Again, a shorter but frightfully important chapter, with focus on one character. Please pick it apart at your leisure.

Berkian Eddur - 1

Becoming Lífþrasir

Day 3

Evening

Astrid and Fishlegs walked back to Berk together after a long day of wading in wood carvings. Fishlegs was a carpenter by trade, and Astrid, for want of something else to occupy her hands when she didn't want to think, had taken up woodwork from Stoick, and was now helping to carve out the sharper, more precise parts of the war machines that they were preparing on blueprints given to them by Cattongue and Gobber.

"It's genius, I tell you," Fishlegs was prattling on, wiping his face with a rag to cool himself off after the day's toil and holding a design up. "How did Cattongue come up with this? Look at the spring-coil on this, the simplicity of it! It would take at least five men to haul and throw a net this size, but with this, wham! A lever, and even my little Woodnut can do it!"

"You need to tell Ruffnut you named your daughter," Astrid said with a smile, despite herself, "and present her at the Great Hall."

"Aha, I'll do that," Fishlegs relied, obviously lying. Astrid gave him a look. "What! They start growing so fast once you name them, everyone says that!"

"Oh Fishlegs, she'll grow fast regardless, and you'll have more soon besides," Astrid said, stopping alongside him to pat his shoulder as they exited the tree-line, just in view of the village. "You'll have to name her eventually, before she becomes convinced her name is 'baby' or 'you'. Then Ruffnut will murder you."

"Oh, I know, I know…" he huffed, irritated. Astrid gave him a moment and kept looking at him in askance. He finally sighed, and turned to her with such worry on her face as she'd only ever seen on her own mother's. "I don't want her to grow, Astrid. And as silly as that sounds … in this world where we're at war all the time, my little girl deserves something better."

"Ah," Astrid said, finally understanding. "Well, if this goes well, we should have a better place for all the children."

"Or else Berk can be burned to a crisp because we decided to go poke Hel with a sharp stick in her own realm. Yup," Fishlegs said with conviction. Astrid elbowed him playfully, and he let out a snigger, though they both knew that was a real possibility. Still: Vikings, death. Went hand in hand. It was life that worried them, not dying in glory.

"You seem to be setting a good example," Astrid said, looking behind them at the gronkle and the nadder who were chittering to one another, each following one of them home. Astrid hadn't had time to construct any decent sleeping arrangements for her girl, with all the attention focused on the imminent attack, but the roof seemed to serve her perfectly well for now, if some of the toggle was suffering.

"It hasn't taken much effort; as you know." The look he gave her spoke volumes; they both knew the other had grown surprisingly fond of their new companions, who had been enemies until barely any time ago. "I still can't believe no one ever thought of this, you know, even Bork. To fight fire with fire."

"Hard to believe we're standing here at all with all limbs intact, and that they let us ride them. Not when so many people lost life and limb to them." Astrid's nadder came up for a nuzzle, as if apologizing for past misdeeds she hadn't even committed. Or perhaps she had. This particular nadder had never hurt Astrid, but she may have been the one who gobbled up someone's hand, or foot, or flock of sheep. Astrid's axe was similarly stained in dragon blood, even though not this particular girl's.

"Makes sense when you think of it that way," Fishlegs concurred. "Ah, and here's the man of change himself. I want to ask him a few things, but … I think I'll leave it for tomorrow. Ruffnut does a really good gull stew, and we caught a few just yesterday. Care to come along? Ruffnut always seems to think she has to compete with my mum's portions…"

Astrid smiled at him, still looking at Cattongue as he made his slow way to the plaza. A number of children could be seen skittering about, some holding dragons on their backs and shoulders, and some - was that Gustav with the baby nadder? - racing them home. Two little girls were walking home and very loudly arguing which one of their whispering deaths was fiercest, despite either of them being large enough to eat both little girls in one gulp. A younger boy and girl raced home with three terrors coiled around their bodies and hanging off their helmets.

"What'd'you know," Fishlegs said, "Dragons that don't carry off little children at all."

"You're going to have to find something new to threaten yours with," Astrid said with a laugh.

"By the looks of things, I'll have to ground her from taking the dragon out." They gave a laugh. "You coming?"

Astrid's eyes turned to the plaza again, where Cattongue was looking at all the children and shooing off the last few before he began crossing the open square, headed towards her and the woods.

Cattongue had never slept in Stoick's lodge. He'd always kept to the woods, maintaining that someone needed to keep the heir's dragons out of trouble. Somehow, Astrid had never thought of where he went, or what he did once Berk's late-summer sun started to drop, taking the temperatures with it.

"No, thanks. I have to get the pot running for everyone." Her household chores had triplicated; at least Heather was giving a hand. They were living off stews and Hall mutton, but there was little else she could do. She had never been a home-type woman anyway.

"Will be next time, then!" Fishlegs said to her, walking eagerly towards the village, "and I won't take no for an answer!"

She waved at him, feeling inexplicably warm to know her friends were happy in their marriage. The match had been arranged, just like most others, but at least they'd somehow found a balance of crazy and extremely rational.

Still, everything was sort of crazy. A gronkle was following Fishlegs, eyes large and tongue lolling eagerly like a puppy as he spoke to her like a baby while they went. Astrid still had her nadder body guard, who dropped her large, toothed head to delicately take a few wood shavings off her hair and clothing; she had never been better groomed. It was something between disconcerting and funny now, a few days into suddenly having a nadder shadow instead of a nadder head mounted on a spear.

Something caught her eye, and she stopped, still standing on the high rise that led from the woods to the back door of the Haddock hall. Cattongue had stopped in the middle of the plaza, close enough for her to see, but not for her to hear. He seemed to be having some sort of conversation with his dragon - Astrid had stopped considering this absurd after her nadder had laughed at a joke the blonde had made, then brought her the hammer she'd threatened the obstinate block of wood with and stood eagerly waiting to see her have at it.

Maybe he was changing his mind about his sleeping arrangements. Astrid had heard from some men that Cattongue had gone off to the forge between teaching the children all day, even taking them to different location to train the whispering deaths; and this after a night watch, which was … not unheard of, but an extra mile this man was going for a village that was not his own. She should at least offer him a meal, if he would still refuse to sleep indoors and leave the dragons alone in the woods to get up to whatever mischief domesticated dragons got to. Astrid signalled her nadder to stay put, and then briskly walked down the hill to the plaza.

Upon reaching the final corner, however, and just before she exited into the open space at the centre of the village, Cattongue laughed, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"And what were you going to do, little lady, once we left Berk and went into the forest?"

"Fwollowed you!" piped up a very young voice, words pronounced clumsily. Astrid peeked around the house's corner and spotted Cattongue kneeling in front of Dartfoot, Dryleaf's littlest one, who as standing stoutly in front of him very much in an imitation of her father.

"And then how would you get home to your dinner, when I sat down to have mine in front of the nice warm fire?" Cattongue asked gently, but the smile on his voice didn't need her to see through his helmet to know that he was amused, and his dragon sat down beside him, eyes wide as it looked at the child, tail swishing. She might have thought it a predatory look three days ago. Now she knew the big black dragon was anticipating play time. It seemed particularly fond of small children.

"I would have … um…" Dartfoot looked around, then pointed in a random direction. "Gone that way!"

"That way's the docks."

"That way!"

"There's the sheep pens."

"That way!"

"Only a grassy knoll I'm afraid, little lady."

"Ooooh! That way!" she pointed back towards the docks again, with tears beginning to well in her eyes. Cattongue seemed to soften as his shoulders sagged, and he immediately stopped enjoying the teasing.

"Ah look at me, now I've upset you. I'm such a bad man."

"You are! My papa says so!" Astrid flinched, and was surprised to see Cattongue do exactly the same thing.

"But will you allow this bad man to at least do a good thing?" he said, still in his even tone. "What's your name?"

"Darfoot!"

"Do you know what your mama's name is?"

"Mama!"

Cattongue chuckled. Astrid couldn't help smiling. He gave her hair a ruffle with his gloved hands, which succeeded in offending her thoroughly. "What about siblings? Have any brothers or sisters?"

"Two!" was another proudly reply. "Big brother Bifoot and big sister Darbolt!"

"Ah, Dartbolt's your sister!" he said. He stood up, then. "How about I take you home to your Mama?"

"No, I have to follow you because you're a bad man!" Another flinch. Astrid almost felt sorry for how much this little girl's words seemed to affect him.

"But did you get your mama's permission?" Still, she had to admit, he hadn't once lost his patience, and he was remarkably astute in the gentle way he was dealing with the obstinate little girl. She was now looking appropriately cowed and sheepish. The moment her bottom lip started sticking out, he gave her a soothing 'hey' as he put a hand on her head. "Let's tell you what, I'll take you to your Mama, and if she says you can follow the bad man, then it's ok. But first we need her permission, yes? So let's go see if she lets you."

An unfamiliar feeling welled inside Astrid as he laughed at the little girl's enthusiastic skipping, then she watched him convince her to ride on the dragon's back, dragon which began to twitch excitedly at the prospect, and moved very stiffly and carefully once the three year old was put on him.

"There, like a Viking princess," he said once he made sure she was safely strapped to the saddle. She beamed up at him, having apparently quite forgotten that he was supposed to be a bad man.

"Daddy calls me that!"

Their voices faded out as they moved towards the girl's home, and Astrid moved out into the plaza to watch them go. The unfamiliar feeling in her chest rose again, making her shift uncomfortably. He was a singular man, this Cattongue. He hadn't once lost patience with this child, not even after a long day - two, with a night watch between. He'd been in the smithy all day yesterday, then up at night, and now in the smithy again and teaching youngsters his own secrets with the dragons. Why was he doing so much for Berk when they were already in his debt? Why had he decided to call his debt by doing more for Berk - was he trying to rake his debt up higher? Trying to manipulate them? But what purpose would the manipulation of a little girl have, in an empty plaza with no one to watch? Fleetfoot and Dryleaf weren't even in the council, so sucking up to them was useless. There had been something too simple and genuine in what she'd seen… which meant that this man was simply, honestly, being nice. It made her feel completely and utterly odd.

She suddenly found herself thinking of the pending rain, and how he was going to face that. And whether he was going to eat hot food tonight, or just roast a fish on a dragon flame. She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably at the thought, and hoped Dryleaf would at least invite him to eat with them - and that he wouldn't refuse, if she was gauging his bearing right. Astrid would have to remember to send one of the heirs over with hot breakfast tomorrow, at least, as she had never seen him in the Hall.

The unsettling feeling followed her home, where she went through her chores rapidly, ate with the others, and then retreated to her room. Stoick had insisted that all the heirs sleep downstairs; no one was using Hiccup's room but his betrothed, guests or not, heirs or not. As she was lying down, looking at the ceiling and letting her mind drift to random things before sleep took her, a thought struck, and then glanced away before she could snatch it.

The following morning, however, it would stop her cold as she worked beside Fishlegs. How had Cattongue known with such certainty where everything on Berk and Dryleaf's home was?

He'd only been there for four days, including that day, and most of those he'd spent at the forge, or in the Hall with the council, or in the arena. Maps could be acquired, true, and maybe Hiccup had spoken to him of his home, but maps did not show where individual houses were, nor did they show the sheep-pens, which were due east at the foot of the mountains. And Hiccup would not give out that many details of his home to a stranger; of that, she was sure. She couldn't … wouldn't confront him about it. Not yet, though perhaps … she wasn't sure. Perhaps, she would watch, wait. Hunt. He knew Hiccup – she had to be careful. She didn't want to mar that well before she could drink from it.

Another thought slapped her in the face. She should have realised right away; known that something didn't add up the moment Berk was sighted. There was no way anyone who had not been on Berk before could know that Troll Peak only added half an hour to the voyage into the main village. But Cattongue had, without any prompt. It made no sense, it was impossible.

Then … how?

=0=

Oh yes, Astrid is on the prowl …

Notes:

1) The word 'chittering' is not a common one, and is a slang in my parts for people (usually girls) chatting in a high pitched, bird-like manner.

2) Thank you to all of you who have left reviews as Guests, as I cannot thank you individually. Thank you also those who have left me notes with fic recs - the truth is, I have not exactly been reccing fics. The ones I quote are stories that have been an influence to this one; sort of like an academic reference note. Still, by all means, let me know of any good fics. I do not like love-triangles, and Hicc/Cami gives me the rashes ... so please take that into account, but otherwise, I'm open!

3) For anyone who has missed it, the update schedule is Tuesday and Friday, London time. Next chapter will be up on Friday 7th March 2014.