again, and Ringleader pounces at his shoulders, wrapping her long body and her sharp claws around him and nuzzling at his face before taking off again.

When Flutters lands on his back between his wings, Toothless does not shrug her off, and she sidles forwards to nudge her heavy nose against Hiccup's back, trilling. He twists to pet her and she sighs relief. Her Loyal rock-skin friend struggles to match their spiraling flight, and Toothless levels out and lets him catch up.

There is no need to cry let's-go! and at once Toothless veers away from the sharp peak of the iceberg, hunting for a good wind that will blow them far away and back to safer places.

They do not fly all the way home to the island of the gorges in a single soaring flight. The runaway hatchlings have flown very far already, and their wings are tired, and now that there is no more excitement and running, fear catches up to them and pounces on them and shakes them in its jaws. So for a time their little flock sets down on a very small iceberg, too small for caves.

The little ones would sleep, but whenever they curl up together and rest, the ice melts beneath them and they wake up splashing and surprised and upset. Instead they whistle and click and paw at each other, mimicking the sounds and the gestures of Lightning-Fierce and pretending to battle many humans, chirping with wonder and bristling still a bit in fear. They toy with it to make it a familiar thing, turning it over and over like a crab to learn the shape of it, and how it will bite and snap, and how it will scuttle away, and how it will only thrash helpless and harmless and with its soft underbelly turned up and easy to bite into.

Loyal sets his paws into the ground and snarls, pretending to be Toothless as Grass Shadows hovers above him, spitting small flashes of fire like sparks, and little Flutters stalks between them, scolding, to drive her away.

Hiccup watches Ringleader, keeping all his amused signals muted – he has no wish to mock her – as she lowers her head to lap up the cold water that was her napping place and turns her tail to the story, her shoulders tight with embarrassment and her tail-tip twitching in irritation. He knows that she is the leader of her friends – it is in all her movements and the way they look at her – and that flying away was her idea even if being lost was not.

She is not quite sorry, still, only a little subdued. And he cannot bring himself to scold her for running away and getting into trouble, although it is a good joke, to give advice he would not himself follow.

At his side, Toothless grumbles and paws at one ear-flap. His tail lashes with annoyance, and his wings rustle as he folds and spreads and folds them, fidgeting.

Beloved-mine upset you why what why worried unhappy why you-dearest why? Hiccup chirrups to him, turning to nuzzle under his jaw, rolling onto his back beneath the dragon's throat; it is an easier thing, now, with the new fins against his spine. Toothless shifts, curling his forepaws before him and cradling his other self's smaller form. He knows ice is too cold for Hiccup because his heart-fires inside do not blaze as bright.

To be able to breathe those fires is an old dream, set aside reluctantly and chewed on sometimes hopefully as if it were a dry bone that might have some sweetness somewhere within. But neither of them doubt that those fires are there.

Toothless bares his fangs – Hiccup can feel the snap! of his fangs springing out, clicking through the bone of his jaw and his own skull – and growls want-to-fight sullen storm-air-warning that-there don't-like ready-to-fight snarling fierce yes me fight!

They have not seen Lightning-Fierce since they flew away from the iceberg, but Toothless still wants to snap and snarl and leap at it. He complains wrong smell wrong don't-like stranger-intruder irritation wrong don't-like, and he hunches his shoulders and sulks.

He does not have spines that spring out and push others away, or fins that ruffle and flare, or feathers to puff out like a swatted-at bird, but although his scales are smooth always it is like that, in his body.

Hiccup catches at one ear-flap and tugs at it, careful of his claws, until Toothless must turn and look at him where he sprawls in the black dragon's paws. You good fierce yes brave fierce you, he reassures Toothless. You safe happy happy love-you good-good-good dearest-one beloved-mine safe together no-fight not-important. He flicks out one paw as if knocking aside something small and meaningless and forgotten as soon as it is not seen, dismissing it.

He is happier for Toothless not to fight when there is no need, even if Toothless had wanted to fight it very much.

Gratitude, he purrs.

Toothless looks at him baffled and whistles why?

You, Hiccup gestures, nudging his skull against Toothless' nose. Trust, he says, lifting his jaw and baring his throat.

His other half puzzles over this for a moment, and remembers. Silly, Toothless snorts fondly, and licks at him until Hiccup yelps and squeaks and tries to struggle away, laughing. And even as Toothless chuckles at him mockingly, the black dragon thrums a together-calm-happy-safe sound that is for times when they are curled up in their own nest drifting off to sleep, and means always always always.

At the foot of the cliff, far below, the sea flashes and laughs. Small bright glints spark from the distant waves and the flaming of the sun as it retreats from the stars sneaking out to chase it away. Behind the dragon-pair, there are the sounds of all the dragons that should be here, crying out to each other as they fly and hunt and play and argue and sulk and complain and quarrel and make the island of the gorges their own.

The wind gathers itself, and spins around, and a breath of it roars down into the gorge to smash itself to pieces far away at the end of the canyon. Another gust of the sea wind coils around him, and Hiccup turns to meet it, breathing in the scent of the open sky and its promise of flight, of islands they have not flown to yet, of dragons, of fires, of the wild living ocean.

There is some light left, and the updrafts at the end of the canyon still roar their challenge to the little dragon perched on the edge of the cliff, wings spread and stretching away the bruising ache of falling ice, ready to leap. Beside him, Toothless howls a warning to it, teasing more than snarling, calling here-we-are and ready!

One more try, learning the new fins that are better although the two of them were the same already, and then Tt-(click)-th-phuh-ss will join their flock-mates in their new nests and curl up warm and together to sleep.

Or perhaps they will fly to chase down and catch the stars while others sleep, alone-together in the sky and wild and fuh-ree that even humans know they are.

Hiccup laughs in the way of dragons, and leaps with Toothless beside him, and they fly tumbling and spinning, weightless and fearless.

And on the wind, in the distance, there is the smell of storms…

-end-

thanks for reading – Le'letha