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❛ ғɪʀᴇ & ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ
ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ꒱


❝ LOOKS LIKE YOU'RE
SLAUGHTERING HIM,
THOUGH. NICE WORK ❞

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In her dream, Daenerys was flying. This, in itself, was not so strange; Dany dreamt that she was flying almost every night since she could remember. It was no wonder, since she spent as many of her waking hours in the clouds as possible. Naturally she would dream about it, too. But, as of late, her dreams lacked the peaceful serenity they usually held. Ever since Viggo had stolen the Dragon Eye from them, her sleep had been disrupted by what could only be called nightmares.

Each one started as her dreams often did, with her soaring through the sky on Drogon's back. As she became aware of the scene around her, things became worse— much worse. The screams of dying men. The smell of burning flesh. And the fires.

Oh, the fires. They ravaged through cities like beings brought to life with a thirst for blood. At first, she'd been terrified that it was Berk that was burning, but after peering through the smoke, she was eventually able to determine that the cities were unfamiliar to her, which brought her some sense of comfort.

But that comfort was fleeting.

In her dream, the sky darkened, not with storm clouds, but with ash. The wind that whipped through her silvery hair was not fresh and wild as she was used to— it was dry, hot, and carried with it the stench of death. Drogon beneath her was not the familiar, loyal dragon she had known all her life. He was. . . different. Larger. Meaner. Wreathed in fire and rage. His eyes glowed like molten gold, unrecognizable.

Below them, a city crumbled beneath his flames.

Dany tried to pull up and guide him away from the city, to stop him, her heart in her throat as her only thought was: Hiccup would never forgive her for this. But, while she was riding Drogon, she wasn't the one controlling him. Or rather, she was both herself and some other version of herself, someone who wanted the destruction. She'd seen such destruction before— she'd been the cause of it— and she'd thought she'd wanted it, but that fury and this fury were almost two completely different emotions. What she could feel now was burning in her chest: the justification, the rage, the belief that this fire was righteous. That the people below deserved it.

And yes, she had thought that about the dragon hunters, but this was more than that. This was an attack on not only enemy soldiers, but civilians— women, children, the elderly— who had no hope of escaping such an onslaught. It wasn't justice— it was murder.

What was worse still was that her dream-self didn't seem to care. In fact, she rejoiced in it.

The heat of the flames didn't just kiss her skin— it fed her. The roaring of collapsing buildings was like a lullaby. Her dream-self's mouth curved into a smile— not the gentle, relieved smile she gave after a successful flight with her friends, but something far colder. Harsher. Triumphant.

It terrified her.

She wanted to scream, to cry out, to hurl herself off Drogon's back— anything to stop what was happening. But she couldn't move. Couldn't speak. All she could do was watch from behind her own eyes, trapped as this other version of herself—this stranger— rained death upon a city she didn't know.

The screams grew louder. Louder. Louder still, until they weren't distant anymore. They were right beside her, in her ears, as if the people dying below were whispering their final breaths directly into her soul.

And still, Drogon flew, wings stretched wide as he dove once more into the heart of the inferno. His shadow passed over a mother clutching her child— both of them ash before they could cry out.

Dany sobbed.

Except— no sound came out. Not from her, at least. Instead, a voice— one that sounded like hers, but couldn't possibly be; it was too. . . unfeeling, unrepentant, confident— called out above the roar in a foreign tongue, using a word that Dany had never heard but instantly knew the meaning of: "Dracarys!"

Daenerys jerked awake, a frightened gasp escaping her lips. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, her skin damp with sweat despite the faint chill in the air. Something rough and uneven poked uncomfortably against her leathers and her spine felt stiff from its unusually curved position. She winced as she straightened, rubbing her eyes to try and clear the remnants of her nightmare from her vision.

A faint clatter distracted her. Surprised, she glanced down to find bits of sawdust and small, splintered pieces of wood sticking to her clothes, the largest ones having already fallen off as she shifted. As her eyes came into focus, they landed on her cluttered work bench. That's right, she recalled blearily, she'd been up late working on her latest project in the hopes of finishing it by. . . well, today. She must've fallen asleep after too many late nights of avoiding the very thing that had ended up plaguing her anyway.

Small figurines held their ground bravely amongst the piles of wood shavings. There was no rhyme or reason as to where they stood, except for that was the last place Dany had put them after she'd completed each one. Her tools lay scattered over the bench. A large, square plank of wood decorated with rows that marched ten by ten leaned against the wall directly in front of her.

Dany yawned, her pounding pulse slowing down incrementally as the seconds ticked by. She felt better now, surrounded by the bright sunlight and the recognizable setting. She could hear Drogon outside, his great huffs of breath rattling the shutters on her windows. The thought made her smile; he'd been around a lot more ever since Viggo had proven just how wily he was— and subsequently since her nightmares had started— and his presence made her feel safe and protected.

Pushing away from her desk, she stretched as many of her limbs as possible, each creaking from the awkward position she'd fallen asleep in. Although the very first thing she wanted to do was take comfort in the people and creatures she cared about, she forced herself to complete her morning routine— otherwise, she would never go back and do it. As soon as it was done, though, she rushed out the door and threw her arms around Drogon's thick neck.

Granted, she couldn't even encircle him halfway, but the feeling of her face pressed against his warm, solid scales was what she really needed. Here, in the present time, he wasn't so full of wrath and anger as he had been in her dream. He had some of it, yes, but that was mostly because of their bond— they were so close it was easy for him to pick up on what his mother was feeling. Mostly, he was steadfast and calm (save for the rare but natural dragon-grudge), perhaps more mature for his age than the average dragon.

Drogon woke at the feeling of his mother's touch. He huffed out a warm breath of greeting, though since Dany was on his side rather than in front, it didn't ruffle her hair like it usually did. He could sense her disturbed emotion, both through empathy and smell— the sourness of her fear and the lingering tension in her muscles told him all he needed to know.

The large dragon let out a low, rumbling croon and shifted slightly, angling his body to lean against her just enough to give the impression of a hug without knocking her over.

Dany didn't lift her face from his scales. When she spoke, her muffled voice was small, but Drogon's sensitive hearing picked up her frightened words easily: "that wasn't me. That's not who I am. I'm not like that, I swear. I won't ever be like that. . ."

It was not the first time Drogon had heard her mutter such things. While he was not privy to what she saw when she was asleep, he could guess. Dragons were ancient creatures. They were made to live long lives; centuries, millennia if they were lucky. As such, their minds had evolved to withstand all that they would experience during that time. But humans, who were so puny and fragile, did not have such measures built into them. After all his mother had seen and done, especially in the three years it had been just the two of them, it was only natural for her memories to become distorted and haunting. He wished there was more he could do for her— even take the burden of her nightmares himself— but in a world made for science, there was no such magic. So, he contented himself with being there when she needed him (and that was one reason why he decided to stick around more.)

Dany only pulled away from her dragon's side when she felt strong enough to stand on her own again. When she did, she met his familiar flame-orange eyes and immediately saw the kindness in them. She recalled dream-Drogon's eyes and how foreign they had been, and she shuddered. If her actions ever made her Drogon look like that. . . she would never forgive herself.

The person she wanted next was, of course, Hiccup. Even with all the tension between them, all she wanted to do was go to him so he could reassure her that she was not the person she was afraid of becoming. She'd thought she could handle these nightmares on her own— that, by some stroke of luck, they'd go away— but that was turning out not to be the case. It had been months of little sleep and disturbed visions and she was starting to see that she couldn't carry this alone. She genuinely believed that a conversation and hug from her best friend would solve all of her problems.

She straightened fully and gave Drogon one final, lingering stroke along his snout. His warmth remained on her skin, grounding her in the moment. He snorted softly, a gentle nudge to her shoulder as if to say, go on. I'll be here when you come back.

"I know," she whispered, barely audible. "You always are."

🏹🏹🏹

The sun was already high in the sky when Dany reached the clubhouse so she doubted she'd find any of her friends there. Still, she tentatively called out Hiccup's name, but predictably there was no response. It was only once she had gone to the forge, his hut, and the stables and still didn't see him that she began to worry slightly. Figuring he might've gone to the arena to train with Astrid (which, while unlikely, was not unheard of), she reluctantly made her way there, dreading the thought of seeing the other woman— but not for the reason you may think; Astrid was sure to chew her out for getting up so late and neglecting her duties.

Sure enough, the Hofferson was there, swinging her axe at the targets she had set up. Dany grimaced, able to tell by the force of her throws that something had happened that pissed her off already. Trying not to disturb her, Daenerys stayed to the outside of the ring and called out Hiccup's name again. That didn't keep Astrid from hearing her and the thud of the axe halted. The Targaryen braced herself for the scolding that was coming.

Sure enough, Astrid looked peeved when she marched over to stand in front of Dany. But, surprisingly, her voice held more of a teasing edge than a chiding one when she spoke: "you're up late. Did you get to sleep in?"

Sheepishly, Dany avoided her gaze and nodded. "Sorry, I—"

"Good," the blonde interjected, further surprising her— and she was startled at the gentleness that was in Astrid's voice as well. "You needed it. You haven't been sleeping well lately, have you?"

Daenerys stared at her, stunned that Astrid would be able to pick up on something like that, especially at a time when they weren't the best of friends. "You're not. . . mad at me?"

"Dany, you pull your weight," the Hofferson countered. "I'm on Snotlout and the twins all the time because they don't. Everyone who works hard deserves a break now and then. I'm not saying make it a habit, but no, I'm not mad about you sleeping in one time."

"Oh," she breathed out, relieved.

"Did I hear that you were looking for Hiccup?" Astrid continued.

"Yeah, have you seen him?"

Astrid's expression— which had grown happier as they talked— returned to its annoyed scowl. "Yes," she grumbled. "I saw him early this morning. He was trying to sneak out to do recon by himself again like an idiot. I tried to stop him so I could at least go with him, but he slipped past me as soon as my back was turned. And what's more is that Toothless isn't wearing his Gronckle Iron armor— I saw it by the stable entrance when I came back out."

Instinctively, Dany's eyes flicked up to the sky, though she knew it was pointless; they hadn't heard the telltale whistle of rising air pressure that came from a Night Fury's wings— there was no way she could see them without hearing that first. "But it's almost noon— that means he's been gone for half a day! Shouldn't we go out and look for him? Especially since Toothless isn't as protected as he should be. . ."

"Hiccup's tough," Astrid reminded her. "He can handle himself. If it makes you feel any better, I've already done a few patrols around the island and everything's quiet. If he's not back by tonight, we'll go out and look for him. Sound good?"

Reluctantly, Dany agreed. The two women stood in an awkward silence for a minute before Astrid cleared her throat, hefted her axe over her shoulder, and gave Dany an uneasy jerk of her head as she turned back to her original task. Taking that as her cue to leave, the Targaryen hurried out of the training arena, her mind already five steps ahead.

Since Astrid hadn't given her a specific job to do, she decided to make the most of her unusual free time. She returned to her hut and slipped the square game board into a satchel, engraved tiles and located all the small figurines that were hiding amongst the sawdust piles on her desk. Leaving her house again, she offered Drogon a scratch on the snout. "Come on, bud. Let's go see Fishlegs and Meatlug."

The large dragon rose to his feet and, in a very cat-like manner, gave a big stretch, first rocking to his back legs, then leaning forward on his front. Once he was comfortable, his flame-orange eyes met hers with an anticipatory look of, 'well, what are you waiting for?' She rolled her eyes before making her way down towards the cliff's edge where her friend's hut was.

When they arrived, they found both dragon and rider outside in the rock garden Fishlegs had built. It was a peaceful place, with orderly rows of large rocks overlooking the sea. The man himself was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed and eyes closed, seemingly just enjoying the light breeze. Meatlug was beside him and had her eyes open, her tongue lolling out as she eyed the surrounding rocks hopefully.

Dany winced as the smaller pebbles bit into her bare feet, rocks being one of the surfaces she always had difficulty walking on. "Hey, Fishlegs, got a minute?" she inquired, excitement coloring her tone. "I've got—"

"Dany, hi!" Fishlegs greeted her, opening his eyes. He waved his hand in a 'quiet down' motion, his own voice low. "I'm, um, in the middle of meditating—"

"Oh! Sorry!" the blonde interrupted, her eyes widening guiltily. "I didn't realize. I'll just, uh—"

"You can sit with me, if you'd like," he invited her, patting the open spot next to him.

"I'm not, um, very good at sitting still," she told him apologetically.

That didn't deter him and he gestured to the ground again. "That's okay; you don't have to be good at that; it's mostly just about being calm."

She didn't look much reassured. "I. . . don't think I'm very good at that, either."

"Sure you are," Fishlegs encouraged her. "You're way better than Snotlout and the twins. I mean, you haven't even made fun of me for meditating, which would've been the first thing out of their mouths after destroying my rock garden. I'm only doing it for a bit longer if you want to give it a try."

Dany gave in and sat down hesitantly next to him, copying his position. But, while her friend closed his eyes and returned to whatever serene place he had been in, the only thing she could think about was how much she suddenly didn't want to sit still. She became acutely conscious of things she normally wouldn't have paid attention to, like the rocks pressing against her legs, the feeling of imaginary ants crawling on her skin, the tickle of the small weeds that grew between the rocks on her exposed skin. Even the breeze distracted her as she became aware of the flyaway hairs that had escaped her braids.

She shifted as subtly as she could, not wanting to disturb Fishlegs' peace. Her eyes flicked up to the sky to routinely check the position of the sun as it felt like the minutes were slowing to a snails' pace around her. The dark shape of a bird circled overhead. Meatlug panted on Fishlegs' other side. Drogon let out a huff and adjusted his weight behind her, just as restless as she was.

Daenerys worried about Hiccup and whether Fishlegs would like the surprise she'd brought. She thought about her friendship with Astrid and her hatred of Heather. She wondered if, when she and Astrid did finally make up, she'd be able to balance hanging out with all of her friends equally because she was afraid she'd leave Ruffnut behind, forsaking all of the kindness the older twin had shown her during this difficult time in the face of being able to bond with Astrid again. She worried about Hiccup some more and about what Viggo was doing and how they could save all the dragons that were in his custody.

Fishlegs cracked one eye open. "You know, I can hear you thinking from here."

The blonde gave him a embarrassed smile. "Sorry. I told you I wouldn't be any good at this."

He brushed away her apology with a wave of his hand. "You don't have to apologize. There's no wrong way to meditate. If using it as a time to sort out your thoughts works for you, then that's the right way. For me, it's mostly about finding some quiet time in the face of all. . . that." He gestured back towards camp where the terror trio no doubt were. "That's also the right way. Anyway, I'm done for today. What's up?"

For a wild moment, Dany considered telling Fishlegs her stressful dreams, but in another split-second, decided against it. While she was certain he'd give her sound advice, she was trying to look less crazy, not more. Besides, Hiccup already knew about her regular fears and she definitely didn't want to have more conversations than necessary about them. So, instead, she shifted her satchel so that it sat on her lap. The spark of excitement entered her eyes again and she prompted him, "remember a few months ago when Viggo first challenged Hiccup to Maces and Talons, and when I said that I've never played, you asked me what I did instead?" At his nod, she continued, "and how you wanted me to teach you Cyvasse? Well, here it is!"

She proffered the bag to him. He leaned over and his eyes widened with anticipation at the sight that greeted him. He reached a hand over the opening, then paused as he respectfully inquired, "can I?"

At her confirmation, he dipped his hand inside and pulled out a few of the hand-carved figurines. Watching him examine them curiously, she explained, "I know you probably wanted to see my family's game board, but it's too ancient to be travel-ready and I didn't know when we'd be going back to Berk, so I made the whole set myself. I had to send Terror Mail to my parents to remember all of the pieces and rules as it's been awhile since we've played, but I thought I could start teaching you now so whenever we do go home, you'll be able to play!"

Fishlegs was still speechless, busy admiring the craftsmanship of the palm-sized creatures. Some of them he'd never seen in real life but had heard about through books and Trader Johann, like the animal with the long, snake-like snout and large ears. He wasn't sure what they were called exactly. . . olliphino? Elumpfent? But there were a few he did recognize, like the dragon and the spearmen.

Dany watched him anxiously, her enthusiasm turning sour the longer he didn't say anything. Maybe it was stupid, she thought, disappointed. Maybe I took his tone too seriously and he was actually being sarcastic, like when Snotlout says he believes the twins' tales and then laughs in their faces when they're convinced he does. Haltingly, she wondered, "so. . . do you like it?"

Fishlegs blinked, noticing just how quiet he'd been. His gaze snapped up to meet Dany's apprehensive one and he gasped, clutching the dragon piece tighter.

"Like it? Dany, are you kidding?" he exclaimed, sitting up straighter and setting the rest of the figurines down carefully beside him. "I love it!" Her face lit up at once, a grin tugging at her lips as he held up one of the spearmen for further inspection. "These are incredible! I mean, look at the details on this guy— he's even got armor! And this one?" He held up the long-snouted one again. "I don't remember what this one is called, but it's so cool! I can't believe you carved all of these by hand! When did you find the time?"

"That's for me to know and you to just enjoy," she answered, hoping to deflect away from her sleeping troubles. Luckily, it worked as Fishlegs was too caught up in the novelty of her surprise. "And they're called elephants," she added, pointing to the animal in his hand. She then indicated the other four-legged creatures in the set. "And those are horses."

"That's right," he concurred. He gave her a playful, reproachful look. "I know what horses are, Dany." She giggled at his faux-offence. He continued to stare at the pieces in awe. "I can't believe you remembered I said I wanted to play! That was months ago! This is amazing. And then you took the time to make all this just so we could? That's. . . well, it's just really cool of you."

She blushed and looked down at her hands, which were resting in her lap. He carried on, his tone turning thoughtful as he recalled what he knew about elephants. "Elephants live in hotter climates, right? Down towards the south? Dany, do you know where your great-great-et cetera grandma is from where having elephants on a board game would be commonplace?"

The Targaryen frowned contemplatively as she mulled over what she knew about her ancestors. "Well, I don't know the name of the place, exactly. It's been so many generations that I think the name of her homeland has been lost to time. But I know it was across the sea— many seas, I think."

"Oh," Fishlegs replied disappointedly, ever the scholar. "You don't think your parents would know more?"

Dany shook her head. "If anyone were to know it would have been my immediate grandmother, but she died in a fire when I was a child."

Since there was no more to be learned from that particular conversation (at least, for now), Fishlegs turned back to the game board eagerly. "So, how do we start?"

🏹🏹🏹

It didn't take Fishlegs long to learn the rules of the game, which Dany had been expecting. She figured he'd be good at strategy games and she was right, in a way. Unfortunately for him, her years of experience made their skill level very uneven. But, if they had been playing for an equal amount of time, Dany was sure she'd be hard-pressed to win. After all, they only needed one practice round and were in the middle of their first 'official' game when Fishlegs decided he was confident enough to break their contemplative silence to multitask with speaking and concentrating.

"So. . . can I ask you about the dragon in the room?"

The blonde glanced at Drogon, who'd taken up his usual semi-circle around them— though rather than keeping them safe, he was acting as a barrier against the wind. "Sure. What did you want to know about Drogon?"

Fishlegs couldn't help but smile at how literally she took his question and shook his head. "No, not Drogon. I meant, can I ask you about Hiccup?"

Dany gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he hadn't just come out and done so the first time. Then, she guessed what he might want to talk about and understood. She sighed, knowing she should've expected it. Astrid had known the longest and Snotlout had figured it out. . . somehow. It was only a matter of time that her third-smartest friend would want to talk about it with her. So, with great reluctance, she admitted, "okay, fine— yes I have a crush on Hiccup. Happy?"

He let out an amused chuckle. "Yeah, I already know, remember? I've told you before: everyone knows that, so that's old news. I'm glad to hear you admit it aloud, though. The last time I brought it up you denied it."

"Oh, har-dee-har-har," she grumbled as she took another one of his pieces. "Is today 'give Dany a hard time' day? If that's not what you wanted to talk about, can we please move on?"

Fishlegs groaned as he lost another scout. "Alright, alright. What I wanted to talk to you about was. . . do you think you'll ever make up with Hiccup and Astrid? You know, become best friends with them again?"

Daenerys looked up, her first instinct being to take offense at his words. What right did he have to go poking where he wasn't wanted? In a way, she saw this as him taking Heather's side. He should just butt out and let her resolve things on her own time. But, in her heart, she knew Fishlegs was only trying to help. She had no right to get upset with him for that. So, she tamped down her initial response to snap something back and instead made a great effort to keep her voice even.

"I. . . want to," she confessed quietly. She reached for one of Fishlegs' captured pieces and began to toy with it between her fingers.

"Well, what's stopping you?" he queried, his gaze staying firmly on the board as he considered his next move.

"I'm not going to apologize first," Dany huffed, allowing some irritation to creep into her tone. On this, she would brook no argument. "I didn't do anything wrong. Astrid lied and chose Heather, and Hiccup chose Astrid, thus choosing Heather. They both know how much I hate her."

"I suppose that's fair," Fishlegs allowed, catching her off guard.

She stared at him. "Wait, really? You're not going to tell me to stop being petty and get over myself?"

He gave her a half-smile as he tentatively moved one of his hunters forward. "I saw how well that worked out with Hiccup. I don't want us to get into an argument. Besides, I do think Astrid should've at least considered your feelings. You are bad at keeping secrets, but maybe she could've asked you first if this was something you felt comfortable hiding from everyone."

"Thank you!" Dany exclaimed, feeling for the first time like someone actually understood where she was coming from. Holding the captured piece she was playing with in one hand, her other flashed out and gently grabbed the man's wrist. "Just for that, I'll let you try again. If you go there, my scouts are gonna find you in two moves."

He sent her a grateful look and returned the piece to its original spot. She continued: "I just. . . don't think they're sorry. I mean, it's been months and neither one of them has tried to make up for it. I don't know what, if anything, would."

The blond's eyes flicked up from the board to dart around suspiciously, as if he were checking that nobody was spying on them. Then, in a lowered voice, he mumbled: "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I overheard Astrid telling Hiccup that they should give you space until you're ready to forgive them. That's why they haven't brought it up. I think they're waiting for you to give them some sort of sign that it's okay."

"Really?" Daenerys wondered, perking up at this. "That would make sense; Astrid's always one to play it safe. And. . . I was trying to find Hiccup so I could talk to him—"

"What are you playing Cyvasse with me for?" Fishlegs exclaimed, his eyes widening has his gaze met hers. "Go find him!"

"I tried," she protested, "but he left early this morning to do a solo recon mission like an idiot," she muttered, repeating Astrid's words, "and he hasn't come back yet."

"Oh—"

"Ooh, what's going on here?" Ruffnut's gravelly voice cut through the companionable atmosphere abruptly. Dany jumped, not having seen the other woman approach— but by the time she registered her friend's presence, it was too late. The fishy stench that the older twin carried invaded her nose as Ruffnut flopped down next to her and pulled her closer with one strong, wiry arm around her shoulders. "I call next!"

Fishlegs glanced nervously between Dany and Ruffnut, unsure whether to laugh or brace for impact. Dany stiffened under Ruffnut's arm, not entirely certain if this was going to be one of those Ruffnut moments— the kind where she joined in with something that completely derailed the conversation— or if she was just being her usual, unpredictable self.

"Next for what?" Dany repeated warily, arching a brow.

"For the game, obviously." Ruffnut gave them a toothy grin, already inspecting the board with curious interest. "Looks like you're slaughtering him, though. Nice work."

"She's been doing that since the first round," Fishlegs complained with a resigned sigh. "I think I've only taken, what, three of your pieces?"

"Two," Dany corrected, tapping a captured soldier with her fingertip. "You give yourself too much credit."

"Oh, wow," Ruffnut remarked, clearly impressed (though not by Fishlegs.) "You're a beast, Dany. Especially since you've never played Maces and Talons."

The blonde in question attempted to wiggle out of the Thorston's hold, but to no avail. "This is Cyvasse," she corrected the other woman, giving up her struggle. "My family's board game."

"Ohhh," Ruffnut realized, drawing out the word like it explained everything. "Right, right— fancy family game. That explains the teeny-tiny dragons."

"One of those 'teeny-tiny dragons' just took out Fishlegs' cavalry," Dany told her in a rare moment of unrestrained confidence.

"Brutal." Ruffnut gave an approving nod, then narrowed her eyes at the board like she was trying to decipher ancient runes. "Okay, I still want to play."

Fishlegs gave her a wry look. "As long as you're ready to lose."

Ruffnut scoffed. "Oh, please. I'm not playing Dany. My brother's the masochist in the family. He's the one who likes getting stomped on. Me? I'm playing you, Fishy. And I'm gonna beat the pants off you."

Fishlegs gulped, suddenly very nervous, and squeaked, "I'd like to keep my pants on, please."

Dany giggled, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle a laugh. Ruffnut, however, looked absolutely delighted with herself.

"Oh no," she drawled, giving Fishlegs a mischievous grin. "Too late now. Challenge accepted. You're going down, Ingerman."

Fishlegs sighed like a man who had just accepted his doom. "Well. . . I guess I deserve this."

"Sure do," Ruffnut chirped, already rearranging the board with no regard for strategy or fairness (or the game that was currently in play.) "Now, how do these dragon thingies work again?"

"They don't breathe actual fire," Dany made sure to tell her hastily. "But they destroy anything they land on."

"Nice," Ruffnut replied cheerfully.

Fishlegs stared at the newly scrambled board with a deadpan expression. "Oh, Thor. Well, now that you've completely rearranged everything, we'll never know if I or Dany would've won this game. That's too bad."

Dany patted his arm with a smirk— half condescending, half amused. "Fishlegs, you never had a chance. I was always going to win."

🏹🏹🏹

When Hiccup returned to Dragon's Edge later that evening he, at best, expected to find Astrid waiting for him with a scowl and sharp rebuke. At worst, there'd be no one— meaning he'd made Astrid a lot angrier than he'd predicted. The last thing he was prepared for was the weight of a young woman crashing into him as her arms wrapped around him in a hug. His hands flew up as his body jerked in surprise by the unexpected force. "Whoa! Dany?"

He'd recognize those silvery-blonde braids anywhere, her light, nearly platinum hair standing out against her dark leathers. He couldn't help but wonder if he was still in the alternate archipelago he'd somehow walked into hours before, the one where Dagur was nice and his best friend wasn't avoiding him like the plague.

But, it was real. After her board game with Fishlegs and her failed attempt at creating some semblance of order for his and Ruffnut's game (which she'd tried determinedly to do for several hours), she gave up and decided to wait by the stables until Hiccup got home. As soon as he'd dismounted, she'd flung herself at him as her pent-up worry from the day overwhelmed her. He was still staring down at her in shock, his hands held up by his shoulders while hers remained around his waist.

When he still didn't do anything, she prompted him quietly, "hug me back, please."

That made him start with sudden awareness and his arms dropped back by his sides so they could encircle her loosely. While he would've held her tighter, he wasn't sure exactly what this hug meant and didn't want to push his luck— plus, he was still wearing his flight vest and he knew the buckles made her uncomfortable. "Oh— right. Uh. . . hi?"

"Hi," she replied softly, not letting go (not that he was complaining, either— just confused.)

The longer they stood there in the peaceful quiet of the stables, with the air warmed by the regular presence of dragon breath, the harder it became for him to hold everything inside. Along with the craziness of the day he'd just had on top of the months of brooding and stress of Viggo, all he wanted was to have his best friend back, Astrid's 'advice' be damned. So, the next words out of his mouth were a blurted: "I'm sorry."

At the apology, Dany pulled away (but not completely), caught off guard. Before she could interrupt him and ask for clarification, he continued hastily, but sincerely: "I'm sorry for everything. For that fight, for how I handled it— mishandled it. I never wanted to hurt you, Dany. Ever." His voice cracked slightly, the rawness of his emotion finally bubbling up to the surface after being held in for far too long.

Dany blinked, trying to read his face in the soft firelight flickering from the stable sconces. "Hiccup—"

"I know," he cut in, not unkindly. "I know I should've said something months ago. I wanted to. The second we had that fight, it's all I could think about. I ran it over in my head a thousand times. What I said, what I didn't say, what I should've done instead. But Astrid said the best thing I could do was give you space."

"So I've heard," she muttered.

He laughed a little, a self-deprecating huff that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And that sucked. It sucked, Dany. Not talking to you? Not even being able to fix things? I hated it. I hated knowing I'd hurt you and then just. . . waiting. But I did it because I thought it might help.

"I never meant to say your feelings didn't matter. I was trying to stop the argument from getting worse. I saw how upset you were and I thought if I could just explain where Astrid was coming from, maybe it would cool things down. But—" He paused. "—I wasn't doing it to defend her. I was trying to protect you."

That got her attention. Her gaze flicked back up to meet his, searching.

"I know how much you care about Astrid," he stated, quieter now. "She's like family to you. And I could see how much the fight was hurting you, even if you were trying to act like it wasn't. I thought if I could help you understand her reasoning, it might spare you some of that pain. But. . . that's not what you needed. And I see that now."

He took a breath, visibly steadying himself. "I shouldn't have brought up your past— your years as the Breaker of Chains. That was low. I was trying to relate it to Heather, to make a point, but I realize now that was. . . too far. That part of your life isn't just a story to reference. It's your history, and it's complicated, and personal, and I had no right to use it like that."

Dany's lips parted slightly but she didn't speak yet, her throat too tight.

"I should've stood with you," he declared firmly. "Not tried to smooth things over like I was still the team leader. I play that role so much that I forget sometimes. . . I forget that I'm supposed to be your best friend first. You needed someone in your corner, and I should've been that person."

She finally spoke, her voice quiet and slightly shaky: "you know how I am when it comes to things like picking sides. I need to be spelled out. I needed you to see me. To hear me. And I felt like. . . like you didn't."

"I do now," he responded without hesitation. "I see you, Dany. I hear you. And I'm sorry I didn't make that clear before. I should've fought for you. And if I could take it all back and do it again. . . I would. Every time."

She nodded slowly, her jaw tight as emotion flickered across her face— hurt, frustration, forgiveness. A long pause stretched between them, and then:

"You really mean all that?" she whispered.

"I do," Hiccup promised thickly. "All of it."

There was a silence then, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, Dany reached out again— slower this time— and pulled him back into a hug. This time, he wrapped his arms around her fully, tightly (even as she winced against the buckles that pressed into her sternum.)

"I missed you," she mumbled into his shoulder.

His hand reflexively curled protectively behind her head. "I missed you too. So much."

He knew they wouldn't be able to go back to normal right away; he needed to— and wanted to— prove that he meant every word. And, to do so, he broached the subject tentatively: "Dany. . . I want to learn from Astrid's mistake, and by that I mean there's something I want to tell you— but I have to ask you to not share it with the others, not yet; I'm still trying to figure out what it means, really, but I need to talk to someone about it. Astrid's a bit too close-minded for this, but you think differently— which is exactly what I need. Do you think you'll be able to keep it a secret?"

Daenerys considered his question seriously. Everyone knew how bad she was at keeping secrets, but the more she thought about it, the more she began to recognize that wasn't technically true. Yes, she wasn't good staying silent under pressure, but only in particular situations— ones where she was certain to get in trouble. Whenever she did anything with the twins and Hiccup so much as looked at her wrong, the confession was out of her mouth before any questions had been asked. But, there were other secrets— like the one she was keeping for Astrid— that she knew, with the entirety of her heart, that she would not spill, not even under pain of death.

She decided that meant she thought of secrets in two different ways: the first category being those that hurt others, like stealing the Dragon Eye or pranking someone. She didn't like the thought of the subject being injured or damaged in any way, especially if she was the cause, so she spoke up before something irrevocable happened to avoid a guilty conscience. The second were secrets that helped others; Astrid had needed to tell someone about her feelings for Heather, so she'd trusted Dany with them and Dany knew that she would never breathe a word about it until Astrid told her it was okay.

So, coming to that conclusion, she questioned him warily, "does the secret you want me to keep hurt others in any way?"

Hiccup thought for a moment, then answered confidently, "no."

She nodded. "Then yes, I can keep it."

"Good," he stated, relieved. "Come on, let's go back to my house— I don't want anyone to overhear."

🏹🏹🏹

As Drogon settled down to guard the door outside, Toothless heated up his rock-bed inside, circled it three times and lay down. Hiccup and Dany took up seats in chairs near the fire that the brunet had started. While chairs were the most customary choice, that didn't stop her from glancing up towards the loft where his bed was wistfully, remembering how they had once taken a nap together. That was what she really wanted to do right now— to be as close to him as possible to make up for their lost time apart. Like she had told him long ago, sometimes she did want physical contact with certain people (rarely) and now was one of those times.

But, she had no idea how to suggest it without having it be an obvious segway into admitting her feelings, so she resigned herself to sitting on her hands in her chair to keep herself from fidgeting (which only lasted about two minutes.) As he launched into his story about Toothless getting shot with a dragon root arrow and his run-in with Dagur, Hiccup noticed the instinctive, almost unconscious movement of her fingers and he smiled fondly at the habit.

He told her everything, even almost killing the dragon hunter who'd run at him with a mace since he knew she'd understand that, too. He shared Dagur's dragon root antidote recipe and how he'd thought the Berserker had tricked him— it was incredibly hard to trust someone who's tried to kill you multiple times— but Dagur ended up saving the day instead. At the end of his tale, Hiccup shook his head. "I just don't understand it. I mean, you were there for all the times Dagur said he wanted Toothless' head as a trophy— and mine by extension." (Here, the dragon in question opened one eye and let out a warble of protest at the mention of his hypothetical death.) "He said the isolation gave him time to think, but could it really change a person that much?"

"No," Dany started, only to be interrupted by Hiccup's exasperated protest:

"Dany—"

"I'm being serious, Hiccup. This isn't me being petty or anything because Dagur's tried to kill you or the fact that he's Heather's brother. I honestly don't believe he could've changed so drastically in a matter of months," the Targaryen insisted. "I think he was only being nice to you because he thought you were helping him protect Heather. If he'd found out that we don't know where Heather is and haven't seen her for just as long, I'd bet good money he'd be back to his normal self. Does he have the capacity to change for the better? Sure, as much as any regular human does— dragon hunters not included— but, like I said, not in such a short timeframe."

Hiccup let out a long breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck, the firelight catching on the copper threads in his hair. He didn't argue— not this time. Instead, he gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, as he stared into the flames, clearly mulling her words over.

"Well, it's a good thing he didn't find out that we don't know where Heather is, then," he joked half-heartedly. "I just. . . I guess I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe people like Dagur could change, because if they can't, then what's the point of everything we're doing out here?"

Dany's expression softened. That was such a Hiccup thing to say— stubbornly hopeful, even when the world had given him every reason not to be. It was one of the things she admired most about him. And sometimes, like now, it tugged at her heart painfully.

"I want to believe that, too," she admitted. "But not at the cost of your safety, or Toothless', or anyone else's. Trust should be earned, not given because we hope someone's different."

"There's that honesty," he commented, this time with more genuine humor. "You always are. I mean, brutally, painfully honest sometimes, but it's one of the things I've always liked about you." 

Dany's heart skipped a beat at that. Trying not to show it, she requested, "can I tell you a secret?"

"Does it hurt others in any way?" Hiccup inquired, once again half-jokingly.

The Targaryen, naturally, didn't pick up on his subtle tone and answered truthfully, "just. . . me." At his overly-concerned look, she hastened to explain, "I've been having nightmares."

"Nightmares?" he repeated. "What kind of nightmares?"

Daenerys hesitated, toying with her fingers as her gaze stayed trained on the fire. "The kind where I can't tell if I'm the villain or the victim," she shared at last, voice barely above a whisper.

Hiccup didn't interrupt. He waited.

"I'm flying on Drogon but. . . it's not the same. He's not the same. It's like. . . he's bigger, darker. His eyes aren't his own. And everything around us is on fire. Whole cities. People. Children." Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on. "I try to stop it— try to pull him away— but I can't. Because I'm not the one in control. Or maybe I am, but I don't want to stop it. And that part of me. . . the part that's doing it. . . she enjoys it. She calls the fire down herself.

"I wake up feeling like I've done something unforgivable. Like I will do something unforgivable," she finished. "It's been happening for months. Ever since Viggo took the Dragon Eye."

A long silence followed. The fire crackled and popped. Hiccup leaned forward, elbows on his knees, processing her words.

"That sounds. . . . horrible," he stated finally. "But it's just a dream, Dany. Dreams can feel real, but that doesn't mean they're true."

"I know. But what if it's more than that?" she objected. "You know what. . . what I'm capable of. What if it's a warning and one day I really will go rogue?"

Hiccup looked at her then— really looked at her— and his voice was steady when he insisted, "I've known you for years, Dany. And yeah, you can be intense, and you're stubborn and fiery— literally— but I've never once seen you hurt someone who didn't deserve it. You have a good heart. You wouldn't let yourself become someone like that."

"You say that now. But dreams have a way of showing us who we could become," she murmured. "I've seen what that version of me looks like, Hiccup. And she's not someone you'd admire."

"I think you're forgetting something," he declared, sitting up straighter. "Dreams don't define you. Choices do. You're scared of becoming this person in your nightmares? That means you won't. Because people who lose themselves to power or revenge— they don't stop to question it. You are."

Dany was quiet again, but the knot in her chest loosened slightly. Hiccup's words didn't erase the images seared into her mind, but they gave her something firmer to hold onto than smoke and fire. It was a sentiment he'd expressed before, but he'd happily say it a thousand times if even once it would convince her of everything he believed about her.

"I wish I could believe that as easily as you do."

They stayed up late into the night talking about everything they'd missed sharing with each other from the past few months— at least, they did until Dany's exhaustion caught up with her. As Hiccup was unloading one of his many ideas he'd thought of to try and weasel Viggo out of hiding, he trailed off slowly as he noticed that the blonde next to him was no longer listening. While she normally had perfect posture, she was now slumped in her chair, her head tilted back at an uncomfortable-looking angle. Her chest rose and fell in steady breaths.

He shook his head fondly and stood, taking a moment to stretch after sitting in one place for so long. Then, he moved closer to Dany and slid one arm under her legs and the other against her back. He did his best not to jostle her too much, but her eyes ended up fluttering open anyway as he shifted her to rest in his arms more securely. ". . .Hiccup?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling his ears heat up; he'd been trying to do the whole transition without her waking up, afraid she would read too much into it— or not enough. "It's not easy to pick someone up from a chair."

Thankfully for the embarrassment that was sure to eat him whole, she didn't say anything else and closed her eyes again, resting her head against his chest. Now, where to go? His first thought had been his bed, but carrying a sleepy person up a ladder was even harder than just lifting them from a chair. So, he settled on carrying her outside and back to her house, patting himself on the back for his excellent planning skills of putting their homes right next to each other.

When he carried her outside, his attention caught on a single flame-orange eye that shone in the darkness. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as Drogon watched him closely, shifting with every step he took so that his mother was never out of his sight. Eventually, he was at last able to set her down in her own bed. He stood to leave, thinking that she was dead asleep, and he startled when a hand flashed out to catch his wrist. 

Hiccup froze like he'd just triggered one of the booby traps The Reaper. Her fingers were warm around his wrist— gentle, but firm enough that it was clear she didn't want him to leave. He turned slowly to face her, thinking maybe she was still half-dreaming.

"Dany?" he whispered.

She didn't open her eyes, but her voice was soft and slurred with sleep, almost childlike in its vulnerability. "Stay."

It was a single word, but it lodged in his chest like a knife. He should've said no. He wanted to say no— his brain was already conjuring all the reasons why this wasn't appropriate. This was not how things were done. People would talk. People had talked. And it wasn't just about propriety or reputation— well, maybe it mostly was, because he was the one who would be judged. Dany? Dany would just blink at them and say, "so?" and genuinely not understand what the big deal was.

But gods, the look on her face— serene, soft, exhausted— made all his internal protests fold in on themselves. Just until she's asleep, he told himself. Nothing weird. Just being a good friend. She needs you. It's fine.

He sighed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair before kicking off his boot. "Okay. Just for a bit."

He slipped out of his leather vest and set it quietly near the table. Then, carefully, respectfully, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, his body turned slightly away, shoulders stiff as a board, just as awkward as he had been the first— and last— time he'd knowingly lay down to rest next to her. He put as many inches of space between them as possible, so much so that, with one wrong move, he was in danger of rolling off the bed completely. It would've been easier to lie on the floor, but. . . well, she had asked.

For a moment, all was still.

Then she moved.

Of course she did.

Without a second thought, Dany shifted toward him in her sleep, curling into the space between them like it was made for her. One arm draped across his middle, and her head nestled against his chest with a little sigh of contentment, her silvery hair fanning over his shirt.

Hiccup stiffened again, eyes wide as saucers, heart trying to hammer its way through his ribs. Oh. No. This was not what he'd mentally prepared for. This was— he could feel the heat radiating from her, unnaturally warm like she always was, and that familiar, wild scent of ash and salt and wind that clung to her, even when it had been hours since she'd last flown. Her hand gripped the fabric of his shirt like letting go wasn't an option.

He should've pulled away. He should've.

Instead, slowly, almost guiltily, his arms came up around her. One curled around her back, the other resting protectively at her waist. She fit there too easily, like his arms had been waiting all this time to hold her again. His eyes fluttered shut, and his muscles began to relax for the first time in weeks. Maybe longer.

He told himself it was for her— so she could sleep peacefully.

But that was only half the truth.

The other half was entirely selfish: he missed this. Missed her. Her closeness, her warmth, the ease with which she trusted him— always had. And maybe, just maybe, he needed that reassurance as badly as she did. That they hadn't completely lost each other in all the chaos.

A few minutes passed in silence, broken only by the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing. Wrapped in the quiet hum of her body heat and the feel of her in his arms again, Hiccup finally let himself drift off— his thoughts hazy and warm and full of silver hair and violet eyes and the sound of her saying stay.

It was the best night's sleep either of them had gotten in months.

A/n: Since this episode was pretty much just Hiccup's POV, I decided to write some og content as I don't think Dany would've gone with him on the recon mission at this point in time (prior to the apology.) And, speaking of, I DID have a plan to wait a few more episodes but I was getting impatient to write them as friends again, so I just moved it up a bit. Fixing her relationship with Astrid will still take some time, but it will be in the early half of this act :)

Also, I know this joke will only resonate with a very small audience, but I thought of it earlier today and I found it HILARIOUS (and sadly very true):