Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dayflight has always been too curious for her own good. Everyone says so. It’s not that she isn’t aware of this; she is, and she’s very careful with when she chooses to give into her curiosity. The Moon knows she’s been burned enough times to know better than to let it rule her. But being aware of our flaws does not make us impervious to them. 

Dayflight has been restless of late, and in no shallow sense. Giving birth was a long overdue reprieve from the stagnancy of being pregnant, but even with her little one to keep her in line, her heart wanders. It’s no mystery why, given that she had two eggs, and only one of them hatched. She feels as though her remaining cub is the only thing keeping her tethered at all, and her soul is trailing in the wind, still calling for the one she lost. She felt the egg go cold, and yet she is sure that her cub is still out there somewhere, needing her. And because Dayflight is weak from loss, she has not the strength to fight off her curiosity. Not this time. 

She goes to Skyreader. She has never sought their council before, but she has nowhere else to go. It is all she can think of. They do not seem surprised to see her. In fact, it is as if they were waiting for her. In turn, their words turn out to be just what she was waiting for.

Her cub is out there. That’s what they tell her. And despite herself, Dayflight knows they are right. 

Without another moment’s thought, she leaves her first cub in safe claws and flies out in search of his brother. 

It feels as if her heart is pulling her in the direction she needs to go. For once, she does not question it. She follows with the kind of desperation only a mother can know. 

She finds him on a cliff-wrought island that the winter blows right through. Already his intelligence shows, as he has sought refuge in the woods, where the trees battle the wind for their right to him. He is completely strange to her, and yet she knows him at once. He is pink— white and pink. His eyes are as green as his brother’s. His scales are not apparent to her– in fact, he is smooth, like Water-Kin. He has a little red-brown tuft of fur on the crown of his head. There are no claws, no spines or even wings that she can see. He does not have so much as a tail. But he has clever little paws that reach out to grab around for everything with an unbridled curiosity that she knows in her heart-fire. 

She scoops him up at once. He will suffer no more, now that she has him back; not the cold on his soft skin nor the bite of the wind. Finally, her family is whole again… and so is she. 

She goes first to Skyreader to show deference and gratitude. The old Alpha sees her cub with the same eyes she did. They do not explain themself, and so Dayflight does not know what guide they follow when they give him their gift. But she is glad. So glad. 

They return her cub with black scales splattered with the same amber-brown his fur was. His tail is beautiful, if slightly uneven, blooming and unfurling like a flower. His frills stick up wildly around his face. She looks down and thanks all of Life that his eyes are still that endless, impossible green. He is perfect.

Skyreader tells her that she holds between her wings a child of two faces. They tell her to feed them both. She promises with all of her that she will.

Back on Berk, the whole island is sent out to search for the Chief’s son. 

They do not find him.

Chapter Text

Adderfang sneezes himself awake. He huffs as his dream dissipates and the world makes a weak attempt to assert itself around him. The dark turns the cave a pretty blue– the sun hasn’t taken flight yet. 

With no particular consideration for his clutchmate, Adderfang detangles their limbs and wings, dragging himself up and shaking off his bleariness. Aladar– or as Adderfang calls him, Toothless– snuffles in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. The perfect opportunity. 

Adderfang– or as Toothless calls him, Hiccup– wastes no time. He can’t afford to– much longer and either his clutchmate will wake, or their dam will come to rouse them. He slinks through the cave, picking up a shiny rock covered in scars from their teeth as he goes. Well, Toothless’ teeth, really. Adderfang’s told him a thousand times that he’ll wear out the shine and it’ll just be any other rock, but does he listen? Of course not. Then Toothless will have lost two special rocks. The last one was lost when he tried to hide it under his tongue and accidentally swallowed it. Honestly, there are some things Adderfang shouldn’t have to tell his clutchmate not to do. 

Adderfang found their shiny rock in the river reeds last-day, so it’s his turn to hide it. He has the perfect place. Surely Toothless will never think to look for it in with the new eggs. And if he does, Adderfang wishes him luck trying to get to it. Shaletooth, the mother, is very territorial. Toothless is gonna be so impressed Adderfang managed to sneak in himself, he’s gonna beg to know how he did it! Adderfang’s never gonna tell him about the blindspot around the side of the cave. Let him think his clutchmate is just that good at sneaking around.

Adderfang’s so proud of himself that he forgets to pay attention.

‘ROOAAAAAAGGGRRHHH!!’

He just about jumps out of his scales, tripping over his tail and falling flat on his muzzle. The roaring melts into raucous laughter. Adderfang glares up at his attacker, fighting the urge to hide his face behind his tailfin. 

It’s not fair. Sunbreak was always so good at sneaking around, especially in the dark. Her scales are the deepest indigo, painted with the exact same brush as the night sky. Her underbelly and wings are spectacular; the brightest red, orange and yellow you can imagine– just like the sun breaking over the horizon. But all she has to do is tuck them in and angle herself right, and she disappears into the young-day blue. The only thing that could give her away is her eyes. If her wings are the breaking dawn, then her eyes are the sun itself. 

‘Got-you! Got-you got-you!’

Adderfang pulls his embarrassment into his chest and straightens with as much dignity as he can muster. It’s not like him making a fool of himself in front of Sunbreak is anything new. He squawks out his protest and whaps her lightly with his tailfin. She wiggles her haunches playfully. Her delight is worth it.

‘Halvor no Halvor?’ she asks when she’s sufficiently basked in her victory. 

‘Not yet, Halvor not find Adderfang yet,’ he explains. Halvor isn’t really the one who seeks him out, but that’s semantic. Whoever fetches him will send him off to Halvor, and then he’ll be stuck into his work and won’t surface until much later in the day. 

‘Friends help Adderfang play hideaway! Reef and Aladar help!’ she promises, eyes alight with her new mission. Adderfang flashes his teeth.

‘Go Four-Trees! Sunbreak get Reef, Adderfang get No-Teeth.’

She trills in excitement. She brushes the unspiked side of her tail against his flank as she goes, sending warmth blooming up his side. He slinks off to fetch his clutchmate. 

Waking Toothless is, as always, like– well, like pulling teeth. Technically they should both sleep through the day and wake at night, but Halvor and all of their friends are day-wakers, so they usually try to wake with the sun. At least, Adderfang does. Toothless is hopeless. 

The longer they stick around the cave, the higher the chance of their dam coming to wake them. Adderfang’s best chance of getting them out without alerting anyone is a tactical approach. Fortunately, this is not his first rodeo.

First, Adderfang clamps his teeth around his clutchmate’s tail, gently enough not to hurt him, but no gentler. Then he resigns himself to the graceless ordeal of dragging Toothless out into the sun. Adderfang long gave up on saving his dignity when doing this particular chore. No one’s watching anyway. So he proceeds, accompanied by the sounds of growls, grunts, dragging, shuffling, whacking, and his stupid clutchmate’s snores. Not even an avalanche could wake Toothless when he’s in a safe place, so Adderfang’s only hope is getting him into the sun. That, for some reason, always does it. Doing that before sun-up is a neat trick, but Adderfang is nothing if not inventive. 

He shoves his dead-to-the-world clutchmate into place and leaves him there. Then he bounds off to fetch a device that he made just for this purpose. It has clear-stone in it to capture and channel any light that Adderfang puts into it, turnign it into a strong, concentrated beam. Dam didn’t see the point in it, since they can see in the dark, but Adderfang knew it would come in handy. He sets it down at an angle facing Toothless. Then he blows a careful line of flame into the channel. His angle’s a bit off, so he adjust it until it’s shining right into Toothless’ eyelid.

He could leave it at that, but what fun would that be?

‘Wake!’ Adderfang barks, stomping on his clutchmate and whapping him in the face with his tail. He jumps a few times for good measure. ‘Wake, wake, wake!’

Toothless stirs with some choice growls, batting at Adderfang, who dances nimbly out of the way. ‘No wake.’

‘Wake! Play with Reef and Sunbreak!’

Toothless bats at the light in his eye stupidly, grousing even as he drags himself up to standing, throwing Adderfang off. He sways on the spot and shakes, blinking away his bleariness. He sends his clutchmate a half-glare. Adderfang shows his teeth. 

‘Bad wake.’

‘Good wake! Race to Four-Trees!’ 

And with no more warning, Adderfang pelts off, Toothless a tail-length behind him. 

It’s close. Toothless is bigger and stronger, but Adderfang’s size makes him agile. And he is clever; he knows how to use his advantages, slipping through openings and under roots that his clutchmate can’t. They would both get there in half the time if either of them would stop trying to trip up the other, but that’s half the fun. In the end, Adderfang tumbles into the clearing a breath before Toothless. 

It’s a lovely place. They haven’t been back for a while; a migrating flock of Speckle-Skins moved in, and it got very crowded here. They took flight again last-day, and so Adderfang and his friends are free to claim it once again. They call it Four-Trees, on account of the four unlikely trees that somehow found their way inside the Nest’s underground and have grown into this hollow. They are dead, but other things have grown around their corpses, so the place is nevertheless full of life. Adderfang thinks of it as a lot like the water-reefs the Kin from the warmer lands describe: many things blooming around and under and on top of each other. It is very pretty. 

Sunbreak is currently sneaking up on their other friend, Reef, while he preens in the sun. He has always been rather obsessed with his scales and spines– Spike-Tails are the proudest kin-kinds, but even then, Reef is excessive. His colours are quite beautiful: dramatic swathes of orange and green that bleed into blue and yellow, spotted like dappled sunlight on the water. That doesn’t mean his friends are going to let him shake his frills all day. Sunbreak is the most beautiful creature Adderfang has ever seen, and she doesn’t waste her time crowing about it. 

Everyone knows the perfect moment to catch your prey comes when it is hunting. It’s the only time you can accurately predict their movements. Adderfang is all too happy to give Sunbreak her opportunity. He calls out to Reef, who perks up and makes to meet him. Sunbreak seizes the moment and pounces. She gets Reef right behind the head-spikes and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and claws. Toothless and Adderfang laugh while Reef tries to shake off his embarrassment, making sure his scales are all flat and shiny. 

‘Planned that! You planned that!’ he squawks, jittering his spectacular wings in outrage. 

‘Who, me?’ Adderfang returns innocently. Sunbreak sends him a cheeky grin. 

‘Sunbreak’s hunt, Sunbreak’s catch!’ she sings, head in the air. 

‘Catch this!’ Aladar launches himself at her, and then the two of them are wrestling. Adderfang chortles and rears back, stomping around Reef playfully in a proper hello. Reef returns it by making himself bigger and, of course, showing off. 

The four of them start the morning, as always, with food. Aladar won’t do anything before food, and Adderfang supposes they might as well get it out of the way so they can do more fun things. Toothless and Reef get into a race to see who can catch the most fish, and they take so long that Sunbreak and Adderfang head back to Four Trees on their own.

‘I did sneak into Shaletooth’s nest today,’ he tells her. She bolts up in place. 

‘You not did that!’ 

‘I did.’

She jumps in place, delighted, and gives him an impressed purr. Her eyes sparkle, which makes his heart fire bloom. It’s amazing that she’s so bright, just for him. He wants to keep her that bright. In fact, he frequently gets in trouble trying. 

‘How you did?’ she demands. 

He puffs himself up and looks away, feigning nonchalance. ‘No tell.’

‘Tell tell you tell! Must tell!’

Adderfang keeps up his pretence for as long as he can (which is not long at all). He can never refuse her anything. He gives in and tells her the secret, and she proudly proclaims that Aladar will never get to the shiny rock. Adderfang so clever, she tells him. He trips on his own paw.

‘More clever than Toothless, not hard,’ he says. She chortles. 

‘Only not hard for you,’ she accuses. ‘But you still lose maybe. Do not be proud like Reef, or Aladar win. Most clever thing is knowing enemy-prey clever too.’

This is something she’s told him before, many times. Sunbreak says it again and again, because she knows how important it is. If it was just Toothless Adderfang had to contend with, it wouldn’t be so important, but Adderfang has to hunt things a lot bigger than fish. A lot more clever than fish. He doesn’t hunt like Toothless, or like Sunbreak. He doesn’t need to be strong, or fast. He needs to be clever. Lives depend on it.

‘Sunbreak think new secret-hunt soon?’ he asks. She rolls her shoulder non-committedly.

‘Not know.’

But it could happen at any time. There’s no rhyme or reason to the cruelty of the Cleverpaws. It could be that Adderfang is needed a lot at one time, and not at all for many moons after. All they can do is wait for news from those who fly outside the Nest. 

Criss-Cross join them before Reef and Aladar get back. They stretch their long necks out, brushing against the soft moss and the tall grass in the clearing, rattling their hello. They come with the sun, which begins its flight across the sky by filtering through the crystalline walls of the Nest and dappling over Four-Trees.

‘Criss-Cross!’ Adderfang greets. ‘Dam Dayflight look for Adderfang-Toothless at this time?’

‘She did find cave empty,’ Criss confirms. ‘We did tell her we not know where is Aladar-Adderfang. Some time maybe before Dayflight send Sweettooth to find.’

Criss-Cross are as enigmatic with their support as always. They give no indication whether they were sent to find Aladar and Adderfang or they came of their own accord, nor whether they plan to rat the clutchmates out or cover for them. It could go any which way, with them. They come across as all-knowing, but Adderfang’s not even sure whether they know themselves, sometimes.

‘I go,’ Adderfang sighs, working himself up to go find Halvor and start the day. That’s almost certainly what Dam wants to find him for.

‘Sweettooth not come yet,’ Sunbreak croons. ‘How Adderfang know Dayflight is looking?’

Well, when she puts it like that…

Eventually, Sweettooth does come to find them. Asking Sweettooth to be insincere about finding them would be like asking a fish to fly, so Adderfang lets her go back to tell his dam that he’s on his way to Halvor’s Make-Place. He says his goodbyes and heads first for a cave that he knows to be empty– too shallow for a nest. Just big enough for him to slip in and out of. Perfect for his purpose. 

He’s never changed in front of anyone other than Aladar and his dam. It’s not a pretty thing, he thinks. He can’t see it himself, but whatever it looks like, it must not be nice. Even though his friends are kind to him in either form, he feels making them watch the shift would be an unkindness. When they see him walk on two legs, they should think of it as a clever disguise. To see his body choose to turn itself into a Cleverpaw would give away the game: that it’s a natural, intrinsic part of him, and that is a notion that Adderfang would like to take to his death-sleep. 

It only takes him a few “minutes” (that’s Cleverpaw time-reading for sixty heartbeats). He slips into the shallow cave after making sure no one is around to see him. He breathes evenly and focusses, stretching out his bones in the same way he stretches his wings in the young-day. He quiets his heart-fire. He tucks himself in. And he stands on his remaining two legs, missing his wings. Missing his teeth. Missing his tail. 

It isn’t a chore to be this way, which is what makes it worse. It should feel unnatural, uncomfortable. It doesn’t. It feels good to flex his fingers, wiggle his toes. Once Halvor taught him how to use this body, it felt as natural as his regular one. Which is horrifying. He shouldn’t feel comfortable in the skin of a Kin-killer. And yet, he can’t go too long in either form without shifting back. He knows; he’s tried. He’s tried so hard not to be what he is. 

Adderfang heads off to Halvor’s Make-Place. Not his forge . Because even in this skin, Adderfang doesn’t have to think like a Cleverpaw.

The old blacksmith is just finishing his young-day meal outside when Adderfang arrives. That’s another silly think Cleverpaws do– they eat one meal in the young-day, one in the mid-day, and one near sun-down. Why they don’t just eat when they are hungry, Adderfang still doesn’t know. But Halvor is here to teach Adderfang all the silly things Cleverpaws do; that is what Dam got him for. Halvor is a strange Cleverpaw– he had no nest or family when Dam found him. That made it easy, since it would’ve been a lot harder snatching a Cleverpaw from a “village”. That’s what they call they call their nests. It took the adults a while to train him so he was safe for Adderfang to interact with– particularly with the language barrier– but now he’s as tame as the gentlest Gronckle, and happy with his place in the Nest. Adderfang has to admit, he wouldn’t have managed half of the things he has with his hands if it weren’t for Halvor teaching him how the Cleverpaws did it. Everything from walking, to speaking, to smithing, Halvor taught him. 

Adderfang rumbles a greeting.

‘Good mornin’ to ye too,’ the old smith grunts. There was a time when Halvor would only raise an eyebrow, refusing to answer until Adderfang spoke in the Cleverpaw tongue. Not out of judgement– he was under no delusions as to what Adderfang considered himself– but because falling out of practice could be fatal down the line. Cleverpaws do not rumble their hellos, and so Adderfang was not allowed to when he wore their skin. They are past that now. Adderfang has worn him down, sticking fiercely to his principles, and Halvor knows that he just has to take what he can get. Adderfang’s made his fair share of compromises, too. For example, now he steals a bite of Halvor’s grilled fish. He used to make himself throw up any cooked meat Halvor made him eat, just because it was prepared in the Cleverpaw way. He’s not a kid anymore, he recognises the need for these allowances, and he’s come to terms with most of them. He can walk and talk and eat like a Cleverpaw, but he will never be one of them.

Halvor swats at him, doubling down on his fish in an attempt to get it down before Adderfang steals any more. Paranoid old grump. He knows Adderfang only does it to bother him. 

‘Relax, I already have eaten,’ he assures. 

‘Yeah, me breakfast,’ Halvor grouses. ‘Go and put yer clothes on, they’re in the–’

‘The forge, I know.’ Adderfang rolls his eyes. It is one of his favourite Cleverpaw expressions, especially since Toothless picked it up from him and the two of them spread it to everyone else, so now it is a gesture made only by those who have spent considerable time in their Nest. A “colloquialism” born right here in Halvor’s Make-Place. 

After that interaction comes a long day of making things the Cleverpaw way. Adderfang has to admit, there are some benefits to having opposable thumbs. With his clever fingers and Halvor’s aid, he makes whatever the Nest needs– prosthetics, perches, nets, and more. He deals with everything from toothaches to general complaints. His kin come to him with problems– matted fur, broken feet, chipped horns– and he fixes them. He provides Cleverpaw things like blankets for his kin to line their nests. He carves bowls to keep wet food in. He makes steps so the smaller kin can reach the high places. He makes life easier as best he can for his Nest-kin, with Halvor helping out and keeping track of orders on his papers. He is getting too old to swing hammers, and Adderfang is more than capable of handling the hard work himself.

‘Right then, lad, tha’ should do us today,’ the old man calls once the sun is making to land. ‘Let’s clear up.’

‘Actually, I want to stay and work on a thing.’

Halvor raises that dreaded eyebrow– another of Adderfang’s favourite gestures, although perhaps not when it’s aimed at him. ‘More inventions I gotta worry about?’

‘Maybe… but this one will be good!’

‘That’s wha’ ye said last time.’

‘And it did work, after one or two tries that did not work. That is success!’

‘I dinnae say not ta make it, just… try not ta blow the shop up, yeah?’

‘I will… try not to blow the shop up.’

Halvor claps him on the back, sending him stumbling forward a bit. He is small, even in Cleverpaw terms. ‘That’s a lad. Which one are ye fixin’ ta make this time?’

Adderfang brightens, scuttling over to his desk to gather up the relevant plans. Halvor eyes them over with interest. 

‘It is a float-thing. For kin–’

‘Dragons.’

‘-Dragons that cannot swim. It is full of air. I will try to make a prototype to see if it does work before I think how to make it convenient. Collapsible, maybe? Something that can be worn? I do not know yet. I will make it first and test. No explosions!’

Halvor shakes his head in bemusement. ‘How ye come up wi’ these things, I’ll never know. Ye might think ta account fer tha sizes o’ different dragons– bit harder ta keep a Goregutter up than a Terror.'

Adderfang nods. He’s thought of that, of course, but not a way around it yet. It wouldn’t be realistic to measure and design a different device for each person, since so many come and go. It should be a one-size fits all, or maybe a range of sizes that each fit many people. 

‘Best account fer balance, too. Don’ wanna end up wi’ yer legs floatin’ and yer head sinkin’. Ahh, ye’ll think o’ somethin’,’ Halvor concludes. ‘I’ll see if I can find ye some fabric that’ll do tha trick.’

Adderfang nods and removes his apron, tidying up the workspace as he does at the end of every make-day. He won't stay after all, if Halvor is going to make fabric. He'll need to see his materials before planning it out properly.

‘Say, ‘iccup...’ Adderfang blinks at the formal address. He looks over at his mentor, who’s watching him with his one gimlet eye, looking oddly thoughtful. ‘Y’ever think abou’ where ya came from?’

What an odd question. Adderfang narrows his eyes. ‘That is a weird way to end the work-day.’

Halvor clicks his tongue and looks away with a dismissive grunt, moving to leave. 

‘Not much to think about. I was hatched in the wrong skin. I am thankful Mother did find me before the humans did turn my heart to hate.’

‘There’s a lo’ more to a human heart than hate,’ Halvor says with no particular tone. 

Adderfang shrugs. ‘Maybe. But no matter how full the moon, the eclipse still swallows it. No light reaches beyond the hate of a human heart.’

‘Right,’ the old man hums, again with that odd thoughtfulness, quickly buried under his usual levity. ‘Now if ye're no' gonna stay, ye best get off ta yer mother ‘fore she sends some nosy Nelly ta find ye. I get enough sticky beaks in me forge as is!’

Adderfang trills a goodbye, brushing his hand along his mentor’s meaty forearm as he goes. It is not a Cleverpaw thing to do, but by now Halvor recognises it for the acknowledgment it is, coming from a dragon. A gesture of companionship, of affection. Halvor has his own gestures, like the clapping on the back and saying “lad” instead of “Hiccup” more often than not, even though he was the one who gave him that name. He said it was a Cleverpaw name for the smallest cub in a litter. Aladar has called him that ever since, as payback for Adderfang calling him Toothless since before he could unsheathe his teeth.

Adderfang changes back into his kin-flesh before he catches up with his clutchmate and friends. Together they hunt out their last meal of the day. They usually play a bit after that, but before they get the chance, Adderfang and Aladar’s dam makes an appearance. Adderfang nuzzles against her side gently. He hasn’t seen her all day. Her answering purr is automatic, but somewhat distracted. Adderfang lets out a questioning chirr. Toothless cocks his head to the side. She gives them a slow, reassuring blink in answer. 

‘Adderfang good make-day? Good day with Halvor? Aladar good hunt day, happy cubs?’

The boys both answer with cheerful trills, telling her all about what they got up to today. Adderfang tells her about his plans for the float-device, and Toothless tells her about all the prey he caught for the Nest-mates that can’t hunt for themselves. Adderfang has to admit, Toothless is very good at hunting. Their dam purrs her approval, flicking them each with her tail fondly. Then she turns to Adderfang with a quiet seriousness that surprises him.

‘Adderfang come? I speak to you.’

Adderfang exchanges a look with his clutchmate. 

‘I come too?’ Toothless rumbles hesitantly. Dayflight rumbles a negative. 

‘Dam Dayflight not angry at Adderfang,’ Sunbreak encourages her friend. She waits, just in case, but Dayflight does not disagree. Encouraged, but still confused, Adderfang follows his dam back to their cave. They usually don’t come back until they mean to sleep. It must be a private matter. She says nothing on the way over, but the silence is comfortable. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Adderfang isn’t afraid. If he had reason to be, Dam would certainly make sure he knew by now. She is very scary when she’s mad. Something is definitely bothering her, though. Maybe it would be better if she was angry; at least then Adderfang would know what was going on. 

Dayflight sits, pulling her tail neatly over her paws. She always holds herself up with purposeful grace, and makes Adderfang and Toothless do so too. No slouching. Adderfang knows neither of them will ever look as dignified as she does, but he does it anyway to make her happy. He mimics her posture and politely waits for her to speak. 

‘I did speak to council this day,’ she begins.

Adderfang perks up. The council– the oldest and most trusted members of the Nest. The Alpha keeps the Nest safe, but the council makes it comfortable for every-kin who lives in it. They handle disputes, take complaints, and have the final say in all domestic affairs. This is because they have served the Alpha the longest. Dayflight is a well-respected member of the council, so it’s not unusual for her to have spoken to them. Whatever they spoke of must be important for her to mention it. The only thing Adderfang can think of is…

‘New secret-hunt?’

Dayflight hesitates, then blinks an affirmative. Adderfang still can’t shake the strangeness, though. She has told him as much many times before. What is different now?

‘You worry why?’

His dam considers him carefully, looking over his face as if trying to memorise it. For a moment, Adderfang recalls Halvor’s gaze as he asked that strange question earlier. The comparison does not ease his mind.

‘Spike-tail kin Riverstone did come to Nest last sun-sleep. Riverstone mate Stormfly trapped in Cleverpaw nest. Stormfly carry eggs.’

Adderfang’s earplates droop. How horrible. He knows what the Cleverpaws do to their prisoners. The likelihood of an expecting mother getting out with all her eggs is practically nonexistent. If Adderfang is clever, hopefully she will have a chance, but the eggs… even if they survive, she can’t lay behind enemy lines. They’ll die in her stomach if Adderfang takes too long. Time is as much a threat as the Cleverpaws, here. Wait, if that’s the case…

‘Dam say last sun-sleep? Why not tell Adderfang before, must go now! Time short! I waste whole day!’

‘No. I waste whole day,’ Dayflight corrects. Her head lowers and her eyes wander across the floor of the cave. It is not like her. Not at all. ‘Dayflight not tell Adderfang before, because… this secret-hunt not like others. I did not want you go.’

What? Adderfang watches her shuffle her paws, not understanding. His dam knows these secret-hunts are dangerous, but she also knows he’s the only one that can do them. She’s never stopped him before. She’s always worried, but she’s also always proud of him for saving their kin. She’s told him before that this was what he was hatched to do; this is why he’s so special. Whenever he thought himself a monster, she reminded him that it was his natural gifts that were saving lives, and he should be proud. Why now would she want him not to go?

Sensing his bemusement, Dayflight huffs air through her nose and closes her eyes. Gathering herself, she raises her head again and looks at him straight-on. 

‘Stormfly trapped in Cleverpaw nest where I did find Adderfang.’

…Oh. 

Chapter Text

Sunbreak, with an Aladar/Adderfang size comparison for reference: 

Reef:

I did not draw this one, but it's so perfect for Criss & Cross I wish I had. Credit to centipede.com on tumblr:

Sweettooth:

Chapter Text

Dayflight gathers as much of the council as she can– which is to say, the ones she likes– and a few others. Among them are the dams and sires of Criss Cross, Sweettooth, Sunbreak, and Reef, who each bring their cubs. She fetches Halvor as well, and then her own two cubs. They slept with her last night, as they always do before a secret-hunt. Adderfang comes on his two legs to more easily communicate with his mentor. It is best he stays this way until he goes, to refamiliarize himself with Cleverpaw mannerisms as much as he can, but Dayflight cannot help but wish he could keep his tail just a little longer. 

They make a wide circle around the map that Halvor has drawn in the dirt, the Cleverpaw nest they’re targeting marked with an X. Adderfang inspects the lines carefully, planning a route in his head. The nest is maybe half a day’s flight away.

‘Halvor, you did know about this secret-hunt,’ is what he says first. ‘This is why you did ask that strange question yesterday.’

Halvor grunts a response. Dayflight doesn’t understand the exchange, but if it was important, her cub would tell her. Reef nudges Aladar with his wing.

‘Secret-hunt, yes?’

Dayflight answers for him with an affirmative croon. By now they all know the drill. They perk up to listen. 

Dayflight explains about Stormfly. Riverstone wanted to be the one to do it, but Dayflight did not allow him to come to the debrief. It wouldn’t be fair to expose her son to the grieving mate of the dragon he was being sent to save. They’re putting enough pressure on him as it is. 

She explains that Stormfly is likely not the only kin being kept in the Cleverpaw nest. She runs through what the scouts have reported, all the closest islands to the nest and how safe each of them are. None of them are really safe, but she’ll be damned if she lets her cub go in alone without any adult backup whatsoever.

That’s where things get tricky. They can’t ask for any help from the Nest. Their secret-hunts are just that: secrets. Many kin believe that exposure to Cleverpaws begets a sickness, corrupting good souls and turning them to hate. If they knew that Adderfang spent any time among them at all, even for a good cause, there would be uproar. It’s hard enough to defend her cub from the closed-minded kin as it is; every day it seems there is a new vein of hate reserved just for her boy and the way that he is, and Dayflight knows that she can’t shield him from all of it. But she has made it so that he is safe here, accepted by most if not all. He even has a group of friends who support him in both his skins, and are so devoted to his cause that they volunteer to accompany him on all his missions, danger be damned. Those five are braver than most of the rest of the Nest put together. And Dayflight is blessed to say that she has two cubs who would follow each other anywhere. Aladar would never let anything happen to Adderfang. It’s the only reason she lets Adderfang go at all. 

The cubs listen closely as she explains the plan. They will all stay on a nearby island, close enough to the Cleverpaw nest to provide backup if needed. Aladar will, as usual, stay on the Cleverpaw nest’s island out of sight. Their friends will take turns checking in on them, depending on how safe it is to come and go. It’s been a long time since Halvor was in the know about the goings-on of the Cleverpaw clans, so they can’t be sure. Dayflight herself will reside on an outcropping halfway between the Cleverpaw land and the Nest. As the fastest, she should be able to reach either one first if anything goes wrong. It will also mean that the cubs can update her as events unfold if need be. 

Having said her part, she hands over to Halvor. He takes his cue and clears his throat. 

‘Righ’. Well, the village ye’r off ta is called Berk, and I won’t lie to ye– it’s tha worst o’ tha worst fer tha likes o’ ye. It’s home ta tha Hairy Hooligan tribe, led by a legend named Stoick tha Vast. ‘E’s a viking’s viking, that one. A thumpin’ good chief, too, from wha’ I heard back in tha day. Smart, strong, and above all, ruthless– a’ least, where dragons are concerned. I’d recommend keepin’ on ‘is good side, if ‘e’s still tha chief. As fer the Hooligans… no tribe’s on particularly good standin’ wi’ dragons, but on Berk, I heard it’s a war. Ain’t no place more accustomed ta raids– tha’s why they grow ‘em so tough over there. Their whole way o’ life is built around dragon-killin’. Do no’ let ‘em see ya wi’ yer tail out. Ya hearin’ me? It’s kill-on-sigh’, an’ these guys are professionals. Ye’d be dead before ye could open yer mouth ta cry about it.’

Adderfang nods and translates for everyone. Sweettooth shudders, and Criss-Cross curl their tails around her in comfort. More and more, Dayflight wants to wrap her cub up in her wings and refuse to let him go. But he’s made his mind up. Now that she’s told him what’s at stake, nothing will keep him from this hunt. 

‘Now, Dayflight’s told me there’s somethin’ else in tha area ta look out fer,’ Halvor says, gesturing for her to take point.

She moves carefully around the map and marks a spot on the land to the north of the X Halvor drew. ‘Nest here. Aggressive. Cubs be careful-quiet.’

‘Tha’s a nest, then?’ Halvor clarifies. Adderfang nods. ‘Righ’. That’d explain tha raids. Ain’t never known dragons ta do tha’, but a nest… makes sense.’

They go over Adderfang’s cover story, and all the usual reminders of do’s and don’t’s. The meeting drags on for longer than it should, but it does every time they go through this. None of the parents want to see their cubs leave. But eventually, it’s time. 

While they’re all saying their goodbyes, Halvor steps forward. He doesn’t usually make a big deal of seeing his apprentice off, but clearly today is different. Dayflight gives them their privacy. 

‘I… s’pose ye got everythin’ ye’ll need… go’ yer pack there, tha’s good… ye never know wha’ ye’ll be needin’, but all ye can do is plan fer the worst an’ hope fer the best…’

Adderfang narrows his eyes at his mentor for the second time in as many days. It is the second time in as many days that he has acted out of character. Halvor never flaps around a topic.

‘Do say what it is that you mean,’ Adderfang suggests.

The old smith gives him a lighthearted glare for that, but takes the point and squares his shoulders. His jaw works around the words before they escape him in a cautious, stilted fashion. 

‘I knew a woman from Berk, once. I… I never go’ ta meet ‘er boy before ‘e disappeared, but…’

Adderfang’s breath catches. The world pauses, the discussions around them fading out into white noise. Halvor watches him, eyes slightly wide. He tries to speak again twice before he manages it.

‘Do ye… wan’ ta know ‘er name?’

A woman. A woman from Berk. A woman from Berk whose son disappeared. A woman from Berk whose son disappeared, with a name that Halvor knows. 

‘...No,’ Adderfang decides. He does not want to know. To know would be to accept things that Adderfang does not accept. 

Halvor nods, hesitantly letting out a breath. He fortifies himself with a nod, settles his hand between Adderfang’s neck and shoulder, and squeezes. With one last clap on the back, he sends the boy off to his dam, who is waiting patiently at the take-off spot.

Everyone is ready to go sooner or later. Adderfang sits astride his brother’s back. Dayflight takes off first, and they all follow with the well-wishes of their parents at their backs. Adderfang pretends not to notice Halvor watching them go. 

The clutchmates leave their dam as per the plan, and then their friends. They identify a Cleverpaw trade vessel, and Aladar drops Adderfang off on an island he can signal it from. They say their goodbyes, promising to meet on Berk when it’s safe, and then Aladar leaves Adderfang well and truly alone. From here on out, he relies only on himself.

The traders, while surprised to find a boy on his own on a random island, are happy to take him aboard. He trades them a handful of kin teeth to drop him off at Berk. Kin parts are very valuable to Cleverpaws, although Adderfang’s never seen any actually use them. Cleverpaws just like to have things for no reason. With this in mind, Adderfang packed many teeth and scales in with his supplies to pay for whatever he might need. Since Berk isn’t so far, it doesn’t take that many to make the trip worth it for the traders. And it doesn’t take long to get there, either. 

Berk is little more than a few uneven outcroppings mashed loosely together by time and the tide. The way the cliffs tower over the boat as it circles the island is admittedly intimidating. They gape overhead like one great maw poised to swallow the vessel whole. It brings to mind Halvor’s warnings. It was easier to be brave back at the nest. Staring up at the heart of human hatred now, Adderfang feels like he’s flying right down the gullet of the beast.

As they pull into the dock, Adderfang takes note of the activity he can see. Cleverpaws meander up and down the trails they’ve battered into the ground like disorganised ants. Where kin are made in all shapes and sizes that they use to weave around obstacles as they see fit, Cleverpaws are generally all built the same. They don’t try to make up for it, either; instead of using all their limbs, space, and advantages to move around as efficiently as they can, they conscribe themselves to narrow paths and bump into each other all the time. Adderfang watches two of them haul a barrel that could easily be rolled down the path. Cubs– or rather, children– are more reasonable; he can see two of them wrestling in the dirt like proper people. One of them bites the other. These observations lead Adderfang to believe that Cleverpaws aren’t born obtuse, but taught to be that way as they grow. It’s such a shame. Halvor is proof that not all Cleverpaws are inherently evil, but the good ones are always eclipsed by the bad.

The sounds of wood hitting wood, metal crying out, and sea-birds calling are quickly drowned out by the flurry of activity that follows the Berk Cleverpaws realising that a boat is coming in. It must be an exciting thing for small nests, Adderfang supposes. What must be most of the village pours out onto the shore, waving and calling cheerfully. It is very loud, and the press of people is intense. Elbows shove into faces, and as sweaty arms go up, the smell hits Adderfang like a physical wall. How can anyone bear to be in that mess? Even looking at it is making Adderfang sick. They pack together like angry fish, all fighting each other, and they scream like foxes for attention. Their teeth show, and their faces flush, and for a horrible moment, Adderfang thinks they’ve smelled his intentions. They are feasting on his fear, and in another heartbeat when the boat is secured, they will feast on his flesh. They know. They know, they know, they know. 

A clap on his shoulder. He jumps so hard that under normal circumstances, he’d take off. 

‘No’ one fer a crowd, eh, lad?’ one of the merchants asks. He is also flashing his teeth in what Adderfang knows to be a happy expression. ‘Dinnae ye worry, they don’t bite. No’ the likes o’ yew, anyhow. Ye wouldn’t even do as an appetiser!’ 

Adderfang doesn’t understand the phrase, but he gets the gist: encouragement. Maybe it’s because the shoulder-clap reminded him of Halvor, but it works a little. He takes another look at the foaming crowd and realises that most of their sounds are happy ones. The cubs slip around the forest of legs without fear of being crushed in the melee, emerging with their teeth showing to express cheer. The only threat present is the one Adderfang has misread from the nature of Cleverpaws to be loud and violent, even with each other. 

Then, the Alpha emerges. Adderfang does not even need to confirm it; he is certain the moment his eyes land on the man that it is Stoick the Vast. It is unclear whether the crowd parts for him, or he cleaves his own way through– either way, it is done so easily that the huge beasts of sweat and muscle are made to seem as light and inconsequential as feathers. He towers over even the largest of them with little help from the thick, curved horns fixed into his helmet. From his face, flame-coloured fur grows out in an enormous splash of red, twisted with ties in the Cleverpaw way. A mane of flame. His arms are bigger than Adderfang’s face, easily. Silver gleams on his person, and behind him flies a great fur that must have been a mighty bear once. And his eyes, so small against the rest of him, are as pale and clear as the dawn in the cold-moons. The way the skin crinkles around them recalls ripples. The peacefulness in that alone must be very lost to find itself here, in the eyes of this man.

To Adderfang, he looks like the Cleverpaw that all mothers tell their little ones about to teach them fear. The one that comes to mind whenever someone comes home hurt, in pain, or crying for the ones who didn’t come back with them. This man looks like Death. 

He stomps up to the boat, and Adderfang’s blood goes cold. He is frozen, unable to even translate the expression on the monster’s face through his fear. Distantly, he wonders if the purpose of the mane is to make that more difficult. 

When one of the Alpha’s enormous hands– hands that could crush Adderfang’s skull with a twitch– touches the side of the boat, the spell is broken. The crew trot around, calling out their wares and offers, thanking the Alpha for allowing their presence. Adderfang’s mind whirls, trying to regain his foothold in the conversation and keep up with the fast-paced Cleverpaw tongue. It is suddenly very hard, but it is imperative that he is as aware as he can be of everything around him. He shakes himself and tries to slip into a less visible spot. Unfortunately, the Sky does not smile on him this day.

 ‘-ound this sorry lookin’ runt– where’d ‘e get to–’ 

Adderfang is scooped up by his scruff and yanked into place… right before the Alpha. Even staring up at them from the docks, his shadow seems to swallow Adderfang’s whole. Once again, he is frozen. 

Those cold-moon eyes spear him and turn him around slowly. Stoick’s scent carries strong over the distance between them: sweat; metal; the earth and the forest; smoke; bone; old blood and power. His furs and face are damp in the salt spray, bracketing all these smells in the air of the docks themselves as if Stoick is a natural element here– a permanent facet of the unyielding rock beneath his feet. The skin that Adderfang can see furthers this comparison: it is hewn, weathered, carved through by scars and divots so numerous that they render the surface as coarse as a Rumble-kin’s back plates. Many colours make him up, splotching chaotically over his flesh. It is rare to see a Cleverpaw with natural patterns, but this one has so many scar-stripes and colour-spots that Adderfang has to gawk. He can’t help but wonder why. If it was for camouflage, the mane-of-flame would ruin the effect. Perhaps it’s to attract a mate, or signify status? Or perhaps it’s simply the result of so many seasons refusing to bow to sun, sea, or sky. Perhaps he takes pride in his face in the same way the cliffs take pride in theirs: by refusing to crumble. 

What must only be a few heartbeats feels like lifetimes. The boat man’s still talking, but Adderfang hears nothing over his heart screaming to fly.

The next thing he knows, he is on the docks. Thankfully, the Alpha turns away, giving Adderfang time to adjust to his enormous size.

Something is said, and the stampede is set off. The crowd pushes forth as one, and Adderfang staggers back, eyes wide. His back paws hit the edge, and it keeps going, and he falls—

–And he is caught. By one skull-crushing hand. It is surprisingly warm. 

‘Woahh, easy there! Ye damn near fell righ’ off tha dock! That’ll be them sea-legs-- they get ta tha best of us, lad. What’s yer name, then, and what can Berk do for ya?’

Name. His name. His story. Yes. 

‘Hiccup. My name is Hiccup. My parents were travelling until recently, when pirates did take our ship. They did take my mother, and they did leave my father and me on an island alone. My father did die to disease. I am now looking for a place to stay,’ he rattles off. His confidence returns to him in bits as he continues, bowing his head slightly. ‘I can work. I am skilled in the blacksmith ways. I can read and write. I can too learn to work in other ways. Is this agreeable to Berk?’

There is silence for a long enough time that Adderfang risks a peek up at the Alpha’s face. His eyes are wide, but that is all Adderfang can tell through the fur. One hand comes up to rub his forehead under his helmet, and he lets out a breath. 

‘Odin’s beard, lad… that’s a sad tale if ever I heard one. Hiccup, ye said...? O’ course ye can stay, as long as ye want to. I’m sure no one’ll object. Gobber’s been needin’ a hand, ‘e isn’t gettin’ any younger. As fer where ye can stay… well, we’ll find someplace, I’m sure. I’ll call a meetin’ tonight and ask around.’ He takes Adderfang’s shoulder, which nearly buckles on principle, and begins steering him deeper into the village. ‘Ye can read and write, ye say? That’s quite somethin’. Perhaps ye’ll get on with my son. ‘E should be around ‘ere somewhere… Oi, Fishlegs!’ 

A boulder of a boy jumps and turns on his heels, fists up in front of his chest. Adderfang doesn’t know what that means. It looks like fear, but does not smell like it. The boy smells like parchment, sweet grass, charcoal, earth, rain, and many plants. Adderfang memorises the strange stance for later study.

‘Yes, Chief?’

‘You seen Magnus around?’

‘Uhm, I think he went with the crowd to see the merchant’s wares,’ says Fishlegs. He does his best to shuffle that way himself without looking like that’s what he’s doing. ‘And, uh, speaking of…’ 

The Alpha grunts and waves him off. ‘Yeah, yeah, go’on. Looks like ye’ll hafta wait ta meet yer peers, Hiccup. Gobber’s in there too, I suspect… Well, since everyone’s occupied, how about I give ye tha grand tour? Then ye can decide if ye really want ta stay!’

The grand tour. Hiccup has had many grand tours– nearly one on every secret-hunt. They are very helpful. Usually the Cleverpaws take him right to where his kin are being kept, so he knows just where to go when he’s ready with a plan to break them out. He only wishes someone else could give him the tour. Every moment he spends in the presence of the Alpha feels like a risk to both his cover and his heart rate. 

Despite the looming presence of Stoick the Vast, the tour is helpful. The lower part of the nest is where all the viking huts are, where most of the village sleeps. The Make-Place is there also, facing a big clearing of stone. Looking down over all is the grandest hall: the Meade Hall. This is for eating, drinking, and gathering. There is a healer who lives on a very high perch, and many surrounding fields for growing food-plants and food-prey. This reduces the need for hunting. 

And then, there is the kill-ring. 

A cold grey floor, surrounded by cold grey walls that bear the death-marks of countless kin. A great spider-web of metal trap keeps all within from the sky, cruel in its promise of freedom just beyond. The moment it is pointed out to Adderfang, he realises what the scent on the air from that side has been all this time: blood. So much, new over old over older, from so many different kin-kinds, all coalesced into a raucous stench of desperation that makes Adderfang’s head spin. He stops dead in his tracks, unable to make himself go closer. Never, in all the secret-hunts he has completed, has he smelled death like this. It strangles his insides, killing his hope and feeding his fear until it is as great a monster as the one he faces. 

There are kin in there right now. Stormfly has eggs in there, and he can’t even smell them for all the death. 

He is shaking. He fights to keep his belly full. His ears ring, but he’s sure Stoick is talking. Stoick is talking, and he must listen. 

‘-alright there, lad? Tha sea musta’ taken more outta ye than I thought. Well, I just thought I’d quickly show ya tha arena, but ya can see it alright from ‘ere. If ya get into dragon trainin’ with the others, ye’ll get ta see it up close and personal, but well… ya look a wee bit small fer tha’ jus’ yet.’

‘I have seen fifteen season-changes,’ Adderfang manages to get out. 

‘Fif–?! Odin’s beard, ye really are small. I wouldn’t’a guessed it. Ye’r older than Magnus! Well, then…’ Stoick catches sight of something behind Adderfang and lights up. ‘Oh! Looks like ye’r about ta meet tha chieftess o’ Berk, my lovely wife.’

Adderfang takes a moment to pray that she isn’t as scary as Stoick. Then he turns, and for the third time since he arrived, freezes solid. 

She is not like the other Cleverpaws. She is tall and thin, more like Adderfang than any other he’s ever seen before. Her features are slim and graceful, pointed, and she is missing that splotchy red colour that most vikings have. She bears no horns, no helmet, no furs or sharp killing-things. She has only a bag of holding strapped around her middle. One stray curl has escaped her bunches of twined head-fur, falling around her gentle face. Adderfang has never thought of a Cleverpaw as beautiful before, but if there ever was one, this is her.

All this, Adderfang takes in before he sees her eyes. They are what paralyse him.

They are the vibrant colour of life, shaped by compassion that has no place on a Cleverpaw.

And they are his.

Chapter Text

She smells of bell-blooms, rain, cloud-berries, tasty plants and oils, and so many other things Adderfang can’t identify. He wants to know what they are more than anything. 

Stoick speaks. Her eyes shine like sun on the forest floor as she returns her mate’s gaze, dappled with such a sharp intelligence that Adderfang’s breath abandons him. He could be looking into the eyes of a dragon for all the honest expression in them. For once, here is a Cleverpaw he can read like a book. She is speaking, and she is saying joy, love, wit, clever-play, easy, fun, wonder-find. And when she opens her mouth, it is all too easy to filter out the words to plainly hear all these same things, and more. Her voice warbles ever so slightly, rising and falling like playful cresting waves. Adderfang even fancies it pours out of her like a kin-croon. Her braids fly behind her like twin tails teasing the wind. As she sings her words, her body sings along in the way of kin. 

And then she looks back at him, and the world stops. 

They see each other. 

Adderfang latches onto each emotion that rolls through her as if they are his own. Recognition. Shock. No. Yes? How? No. No! … Yes! The sweeping wave. The undertow. Relief. No– Yes, yes yes YES! Fear. Need, hunger, Must-know, Can’t-know, needneedneed, love, FEAR.

Her left knee gives a little, and she makes to catch herself on Stoick. Her paw meets only air. Distractedly, she looks over to find he’s gone. Adderfang didn’t notice him leave either. 

She rights herself in a daze, and the stare off continues. She almost blinks, and then does blink. Her mouth-seam is parted. As if remembering she has limbs, she suddenly stutters back into motion, taking an aborted step forward. Another one follows. Adderfang’s head whips around to make sure they’re alone, suddenly sure that all of Berk will see this display and know everything. But there are only a few cloud-trotters to bear witness, and they don’t seem interested. 

Berk’s Queen halts three strides away. Her knees bend and her shoulders stoop, head ducking to show no-hurt. Her eyes, so so wide, catch on his chin. A raspy sound comes from her throat. She blinks more, swallows thickly, and breathes heavily for a moment, eyes flicking back up to pin his.

‘Do– do you… what’s your name?’

Adderfang’s forelegs tense to run. To break free, to fly, to escape the trap-jaws he can feel closing around him. He shifts his weight, feels the pounce build… but his back paw won’t lift. 

‘...Hiccup.’

A sharp intake of breath. If possible, her eyes go wider. 

‘And how old are you, Hiccup?’

Run. Run, Adderfang. 

‘I have seen fifteen summers.’

The wind picks up. The tall grass does a frenzied dance. Adderfang feels it cool the sweat on his skin even as he watches the woman’s braid-tails fly. He catches the exact moment she tenses to run, just as he had. Unlike him, though, she is not meaning to run away. 

‘Do not tell him,’ he blurts before she can take so much as a step. 

Her mouth opens and closes helplessly. Her head shakes a little, and he follows the course of her realisation that he is as aware of the situation as she is. How is shuffled aside for more immediate need-to-knows. 

‘Why?’

‘I do not know him. I do not want to know him. He is not anything like me.’

Her eyes flutter. Her face crumples as she tries to understand. ‘Not– not like you?’

‘Not at all,’ Adderfang snaps. The sharpness makes her flinch. He softens, dipping his head in sorry-no-hurt. 

Her eyes roam over his form, about half the size of a regular cleverpaw his age. He is a poor distortion of her graceful form, but there is no mistaking him for a distortion of anything else.

‘No, I don’t suppose you are. I guess… you might be more like me.’ A desperate pause. ‘Sorry…. about that.’

There is a plea in it. Her head dips even further, tilting in question. Adderfang feels like burying his face in his paws and whining. He cannot say! She is not supposed to know! He is not supposed to know! This was not supposed to happen!

‘I am not like you!’ he hisses. ‘I am not like any of you! I do not want to be like you! I never will be like you!’

He stares through the ground. He can’t look up. He wonders at her silence, but he can’t look up. He is not here for her. She needs to understand this, and he does too.

‘Do not tell him,’ he says as firmly as he can. Then his body jolts into action, turns, and starts running. It is all he can do to stay on his two hind paws. 

He runs to the forest. He should meet it, learn it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t care for this place right now. He just runs, because he cannot fly, and then, when his heart tries to burst and his feet start to fail, he tears off these false-skins and dons his wings. He cannot bear to be anything but a dragon now. 

The caves are empty on this island of death. There is no one to contend with. He finds a nice big hole in a cliff face and promptly tries to become one with the rubble. Maybe he can hide in here as a rock forever, and never have to face Berk again. 

This would be a good plan, if Toothless didn’t know his scent inside and out. He could find Adderfang in a full-strength sky-whirl. It doesn’t take him long to sniff his clutchmate out.

At once Toothless is batting at Adderfang gently, making concerned crooning noises of tell-me. He coaxes his head under Adderfang’s, curling around him and prodding him out of his cocoon at once. Adderfang pushes himself against his clutchmate. If he can’t become one with the cave, Toothless will do. 

Toothless is a good listener, as always. He croons his input at all the right points, growling in Adderfang’s honour at every perceived slight. But when Adderfang explains who the Alpha and his mate are, Toothless goes quiet. He swipes his paws gently over Adderfang’s head like he used to when they were hatchlings to clean his face. Adderfang still does something similar to block out noise, paws scrabbling over his ear plates. It doesn’t have the same effect when Toothless does it, but the intention gets across, and just in case it doesn’t, Toothless reaffirms the notions with croons of love love calm love.

‘I did say this thing to Alpha-mate: no-tell Alpha,’ Adderfang huffs. ‘ Then I did run. I did run!’

‘Good Hiccup Half-of-Me,’ Toothless says firmly, licking a comforting stripe up his forehead. ‘ Good run. Alpha-mate know much too much. We fly back to Nest now, safe-good-happy.’

‘Want to, want to,’ Adderfang whimpers, ‘Cannot. Will not go!’

‘Danger! No-safe!’

‘Kin. Kin in this bad-place. This mean, bad, killing place did swallow Stormfly and her hatchlings. Hatchlings! I will not leave them.’

‘Alpha-mate did hatch you. She does know this. She tell others, you will be swallowed also!’

‘She will not tell,’ Adderfang says, trying to steady his breath. He swallows back the smoke in his throat. 

‘You not know,’ Toothless refutes. 

‘She will not. She… kind.’ Adderfang pauses. It is a stupid thing to think. He does not know this person, this Cleverpaw; she is a stranger to him, and a mate to the enemy Alpha. To think her kind is a foolish mistake– a child’s mistake. And he is not her child. Adderfang hears all of this in Toothless’ responding silence. ‘I am sure. She not like other Cleverpaws. Not stupid-mean. Wonder. She listen, she hear. She did speak fear-love-confusion, never hurt. She small, move-good speak-clear like Kin. She maybe not good Cleverpaw. Maybe… hatch wrong also.’

Again, Aladar is silent, unwilling to disagree aloud. Adderfang doesn’t blame him. It’s an unbelievable thing, and he is definitely biased. But he knows it to be true. If Toothless had seen her, he would know it too. 

‘Trust, Half-of-Me. I wonder need-know, she wonder need-know also. She will not tell. I stay.’

Toothless huffs a breath over Adderfang’s head that’s equal parts exasperated, worried, and helpless. The sigh of a long-suffering clutchmate. It’s as good as a surrender. Adderfang wiggles around in his grip to give him a little lick of comfort-thanks. 

‘I stay in here-cave this moon-flight. If danger does happen, you run to here-cave, we fly-quick to dam and wing-mates. If Hiccup not come to cave before next moon-flight, I come-find.’

Adderfang croons his affirmative, snuggling closer into his clutchmate’s warmth. He’s afraid, and he tells Toothless so. But he won’t go. He is here, and he will see this through. 

-~o~-

The meeting Stoick calls is a casual affair. There’s only one matter to discuss, and it shouldn’t take long. Still, it’s important for the village to be in attendance, so Stoick waits until most everyone of note has shuffled in. It’s not everyone, but word will get around fast enough. 

‘Right,’ he calls over the bemused whispering. Odd as it is to have an unscheduled meeting in the middle of the day, people are naturally curious. ‘I won’t keep ye long. I’m sure some of ye saw a wee lad ‘bout the height of my kneecaps comin’ in with the traders. The lad’s name is Hiccup. His family’s been lost to ‘im, and ‘e comes to us fer asylum. Gobber,’ the old blacksmith perks up, ‘He’s offered his service at the smithy. Says he’s trained, but I’ll let you be the judge o’ that. Ye can take ‘im or leave ‘im. In the meantime, Hiccup’ll need a place to stay. He seems a bright young lad, knows ‘is letters and all. Is there anyone here who has room fer ‘im?’

Stoick combs through the crowd with his eyes, unable to stop himself from focussing on those he’d pick for the task. The Ruckussons would have the space, having just married off one of their sons. Hilda Greenfist was born to be a mother, though she’s widowed and childless. Mack the Brave has been a little unsure what to do with himself since he lost his arm– perhaps he and his wife could find purpose in hosting a guest. Stoick could offer to help pay for any building required to house the boy, if needed, but he should be put somewhere he’ll be welcome regardless of that…

Those in attendance turn to discuss with their partners. To Stoick’s shock, Gobber opens his mouth to volunteer. Not good. Stoick loves the man, but his house is no place for a child. Putting aside the ever-present threat of bodily harm that comes with just entering Gobber’s hut, there’s little to no room, only one bed, and it stinks. Knowing Gobber, he’d probably put a pile of hay down at the foot of his bed and consider it perfectly suitable to raise a child in. 

Before Stoick can cut him off though, someone else does. 

‘We’ll take him.’

At once the voices quieten. Stoick and the rest of Berk turn to stare at Valka. She hardly seems to notice, sending her husband a nod so solemn you’d think she was committing to war. ‘We’ll take him, Stoick. We have enough room. Magnus never had a brother growing up, he could do with the company.’

Stoick’s brow contracts. It’s not that he’s opposed to the idea, if he thinks about it, but he hadn’t. It’s just so out of the blue. It’s not like Valka to ever spring things like this on him– she’s always understood all too well the pressures and responsibilities of being in the public eye. Ever the level-headed one, she would pull him aside to discuss things before ever bringing them up in front of the tribe. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her. This is just so out of character for her. And as he looks her over, he misses the lightness she always carries with her in everything. She is taut and firm, as if headed into battle. What on earth…?

‘...Right,’ the chief clears his throat belatedly. He can find out later. They need to present a united front. ‘Right, then. That’s settled. He’ll stay with us. The rest of ye, make ‘im feel welcome. As ye were.’

The tribe shuffles out, sending the odd glance over at the two of them. Obviously, Stoick’s not the only one who’s noticed Valka’s strangeness. Gobber eyes her curiously, glances once at Stoick, and hobbles off. Stoick waits til the door creaks shut before he goes to his wife. 

‘What’s goin’ on, Val?’ he asks gently. 

‘Nothing,’ she hums, a million miles away. She shakes herself back into her present place with some difficulty and meets his eyes, trying to summon back that brightness she normally wears so well. ‘Nothing. I just have a feeling.’ 

‘Well…’ Stoick breathes in, stroking his brow under his helmet. ‘Y’know we talk about these things.’

‘Do you not want to take him?’

‘We have the room. If it’s what ye want, we’ll be happy ta have ‘im.’ He looks over her one more time, but can’t identify any immediate explanation for her abrupt change in behaviour. He lets out a breath and gives in, eyes trailing off past the well-worn pillars of the hall. ‘I’ll have another bed brought into Magnus’ room. It should fit, if it faces the north wall…’

‘I’ll handle it,’ she declares. ‘There are spare furs in the cupboard. They should be enough, but I’ll check. Small as he is, he’ll be cold of a night, and Odin knows if he catches sick it might be the death of him. We’ll put him over the firepit, where it’s warmest. Away from the window. He’ll need clothes– I’ll make him some. A cloak, certainly… gloves, yes, if he’ll be working the forge, he’ll need proper protection, Gobber will know… then again, maybe he won’t. Ooh, Gobber– d’you really think he should be supervising a child in a forge, Stoick?’

‘Now, Valka, Gobber’s been supervising dragon trainin’ fer nigh on a decade now–’

‘Oh, you can hardly take that as a point for your case! Have you seen him teach?’

Stoick makes a settling gesture. ‘I’ll handle Gobber. You go and start preparing things, hmm? I’ll talk to Magnus, you can tell Hiccup.’

Valka pauses. She cards through this proposal as if the weight of the clan lies upon it. Then she purses her lips and nods. She pats her husband’s enormous hand and then whirls out the door and is gone. 

Stoick stares after her, eyebrow arched. Every time he thinks he’s got his wife figured out, she throws him a curve ball. 

-~o~-

WHAP!

Skid, duck, leap! 

WHAP!

Under the old hollow–

WHAP!

Last stretch! Up the bend and round the oak tree–

WHAP!

Run!

Magnus tears through the undergrowth and comes to a graceless stop at the finish line, throwing up a tremendous wave of dirt. Astrid doesn’t so much as blink. 

‘One-fifty-eight!’ She calls as he catches his breath. He squawks. He’s sure he did better than that! He ran that so fast, he thought he’d broken his record for sure! 

‘It’s your turns,’ Snotlout drawls for the thousandth time. He’s draped over a tree root like a fainted maiden. 

‘You weren’t even watching!’

‘Didn’t need to. Astrid?’

‘...It is your turns.’

Magnus groans and waves them off good-naturedly. Astrid, despite being strong as an ox, was born fleet of foot. Magnus is a fair bit bigger than her, and he’s much better at standing his ground than gracefully dancing through the undergrowth. It gives him the advantage in some competitions, but not in this one. Astrid always wins the dagger run. 

‘I will catch up to you,’ he promises. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’

Astrid opens her mouth and closes it again, eyes sliding over to where Snotlout’s picking his nose. ‘I was gonna say that the day you beat my dagger run record is the day I marry Snotlout, but on second thought… I don’t want to take even that chance.’

Magnus crosses over and circles his arms around his cousin, smacking him on the chest once proudly. ‘And what’s wrong with a fine hunk of viking like this, eh? He’s of superior stock!’

Snotlout puffs his chest out and blows Astrid a kiss. Astrid makes some visceral gagging sounds, and Magnus lets his cousin go with a wide grin, ruffling his hair. ‘Ahh, she’ll come around, Snot.’

‘She won’t,’ the fair lady attests. 

‘Hey, did you guys get anything cool from those traders?’ Magnus asks, settling down on the root Snotlout has vacated. Astrid throws him his helmet. 

‘They didn’t have anything good,’ Snotlout grouses. ‘Well, they had some things, but the prices?! What a joke!’

‘There was a nice comb, but Snotlout’s right. They asked too much,’ Astrid hums, hopping off of her perch. She starts redoing her braid in preparation for her next dagger run. ‘What about that fishbone that came with them? I saw him talking to the chief, but I didn’t see him get back on the boat.’

‘What? You mean he stayed?’

She nods. ‘He’s no heir or representative I’ve ever seen. And there was no warning of his arrival. My guess? He’s an orphan.’

‘And how do you know he’s not just visiting someone on Berk? He’s probably someone’s cousin or something,’ Magnus refutes. 

Snotlout snorts. ‘Who sends a kid that small off to visit a random cousin? Actually, here’s a better question: who cares? The sooner Astrid beats your butt yet again, the sooner we can all go have lunch. C’mon Astrid, hop to it!’

In a turn of events that shocks exactly no one, Astrid soundly trounces Magnus in the dagger run, defending her long-standing title. At Snotlout’s insistence, they head back to the village for lunch. Fishlegs is already at the great hall, and the Nuts join them as well soon enough. 

‘Hey, have you guys seen the fresh meat?’ Ruffnut says by way of greeting. Tuffnut perks up at the phrase. She frowns at him. ‘The new kid, mutton-head! Try to think with anything but your stomach!’

‘The fishbone?’ Snotlout asks through a truly disgusting mouthful of fish stew. 

Tuffnut groans and slumps down beside him. ‘Ugh. We’ve been looking for that little rodent all day!’ 

‘He hasn’t been here all day,’ Magnus points out. Tuffnut kicks him in the shin. 

‘Why do you want to find him?’ Astrid demands. 

‘So it is a him,’ Ruffnut hums thoughtfully. ‘We weren’t sure, what with the scrawniness. He kinda looks like a flower, y’know? Like, super delicate, would fly away in a strong wind, probably peelable–’

‘Ruff.’

‘Hm?’

‘Why are you looking for him.’

‘Oh! Well, ‘cause he’s new, duh!’

Tuff chuckles along. ‘New is interesting! Nothing new ever happens on this stupid island. It’s so BORING! But this guy’s new. He has not been confirmed boring yet. Which is more than I can say for you, sister. So, have ya seen him?’

‘He was probably at the meeting,’ Fishlegs squeaks. Immediately he has everyone’s attention, and he sheepishly elaborates. ‘The chief called a meeting earlier. It was probably to do with him. It was over pretty quickly…’

‘Magnus.’

Speaking of the chief. The whole gang turns to look with wide eyes as Magnus’ father looms over their table. Magnus is well used to his dad, but he can see how his age-mates might find him scary. Particularly when he’s looming over the table like a spectre of glorious death. 

Magnus swallows his food before turning to face him. ‘Dad?’

‘Can I speak to ya for a moment? I’d let ye finish yer meal, but I’ve gotta meet Sven ta shore up the cliffside in a minute.’

Magnus hums a yes and stands, letting his father pull him to the side of the hall. 

‘Sorry, son. I didn’t mean ta embarrass ya in front o’ yer friends,’ the chief mumbles, shuffling awkwardly from one side to the other.

Magnus smiles. ‘What, I’m supposed to be embarrassed that I talk to my father?’ 

‘That’s a lad,’ the man chuckles, resting his hand over Magnus’ shoulder. ‘Anywho… I’m sure ye’ve heard about the new man on Berk?’

‘The one that looks like a starved squirrel? Yeah, I saw him at the docks. I heard he’s staying. Is that true?’

‘Aye. The lad’s lost his parents, so he’ll stay here now. We held a meeting, and it was decided that he’d kip with us Haddocks. Looks like ye’r gonna be sharin’ yer room. I know that’s probably not what ya wanna hear at this age, but yer mother thought it’d be good for ye. He seems a nice enough lad, it shouldn’t be too much of a bother.’

Magnus blinks, slightly shellshocked. He decides to focus on getting the full picture before processing it. ‘Did no one else have room?’ He cringes as he realises how unkind that sounds. 

‘Someone would’ve, but yer mother decided we’d take ‘im. Ideally we’d’ve asked you first, but it won’t be so bad! Try ta make ‘im feel welcome, eh? My gut says ‘e’s gonna need all the ‘e can get.’

‘Sure thing, dad,’ Magnus hums distractedly. ‘Oh, um, before you go– how old is he? We’ll need to find his age-mates.’

For some reason this makes the chief chuckle. Magnus raises a brow. 

‘He’s got a year on ya.’

Snotlout falls off the bench he was eavesdropping from.

-~o~- 

Adderfang knows he shouldn’t be gone from the village for long. Stepping into it the second time is as bad as the first. Every sense begs him to flee back into the forest. Everything is so… unnatural. The oily, treated smell of the wooden houses gives the impression of a completely dead forest. No flames battle the chill, which slices through any and everything in its path without mercy. Adderfang feels paper-thin without his fire, and liable to fall right over without his tail to stabilise him. His bracers, belt, and boots, all insulated with his and Toothless’ scales, keep the warmth well enough– the rest of his covers, however, do little to keep out the cold. He refused to make himself any furs, because they’re just… not right . They’re bulky, cumbersome things, and the feel of them confuses him. His skin is so much more sensitive in this form, so everything feels weird, but the furs-! They are like warm, heavy clouds, and no matter where they touch him, it feels like they’re pressing against the softest part of his paw-pads. Nothing should feel that much. At least the cold is familiar. Even as he shivers now, he does not regret his decision. 

It seems many things are happening in the village. Adderfang does not want to go back into its jaws, so he circles it as he would any unknown thing. He seeks a higher vantage point. He has seen it all briefly, but he can now take the time to observe things as they happen in their natural way. The air is clear enough to allow him to see it all from his chosen spot: a grassy hill at the high point of the forest’s mouth. The trails are fewer up here, made of worn-down earth rather than carved rock. A few huts dot the hill, much further apart than those crammed together in the centre of town. There are some cloud-trotters roaming about, a shamble-horn or two. That’s all. 

Eventually someone finds him. They look surprised to see him there, quickly stabbing their finger at one large hut halfway down the hill, perfectly placed to look over the rest. It catches the light of sundown well. 

‘What is that?’ he asks the grisly Cleverpaw who’s found him.  

‘That’s tha chief’s hut, boyo. His missus’ll be lookin’ for ya, she’s been gettin’ things ready all day. Go’on!’

So down to the hut Adderfang slinks. He’s considering how to approach when he leaps back, startled by the door snapping open with a BANG. Someone bustles out from inside, followed by someone else. They have their arms full of empty holding-things. They were dropping something off… offerings? Oh no! Adderfang has no offering! Quickly, he retreats before he is seen, back to the bountiful forest.

It’s not hard to sniff out prey, but without his claws, taking it down is a long and cautious process. He has to chase it into a treacherous gorge and watch it break its leg in the scramble before he can move in for the kill. By the time he has his prize, it’s long gone dark. This is of no consequence to him, but he hopes the Cleverpaws haven’t gone to sleep yet. Cleverpaws have terrible senses of smell, so they’d have no way of identifying the offering as Adderfang’s if he left it out for them. They probably wouldn’t even smell it before some opportunistic scavenger got to it, and then Adderfang would be back at scale one. No, best to make sure they receive it in person. 

Adderfang needn’t have worried. Even as he returns, he can see many lights from Cleverpaw flame-sticks through the town, growing in number. Through the smell of his catch, Adderfang picks out the scents of the alpha and his mate. He follows it, finding them marching up the trail leading to their sleeping-hut. The tang of fear colours the air. Stoick is speaking in clipped tones under his breath, and his mate sounds breathless. The fear, Adderfang realises, is hers. It’s so sharp it makes him sneeze. 

At once, her head whips up. Her eyes widen at the sight of him, and her hand flashes out to slap blindly at her mate for his attention. Then they are both staring at him. 

Adderfang drags his offering forward, letting it fall between them. He’s not big enough in this form to even take it up, so he pulled it across the ground from where he felled it. It should still be good. He steps back from it and bows, awaiting the alpha’s response. 

‘W… where’d ya find this?’ Stoick asks. Adderfang dares to look up. It might be rude, but he needs all the context he can get to read their reactions. 

‘There are many things alive in the forest. I did take this one, and I do now lay it down for you in offering. I offer this thing in respect and thanks to you, Chief Stoick of Berk, for allowing me. I do offer this respect to your wife also.’ The silence stretches, the staring continues, and Adderfang grows concerned. He cannot read their faces. ‘Do you not accept this offering?’ 

‘Have you been out… hunting? All this time?’ the alpha’s mate asks. It is not an answer, so Adderfang bows lower, beginning to fear he’s offended them in some way. His confusion doubles when the she steps right over his offering to touch his shoulders and look him over. ‘We feared you’d walked off a cliff or sommat, we were just about to send out search parties! Are you alright? You’re not hurt?’

Adderfang reels at the touch, and can’t stop himself from recoiling at her hands on his cheeks. Realising his mistake, he bows again, hoping he hasn’t dashed his last chance. ‘Is this acceptance?’

‘It’s neck is snapped,’ Stoick mumbles to himself. ‘There’s no wound… what’d ya catch it with, lad?’

Adderfang blinks. With? …Oh, tool-weapons! He opens his mouth to respond, but Stoick’s mate cuts across him in a chastising hiss. 

‘You’re really asking how the thing died?!’ She turns back on Adderfang in distress. ‘Hiccup, what possessed you? It’s pitch black out, the woods are dangerous at night– even if you somehow manage not to trip and break your neck, anything could’a happened! And here you were off on some fool’s errand, for what? Come inside, you silly boy, you had me beside m’self!’

Adderfang gently fights her attempts to pull him along to the sleeping-hut, head craning back to see if Stoick will receive the gift. The alpha stoops and gathers up the offering, looking it over with raised eyebrows that he then turns on Adderfang. Relief. This must be acceptance. 

‘Valka’s right, lad. Ye didnae hafta… a wee thing like yersel’ in tha forest at night, ye could’a been killed. Still, ta take a thing like this down all on yer own– I’ve not seen anythin’ like it since Girda’s stud yak felled that Zippleback with a horn in each heart! Well, perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch, but look atcha! I wouldn’t’a thought it. He’s a hidden talent, Val!’

The she— Valka — shoots a look over at the offering. It does not look happy. The alpha has the final say, so she doesn’t have to like it, but Adderfang finds himself disappointed regardless. 

‘We don’t need an offering,’ she says to him with some measure of disbelief. ‘You don’t owe us anything, do you understand? We’re happy to have you. I know it might not feel like it, but you are just a boy. There’s no need to prove yourself.’

Her eyes are strong on his, and Adderfang gets the distinct impression he’s missing something. Of course he has to prove himself. Cleverpaw cubs are still expected to contribute, are they not? Adderfang has been on many secret-hunts before– never has he been accepted into a tribe as a member without first proving his worth. But that seems to be what the alpha has decreed here and now. Actually, it seems to have more to do with the alpha’s mate Valka. It is she who has accepted him, and her influence that has settled Adderfang solidly within good graces so immediately. It is less her acceptance that Adderfang is wary of, and more the claim he can sense she feels to him. She says that he doesn’t owe them anything, but perhaps that is one of those lies that Cleverpaws do-say. Or perhaps Adderfang is completely wrong, and simply does not know Cleverpaws as well as he thought. 

‘I’ll let the village know we’ve found ‘im,’ Stoick tells his mate, lifting the offering over his giant shoulder. ‘You get ‘im settled.’ 

Valka makes an aborted motion to offer Adderfang her hand. She retracts it, and with one last wide-eyed glance his way, leads him up to the big sleeping-hut. 

‘You’ll be staying with us,’ she says as she opens the big creaking open-slab. 

So they liked the offering after all! Adderfang must have read their faces wrong. Maybe they just weren’t expecting such a good offering from someone as small as him.

Chapter Text

Though Adderfang has done it before, willingly stepping into the home of a Kin-Killer is still a lesson in self-restraint. It takes all he has in him to cross the threshold, duck into the gaping maw and down the gullet of the wooden beast. Even the shape of the structure reminds him of a giant sitting in wait, like the ambush-kin who will bury themselves in moss and pretend to be a cave, only to snap closed on any unwitting prey that wanders in. Except the Alpha’s den doesn’t even try to hide. Every surface is carved with the snarling faces of kin, as if petrified right into the wood. All Adderfang can say is that at least there are no trophies hanging up on the walls. He had wandered into a Cleverpaw den on another secret-hunt once and met the glassy-eyed stare of a Burrower-kin, mounted proudly on the wall above the eat-slab. One look at the Alpha made him worry he might encounter something similar, but there is nothing of the sort. 

The space is large, with a high ceiling that still makes Adderfang feel crowded. It is not the sky, but there are wooden beams criss-crossing on high that look like good hide-and-stay places. Good for watching everything down below. The fire pit is also large, with an open space and a fabric-square on the ground before it. Good for warming. The eat-slab is small in comparison to the rest of the room but still looks large to Adderfang. Coloured fabric-drawings and carvings adorn the walls, depicting great battles. Adderfang’s eyes slide over the ones with kin in them, the sharp red of woven blood vying for his attention. He focusses instead on one just above the fire: a depiction of the Alpha, his mate, and what must be their cub. The son. A he, with the same flame-fur and broad shoulders of his sire, even at this age. A matching helmet. With the fire dying as it is, Adderfang can’t make out much more.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to. It is not long before that very boy enters, the heavy open-slab creaking behind him. He is taking his horn-hat off. The fur from underneath is flame-coloured, alright, but it falls more like his dam’s than his sire’s– less like an explosion and more like a waterfall around his face. It is tied back in a short tail. He straightens, and he is big and tall, but with some echo of the grace of Valka all the same. The blend is confusing to Adderfang, who never could have thought that someone could have things in common with the alpha and his mate at once. They seem diametrically opposed, and yet here this boy stands, the result of both. 

The boy– Magnus, Adderfang remembers– stops short in the middle of a smooth, confident movement. Adderfang does not like how it places him: blocking the exit. Does he mean to trap Adderfang here? Is this challenge?

But the tone that he speaks with is greeting, and as he makes it he steps further inside. Adderfang has trouble focusing on the words, distracted by the way he stretches up to tap the wood of the lowest overhanging beam. There is no hurt-angry in his face, but he makes himself bigger. Adderfang resists the urge to hiss. He feels his phantom ear plates flatten, his paws tense to respond.

He is not so distracted that he misses Valka moving in closer, though, making a throat noise. He shifts subtly to keep them both in his line of sight. ‘Yes, we found him. Thank you for helping with the search. Magnus, this is– Hiccup.’

‘Well, good to meet you, Hiccup,’ Magnus says, and finally pushes into the room fully, letting his arm come down. Adderfang barely has the time to let his hackles fall before Magnus is too close, an arm shooting out to hit Adderfang’s soft underbelly– 

–or just hang there in the air, a few inches from contact.

Adderfang takes a sharp breath in through his nose. Get it together! This is a greeting he is well familiar with. He is too jumpy. Adderfang forces himself to grip Magnus’ forearm in hello, focusing on the feel of his leather bracer rather than the soft skin around it. He has to be careful of how he holds the grip, or Magnus could slice himself on the spines Adderfang fashioned down the sides of his own bracers– made from his own scales, of course. They are very useful since he doesn’t have his claws or teeth for cutting things. Much more convenient than carrying a big clunky weapon around like most Cleverpaws do. 

‘Where were you, in the end? The whole village was worried about you, we thought you must’ve fallen down a hole or something. The twins’ bet was that you tripped into a beehive. Don’t tell me they were right?’

‘He was in the forest, of all places,’ Valka huffs. She is very unhappy tonight. ‘Well after sundown! He’s lucky he wasn’t killed.’

Magnus’ eyes widen. ‘The forest? This is no offense to you, Hiccup, but I really can’t recommend that for someone your size. If you want to explore, I’d be happy to take you out there during the day. My friends and I go there all the time, we’d love to have you along. At night, though? It’s just too dangerous.’

‘Chief Stoick did offer me a great kindness, allowing me to stay. I did need to offer him some-thing to show my thanks and respect to him and to his wife Valka. To do this, I did need to search in the forest,’ Adderfang explains patiently. 

‘Hiccup, we told you, you didn’t have to “offer” anything. Where you got the notion…’ Valka grumbles, shaking her head at the floor. ‘So then, have you both eaten? I’ll make you something quick, now, and then it’s to bed with you. Magnus, helmet.’

Magnus retraces his steps back to the entrance and hangs his horn-hat up on some kind of wall-claw, an echo of well-worn familiarity in the action. Adderfang hopes that that will be the last of the speaking, but Magnus is quick to turn back and restart the conversation, making himself comfortable at the eat-slab as he does. 

‘Well, welcome to the House of Haddock, Hiccup. We’ve got it pretty good here, but if you need anything, just let me know. It’s probably pretty overwhelming coming to a new tribe all alone, especially…’ his eyes trail over Adderfang’s scrawny body doubtfully, but he covers it with a smile. '...Erm, all alone.'

Adderfang stands in the centre of the room, directionless, and they stare at each other for some moments. Adderfang has learned through his secret-hunts that Cleverpaws can never stay quiet for long, quickly becoming uncomfortable in any stretching silence. It is one way that Adderfang gets to keep his rebellion: he may need to tolerate Cleverpaws to achieve his goals, but he is under no obligation to make them comfortable. He would never endanger the hunt, but he is more than happy to stare in open challenge and let them squirm in long wordless stretches. They should be uncomfortable. They don’t even recognize the meaning in Adderfang’s eye contact; they only know how to speak with their mouths. Adderfang could make a blatant threat and all they would see is an off-puttingly quiet boy being off-puttingly quiet. 

Magnus Haddock is no different. His discomfort leaks out in the flick of his mane, the resituating of himself on his sit-stool, and finally, a loud throat-noise and a gesture toward the other sit-stool. An order? 

Adderfang carefully picks his way around the eat-slab and to the spot. He sits. It would not do to disobey the alpha’s cub in his own den. 

‘So, where ya from?’

‘Far. My family did travel from far.’

‘Sorry to ask… your family?’

That doesn’t make any sense. Is that a question? There was no clarifying word in it. Without the context of body language, he could be asking anything. Adderfang frowns to show confusion. Belatedly he remembers to cock his head in question as well, since sometimes frowning can mean many things when not combined with another gesture.

‘I just mean… what happened to them? You don’t have to answer, of course.’

Adderfang feels his prepared response press against the back of his teeth, but his lips don’t part. He can feel Valka on the other side of the room, still and quiet in a listening way. It was easy to lie to the Alpha, who did not deserve Adderfang’s truth. This is harder.

‘They are gone. My mother may-be lives, may-be does not. I live now, so one day I will find her, or she will find me.’ This is the compromise he strikes. It matches the story, and still lets Valka know that he has a mother out there.

‘I’m sorry. I hope you do find her,’ Magnus offers. ‘In the meantime, our house is yours. There’s plenty to do on Berk while you get your feet under you, too. It’s a pretty exciting time— we’re about to start dragon training!’

Adderfang immediately perks up. Dragon training. Of course, the cubs are of an age to start learning to kill kin. That is what they do with the captives they keep, among other nasty things. That… that is probably why they are keeping Stormfly. Do they even know she is carrying? If they did, would they care? 

Two mugs full of shamble-horn’s boon crack down against the eat-slab’s surface before them. Valka’s voice barks out sharp and hard as she looms over the two of them. She wears a frown. ‘Magnus, what have I said about arena talk in the house?’

Magnus ducks his fiery head in sorry. Valka turns and marches back the way she came, twin tail-braids trailing after her. 

Magnus ducks his face close enough that Adderfang worries there is meaning in it that he doesn’t understand. He speaks again— quiet, this time. A secret? So Valka does not hear? 

‘Sorry. It’s a touchy subject in our house. We’re not supposed to talk about it— that’s Mom’s rule.’

Adderfang blinks. ‘What are you not supposed to talk about?’

‘Dragons. Especially not training or killing or anything. We leave all that talk at the door.’ Magnus does his uncomfortable body-shift again, and his head bobs down once. Shame-hide?  ‘We don’t agree about them. Mom’s always thought there was more to dragons than the mindless killing. She has a… soft spot, for them. She hates hearing about raids and trophies and trapping, so we agreed not to talk about it in front of her. Now I’m going into dragon training, and she’s having trouble accepting it. I know she’s proud of me, but she can’t even bear to hear about it. She thinks I don’t know, but she’s taking it pretty hard. I don’t know what to tell her.’

Adderfang’s ears ring with a tinny note, high and reedy like the song of his fastest flight, and he feels it screaming in his chest like heart-fire. He was right. He knew, he knew he was right. She was born wrong just like him, she just wasn’t lucky enough to be found in time. But then, wasn’t she? She’s been here, right in the belly of this beast all these moons, and still she feels her wrongness. If she’s still kin after all that, then nothing can eclipse her heart-fire. So it’s not too late. She was found in time— that’s what Adderfang’s doing here .

It’s not just Stormfly he needs to save.

Magnus does not like Adderfang’s silence this time. Instead of uncomfortable, he gets defensive. His tone suddenly clips short and hard, much like Valka’s had, and he stares intensely. He has his sire’s eyes. ‘Hey, if you’ve got any thoughts on that, you better keep ‘em to yourself. I may not agree with her, but she’s still my mother, got it? She’s earned her own opinion, sure as any of us.’

Adderfang nods vaguely in yes-okay, completely unable to care what the sentence means. His mind is flying as if to break its own wings. Did Dam know? No, she would have never left Valka here if she had. But why did she not know? Why was Adderfang saved, and not Valka? She has been suffering for so long! To be stuck here, in this place— Adderfang can hardly imagine staying here for the short time he must, nevermind for a lifetime! She must be broken every day, and still, still she burns! Still she fights, still she yearns, still she loves! Still she knows! Still, she is!

He’s got to get her out of here. 

The Alpha comes back while they are eating a soup that Valka made them. He, too, has to put his horn-hat on the wall-claw. He looks bare and wrong without it, like the kin who can sever their tails to distract predators. Off-balance. He claps Magnus on the shoulder in the Halvor way and touches his lips to Valka’s face. Mercifully, Adderfang is not required to contribute to the speaking much. They seem to sense that he prefers to watch and listen. Stoick tells Magnus of Adderfang’s offering, and Magnus is very surprised. No doubt because Adderfang is very small, and Cleverpaws like to measure things by size. 

Valka shoos them off to “Magnus’ room”. Adderfang understands what that means. Cleverpaws are selfish beings that like to hoard things, and they are very stingy; everything is someone’s, and if it is someone’s, it can’t be anyone else’s. That means no one else can use it, even if they need it. They have their own false-skins, their own materials, their own territory, and apparently, their own rooms. But how is Adderfang supposed to respect that and also their insistence that he enter Magnus’ room? 

‘It’s alrigh’ lad, we got yer bed moved up there this afternoon,’ Stoick assures him. 

That’s even more confusing. ‘If it is in Magnus’ room, then it is Magnus’ bed.’

‘No no, we put it in there for you especially,’ Magnus explains. ‘The Ruckussons had an extra.’

‘…So it is the Ruckussons’.’

Magnus says that they traded the Ruckussons for it, but that only leads them back to square one: they traded for it, so it is theirs, not Adderfang’s. 

They finally come to an understanding when Valka explains patiently that the bed and the space in Magnus’ room are offerings to him. While they are “his”, he must obey the Alpha’s law and live in the way of the Hooligan Tribe. That is the exchange. They do not want forest-prey, they want his service. 

‘I understand now. I thank you,’ Adderfang pronounces, dipping his head in gratitude and respect to Valka. Only to Valka. It will seem like he is thanking them all. Still, she looks at him as if she knows. She will not be hard to teach; she speaks like kin already.

Valka and Stoick leave them. This is the one thing Adderfang is grateful for about Cleverpaws: despite their lack of fire to stay warm, only mated pairs share a sleep-slab. The unmated use cold dead furs instead and probably shiver all through the night. It’s stupid, but lucky, as Adderfang doesn’t think he could bring himself to share warmth with kin-killers. As it is, he has his very own sleep-slab. To his shock, he counts an extra fur on his than on Magnus’.

The room itself is small, forcing Adderfang into closer proximity with Magnus than he likes. There is a square hole in the wall, though, opposite the door. If he needs to, Adderfang can get out onto the roof. In fact, he might not be able to wait until he needs to. Looking around the room makes him huddle back in his bones like a trapped thing. There are killing things— an axe leaning against the wall, a sword at the end of the sleep-slab, daggers stabbed into some round wall-hanging marked with colours, some papers rolled up above it. There is a stone of sharpening and a place for false-skins. The very few books have been shunted into the corner and forgotten. Among the furs on the bed, some kind of round… leather… thing, sits. Adderfang is drawn to it, curious as to its purpose. He stares, but does not touch, assuming it is Magnus’. 

The boy notices his interest and picks the thing up, tossing it up and down in his hand. ‘You play?’

‘Yes.’ Doesn’t everyone?

‘Awesome. We can get a game going with the others. I bet you know different games than us, being from so far away. You could teach us.’

So it is a game-thing, then? For play? Intriguing. Adderfang could make one easily if it turns out to be fun. Then he could teach his friends all the new games, or they could make up their own rules. Maybe such a thing would be good for keep-away or throw-and-catch. 

‘We can’t play in here, obviously,’ Magnus hums. ‘That’s what the knife-board is f—‘ he makes to show Adderfang the strangely coloured thing on the wall, but when he tries to back away from it, his knees hit the edge of Adderfang’s sleep-slab. ‘-Ah. Well, that’s okay. We can always take it outside to play.’

Oh, Adderfang understands! It is for knife-throwing. Spike-tail kin sometimes play this game. Adderfang never thought to make a target for them. He couldn’t do it with colours, since different kin see different colours, but he could maybe make something similar. He feels the surface. Coarse fabric, with something solid underneath. Wood, probably. 

‘That’s the traditional board, but we got bored of it pretty quickly. Had to keep the troops entertained, so we got creative.’ Magnus reaches up to the rolled paper above the board and unfurls the first page so it falls over the target. Adderfang’s mouth dries. It’s a drawing of a Stone-Eater kin, with lines separating the head, legs, wings, tail, and body. Numbers are written beside the lines. There are gashes in the paper all along the body, and one going right through the eye. 

Magnus unfurls the next paper, and the next. ‘We’ve got the Gronckle, Monstrous Nightmare, Nadder, and Zippleback, in order of hardest to hit. You beat one, you start on the other. First to kill all of ‘em without missing wins. Failing that, it’s a point system. I’m pretty good, if I do say so myself. But, ah, I typically hide the pages. Mum wouldn’t like it, you know.’

Adderfang is grateful that his sleep-slab is in the way of the game, now. Maybe he will go home and make Cleverpaw targets for the Spike-tails. In the meantime, he must sleep in this den of killers.

He clings closely to the extra furs and misses his brother’s body heat, trying not to think about how cold Stormfly and her eggs must be.