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Chapter Text

Arctic spun in the air, flung his wings open, thrust his front talons toward the pursuing guards, and shouted, “Spears! Distract those guards!”

And the spears sprung forth, a couple wrapped themselves around the snouts of the guards they were held by, some suddenly turned into flurries of snowfall, blinding at least three more of the startled icewings, and one turned to sweep and dart towards others.

Foeslayer grabbed his arm, and Arctic’s eyes widened as the one spear swept by one guard’s arm, scales like diamonds falling as a slash of blue blood cut by, and the prince yelled quickly, “Don’t kill them! Don’t hurt them! Just distract them long enough for us to get over the wall!”

His eyes widened and he gave a shuddering breath of relief as the one spear contuined to give chase, though no more blood was shed, and before they could linger a moment more, Foeslayer tugged at him.

“You bought us time, we can leave now, let’s go.”

Arctic nodded breathless, wings stuttering in a downward stroke as he noted the other two icewing coming up close behind, “Let’s go.”

One of the two icewings broke off to help get one of the bent spears off a guard’s snout as the other turned to stare after them, Foeslayer making brief eye contact with them and realizing with a cold chill it was Snowflake.

What is she doing here? What is she even doing awake?

But Snowflake didn’t make a move to stop them, eyes narrowed with a cool calculating glare, and Arctic, his talons moving to wrap around her own arm, pulling her along.

And they made it. The Great Ice Cliff was right there, Prudence waiting for them nearby.

Arctic breathed out, whispering to her quietly, “We did it.”

Foeslayer nodded, a smile working its way onto her face as she whispered back, excitement unfurling in her chest like wings eager for flight, “I can’t wait to show you around.” 

And he snorted, giving a haughty roll of the eyes, before he gave a smile that was for her, and her alone. “It’s a date.”

Me and Artic.

The nightwing laughed, nudging his shoulder with a brillant smile.

Against the world.

Their talons found one another, claws intertwining.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Arctic couldn’t help but pace, it was daybreak, and yet this kingdom was mostly still and quiet, the nightwings asleep and uncaring of the icewing among their midst. 

But he just… couldn’t stop. Everything felt too sharp, his mind too busy and overflowing, like icicles had dug into his skin, shifting under his scales, and chipping away at him with every motion or step.

It had been… what? A week since they’d fled? And he… he really did love having Foeslayer by his side, truthfully, but… he thought it would be just them. Together.

He gritted his teeth, eyes darting along the cool stone, nothing like the pristine ice he was used to, and turned to contuine his pacing when he heard a voice.

“Arctic?” He paused and looked over to see none other than Foeslayer, her head tilted faintly and what looked to be an elk in her grasp, “Are you alright?”

And he almost shrugged the question aside, raising a talon to dismiss such a query with little regard, but he paused. Then he exhaled and said bluntly, “I don’t like it here.”

Foeslayer winced almost immediately and he ignored the cruel twist that formed in his throat at that, forcing himself to contuine, walking to her as she set the elk aside. “It’s, I can feel them watching me, pulling me apart with their eyes, I thought it would be us escaping, not us just going to another stingy tribes full of dragons that look down their crooked snouts at me!” 

He growled, exhaling a cool twirl of frost from his nose as his teeth bared themselves, “They just see the magic, don’t they? That’s the only reason they let me stay is because they want it for themselves!”

Foeslayer opened her mouth, eyes widening before her brow furrowed, “Arctic…”

He snarled and stalked away, frustration and anxiety bubbling up to the surface, “I thought, I thought things would be different—“

Claws settled against his face and turned his chin gently, nothing like the harsh bite of his mother’s hooked, ridged talons demanding his attention. This was a gentle question, asking for him to just listen. He gazed back into deep, deep green eyes, sparks of light catching in Foeslayer’s eyes as she looked at him. 

It was a gaze warm and for him, and him alone, “I know… I didn’t… I really love you and I thought, maybe, just maybe everything would be fine if it was just us… but…”

She fell sullen, her eyes looking away as something pained crossed her face, he reached out and gently turned her chin towards him again, “I’m listening.”

And the nightwing gave him a shy, shaky smile as she sighed, “I never, and I mean never, wanted you for you magic… you know that right?”

Paranoia clawed at his mind, hissed thoughts whispering how she was trying to lure him into a false sense of security, but the moment he looked her in the eye again? And she glanced back to him, emotions bared open and exposed on her face, he found his answer.

“I believe you,” he set his forehead against hers, exhaling softly, and she sat down so she could lean against him. “Now what do you need to tell me?”

Foeslayer tucked her face into his shoulder, voice muffled, “They won’t let us leave… they… they wanted something like this to happen a-and, and I fell for it, and I dragged you into this mess and I never wante—“

Artic felt his chest tighten but he cut her off, voice demanding, “Foeslayer.”

She peered out at him, a tight frown on her face. 

He sat down as well and brought her into a hug, burying his face against her and just taking in her warmth, “I trust you.”

Her body shuddered and she suddenly latched onto him in turn, claws almost digging into his scales with the intensity in which she clung to him.

She didn’t need to speak anymore. She wasn’t a part of this ploy, not willing at least… but his suspicions had been correct. They had just wanted him for his magic… but Foeslayer, she saw him differently. 

Well… it seemed the nightwings really weren’t all that different from the icewings afterall. He sighed and then realized something, pulling back to stare at Foeslayer with bafflement. The nightwing blinked at him, “What is it?”

He blurted out, “Why are you awake?”

And all that tension in her face fell like an avalanche, and she began to laugh, a harsh but delightful sound, “Really?”

The icewing scowled lightly, “Now why are you laughing at me for?”

She smiled, and it was bared teeth as her snout wrinkled teasingly, “Of all the things, you bring up that?”

“Well of course! Your tribe is for the most part nocturnal, like the weird fire-breathers you are—“

She snorted with laughter, “I wanted to surprise you with lunch.”

His eyes went to the elk that still sat against the wall, it’s massive antlers arching out from a head that had been twisted just right to kill it swiftly.

The prince blinked back to her and all he could manage was a dull, “Oh.”

Foeslayer rolled her eyes at him and he couldn’t help but grin, shoving at her playfully. “I am a prince, how dare you treat me with such disrespect, nightwing.”

And despite his dry tone, how he dipped his snout with false disdain, she merely laughed harder. Foeslayer backed up and stood so she could give a clumsy bow, practically kissing the ground as she bowed so stupidly low, “Ohhhh, my apologies! Shall I grovel at your feet then?”

He couldn’t help but give a wispy laugh, eyes brightening before he schooled his expression, raising a dainty claw, “You may.”

And Foeslayer, wonderful and amazing Foeslayer, moved to kiss his claws, saying in an overtly obnoxious tone, “Your highness, thank you for this honor.”

He looked at her with a giddy sort of warmth and he couldn’t do this anymore, his facade crumbling as he just burst out laughing. “You are by far one of the most ridiculous dragons I have had the delight to meet.”

She smiled at him, a slyness in her voice, “What about the most beautiful dragon as well?”

“Of course,” he laughed. He smiled at her, moving to cup her face, “More luminous than the clearest night sky, more brilliant than the wondrous Aurora borealis, sharper than the most cutting glaciers.” 

Foeslayer’s smile softened, and she moved to cup her claws around his own face, “I love you.”

There was no thought to the words, no need to carefully pick out what she’d say, no need to settle her emotions into a drab presentation. 

“I love you, too.”

His voice wavered with the raw emotion, whispering almost with how much he wanted her to know those words were only for her, his breath catching a bit.

And she moved to rest her forehead against his and he chuckled faintly, “You know what?”

She hummed to show she was listening, a smile still teasing along her face.

“As long as I have you, I think I can do anything. Even stay here with a bunch of dragons that have clearly had a stick shoved straight up thei—“

Foeslayer covered his mouth as she began to cackle again, “Shut up! Three moons, you— you,” she seemed to be trying to think of an insult.

He grinned, claws moving to interlock with hers, “Oh, do go on.”

Her tail moved to twine around his, “You— you, stop looking at me with that stupid smug look! I’m trying to think,” she was giggling again and he adored the sound.

He decided, then and there, as long as she stayed by his side, he would keep her safe and let her know she was loved every day. He would be there for her, he would be the one to make her laugh on bad days, and he would work to make this life theirs.

Artic loved Foeslayer, and it would be them, together, forever. 

Chapter Text

Foeslayer was going to stab her own eyes out if she had to listen to this guy go on any longer, her claws fiddling with a small stone as she barely resisted the urge to drag her claws down her face in pure exasperation. The nightwing felt like she was going to lose it.

Right here, right now. Listening to some old, snaggle-tooth talk about how they could approve defenses and how trade could benefit from blah blah blah—, all the while as he gestured widely with his claws. She moved to rest her head on her arms, propping them up on the polished stone table they were all gathered around. 

Her half-lidded eyes shifted away from WhateverThisGuy’sNameWas with a barely held back groan and towards Arctic, who seemed to have mastered the art of falling asleep with his eyes open. Those glimmering icy-blue eyes of his distant and his breathing carrying a fluttering ease to it… wait— was he actually asleep?

She perked her head up, ears twitching as she felt a mischievous grin cross her face, just to force it away when her mother gave her a sharp, questioning look. Foeslayer just pretended she hadn’t even seen the look, looking down to the stone in her claws idly before she quickly looked back to Mr. VoiceSoDryIThinkTheDesertHasMorePersonality.

She heard a faint growl from Prudence but eventually the glare burning into her scales slid away and Foeslayer glanced over quickly. And to her delight, Prudence’s attention was elsewhere.

With a giddiness, Foeslayer moved her arm back, ‘accidentally’ knocking over a scroll in the process. The nightwing gave an apologetic smile to those that looked over, her mother hissing about her ‘needing to be more careful’ or something. She simply bent down to grab the scroll and quickly tossed the small stone she’d been playing with towards Arctic’s leg.

There was a snort and she quickly sat up, seeing Arctic jolt a bit. The icewing was quickly wiping at his mouth before glancing at the nightwings staring at him. He stiffened a bit then let his own eyes narrow and glare back, putting on his play of only being an uncaring royal.

With a haughty stare he lazily extended his talons as though he’d just noticed a claw was chipped.

Foeslayer watched a few of the older nightwings stare at him, some exchanging annoyed glances with one another even, before going back to whatever this meeting was supposed to be about.

Foeslayer hummed then glanced to Arctic and their eyes met. The icewing gave her a look, eye ridges raising ever so slightly with a questioning frown. Foeslayer just gave him a little smile and he shook his head at her with a dramatic flare.

She moved to go back to letting her brain rot and her mind numb when she heard his voice in her ear, a soft whisper.

“Hold a claw to your earring.”

Her eyes brightened and she looked back over, Arctic having a secretive smile as he tapped his earring again. Foeslayer moved to mimic him, whispering in barely a breath, “Did you just do what I think you just did?”

He gave a sly grin, eyes brightening, “I did. What else am I supposed to do with frozen-fish-for-brains talking my ears off.” The prince idly dipped his head towards the nightwing that was still talking, and just… did this guy ever shut up!?

Foeslayer had to stifle a laugh, quickly glancing at her mother before looking back at Arctic, “Tell me about it, and it doesn’t help that my mother takes every opportunity to scold me.”

The icewing huffed, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. Then he gave a drawl, “What if I turned her into an old goat? She’s basically already one, is she not?”

The nightwing snorted and then quickly acted like she was clearing her throat when the nightwing next to her looked her way. She waved them off, “Uh, just a cough.”

They raised a critical eye ridge and though they seemed to want to say something, they seemed to think better and turned away with a tsk. Foeslayer rolled her eyes back to Arctic who was looking like he was on the verge of laughing, that slight crinkle forming around his eyes as the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

Then the queen was the one speaking and the duo of bored-out-of-their-mind dragons looked at each other, rolling their eyes in near union.

“I can’t tell who is more stuck up, your Queen or my mother.” Arctic smirked as he moved to rest his chin on a talon, the other claw lightly touching his earring.

Foeslayer smiled, making an exaggerated shrug. She quickly looked at her mother before whispering back to Arctic, “I don’t know, Vigilant has quite the… personality.”    

Arctic quickly had to cover his mouth to hide a snort himself, his eyes sparkling with glee. He moved to touch his earring again and whispered quickly, “You have a serpent’s tongue, my love.”

She stuck her forked tongue out at him in response, then hurriedly moved to look like she was paying attention to her queen when the dragon next to her looked over again. Foeslayer could hear Arctic’s breathy little giggles in her ear as she rested the side of her face in her hand casually.

After a couple minutes she heard the icewing whisper, “They are no longer paying you attention.”

She relaxed and looked back to Arctic, “Want to get out of here?”

The prince gave a curious hum, head tilting as he mused in turn, “And what do you propose?”

The nightwing gave a quick, toothy grin, “You are a icewing in a room full of nightwings. You could always pretend someone did something that just offended you sooooo badly you just have to leave.” She wrinkled her snout teasingly. “And I would just have to follow after, of course.”

Arctic tapped his cheek thoughtfully and nodded, claws moving away from his earring as his face smoothed like glass into something simple and blank. Foeslayer let her own claws fall away from her earring and waited to see the show unfurl before her.

It didn’t take long.

One nightwing had begun some back and forth with the queen, though they very notably held themself back from anything too bold. It all fell into place when they just so happened to gesture towards Arctic with a throw away comment. And the icewing suddenly stood, gasping in a blatantly over the top manner, teeth bared as frost curled from his maw.

The nightwings paused, some jolted to attention, a few even seemingly getting ready to lunge or attack. Arctic held his head regally, snarling down at the nightwing who had gestured to him before spitting out, “What did you just say about my mother?”

Foeslayer had to bite her tongue as she stared with a budding glee.

“W-What— I did n—“ 

Arctic slammed his talons onto the table as he reared back, wings half unfurling as he glared, “I saw that throw away gesture, do you think me dull? The way you extended your talons, clearly you dare insult my Queen!”

The nightwing covered her mouth to hide her snicker, eyes not daring to meet Prudence’s as the nightwing looked to her demandingly.

Arctic didn’t allow anyone a moment more, scoffing with his snout in the air, teeth still bared. “I will not accept such disrespect in my presence.” He gazed idly at Queen Vigilant and gave a sorry excuse of a bow towards her, spines rattling as his tail lashed.

A few nightwings tensed and Foeslayer eyed them a bit anxiously… they wouldn’t try anything right?

“My apologies,” Arctic flicked his dark blue tongue out at the nightwing queen between his still bared teeth, “your majesty. But I must take my leave otherwise I be less civil.”

And before any could give any objection, or orders, or say anything really, Arctic was sweeping out the door with his head still aloft. The guards observed as Arctic left with their eyes narrowed and their faces drawn into flat frowns.

Foeslayer watched, gaze turned to admire as the icewing’s glistening form slid out, the room almost becoming even more drab and dark without him sitting like a glistening gem within it—

“Foeslayer? You coming?”

She jolted to her feet, quickly sputtering out, “Oh no, I should, I need to go check on him, you know how it is.” She gave a hurried bow towards the unimpressed face of Vigilant, avoiding looking at her mother at all costs, before all but running out the door and past the guards as well.

And Arctic, delightful and charming Arctic, was waiting for her with a giddy smile, an almost wild look in his eyes as he quickly moved to clasp her claws. She felt like her heart was racing but she eagerly held his talons as well.

Then she burst out giggling, hurrying along as she let go of his talons, “Let’s go before someone tries to drag us back in!”

He laughed, moving to catch up with her, his face alight, “I can’t believe we just did that! Did you see her face!?”

Their footfalls echoed across the stone halls as they ran and giggled.

“She looked like she was about to strangle you!”

“I swear I was going to burst into flames from her glare alone!”

Foeslayer looked behind them, letting out a breath as she saw no one had actually come after them. No guards demanding their heads for disrespecting the Queen or her mother rushing after to yell at her. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face, “I really can’t believe we did that!”

The icewing slowed down as she did. “I can’t believe we got away with that! I’ve never, and I mean never, had the guts to leave a meeting my mother had demanded for me to sit in on.”

Foeslayer exhaled and smirked, “Well you’ve also never had my genius mind to guide you.” She grabbed his talon again, excitement thrumming under her scales.

Arctic rested their interlocked claws against his forehead as they stopped before a large window, the barest hint of sunlight trickling in, “Ohhhhh, what would I do without you?” He closed his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

She let go of his talon with a roll of her eyes, shoving at his shoulder playfully, still a bit breathless as she stood up to rest her arms against the window sill. Foeslayer relaxed as she stared down at the kingdom, the sunset bathing the world in easy yellows and oranges. 

Arctic watched her before moving to settle in beside her and she closed her eyes with a smile, “Without me you’d probably be bored out of your mind.”

She heard him chuckle, then a wing was being gently draped over her back and she leaned into the touch. When she opened her eyes he was staring at her with an undeniable softness.

Foeslayer smiled, “Now what are you doing?”

He leaned in so their snouts just barely touched, “Why, I’m just looking at the most clever and gorgeous dragon.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.” It was fascinating how expressive he could be. How all the coldness and disdain seemed to melt away, leaving him exposed and open. His eyes glistening like little captured pieces of the mid-noon sky, the endless blue seeming to take in all of her, and how he loved every thing he saw.

She hoped her expression showed just as much. Showed how she thought he was the most beautiful dragon, how she admired how he dazzled like nothing else in this drab world, and how she would cherish every moment that she got with him.

“Would you like to go flying?”

The nightwing hummed easily, eyes focusing back on him, “Anywhere in particular?”

He shrugged, an easy gesture, looking back out to the nightwing kingdom. He seemed to be thinking for a moment and she let him gather his thoughts.

As she let her eyes roam along the different homes and dwellings of her kingdom, she saw him perk up. She gave a questioning hum and he said, almost shyly, “What about that beach you were telling me about? With the sand and seashells…?”

Foeslayer was already getting her wings ready, grinning, “Let’s get going then!”

~

Foeslayer and Arctic sat along the sandy beach, the icewing’s gaze following the nightwing’s claw as she pointed out different constellations to him.

The sun had finally taken its rest some time ago, and yet, they had stayed. Arctic admiring how much Foeslayer knew about the skies he had admittedly given little thought about before, and Foeslayer brightening under the attention of someone that actually listened to her with attention and quiet awe.

A pair of shooting stars crossed the sky and the two watched, claws linked together as they laid against one another.

Arctic settled under the nightwing’s wing as Foeslayer rested her chin on his head. They were content and finally had someone they knew truly loved them.

Chapter Text

It was about nightfall as Arctic looked at the elk pelt before himself thoughtfully. He yawned, still feeling the lingering urges to turn in, but well, he slowly and surely, had been adapting to a changing sleep schedule.

For while they adored each other, Foeslayer was naturally nocturnal and Arctic was diurnal. Which meant, unless they changed things up, either one of them or the other would be more and more exhausted when they tried to get out and do things.

Arctic in particular had figured if he woke up at about midday, and stayed awake until midnight, when he fell asleep, he still got the sleep he needed and could spend more time with Foeslayer. Foeslayer herself, had been slowly adapting to the new schedule as well, though there were the days she’d have to spend all the time sleeping in order to deal with other nightwings properly.

But he understood that, kingdoms were simply demanding like that it seemed, so he’d do his part as well.

For while him and Foeslayer had to attend meetings with the higher ranking nightwings, Foeslayer herself had to go on patrols here and there to showcase she still held loyalties to her tribe. Arctic on the other claw? Well he didn’t have much else to do. So he was going to surprise his love.

They had the basics afterall, a couple beds to sleep in (though they often slept in one or the other’s bed most nights), a dining table, a place to store things, etc. You know, the essential nothings, and it wasn’t… exactly better than that. So here he was, glancing out the window briefly before gathering the pelts he’d managed to get off the meals Foeslayer brought them.

He had been speaking to a few nightwings that Foeslayer had introduced him to, and one of them, a smaller dragon with a broken horn named Brokenreader (a rather odd name in his opinion, probably the only reason he remembered it), had offered to help him out if he ever needed it.

Now he was taking them up on their offer, slipping the bag Foeslayer had bought him over his head, the small little sewn stars and snowflakes on it making him smile before he left.

~

Arctic observed as the nightwing held up a piece of circular glass to their eye, the odd little teardrops of silver scales along their face glittering as they moved their head faintly. Brokenreader peering over the pelt stretched out on the countertop with a steady talon.
Then they smiled, those deep blue eyes turning towards him, “These are pretty well done.”

The icewing felt a bit awkward and wasn’t sure if that was a genuine tease or some barely hidden insult saying it was a surprise he could manage it. He just offered a polite smile in repsonse with a nod.

“You can defintely sell these for a good bit.”

“I could?” He couldn’t quite hide the relief from his voice, spines relaxing from their tensed and rigid postion.

The nightwing nodded, “Yup! I would be willing to take that elk and bear pelt in particular.” They rested their elbows on the counter as they nodded their head towards said pelts.

“How… how much do they usually sell for?”

Brokenreader moved from behind the counter and nodded his head for Arctic to pay attention. The larger icewing slunk over and listened as the nightwing began to gesture to the pelts, pointing out features in particular about it, and explained what caught other dragons eyes, how bargaining with merchants may work, and Arctic found himself growing more and more curious. Maybe he could be of some use afterall!

As a prince, an animus prince at that, his life had never been his own. He was only really expected to live long enough to produce heirs with animus magic running through their veins, sit in on dry and dull diplomacy meetings, and be the pristine and perfect son his mother wanted him to be.

Don’t show weakness, don’t show attachment, and do as you were told.

He never had time for true hobbies, no time to explore his own interests, never had time for making friends, never had time for anything really besides going where he was expected to be. 

But… but he could go out now, he could test the waters, and, and he found himself smiling excitedly now as a rush of eagerness ran through his talons. 

Brokenreader spoke up, pulling him from his growingly giddy thoughts, “You know what,” they set the pelt they were holding down, snapping their claws, “I have a sister who owns a stand in the market, I could see if she’d be willing to help you sell some of these.”

He nodded hopeful, “That would be greatly appreciated.”

The nightwing grinned at him, throwing a wing over him, Arctic jolting at the unexpected touch as Brokenreader shivered sharply, “Oh vipers, they aren’t kidding when they say you guys are cold, heh! But no matter, for a prince, you’re not too bad!”

The icewing tilted his head faintly with a sputter, “Oh, uh, thanks?”

Brokenreader laughed, it was a loud, brash sound. “So, you got any other secret talents you haven’t told anyone besides being good at preparing a pelt?”

Arctic shrugged faintly, “Uh, well, I suppose, right? I admittedly just picked up preparing pelts from one of the lower icewings during one particularly bad blizzard, she showed me how to prepare them for usage in blankets and pillows… can’t remember her name.”

The nightwing hummed thoughtfully, retracting their wing as they ran a talon over their chin, “Hmm… have any hobbies perhaps?”

He scoffed, unintentionally dipping his snout down at them with a roll of his eyes, “I’m a prince.”

“And what’s that got to do with hobbies,” the nightwing challenged, seemingly unbothered by his attitude.

Arctic stared at them sharply, just to find them easily meeting his gaze, “I-well,” he looked away suddenly feeling out of his element. He was used to dragons backing off at his cold, clipped tone, not merely questioning him further. “I… I wasn’t allowed much, um, free time.”

Brokenreader hummed, “Ah, that makes sense I suppose. Well, let me rephrase then, princey—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“—what would you be interested in learning about?”

The icewing hummed faintly, following the nightwing towards one of the larger windows as they began to grab some scrolls from a near shelf. “I… do not know. I… suppose creating things has always been… of some interest?”

“I suppose that makes sense, you’re an animus, aren’t you?”

He raised an eye ridge at that, “Well, yes, a—“

“Alright, here’s some scrolls I think might be interesting for you to read over then!”

Arctic felt himself frown in indignation, how dare they keep cutting him off like that! Didn’t they know who he was? He opened his mouth to speak, feeling his face flush in annoyance, “W—“

The scrolls were shoved towards him and he clamped his mouth shut to hurriedly sit back to gather the scrolls in his arms.

“We got some wood carving,” Brokenreader tapped one scroll before picking up another, “—writing, some crafts you might find interesting, jewelry making, metal work, though you’d probably have to find a blacksmith to show you the workings of that more effectively,” they grinned at him as his mind tried to keep up, “but it could be a fun experience either way, ever worked with glass? I don’t know if icewings have much access to it, but who knows, and then there’s some writing about painting here,” he hurried to shove the scrolls into his bag as Brokenreader suddenly bustled over behind the counter again.

“I actually have a few paints my niece gifted me for a hatching day, never really used them,” they fished around before pulling out a beautiful wooden box, closed by a latch made to appear like a serpent. Their placed it onto the counter, Arctic blinking as they contuined eagerly, “Maybe you could put them to good use, your prescriptive could prove interesting and maybe that could be something else you end up selling for a little extra.”

The icewing wandered to pick up the box, unlatching it carefully to peer at the paints inside curiously, ear twitching as Brokenreader tapped the counter, “But hey! You don’t have to do any of this, it’s just a possible suggestion, might give you something fun to do as you settle in.”

Arctic just blinked, waiting to see if the nightwing would go off on another tangent before realizing they were waiting for him to speak. He jolted, mind desperately trying to figure out what he should say.

He swallowed and just managed to say, “I—uh, t-thank you.”

They grinned, nodding sharply, “You are very much welcome, princey—“

His ear gave an annoyed twitch.

”—Honestly, you seem like a good enough guy, just need something to do! So I’m happy to offer some help, oh!”

They turned away, snapping their claws again and Arctic found himself rolling his eyes in exasperated fondness this time around. “I almost forgot to give you a payment for those pelts!”

The icewing moved to settle the paints in his bag, resting his arms on the counter as the nightwing began counting out some gold and jewels.

Maybe… maybe this hadn’t been such a bad idea afterall.

~

Foeslayer yawned widely as she finally landed outside her and Arctic’s home, moving a talon to rub at her tired eyes before walking inside, easing the door shut. She figured that Arctic would be asleep by now, the sun had just been getting ready to rise now.

However, as she walked inside, wings dropping by her sides as she moved to unclasp her armor and gear, she noticed those silvery-white scales. She turned, opening her mouth to ask what he was doing up when she realized he was fast asleep on the floor.

Had he been waiting out here for her? Foeslayer hummed thoughtfully and placed her bags down to walk over quietly, a fond smile on her face.

The nightwing was curious to notice that he was actually leaned over something, his face resting on one talon while his normally neat and gleaming claws were covered in crisp blues, rich purples, and snow whites. A messy painting laid nearby, his other talon resting nearby with a paintbrush nestled between two claws.

Foeslayer curiously leaned closer, rubbing her tired eyes before realizing with fondness he had been seemingly painting a polar bear againist a dark sky, musing softly, “Awww.”

She chuckled and nudged him quietly, Arctic grumbling under his breath with an exhale of frost. Foeslayer just shook her head and moved to gently untangle him from his work, setting the painting near the window and his paintbrush by his paints.

The nightwing hummed, moving to ease his head from his talon, settling a pillow down and his head carefully onto it. Arctic grumbled again, grasping the pillow and simply burying his face into it, groaning. Foeslayer rolled her eyes, moving to tiredly settle next to him, not caring to drag herself to bed.

She rested her head on his shoulders and he snuggled against her, the nightwing letting her eyes settle close before falling into a deep sleep as well.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t help but smile at her, watching as Foeslayer stared up at the sky contently, pausing every once and awhile to scribble things down on the scroll she had set before herself. 

They were situated comfortably along an absent hill, Arctic curled against his lover’s side, content to just bask in her presence as she studied her star maps.

He let his eyelids fall shut, leaning further against her. Foeslayer humming lowly in thought and he simply mimicked the slow, deep sound.

Arctic smiled softly as his mind eased into a peaceful nothing.

~

Foeslayer jolted awake when a talon slapped her in the face, snorting harshly. Grumbling lowly as she blinked a few times before shoving the offending limb away, she moved to wipe at her eyes with a wide yawn. Her head turned to absently observe her mess of a partner next.

Despite his ‘pristine’ act, Arctic, infact, was a mess like any other dragon it seemed. The icewing currently having one wing sprawled out over the side of the bed, mouth wide open as frozen drool glistened along his maw, his body looking as though he had just crash-landed. 

Foeslayer grumbled and moved to shove his arms away and flopped back down on her stomach, adjusting her wings until comfortable.

She had only just let her eyes drift shut when a tail with elongated spines whacked her in the side, the nightwing yelping before falling off the bed.

~

“Love.”

“Mhm?”

“Why are you wearing my jewelry.” Arctic smiled faintly as Foeslayer simply gave a little shrug. “My midnight emerald?”

“Whaaaaat,” the nightwing’s tail swayed slowly as she settled one of his silver bracelets on her arm.

“You could have just asked.”

She smirked, “Nah.”

“You are a thief,” he sighed dramatically as he leaned against the doorway.

Foeslayer simply blew him a kiss. Arctic rolling his eyes in turn.

~

“Hey, princey!” Arctic groaned aloud at the nickname as he turned around, giving the approaching nightwing a dry, dry look.

Unsurprisingly though, Brokenreader just moved to lean their arms on the stand he was at, looking over his wares eagerly, “How you been holding up, hm?”

He exhaled slowly, moving to turn away to adjust a few things to hide the faint smile working its way onto his face, “Pretty well, even managed to sell a few paintings, how about you, nightwing?”

Brokenreader waved a talon before tracing a claw in an absent shape, “Pretty well, pretty well. You willing to let go of some bear pelts today?”

Arctic couldn’t help as he smiled, settling against the counter as well, “Don’t know, what you got for them today?”

The other moved to present their own things, the two settling into a half banter/half chit-chat as they went over prices and possible trades.

~

“So… you’re the prince, huh?” The skywing leaned in closer with a sharp flick of his tongue, tail swaying slowly.

Foeslayer could see the way Arctic’s face cooled, turning away from the other gathered nightwings (mostly her friends along with a couple of new nightwings Arctic had met through Brokenreader) as he glared, “Who’s asking?”

The reddish-gold dragon leaned back, laughing with a sly musing, “What? Can’t I be curious about the nightwing kingdom’s new little diamond?”

Arctic’s spines rattled slowly with a hint of frost touching upon his next exhale. 

Foeslayer took over as the skywing seemed to just get more amused about that interaction, baring her teeth with a hiss of smoke, “How about you go snort some embers? What’s a day-bird like you doing here anyways?”

Arctic glanced at her briefly before quietly reaching to interlock their claws, his thumb moving gently over her scales.

The skywing’s tsk brought his attention back. “What do you think? Kingdom business. Thought you lot were supposed to be clever?”

“So what? Decided to bother some random dragons because of it?”

The skywing simply stared over at Arctic, eyes trailing down his glistening scales, “I wouldn’t say that one’s random. But fine,” he smiled with a sickly sweet purr, “Carry on.” 

The group watched as the skywing contuined along, one of Foeslayer’s friends breaking the silence, “Thought skywings were supposed to be the friendly tribe, that dragon’s got worst manners than Foeslayer.”

Said nightwing swerved to look over and Arctic couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she cried in false betrayal, “Stormcaller!”

~

Arctic laughed as Foeslayer spun him around, spines rattling with the thrill of the dance, his claws scrapping against the ground as he simply let the nightwing lead him.

She was beaming just as widely, eyes bright as she moved to momentarily dip him, wings flaring out for balance as he looked up at her with another sharp laugh.

“You’re surprisingly light,” she mused as she leaned in, their snouts just barely touching.

The icewing rolled his eyes, still grinning as he shot back, “You’re built like a mudwing, I swear by the moons.”

She giggled sharply as she moved to pull him up, letting him regain his footing, “You jerk!”

Arctic leaned against her, stoking his chin while he hummed, “And yet? You looooove me.”

“Ice-snorter.”

“Smoke-breath.” He folded his wings back smugly as he looked up at her.

“Mr-shiny-scales!” She moved to pull him down with her as she flopped onto her back in the grass. 

He simply laughed as he went falling back, shoving away with bright eyes, “At least I know how to keep them that way~!”

“Take that back!” She tackled him and grappled him into a headlock, the icewing howling with laughter now as he shoved at her, the earring she wore protecting her from his admittedly much sharper claws. 

“Never!” Arctic managed to escape, cackling as he dashed off, Foeslayer quickly getting back to her feet to chase after him. 

“Oh when I catch you—“

“If you even can!” He crowed as he took off, Foeslayer not even two steps behind him already.

“—I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT A SLUG!”

The icewing couldn’t stop laughing as they chased one another in the air, dodging and weaving around one another in the moonlight. 

Chapter Text

Arctic smiled softly as his brush stroked along the canvas, watching as the blacks and greens melded together, as the image he desired to create slowly came into reality. 
It was magic in its own sense, he figured, how simple pigments could create something more. It made him feel content, as though after the darkest months of bitter cold, spring had finally managed to come afterall.

He chuckled, dipping his paintbrush back in. “I can’t wait to finish this and show Foeslayer.”

The icewing just wasn’t expecting for Foeslayer herself to suddenly walk in, the door slamming open. He jumped and just barely managed to not jerk the paintbrush with the motion. The door slammed shut and Arctic blinked over. 

He was alarmed to see the state Foeslayer was in. Tears rolled down her cheeks, she was sniffling before coughing from the sobs that seemed to want to escape her, and the nightwing’s wings were trembling.

Arctic set his paintbrush aside, project put on hold as he hurried over. “Foeslayer? What happened? Are you okay, did something happen? What’s wron—“

He went to wipe away the tears before flinching back when she practically snarled through her sobs, “It’s fine! I—I— I’m fine!” 

“Foes—“

“Just… *hic* d-d-don’t…” Foeslayer wiped harshly at her face, “I-I don’t care!”

He frowned, reaching out a talon before pulling back. What had happened? She had been so excited for this lunch with her friends…

He sighed softly and smoothed his expression, he couldn’t force Foeslayer into telling him what was wrong. He just… had to be patient. Arctic hummed and tired a new approach.

“Okay, my Emerald, do you want me to do anything?” 

She sniffled and shook her head sharply, rubbing at her face again, “I don’t n-n-need a-anything, I’m just, j-just going to lie down.”

He moved to her side, offering a gentle smile. “Okay, my love. I’ll be here for you.”

Foelsayer wiped at her face again, nodding shortly before heading to her room (because while they did adore each other, they both were used to their own space, and it was beneficial to have a room for them each. It allowed for some breathing room when needed, such as now).

Arctic simply watched her go.

It was all he could do right now, no matter how it made his heart sink. 

~

He didn’t know what time it was when his door creaked open, the icewing tiredly sitting up in his bed to look over. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting as much as they could in the darkness.

“Foeslayer?” He yawned, shifting as he heard approaching talon steps. 

“Can… can I curl up with you.” Her hesitant voice came to his left and he looked over, barely able to see the motion of her form. He made a brief mental note to get some kind of light source in here at some point.

“Of course.” He shifted so there was enough space and soon enough he felt her curl up against him, her breathing notably shaky still. 

“C-Can I just… talk? And, and you listen?”

He guessed where her face was and moved to hold it gently. “I’ll listen to whatever you wish me to, my love.”

She sniffed and ducked her head against him as she began to speak. “So… so my mother showed u-up while, while I was out at lunch…” He could feel her let out a shuddering exhale before contuining. “She… was displeased with me.”

“I don’t even know, k-know what I did wrong this time,” she laughed, bitter and sharp, “But ohhhh… she was just… wonderful…”

Foeslayer loved days off from patrols and boring meetings and stupid nothings of day to day life. She loved meeting up with her friends, talking with them, telling them about the new things in her life, and listening to them tell their stories.

It just… made her happy. To be there, and to be, well, heard. Afterall, while Foeslayer would always know Prudence as her mother, Prudence wasn’t exactly a… kind mother.

The older dragon was… espically vocal about every error she saw in her daughter. Foeslayer had learned long ago that she was weak, a feather-head, distractable, stupid, and a burden. That’s what her mother would yell at her when no one else cared to step in or when she’d be alone with her mother’s cold stare.

Foeslayer figured it was her fault in some way. But even when she’d keep her mouth shut when she was hungry; even when she’d pick at every imperfect scale or washed herself until her skin blistered to appear put together; even when she’d go to tutors and teachers after classes to try and get help with struggling grades; well… it was never enough.

There was always something wrong.

”Oh, shut up. You shouldn’t be tired, you have nothing to be tired about you ingrate. Have you been skipping physical training, you look even weaker than normal.”

There was always something else to yell about.

”Did you pick at your face again! You’ll get scars and look worse than you already do!”

There was always something else to build a new noose around her heart.

“Oh yeah, like I’d believe a empty-headed, absent-minded hatchling like you would actually be attending tutoring. Where are you actually goi—don’t you raise your voice at me you ungrateful brat!”

It… hurt.

It hurt for a long time.

Then she meet dragons outside that house that was barely a home.

She made friends.

”Why would you hang out with such dragons. I raised you better than this and you know it.”

They… they didn’t treat her like that. They listened, laughed at her antics or jokes, and they saw her. Actually saw her.

Foeslayer was crying again, he didn’t need to see her face to know that. Her words practically trembled now as she spoke and Arctic couldn’t help the way his ruff of spines rattled slowly in irritation.

A building ice spread through his mind, a dagger twisting just right. He took a slow breath, whispering to the nightwing that had fallen quiet that he was still listening.

She took in a breath, let it go, and slowly began again.

It had been simple. She’d gone in, was sitting and chatting, and everything was going well.

Crystalwatch had gotten accepted as an apprentice for a well known blacksmith.

Forseer’s gift for foresight was exceeding expectations for them.

Clarity’s crush was revealed to like her as well.

Etc. Etc. Things were well, she was happy, and then as she went to eat one of her favorite desserts… it came crashing down.

The door slammed open to the building and her and her friends looked over in alarm and confusion.

Prudence stormed right over barely taking her eyes off Foeslayer. She could barely get a word out before it was screaming insults and accusations.

Foeslayer wiped at her face quietly, “I… I don’t, d-don’t even know what I did. She just kept s-shouting, and, and I tried… I don’t know, m-maybe I did do something. Heh, old… old empty-headed, spineless Foeslayer, right?” A few pitched giggles managed to slip past her gritted smile.

“Fo—“

“I have always been too stupid and brash, h-haven’t I? I m-mess up everything! I-If I had done… I ruined my friend’s lunch, I-I disturbed everyone in that cafe! Why did I have t-to go and ruin things again!?” Her voice was raising as the tears burned her eyes, she couldn’t even hear Arctic’s words. “I’m worthless! My mot-mother is right, she has to be right? Right? I mean why else would she yell at me! It’s b-because I deserve i—“

She wasn’t even aware she was scratching at her arms until two talons quickly caught and pinned hers. Foeslayer was breathing heavily and she looked to Arctic.

He… he looked horrified. Stunned.

She messed up again. 

Her heart began to race even worst, tears building as she tried to swallow a sobbing beg for forgiveness.

You always ruin things, don’t you?

“I-I-I—“

“I’m going to strangle your mother with her own tongue!” The anger in his voice made her tense. “T-That, that ignorant sack of caribou dropplings! THAT USELESS PEASANT! She would barely even manage seventh circle! She wouldn’t know wonder if it tore off that stupid snout of hers!”

He shifted as though to get up, Arctic hissing audibly deep in his chest, changing slowly into a low growl. “I will show her stupidity— I-I’ll curse her! I’ll make her s-suffer!”

Foeslayer’s talon just barely managed to catch his arm as he begun to storm towards the door. He swung around with a snarl, his eyes widening just a touch as his face dropped when she flinched away.

She managed to stutter out a simple ‘don’t.’

The icewing’s chest was raising up and down sharply as he seemed to try and swallow his rage. “Why.”

She looked away. “She’s… she’s all I got.”

She felt his wing come over her, his voice firm in her ear, “You also have me.” He sounded hurt. “Y-You… you have the others too, right?”

The nightwing couldn’t look at him.

“Forseer?”

The tears were coming back.

“Brokenreader?”

A building pressure behind the eyes.

“Clarity! Crystalwatch! Oynxsight! Oblivionbite! All the other dragons that care and love you as much as I do!” His talons came to rest on her shoulders and forced her to look at his face. He was beginning to cry. “You are the most incredible, funny, and clever dragon I know! You make me feel like I could fight armies, I would fight armies for you! I would throw myself over a firescales before I would simply let you say that you deserved anything your mother said or did!”

His grip tightened but she didn’t care.

“I love you, I adore you! You have eyes that glimmer, a beautiful crooked smile when you get a wonderfully ridiculous idea, you care so much about what others around you see that you’ve blinded yourself to everything you are! You don’t need to, to prove yourself! I get it, having to be so stupidly perfect and pristine!”

Arctic’s forehead came to rest againist hers. “You… y-you are t-the wind beneath my wings. The a-air in my lungs. I—I don’t want… want to, to see you destroy yourself like this.” His voice was breaking and Foeslayer started to quietly sob again.

They sat like that, pressed against one another, grasping tightly to one another as though afraid the other would melt away like thawing snow. Just needing to reassure. To ground themselves.

Foeslayer broke this silence with a sob. “I-I’ll never b-be, be good, g-good enough for h-her… will I?” 

Arctic quietly shook his head, “They… t-they want more than we can bare.”

The nightwing buried herself against him and let it all out. She screamed. Sobbed. Hissed and snapped out every insult, every comment that hurt as much as a slap across the face, the pain she felt.

Arctic held her and listened.

Foeslayer trembled the whole while.

~ ***** ~

Arctic and Foeslayer laid curled up in his bed, curled up in furs and blankets, talking.

The icewing and nightwing were exhausted, but well, they were a stubborn pair, weren’t they?

“What… what if you… you just enchanted us to not feel—“ A wide yawn cut Foeslayer off as she rested her head on top of Arctic’s. “—just… not feel sleepy.”

Arctic mumbled quietly, blinking a few times when his eyelids grew a touch too heavy.

“Huh?” Foeslayer yawned again, tail coiling a touch tighter around Arctic’s.

“‘mmm said… no.” 

A whine. “Whyyyyyy not?” She moved a talon to play with his earring. “Just, just no… no sleepy.

“But have to… have to sleep.”

The small silver narwhal absently swang. “No wanna…”

Arctic just yawned wider, ducking closer to her with another mumble.

Foeskayer’s eyelids were falling, “Aaaaaarcccccccctttticccccc!”

“Whaaaaaaa,” he groaned, one talon slapping at her snout.

“Make…” She yawned, blinking a few times as she lost her train of thought. The icewing mumbled and Foeslayer could just hum in response now.

The two drooped against each other, soon snoring away, limbs tangled, and fast asleep.

You can only fight sleep for so long. 

Chapter Text

Foeslayer hummed softly as she polished her scales, having totally stolen the polish Arctic used for his. It just felt nice and she admittedly found the way it made her scales shine fascinating.

The only issue is she completely got lost in time, mumbling a sandwing song she’d heard from a traveling merchant before freezing as the door creaked open. 

Her neck spines flattened as she heard a sharp inhale, she didn’t even have to turn. The nightwing stayed frozen, hoping, despite the fact he most certainly did see her, that for some reason, he hadn’t.

“Foeslayer…? What in the moons are you doing in— is that my scale polish.”

With a meek smile she twisted around slowly, weakly waving at him. “Maaaaybee?”

The icewing’s spines began to rattle in low annoyance.

~

“I swear I don’t know how much snow my mother must have snorted to be as icy as she is, but sometimes I wish it would have just frozen her mouth shut.”

Arctic was sat absently on a nest of cushions and blankets as Foeslayer cleaned her patrol armor at the low table nearby. The icewing held up the thickly scrolled paper (a sturdy icewing production made to resist tears from sharp claws and extreme weather conditions). “A letter from her.”

“What’s it say,” Foeslayer looked over with a raised eye ridge. “Also, love, if it’s a letter, wouldn’t her mouth freezing shut have no influence on her writing?”

“She rarely writes her own letters, doesn’t like the possibility of getting ink on her talons.”

He sighed and propped his chin on a talon as he held the letter out with the other. “It’s basically a list of demands at this point, demanding me to come home, demanding me to give my gift to the tribe, demanding me to give her animus grandkids, blah blah blah.”

Foeslayer snorted, “Fun.” The nightwing’s talons tapped against an arm guard.

“Tell me about it, would you do the hon—“

”—nors of burning it?”

Arctic smiled at her, “Do I tell you enough how I adore you?”

She waved her talon with a cheeky grin, “Nope, not at all. You should tell me how amazing I am now~”

The icewing wrinkled his snout at her with a clear fondness. “Of course, my emerald.” The letter was forgotten as he purred out loving compliments towards her.

Foeslayer loved him even more for it.

~

Arctic pointed upwards with an almost hesitant claw, “That’s the uh… rainwing’s fang… right?”

Foeslayer gently nudged his claw so it’d be pointing instead at an arc of three stars. Her head nodded towards the previous cluster of stars he’d pointed at, “Those are its frills.” 

The icewing pouted. He tilted his head, dipping his head underneath her chin with a tsk. “Doesn’t look like much of a frill to me.”

“Love, hush.”

“Oh, why don’t yo—“

He stilled as she moved away, having grabbed him by the chin in order to angle their faces together for a kiss. Arctic merely sunk into the gesture blissfully.

~

“Who does she think she is!?” Foeslayer was pacing sharply in their living room as Arctic read along the couch, listening and adding comments every so often. 

“Mhm.” He flipped the page, ears twitching.

“She only cares what others can give her, she could care less about other dragons!” Smoke eased from her mouth as the nightwing ranted. “You know when we have dragonets, we’ll raise them to know their worth and love them better than she ever supposedly loved me! I swe—“

Arctic spoke up, having finally processed what she’d said. “When… we have dragonets?” He blinked at her, eyes wide.

The nightwing froze, tensed, and refused his gaze. “Er—I, well, I mean, if… if we had dragonets, I, uh…”

“I’m… not against the idea.” He smiled thoughtfully, setting his book to the side now. Foeslayer turned towards him sharply, excitedly. He contuined. “Our… dragonets. We… what do you think they’ll look like?”

“I… I don’t know.” She smiled, face softening with the idea. “But I know they’d be perfect, beautiful and witty, just like you.”

Arctic chuckled, “And just as much trouble as you.”

The nightwing flopped back onto the couch, grinning toothily. “You say as though you’re not as much of a mess as me.” The icewing set his talon on the other’s face and Foeslayer leaned into the touch. “They… they’d be loved.”

“And safe.” 

Foeslayer leaned her forehead againist his. “And curious. They won’t have to be scared to ask for help, a-and we’ll let them make simple mistakes and…”

“And we can make sure they’ll grow up happy.”

The nightwing’s eyes filled with silent tears. She smiled though, they weren’t sad tears, not anymore.

“One day… I think I wouldn’t mind either.”

“One day. When we're ready.”

~

Arctic didn’t mind being held, it’s just… he wasn’t used to it sometimes.

It wasn’t uncomfortable… just new. New in the way that so many things were new to him these days. New in the sense that it felt like every time it happened, it was the first time again.

He was currently settled in Foeslayer’s grasp, one of her wings settled over him like a blanket in its own right. Her scales were warm, her breath steady, and she was solid and real.

Arctic blinked tiredly, eventually finding his eyelids slipping further and further down.

He supposed he wouldn’t have been as comfortable in another’s grasp, it was still uncertain for him to receive contact from another. Sure, some of his new nightwing and merchant friends had grown used to the chill of his scales and the sharp, unintentional bite of his claws… but it wasn’t the same.

Foeslayer held him close, curled around him almost protectively even in slumber, and it was new.

It was safe.

~

Two dragons flew side by side, wingbeats in near sync as they simply flew together.

No words were exchanged, nothing needed to be said. They were content, happy.

They didn’t demand much from the lives they held so carefully in their claws, yet still they received its gifts.

In absent moments and times like these. Where they could just be. And be by each other’s side.

They felt alive.

Chapter Text

Arctic stared. He couldn’t think of what to say. His claws however moved to gently trace the silvery eggshell as he mused softly, “So this one will hatch tonight?”

Foeslayer watched him with a smile, moving to adjust the second egg, which remained dark as shadows. She hummed, “It seems so, I don’t know about the other one though.”

“I thought they were both supposed to hatch?” 

The nightwing shrugged. “Prophecies don’t always come true.”

“Tomorrow maybe?”

Foeslayer, who in another life would devote all of herself to the night-scaled dragonet about to hatch, smiled as she gazed upon their second egg. “I’d say so, are you still sleepy little one?” Her claws adjusted the egg before turning back to the one already showing signs of being ready to hatch.

The nightwing had enough love to give to both of them. 

Arctic gazed at the silver egg with a smile. “I think I saw this one move again.” 

“You sure?”

He gave her a haughty stare, raising his glimmering talons to his chest with mock offense. “I can assure you, nightwing, that us icewings have impeccable vision.”

She rolled her eyes, bumping his shoulder with hers, “Uh-huh.”

“You dare call me a liar?” He gasped, all too exaggerated. “I am a prince!”

She mockingly bowed to him, wrinkling her snout in the way he loved. “Oh, your highness~! My greatest, and humblest, apologies!”

Arctic had a smile in his eyes, mouth opening when they both froze at the sound of a crack. Their gazes locked for a moment; confusion, realization, excitement, nervousness, etc.

They turned to the nest, silent now.

The silver egg began to move, a small spider-webbing of cracks forming along its surface.

It was time for them to hatch.

~

He did not know where he was but he could hear the voices outside the darkness.

“Do you think… they’ll look like us?” The voice was crisply spoken, sharp with an undoubted warmth. He could feel the fascination, anxiety, excitement, and care with which the voice spoke. 

The words meant little to him, but the depth of feeling? It drew him in, expanded like a flower blooming, calling to him as much as the moonlight that peeked through the cracks did. 

This one mind fit together claw in claw with the second one. Sun and moon, night and day, ice and fire. They curled around one another, notable on their own, but working just as beautiful together. 

“I… don’t know.” The second voice spoke up, this one softer, far less elegant in the manner of speech as the first but with a loving fierceness. “Do you think they’ll be okay…? What if something goes wrong?”

Worry reflected between them like a gleaming mirror, tension raising like a sudden tide when the first spoke. He would come to find out later this voice belonged to the one he’d call Father.

“We’re here for them, remember?”

“Heh,” the second voice held a stillness to it now, a somberness making him reach out instinctual. She was Mother, he’d learn later, and while he knew she’d protect him and Father to her dying breath, she also needed them.

Mother and Father had been hurt before, they contuined to hurt… and despite this, they carried on. He wanted to be with them.

He felt himself be adjusted, bracing his claws against the wall before himself. As he adjusted, he noticed this area made it less likely for him to roll or fall over. 

Though, even more intriguing was the new presence he felt nearby. The heartbeat was calm, the mind absent and careless. No urgency clouded this one’s mind, it was soothing in a sense.

He reached out, claws scrapping against the barrier between him and these others. He wanted to know them, to take in more of the adoration he knew was held for him and this other, and the light merely seemed like a blissful extra now.

“You know, we leave our eggs in the snow,” Father mused. His ears pricked up, his claws pausing in their pushing. “The colder, apparently, the stronger the dragonet when they hatch.

The second chuckled. He adored the sound already. “Oh? You sure their little claws wouldn’t freeze off?”

“You’re only complaining because you know they’d just adore rolling and playing in the snow.”

In another life, he’d see bared teeth, flashes of claws, and blood. Now? He could see the images of mixed black and white rolling along, wings flapping experimentally, eyes bright.

He wanted to know that. He pushed again, sharper. He jolted a bit at the resounding crack as something gave before him.

More light filtered in, and he wondered, awe and curiosity filling him instead of hate and panic, if maybe that was snow.

The thrum of excitement from the two ran through him and he wanted to make the calm other acknowledge this eagerness as readily as he did.

He pushed again.

“Look.” Mother’s voice was barely a whisper, her love swelled.

“I see. Quite a stubborn little thing.” A thought flickered momentarily to a worry about a storm, but as he kicked again, he distracted Father from this brief fretting.

“I blame your side of the family.” A moment of quiet, he heard their minds yet sought their voices even more. What would the emotions be this time? How would what they say curl againist each other? Weaving into these rich feelings?

He heard a bark of laughter, knowing instantly that it was Father. Sharp like his voice, sharp like his claws, and ever so bright with delight.

The light beckoned, the memories he saw of snow and ice gave him hope, and he hurried to bathe in it.

The cracking grew, sharp splinters being chipped away. He knew they were waiting for him.

He fell forward as the walls collapsed under him, eyes darting about before stopping at the glorious light that soon enough bathed over his scales. He knew awe and knew that is what he felt.

It wasn’t snow, but it was one piece of the puzzle. The moons were Mother’s. The snow was Father’s. He’d get to have both.

His eyes wandered, claws moving to investigate the carved stone below him, to grace the softness of a dark-furred pelt nearby. Sat silently nearby was the other, an egg he’d figure from his parent’s minds, like the one he’d broken free of.

Below, as he sought out more, he could see a ever-stretching landscape filled with ravines, crooks and nannies, and caverns. Firelight casted warm glows as the moons above basked everything else under their touch.

It was his home, he figured. Then there was a sound, and he noticed the ones he’d been so desperate to meet.

They stood, tall and together, wings covered over one another as they stared down. Mother was dark as the night, Father glinting like the stars above.

Warm shadowed scales against chilling ice shards. Sharp and watchful blue against the emerald shine of green. Darkness and light. 

Mother was clever in the most gleeful ways, kind in the most protective ease, loving fierce and true. She adored him, and he loved her in turn.
He wanted to bring her joy, to make her laugh, to hear her stories, to see her wonder.

Father was sly in a graceful cunning, sweet in quiet shyness, loving in his actions and motives. He was already proud of him, and he knew he could never disappoint him.
He wanted to see his calm, to show his adoration, to paint with him, to know his gentleness.

The young dragonet could see how their lives together grew, flowers blossoming with new possibilities. New adventures, new sorrows, and yet he saw they’d be together for it all.

He didn’t know that these were possibilities for the future, grasping at paths he couldn’t truly unfold; his mind had not the opportunity yet to learn.

Despite this, he found much in his parent’s minds.

Hope, a burning ember in Mother’s mind. Needing to be treasured and nurtured.

Patience, a steady ice flow in Father’s mind. He’d have to be slow and cautious with it.

He reached out, Mother was already moving to scoop him up. She purred, “Hello, my darling Darkstalker.”

Father nudged her, chuckling, “Darkstalker?”

“Oh, hush.” Her words were teasing, she didn’t need to defend herself from him. “The darkness is his prey!”

“Well how come you get to name him?” Father reached out to gently stroke his head, Darkstalker leaning into the touch. He liked how cool his scales were compared with the steady warmth of Mother’s.

“Nightwing mother privilege.”

“You’re making that up,” Father rolled his eyes, “Icewings of higher rank name their dragonets.”

A brief spark of stubbornness, “Oh? And I’m a lower rank then you?” She gave him a critical look that Darkstalker mimicked.

Father snorted, yielding. “Oh fine, as you want, my emerald.” Darkstalker knew it had never really been an argument, but it was curious to see the difference between how they seemed to act and how they actually felt.

“He…” a moment of nervousness, “…looks very nightwing, doesn’t he?” Mother frowned and Darkstalker hurriedly looked to Father to get rid of the doubt she felt.

Father didn’t need to be told so, moving to nudge her. “And is that a problem? I can see so much of him in you already.”

“It… it doesn’t bother you?”

Father had some anxieties, but he didn’t hold them to high regard. 

“Not really. As long as he’s healthy.” His gaze turned to the other egg, “Do you think this one’s okay?”

Mother turned as well, watching as Father grabbed the dark egg within his graceful grasp, cradling it close. 

“I would hope so, sometimes eggs hatch a day late or early.” 

Father still looked a touched worried. Darkstalker knew the worry was unneeded, it still touched him though.

His sibling was steady, alive. Just… not as attentive to what was happening outside. Still resting, at ease. He shifted to try and sit up, reaching out.

Darkstalker knew he could help. He could show her a glimpse of what was waiting, coax her out, bring them all together.

He may have know of patience, but in that moment, eagerness and excitement won him over. He wanted them to see.

Father must had seen the look in his shimmering eyes, for with a chuckle and raised eye ridge he eased the egg closer.

The dragonet knew they were watchful, ready to separate them if he were to be too sudden. Patient now, he reached out, slow and careful.

He wanted her to see what he did. To know what he now knew.

She woke. The egg began to move. Whiteout hatched a couple minutes later.

There was enough love for both of them. 

Chapter Text

Foeslayer was out on patrol again, because apparently, the Queen and her poor excuse of a council seemed to be under the firm belief that their dragonets’ hatchings weren’t enough of an excuse to let Foeslayer stay home for longer than a few days.

Which was, in his firm opinion, complete and utter caribou shit. Foeslayer had been so nervous and excited to finally meet their dragonets, and for her to be almost immediately sent off once they’d hatched? It was cruel, but, at his love’s request, the prince held his tongue.

Arctic would rather freeze several dragons mouths shut and toss them into the deepest, darkest cavern, but he reminded himself to have some illusion of polished control.
It would do them no service to outright object the nightwings… though, being the sole caretaker now present, he had come to the realization that dragonets were a lot more needy than he’d initially concluded.

With Foeslayer around, they had been quite calm and quiet, though maybe that was in part thanks to the fact that she had known better than him how to deal with them (he was a animus prince, he’d never been around other dragons all that much, he barely even saw other dragonets in his youth save for his brothers and occasionally Snowfox).

Now, that it was just him at home with the two, they were… well… like this.

Darkstalker was padding along, making loud keening calls, eyes wide and watery. Whiteout, on the other talon, while she seemed less concerned with everything around her, was also very much looking overwhelmed. Her little talons were clapped over her ears and she was rocking from where she was sat up on her hind legs, whining faintly.

Arctic wasn’t even sure what they wanted, were they hungry? Was it because Foeslayer wasn’t here? Was he not doing something right? Were they tired and refusing to sleep? Did they want toys? Did they need to relieve themselves? Were they too warm or possibly too cold?

Or… was it because they were hybrids? A new wave of anxiety washed over him, what if they needed something neither him or Foeslayer could provide? What if because of their contrasting tribes, they had ruined their dragonets?

Arctic sharply shook away that thought with a fierce defensiveness. Nothing is wrong with them, they’re not ruined!

He took a shaky breath in, noting how absurdly overwhelmed he was, and realizing, now that he really thought of it, how it was probably contributing to the current problem.

Not only had he’d been told by a few friends that dragonets were highly attuned to their parent’s emotions, but it further didn’t help that the two were probably both mind-readers… or at least Darkstalker was for certain? And even if Whiteout wasn’t a mindreader, seeing her brother so distressed was probably feeding into her panic.

Should he real quick fly off to find Brokenreader or Crystalsight? He knew those two had some experience with dragonets, but what if things were different because his dragonets were hybrids? What if something bad happened the moment he left them?! What if leaving them made things worst! There were too many options, too many outcomes, and he probably wasn’t even aware of several other factors that could effect things!

Arctic may have been, slightly, panicking again.

The icewing drew a talon over his face and began to take in fresh, deep breaths. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Out. He was going to be okay. He had to have a clear mind.

The prince turned back to the matter at hand, and was surprised and fascinated, to see little Darkstalker trying to mimic his breathing exercises though the crying. A swelling of pride flooded him as he moved to gently pick his son up, the dragonet sniffling but staring up at him with those dark, dark eyes of his.

Arctic smiled gently, “It’s alright. You’re alright.” His little speck of night sky curled against his talons, nuzzling in close as Arctic turned to observe Whiteout now.

She had peeked open an eye with a warbling whine, still rocking herself. The icewing gently cradled Darkstalker and walked over, uncertain now. 

A thing him and Foeslayer had noted was that Whiteout had very differing needs when it came to contact and interaction.

For example, the little hybrid didn’t like sudden things (sudden noises or changes or even touch could be very distressing) and certain things just seemed to bother her (she liked the color blue though, soft things appealed to her, and she would spend hours just watching absent things such as the grass swaying or Arctic painting).

So… what should he do now that she was distressed?

He laid down with a sigh, adjusting Darkstalker as the dragonet hugged his forearm. The icewing laid there quietly, slowly extending a wing so it covered the three of them. The darkness made the two dragonets look up, the torches casting a curious blue glow through his wing membrane.

Whiteout slowly uncurled, waddling a bit over to climb onto his leg to get a better look, Arctic having to actively fight the instinctual kick building at the way Whiteout’s claws tickled againist his scales.

He exhaled frost and held still, Whiteout seemingly having forgotten that she’d been crying but a few moments ago, instead their wide eyes stared up. Okay… so darkness helped? Or maybe the way the light shone through his wing membrane was what did the trick?

Either way he could give a shaky exhale, smiling gently now that his dragonets weren’t sobbing their little hearts out anymore.

~

Foeslayer was fast asleep in the living room, utterly exhausted from another fight with her mother, the ignorant smoke-snorter having apparently tried to guilt the nightwing into allowing her to see her ‘grand-kids.’

The nightwing had not only apparently flat out refused the demands, but she’d apparently had even actively talked back to the old prude. Arctic couldn’t have been more proud, his emerald having finally set up some needed boundaries with her mother. But well…

The fallout was less beautiful. As after making sure the dragonets were asleep and okay, she’d spilled it all to him. The icewing had listened and had supported her the best he could. And now the nightwing had fallen asleep due to the pure exhaustion this had caused her.

Which meant, as he laid there curled by her side, he was the one that had to go tend to their dragonets when one of them cried out from the room they’d set aside for the two.

Careful to not wake his love, he crept along to find Darkstalker trembling as his sister slept like the dead nearby. The little, dark-scaled hybrid practically ran to him, slamming against his icy scales with a little hiccup.

The icewing moved to lay down, offering his son a hug which the dragonet readily curled up into. Darkstalker was babbling a bit, not quite having the words to really talk, but clearly wanting it to be known what had distressed him.

Arctic just hushed him gently, nudging him with the tip of his snout. “It’s alright my little dark prince. You’re okay, your father’s here, your sibling is here, and mother is asleep in the other room.”

Darkstalker gave a shaky little nod, Arctic moving to gently wipe away the fat tears rolling down those baby-fat cheeks, ever so careful. The dragonet leaned into the contact, as Arctic had noted neither Whiteout or her brother seemed repulsed of the chill held in his scales. It was a quiet blessing to be able to properly hold them and assure them.

“Sometimes the mind shows us bad things, did you see bad things?”

The dragonet nodded again, wings flapping as his feet gave irritated little stomps.

“Well, that’s alright. Because we’re all alright, the mind is cruel. But that doesn’t mean you have to listen to it.”

Darkstalker’s little brow furrowed and he gave a shaky nod as he suddenly made grabby claws up at him.

Arctic rolled his eyes, moving to scoop up the demanding little thing. “Alright.”

He laid his head down near where Whiteout still was sound asleep, curling his claws protectively against his son.

“You’re okay. I’m here. We’ll—“ he yawned widely, “—protect you.”

Darkstalker made a soft little noise, squirming around before finally relaxing. It wasn’t hard to fall back to sleep after that.

~

“Whiteout.”

The little hybrid ignored him, contuining their little mess.

“Whiteout.”

A little huff, not really an acknowledgment, but it was probably all he was going to get.

Foeslayer chuckled softly where she was moving to clean Darkstalker’s own dirty self.
The dragonets had been introduced to a series of new foods to see what they’d like as a result of Whiteout’s pickiness and Darkstalker’s habit of refusing the most seemingly random things.

The dragonets, however, certainly had gotten… distracted. Rather taking to actively playing with their food instead of actually trying any of it.

Arctic sighed as Whiteout contuined to ignore him, “I can deal with Darkstalker, you try to convince her to get clean?”

The nightwing hummed, giving a toothy grin over her shoulder, “Oh. No, no, I do insist~” 

The icewing gave her a pout before moving to try and convince Whiteout once more that berries and fruits weren’t for painting her own scales with.

The hybrid, though, didn’t really care for his opinion all that much.

~

Arctic couldn’t move… 

He was simply covered in and surrounded by other dragons. Foeslayer was curled againist his side, Whiteout and Darkstalker sprawled between them. But oh, you’d think that would be all?

Well apparently not! Because not only was his family trapping him in place, but there were several of his and Foeslayer’s friends around.

Brokenreader was snoring from where they were using his tail as a pillow (the dragon had seemingly grown used to the chill of his scales… which meant a lot more physical contact like grappling hugs, the shorter nightwing playing with his spines, and the usage of him as a pillow for the other such as now), their niece sprawled againist their side. ScorchedEarth, a nightwing/sandwing hybrid (a secret he’d promised to keep, they looked mostly nightwing either way) Arctic had become trade buddies with was sleeping againist Brokenreader’s other side, their barbless tail draped across one of Arctic’s wings.

Then there was Oblivionbite and Stormcaller, both fast asleep within a talon’s brush of Foeslayer. The two nightwings using each other as pillows.

And for some reason, everyone was content to just snore away, Arctic admittedly getting a bit too warm with all of the contact with the warm-bodied nightwings (and the hybrids). 

He sighed dramatically, managing to wiggle a bit from the pile before resettling, then the prince couldn’t help but smile gently as he looked around himself again.

It was strange to be surrounded by so many he felt safe with. It’s been quite sometime since he’d had a proper… well, family.

Chapter Text

Darkstalker ignored Whiteout’s disapproving stare as he cautiously inched his way towards their father’s side of the bed. 

Their mother and father being curled up in the icewing’s bed at the moment, both fast asleep, minds warm and restful. Though Darkstalker didn’t see why they had to sleep when him and Whiteout were awake.

No. No, Dad sleep!  A shove of harsh white and azure with wisps of gray rushed into his mind, Darkstalker feeling the annoyance and slight anxiety creeping within the other.

The hybrid dragonet gave his sibling a huff, reaching up to pat their father’s face. Want awake! He shoved back a feeling of boredom and loneliness, a stark gray and silver with cobalt lining.

Their father’s face twitched and he huffed a small curl of frost and ice. Darkstalker sneezed, nearly slipping if not for his small claws hooking onto the blankets. He gave a startled chirp and their father’s form jolted upwards.

No fall! A blizzard of blue and white, intense and blinding with the startlement.

Try not! His own mind was a blizzard, icy cold creeping under his scales with his panic.

Try more!  It was almost overwhelming the worry that came from them, though Darkstalker realized it wasn’t all just his sibling’s.

TRYIN—

He was scooped up with a surprised ‘awk!’ Blinking wide eyes as he was brought towards pale scales, his father’s sharp gaze staring back with clear befuddlement and panic.

“What in the great moons…?”

Darkstalker gave a cheer, eager sea blues and baby blue skies sent purposefully to his sibling as her mind stormed with the lingering fright, their father was awake now!

Arctic pinched the bridge of his snout with his other talon, eyes looking over to where Whiteout was now trying to crawl up, inhaling slowly before exhaling. “You two are going to be the death of me…”

~

It was a loud day, Whiteout curled up with a wavering breath as she tried to calm their self down. But it wasn’t helping.

Everything was too loud, too much, too bright. It hurt and scared them, azure waves crashed like icewing blood across the cold stark ground, a cheer of voices pounding through their skull like crashing glaciers, their small talons doing little to make the world quieter.

They whined, loud and strained. White blizzards danced about a dark abyss, static screeching and howling as gray wolf fur ruffled. They wanted someone to make all the bad go away. Bright moonlight gracing upon bright eyes, threads stretched out before dark talons that grasped and twisted. They needed someone to make it quiet. Green sea water and pale scattered scales, creeping vines tangled around feathered wings fluttering like a staggered heart beat, like a staggered step, like a staggered breath.

They cried out louder, tears managing to build at the corners of tightly closed eyes. Sunsets with blood soaked waters, sunrises with twisted tongues and deepening maws, day and night intertwined in a cascade of mixed-matched scales as her talons grasped and struggled.

Whiteout didn’t even really notice the other dragon entering the room until a voice rumbled nearby. They peeked an eye open, gasping cries panting from them, and saw their father. He was blinking, startled, blizzards churned through his scattered thoughts as warmth clung to protective care, and then he was reaching out.

They flinched, he froze. Then her father carefully moved to lay by her, his mind already steadying.

Whiteout slowly scooted towards him and pressed her small body against his side with a sniffling little whine.

Her father merely hummed lowly, his mind saying all she needed to hear.

I’m here for you. I will be here. You’re okay.

~

Whiteout and Darkstalker gave each other a quick glance, the two dragonets having noticed how their mother looked so drained when she came home that morning.

The two were well used to the odd routine of sleep that their parents had developed for one another, but they could both sense the nightwing’s exhaustion wasn’t anything to do with missing sleep.

Her mind, as Whiteout would put it, was a hailstorm brewing over a dark ocean, for while they had never experienced such things as the ocean or winter storms, they knew them well from their parents’ minds. And while they had yet to know them, these places and events, they already felt like a part of them.

Whiteout sent him a series of dark blues and twirling grays with a hint of snowfall white. Her thoughts were quiet today, it was one of those days afterall where her voice wasn’t all there.

Darkstalker simply nodded, Father no home… us help? The young hybrid’s snowfall was staggered, uncertain and uneven, stark gray to the white of Whiteout’s confidence.

Whiteout quietly padded over, head held regally and with a solid knowing of capability. Darkstalker lingered, still unsure, but following them. 

Their mother was absently curled with a few pillows and the like, trying to appear as though she were simply reading a scroll.

Darkstalker could tell she wasn’t even looking at it though, for while she had some shaky shields up as her mind pushed away whatever had upset her, the emotions still lingered.

She was tired, emotions and reflection piled upon each other.
The hybrid watched his sibling a moment, Whiteout crawling over their mother’s arm with chirps and wispy warbles, then he slowly moved to snuggle in as well.

Foeslayer didn’t say anything, but her other arm moved to gently curl around them as the shields collapsed into a rush of love and sorrow, Darkstalker and Whiteout simply snuggled into the embrace.

Their parents were there for the both of them when they needed it, they wanted to return the favor.

~

Whiteout smiled at her father with eager azure-tinted smiles and a chester of snow-rocked waves. They were striding along with their talons, tracing his white to indigo scales with their soaked talons. 

The little hybrid was having a most delightful, sun-glinting time with painting upon her father’s scales. He was a blank canvas after all, white white white easy to make blue blue blue. And also purple, or green, or orange! 

They giggled, sunlight beaming over darkened mountains, cascading light tracing the landscape below their wonderous envision. And her father merely laid there, watching her work with bemused silence.

Whiteout eagerly splashed back down into the mess of rainbow collages and messed pigments, scales coated, face coated, wings coated. The colors were dancing and wonderous and with another squeal of eagerness, again the hybrid delved into her artwork.

Nothing like painting with her father, or in this most glorious instance, painting on her father!

~

Darkstalker and Whiteout had finally fallen asleep, the two menaces having had some post-nap energy spurge that had lasted hours into the day.

Arctic and Foeslayer had barely been able to get the two to sit still for more than a few seconds during said mini-rampage.  And well, if there was one thing for certain the pair had learned about having dragonets, they were absoute masters at creating messes.

The couple sat next to one another, having finally finished cleaning up one of said messes; an assortments of scattered toys and drawings from the floor and kitchen. You see, while they adored their children, they were also both quietly glad for the peace they got in the meanwhile.

Well, until a tired Foeslayer spoke up. Her voice was musing, false annoyance teasing her tone, “Our dragonets are like this because of you.”

She didn’t need to clarify, Arctic and her had already had this playful argument time and time again.

Arctic rolled his eyes, snarking back, “Incorrect, nightwing. You see, they actually get it from your side of the family.”

“Pfff, yeah?”

The prince chuckled, “I mean… do I have to point out your room compared with mine?”

Foeslayer shoved at him with a wing, “Oh hush! It adds character, seal-breath.”

“Clutter-wing.”

“Prince walrus-face.”

“I’d say I’m much more handsome than a walrus,” the icewing yawned. “Smoke-snorter.”

“I don’t know, they’re cuter.” Foeslayer hide a yawn herself, easing into a more comfortable postion.

Arctic relaxed against her, speaking up as he closed his eyes. “How rude.”

The nightwing rested her head on top of his with a soft chuckle, the pair mumbling to one another until they eventually fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

At first, it had been Arctic and Foeslayer. Sure, Diamond and Prudence were both alive and annoying, but they weren’t family in the eyes of the two lovers.

They didn’t want that for the family they’d make. They didn’t want those that would hurt them and carve them up with hissed out words and insults. Arctic admittedly was fine with it simply being him and his love, and, in the future, their children.

Then came the dragons that weren’t of blood but bond.

Foeslayer wasn’t content with just a lover’s presence, that’s not healthy afterall. Arctic couldn’t be there by her side always, they had duties to attend to, the nightwing had patrols that took her out the kingdom as well. Arctic would be left alone in their home, and that wasn’t healthy either.

The nightwing had friends though, dragons she’d known in school or from absent events and encounters. There was Stormcaller, Oblivionbite, Brokenreader, Clarity, and several others that even Arctic had become friends with. 

They were amusing, accepting, and most wonderfully of all, strange in their own manners.

Stormcaller was a seer that liked to watch the storms tear through the land, able to tell you when and how a storm would begin just by scenting it on the air rather then using her prophetic abilities.

Oblivionbite was a powerless dragon, but a powerful menace all the same. Strong in both body and mind, they provided Arctic with the most strange of questions. ‘How would the sea taste if you drained its life?’ ‘Do you wonder what air actually smells like?’ ‘Why is your blood blue while mine is red?’ 

Brokenreader was friends with everyone it seemed, sharp tongued and sharp witted even if they seemed ditzy. Arctic enjoyed their company even if he lied through his teeth and said he merely tolerated them. He knew they knew however he enjoyed their friendship.

Clarity was sweet as sweet could be, sleek and small. Yet with a big heart, she was less a mind reader and more of an empath, sensing how one’s thoughts and emotions churned within the mind. She was a gentle calm.

Arctic was content then to have such friends, to know those that accepted and adored Foeslayer as much as he did. He just, had never really expected to make friends of his own.

ScorchedEarth was probably his second friend he’d made while in the nightwing tribe, Brokenreader being the first to break down his barriers. He had met the nightwing/sandwing hybrid while selling his wares, though he had assumed they were nothing but a slightly odd appearing nightwing until they told him later on in their friendship the truth of their nature. They were a sharp-tongued, mischievous mess. They got him into more arguments then even Foeslayer had, laughter teasing bared teeth and growled curses.

From there he had met another traveling merchant, a rainwing this time. They were beautiful in a surprising way, not like the rich complexity of Foeslayer’s dark, glimmering scales, but a bright canopy of yellows, purples, and blues. He had slipped over with a sharp stare and a look up and down the prince’s pale scales before sticking out a talon, ‘I’m Macaw, you’re that icewing runaway, aren’t you?’ He had found them bold and new admittedly.

This unlocked so much, introductions to more and more dragons, rainwings nodding their heads recognizing him from word of mouth, ScorchedEarth singing his praise to the point even the most sour-faced sandwings and glaring nightwings were shadowing his stall with interest. Brokenreader kept bringing new dragons almost every other time they’d show up, Arctic barely able to keep up with all the new names though he paid attention to know their faces.

It was strange and wild and him and Foeslayer had slowly developed a most unusual arrangement of support. Prudence didn’t dare show her face after Foeslayer began to stand up to her, and while Diamond sent Arctic letter time and time again, eventually they just… fizzled out.

Their dragonets had hatched, their friends helped them with their strain and panic, they figured things out with one another, and oh, it was wonderous.

Arctic smiled as he laid with Foeslayer, watching as Macaw and one of the rainwing’s many sons amused their little Whiteout and Darkstalker. He exhaled slowly, Foeslayer speaking up in soft musing, “I love this life.”

The icewing chuckled, pausing to wave a talon as Whiteout looked over. The small hybrid beamed in that crooked delightful oddity of hers before tackling her brother in a sudden motion. Macaw made a most obnoxious honking noise he assumed was supposed to be a laugh.

When he spoke, his voice was lowered for just his love’s ears, “Thank you.”

“Hm?”

“For getting me out of that palace,” he whispered.

His loving emerald snuggled closer, “Thank you for giving me strength to get away from my mother’s shadow.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

They were content. Their family was loving and growing. 

There was a knock on their door.

~

Foeslayer stared out the window as Arctic met with the icewing messenger that had appeared, eyes wide and curious as her dragonets peered over the windowsill with her. She knew Macaw and Spix were no doubtedly peering out as well, though they had had the decency to fade their scales so they were less notable.

The nightwing wasn’t one for subtleness though, ears pricked and eyes watching intently. The messenger glanced to the window with a clear awkwardness, giving Arctic what looked to be a most finely crafted scroll.

Her Prince took it, brow furrowing as he pulled it open to read. The messenger bowed, glistening blues and faded greens, and was gone as fast as they could be.

Arctic began to make his way to the door when he went deathly still.

Foeslayer hurried to make her way over, “Arctic?” He crept slowly over the threshold of their home, looking stunned.

“Love?” She pressed, exchanging an uncertain glance to the letter, “What does it say?”

The icewing opened his mouth, closed it, then he looked up. There were tears in his eyes and a conflicted expression on his face, “She’s dead.”

“Who—“

“Queen Diamond is dead.” His voice was calm and collected as the tears fell. “My mother was challenged for the throne. She, uh, she lost.”

Foeslayer’s mind stumbled over itself, then she jumped as Macaw spoke up, “Would you like a moment?”

Arctic glanced to his friend and softly shook his head. Then he swallowed and shifted in place, “No. I… I will be fine. I, there.” He looked back to Foeslayer, a disbelieving smile on his face. “She’s dead. I… why do, why do I feel… relieved?”

The nightwing gave a weak smile, “I’m sorry.”

Her lover just laughed breathlessly, “Snowfox is queen now, and… and I’m not exiled anymore, it seems?”

He drifted over to the couch, Darkstalker and Whiteout scrambling after him, hurriedly climbing up to join him as they tried to peer at the letter with little confused chirps and ‘awks.’

Macaw and Spix, to their credit, didn’t seemed all that bothered with this, instead Macaw saying simply, “Well, if you ask me, from all you had informed me of that cold-minded waste of skin and scales, good riddance.”

Arctic laughed at that, a genuine laugh as he rested his head back, “Oh, orca spit.”

Foeslayer moved over to take the letter from his talons, settling to read it over as Whiteout turned their attention from her father to trying to climb on her mother’s leg.

Macaw shrugged, and with the ease of a jungle cat, plopped down nearby, opening the satchel that was hidden away at their side. “How we feel about some fire-drinks?”

The icewing snorted as he stared at the ceiling, “I’m all in, my friend.”

Spix went into their kitchen to grab the mixers and liquor. Foeslayer, leaned back, “You just want an excuse to show off, Macaw.” They were surprisingly talented when it came to mixing drinks.

The rainwing smirked, frill easing back, “Of course, my dear. Cheers to that wicked witch falling off her throne.”

Arctic settled Darkstalker in his arms, planting a gentle kiss to his dragonet’s little head as the tears slipped down his pale-scaled cheeks. “Good riddance.”

He wouldn’t receive anymore letters demanding the death of his children or the dark threats to his loving partner. While his heart was heavy and his eyes burned, there was just as purifying of a relief.

He was finally free.

Chapter Text

It was about midday at the moment, Arctic sat alone for the time being on one particularly isolated cliff side, eyes scanning the horizon and sea beyond himself.

Most other dragons were still asleep in the kingdom, though he’d see either merchants, messengers, or returning travelers fly by on occasion. They always noted him (he always stuck out, the sun espically causing him to practically shimmer in its light), though their reactions varied greatly, unpredictably. Some glanced over and away, some gave polite nods, and, for the few that had grown to know him, some gave out shouted greeting. He returned these gestures, a light flicker of a smile shadowing his cool expression as he eventually watch them fade off into the distance once more.

It was always intriguing to see how others recognized him nowadays. In the Ice kingdom it has always been formality, dipping bows and perfect words, always watching eyes knowing the weight he was expected to hold up. Their hungry gazes always picking apart every motion, every flicker of the eye, anything that could be used to critique or speak up. Anything that could be used for a boost to their own insecurities and cracking perfection.

These little interactions, however, were wondrously imperfect. Wingbeats trying to right themselves as to not overshadow the speaker’s voice, some dragons moving to land nearby to exchange brief words, some not being shy to smile crookedly or crow out a most giddy hello to the prince, others barely showing much concern to acknowledge him in favor of hurrying along their own business.

He was not the main attraction to this wild show, he was not the glorified picture of royal majesty, he was simply Arctic. There were sometimes short bows or dips of the head, a subtle knowing of his lineage, but besides that? He was Arctic the merchant pelt seller, Arctic the father to two boisterous hybrid dragonets, Arctic the loyal lover of the nightwing Foeslayer, Arctic the painter of tundra wilds and night skies, Arctic the curious dragon that had staked out a home despite the whispers of the one he was supposed to inherit. It was incredible, thrilling, and just a bit insulting to his lingering prideful nature.

He sighed, a soft and amused thing, nothing like the somber and bitter ones he’d known when snow and ice still crunched beneath his talons. Then, he heard another set of approaching wingbeats, and his heart sang in glee already knowing who it was.

He turned and she was as beautiful as the day he’d first laid eyes on her. It had been years by then, but by all the magic in his soul, she still made a little nervous flutter pulse through his heart. He stood, watching as she landed in an almost perfect swoop, stumbling just a bit over her own claws as she used the momentum to grapple him into a laughing, beaming hug.

He giddily returned it, snuggling into her warmth as she relaxed into his chill. Arctic loved her, and she knew it. Foeslayer loved him, and he knew it.

They nuzzled snouts, bumped foreheads, claws fitting perfectly together as they finally settled in to observe the sky. Foeslayer smiling turned to watch the sun dip further downwards, eyes crinkling as she no doubt imagined what this next sunset would be like. Arctic simply turned his head to watch her, sighing contently, “I love you.”

She glanced at him, sticking her tongue out slightly as she wrinkled up her nose just the way he adored, “And I love you.”

He chuckled, nuzzling his head against hers, Foeslayer adjusting before wrapping a wing over him. 

Not a single regret clouded his mind.

~

Macaw watched amused as the dragonets below conspired, one of his grandchildren giggling loudly as he stood with the two hybrids. Macaw was pretending to be completely unaware of their planning to ‘attack the giant’ and how they’d best go about ‘defeating the great threat to their kingdom.’ It was cute, espically with the way Arctic’s son was already set to give orders to the other two.

Darkstalker’s sibling seemed careless in the matter, but content to allow her brother to carry on, Macaw’s grandkid, Mango, just giddy to be a part of something. The dragonet had trouble getting along with others his age due to his difficulty understanding some of the varying cues others gave, particularly when it came to tone and body language. 

Partially because Foeslayer and Macaw had discussed the similarities they’d noticed in some of their children (and in Macaw’s case, grandchildren), and partially because Macaw wanted an excuse to avoid a partner’s parents (they were kind dragons, don’t get him wrong, they just… were very chatty), the rainwing had been a bit too eager to agree to watch over his friend’s dragonets to allow the two a moment to themself.

They rested their chin on their talon, frill relaxing back as their tail curled. The dragonets had stopped their whispering and giggling, now casting him glances and looks. Macaw fought to hide a smile, pausing to extend their other talon to look over their finely sharpened claws.

It was then that the children decided to attack, Macaw giving a laughing sort of ‘hey!’ as Whiteout in particular pounced against his side. Darkstalker moved to playfully bite at his wing membrane as Mango jumped about, giggling wildly as they flapped their wings.

The rainwing gave a dramatic ‘oh no!’ as he slowly rolled over, allowing the dragonets to snap and jump at his arms and legs now, Mango tackling one of Macaw’s talons with squealing delight.

It was a most bloody battle, Macaw managing to scoop Darkstalker up at one point to tickle the dragonet’s belly, causing the little tyrant to wail with laughter, kicking and squirming. Whiteout fought nobly, managing to find a ticklish spot along Macaw’s side with Mango’s assistance. With the tides turned, Macaw was left powerless as the little monsters attacked him relentlessly.

In a laughing, breathless heap, the battle finally drew to a close. Sleepy dragonets draped across his arms and chest as Macaw watched the little buggers try to stay awake to contuine their games. It didn’t last though, and finally the rainwing gathered them up onto the couch.

What little troublemakers.

~

“For the last time, no, I am not touching that.”

Foeslayer grinned wickedly, “Oh what? Still scared of some dirt?” She was settled on her hindlegs, Darkstalker sat excitedly by her foot. Across from them, Arctic and Whiteout stared at them in disgust and building horror.

“Love, you are filthy.” Arctic flinched a touch as Foeslayer purposefully flicked a talon at him, specks of muck flying towards him.

“Join us.” The nightwing smiled, grabbing a talonful of mud.

Her son was starting to giggle and Foeslayer had to try her best not to burst out laughing as Darkstalker’s squeaky baby voice crowed, “You’ both scared!” 

Whiteout scowled in a most perfect imitation of her father, “Ew.”

Arctic scooped the little hybrid up, “I’m claiming this one, you can have the dirt-child.”

Darkstalker giggled at that, splashing his claws in the mud, “I’mma dirt-king!”

“And disgusting,” The icewing made a face. His son merely giggled harder, boarding a near villainous glee.

Foeslayer cackled, stepping forward, “I just want to hug you!”

“NO!” Arctic and Whiteout squeaked, The icewing prince already opening his wings to flee as the nightwing lunged. 

They wouldn’t be able to escape them for long, Darkstalker eagerly making grabby claws at Foeslayer until she scooped him up. A moment, the two sides stared at one another, one with building manic chaos boiling in their expression, the other with the knowing that they would all need a firm bath by the end of the day.

It still didn’t stop Arctic from trying to escape their fate, the icewing pushing off into the air with a mighty leap. Foeslayer was already in pursuit.

Chapter Text

The dragonet woke up with a soft yawn, looking around tiredly to find a blanket gently draped over him. It made him feel warm, a soft adoration that positively flooded his very soul. It also made him realize something as well, something he hadn’t realized just yet when the words were still unknown and his mind was still grasping.

Darkstalker loved his family. Yeah, that was what it was. He loved them very much, which is why, deciding just now, the dragonet was determined to make this known.

He sat up, ignoring Whiteout’s confused grumble as she was woken up by the motion (he’d admittedly forgotten she was there, her mind had been so quiet and restful) and set about to declare his admiration.

The hybrid paused to look at his sleepy sibling, her eyes squinting at him as they blinked slowly and tiredly. He gave a big beaming smile and said boldly, “Love you, Witout!”

Whiteout yawned, stretching out a moment before curling back up, a small smile being shown before she went back asleep.

Darkstalker just giggled and marched along, gliding down from the couch where the two of them had fallen asleep earlier. He couldn’t see his parents (or anyone else for that matter), but he could sense their minds, eased and calm.

He stomped along, head held high and wings raised. He could hear voices and he perked up, running along and down to where his father’s room was. Thankfully, as he was still very small, the door was open enough for him to peer inside.

There his parents were (as well as his ancle, Brokenreader), Arctic smiling toothily as he held up a painting. It seemed his father was catching the nightwings up on some of the art he’d done recently, Darkstalker giggling quietly to himself.

This seemed a perfect time to make himself known, since he was not interrupting too much! He nudged the door a bit more, not quite seeing but feeling the warmth coming from his mother as she took note of him.

He gazed back up, prideful and energetic, Brokenreader giving a raised eye ridge while Arctic looked over with a snort, “Well, hello to you, too, Darkstalker.”

Darkstalker practically preened under the attention, sticking his tongue out a moment as he figured his words out. “I tell you some’ing!”

Foeslayer (who was draped over his father’s bed, resting her head over her arms) smiled warmly, “Do you now?”

“Yeah!” He chirped excitedly, “I love you!”

Arctic had to set his painting down, clutching at his chest, making a soft coo. Darkstalker could hear his father’s thoughts gush over him, the hybrid brightening.

Brokenreader had to cover their mouth, making a similar sound as Foeslayer spoke up, “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

The dragonet stamped his feet excitedly, “Love you lotta!!!”

Arctic looked like he was going to melt, the icewing having to lean against Brokenreader. Darkstalker considered that a very much win, flapping his wings a bit before declaring, “I go sleep now!”

Arctic couldn’t make words as he was still melting but Brokenreader and Foeslayer managed to bid him a good rest, which he eagerly nodded along to.

Darkstalker proudly left the room to go curl up with his sibling once more. He loved his family.

~

Whiteout loved it when her mother would sing to her. It had started out as a kind of joke, curiously enough, Whiteout having begun to quietly mimic when her parents would hum little songs to themselves.

It was during one of these instances that Foeslayer had taken notice, chuckling softly as she began to instead quietly sing the song. Her voice, while not as charming as her father’s, swelled with boldness and warmth.

Whiteout adored it the moment she’d heard it, taking to try and get her mother to sing here and then. And while Foeslayer seemed to get flustered at doing it, they noted how much their mother would smile as she did so.

Currently, Foeslayer was singing, Whiteout snuggled against her mother’s side.

The nightwing’s chest rumbled with the melody:

”My sweet, little nightingale,

Fly away, fly away,

How I watch you soar,

My sweet, like nightingale,

Come along home, come along home,

How I watch you soar,

Sweet, little one, in my arms,

How I watch you grow,

Grow big and strong, grow big and strong,

Sweet, little one, all grown and tall,

How I love you all.”

Whiteout smiled, closing her eyes, “Love you.”

Their mother’s voice rumbled through her, safe and soothing, “I love you, too, my little nightingale.”

~

Darkstalker and Whiteout liked when family came to visit.

Afterall, they had a pretty large and expansive one at that.

At the moment, their aunt and uncle, Stormcaller and Oblivionbite, were coming to visit. They just had to wait for them to arrive.

Whiteout was certainly more patient than her brother, Darkstalker eagerly looking outside the window so that he’d be the first to see the nightwings arrive.

Nearby, Foeslayer was absently reading through a scroll on astronomy, Arctic currently absent as he’d been dragged off to a meeting with some traders before sunset.

Whiteout and Foeslayer were content to keep themselves busy in the meantime, Darkstalker on the other claw…

“OH, I SEE— it not them. OH! OH THAT TH— it not…” 

Foeslayer looked over at her son, the dragonet determined to announce the pair’s arrival.

“I SEE AUNTY A— awww… was a birb…”

Darkstalker did not have the best night vision, all things considered.

“WAIT WAIT I—!” The dragonet gave out a loud huff, deflating. Neither his mother or sibling had to be told it hadn’t actually been the pair.

“OH!”

It was going to be a long wait.

Chapter Text

Arctic had waited several weeks to actually give his cousin’s message a proper response, not so much out of any ill intent or disrespect, more so things got busy and his mind was elsewhere.

The dragonets were growing up quicker than he expected (or maybe time was going by faster now that he was actively living a life he cherished and enjoyed rather than watching it past him by?) and him and Foeslayer had been discussing plans for future schooling and the like.

Afterall, while Arctic would admittedly rather his children stay where he or Foeslayer could keep a watchful eye on them (not just because of the reckless nature of dragonets, but because he’d heard how some dragons would talk when they didn’t think he was listening and it scared him), he knew that neither of them could always be there.

Foeslayer had her duties and Arctic had his, and despite their own desires, it pulled them away from home and their children. 

He was… quite frankly thankful that he had friends now to talk his worries out with or search for advice from. It was… very nice to not be doing this alone, just him and Foeslayer, for while they’d certainly grown, they were still young and learning.

It was startling, in a sense, how much his life had changed since he’d run away, but as he settled in his room, he felt a rising sense of pride. Espically so when he could hear Foeslayer laughing from the other room, the giggles of their dragonets carrying sweetly to his ears.

He smiled, happy. He couldn’t help but think how desperately the old Arctic would have chased after that feeling… 

The icewing prince fished around for one of his quilled pens, absently twisting it between his ridged claws before settling the tip to the paper.

He began to write. It had been too long since him and Snowfox had spoken to one another as friends rather than rivals.

~

If there was one thing Foeslayer loved above all else, it was being able to show off her best kept treasures; her dragonets.

Her children were so bright and talented and sweet and clever, she adored them as much as she adored Arctic, perhaps more so as they were not only a production of their love for one another, but also a testament to how far her and Arctic had come from those young, lovestruck dragons they’d been all those years ago.

Her smile softened, looking down as Darkstalker and Whiteout giggled amongst themselves, careless in the way of innocent youth. She’d do anything for them, absol—

“Foeslayer,” a voice hissed, stabbing through her mind like a sandwing’s deadly barb.

She tensed immediately, turning with a warning growl, wings already arching upwards. Her claws gripped the ground and she quickly shoved a mental command towards her children ‘Stay behind me.’

She came face to face with the one dragon she’d wished to never see again; her mother. Prudence, sneered down at her, eyes narrowed and bitter. “I still see you’re as ignorant and reckless as you’ve always been.”

“Go away,” Foeslayer growled, the spines along her neck raising tall. 

Sharp claws grabbed her chin to force her closer. Her mother hissed, “How dare you talk to me li—“ Foeslayer tore away, snapping her jaws down mere inches from her mother’s face.

That made Prudence give pause, “Why you ungrateful—!”

“Leave. Me. Alone!”

“What did you just say to me?” The older nightwing’s lips curled, other dragons beginning to take note of the spat.

Even more watching when Foeslayer took a bold step against her mother, smoke trailing from her maw with her next words. Her voice was espically venomous, “I said for you! To! Leave! Me. Alone! Go away! Never talk to me again!”

“I am your mothe—“

Foeslayer had had enough, hearing Darkstalker give a warbling whimper as Whiteout’s tiny voice spoke up, ”M-mom…?”

She lunged forward, teeth snapping over Prudence’s jaws, biting down hard before shaking her head fiercely. The older nightwing gave a startled cry, eyes growing wide and wild before Foeslayer was being thrown off, blood running thickly in her mouth.

She ran her forked tongue over her lips and bared her teeth, wings flaring up like a shield infront of her children. “That’s your last warning.”

Prudence hissed, one talon raising to gingerly touch her face. Foeslayer felt herself trembling. The older nightwing drew back her claws, eyes widening as they came back wet with blood. “You— you bit me!?”

Foeslayer exhaled smoke, “I’ll do worst if you don’t leave me and my family alone!” She could hear dragons talking, disgusted and frenzied. “I’m not a weak dragonet anymore, you’ve hurt me for long enough!”

Her mother’s mouth drew into a sneer before she hissed as it pulled the torn skin. She looked ready to say something, that was, until she realized the small crowd that had gathered, a few dragon pushing through to check on Foeslayer and the children.

Foeslayer didn’t speak, didn’t move, wings shaking like tree leaves amongst a storm. She couldn’t move away until she knew she’d made her message clear, not unt—

“You’re no daughter of mine.” 

It… didn’t hurt as much as she would have thought it would. Foeslayer blinked and watched as the older turned away with nothing more than a low growl.

She blinked, feeling a shuddering breath leave her as she collapsed to the ground, heavy sobs already choking on her breath.

Gentle little claws rested against her arms and Foeslayer hugged her children close. Her mother wouldn’t hurt them ever. Not as long as she was around.

~

In the shadows, a dragon lingered, having trailed the nightwing with her bastard hybrids, eyes narrowed and thoughtful.

They’d have to be cautious of the mother, having witnessed her… little outburst earlier. They tsked, silently splitting away, they’d just have to keep trailing the family until an opportunity arose and they had a better idea of the family’s routine and whereabouts.

Then they could get their job done and be paid. It shouldn’t be too difficult, none of their previous jobs ever were.

Chapter Text

All things considered, today wasn’t exactly going as planned. 

For one, Darkstalker had managed to get sick. Most likely from something he’d eaten, though Arctic did worry at first that it may have been something with his fire starting to come in until he’d (Foeslayer had stayed home with Whiteout) had brought him to a healer.

The nightwing had said that, and while he didn’t quite like her wording, ‘his son’s impurities’ didn’t seem to be harmful. The icewing still felt a curling of annoyance that someone would dare suggest either of his children were ‘impure’, even more so to his actual face.

Though… it had brought back old worries. Afterall, while Darkstalker certainly seemed to developing at a more commonly seen rate, Whiteout hadn’t begun ‘sparking’ as the fire breathers called it (she hadn’t started frosting either) and rarely talked to anyone outside their family.

That was to say, Whiteout had her peculiarities.

It wasn’t notable at first, some dragonets develop faster than others, but now? He was getting worried about his little sapphire.

…Which brought him to the next issue.

The dragonets were supposed to go visit the school they’d be attending that night, just to get their bearings, but once more, issues arose.

Foeslayer had been the one to go with Whiteout while he stayed home with their son, the poor dragonet coiled tightly in on himself from discomfort and nausea. They had barely been there for a few minutes before they’d had to come back, Whiteout having had some kind of fit.

And that, that was one of the things he’d been worried about, how exactly she’d deal with school. Darkstalker was certainly the more talkative and adaptable of the two but Whiteout had a routine.

She didn’t know what to say to strangers, her moods would fluctuate with startling intensity at times, her senses were notably easy to overwhelm, and she was just… different. Arctic and Foeslayer couldn’t change that fact, and they didn’t want to, but there were things that they wouldn’t be able to do for her all her life.

That truth was starting to rear its head. Just… would the teachers listen to her? Would the other dragonets mess with her or possibly bully her? What about when she got overwhelmed? Or if she got hurt? Or… or if…

Arctic sighed softly, rubbing at his eyelids. There was… just too much. Too much to think about, too much to worry about.

He stood with a heavy sigh, walking outside to stare at the sunrise. The icewing bit back a yawn, sitting down and just trying to calm himself before his nerves rubbed off on the household. It looked like he hadn’t been subtle enough though when the door eased open and he heard a voice.

“Arctic?” Oh, his darling Foeslayer. She sounded as tired as he felt, he thought she’d been asleep. “Are you okay, love?”

He looked over and she frowned gently. He couldn’t help but give a weak chuckle, “My face said it all, didn’t it? I swear, I’m cracking apart.”

She walked over and settled in besides him, one wing hugging him close, “Still worried?”

He leaned into her warmth, “Yes.” He tucked his head under her chin, feeling her talons move to rest on his own. “I just… they’ll be flying soon… a-and, and what if they fall before we can help?”

She sighed, Arctic closing his eyes as he just listened to her words rumble through him, “I know… I know. But, but we just have to keep trying, and, and hey?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not alone anymore, remember?” He nodded quietly, Foeslayer humming. “We have dragons that actually care for us, and, and well, remember that your cousin said she wanted us to visit within the next few weeks?”

“Do you really think it would be… wise? To do that?” 

Foeslayer gently moved back to raise his chin so he was looking at her, “What do you mean? Do you think she’d…?”

“Whiteout would technically count as an heir…”

The nightwing frowned, “But do you think Snowfox would actually…”

“Kill a dragonet?” He hated how weak his voice sounded. “I-I… I don’t know… she, I— I heard she, she tore out my moth— Diamond’s heart. She… I don’t, I don’t know if I really, if I really knew my cousin.”

Foeslayer seemed to think this over, eye ridges raised worryingly before she gave a sudden snort, “I won’t let that happen.”

Arctic gently moved to hold her talons, taking in her boldness, her strength. “We won’t.”

She moved to gently rest their foreheads together, “I… I won’t lie, love, b-but… but I’m scared, too.”

“Is that so?” She nodded silently, claws tightening around his. He moved to gently kiss her on the knuckles, “We, heh, we can be scared together then.”

The watery smile he got matched his own. “Stars and moons above… we’re such messes, aren’t we, Arctic?”

He chuckled, closing his eyes as he rested against her. “It seems so, love.”

~

Whiteout stared wide-eyed as her father gently dug his claw into the stone above her head, backing up when he gave an approving hum. The hybrid glanced over and they grinned crookedly.

They were, officially, taller than Darkstalker! Their brother, who was still recovering from his odd illness, would have probably made a bigger fuss about that fact if he didn’t feel so bad. At the very least their parents were doing as best they could. Whiteout knew that they were nervous, afterall, but she appreciated them trying.

Reading minds was still odd when it wasn’t their brother, but they were getting better at the feel of it! One of her favorite hobbies as of late was comparing the colors of different feelings and how it shifted.

Like how her father’s rich blues were desperately trying to dampen the darker ridges of obsidian and red at the corners, a shiver of gray coming in to shudder past every now and again. It was different from the blues in her mother’s mind.

Her mother’s blues were like the daytime sky, softer yet more fragile, though the torrent was of a dull orange and yellow. It flickered up like embers, hungrily spreading into sick flames and dying into a lingering greenish. The sky blue couldn’t hide the other things as well, but her mother’s mind was also a lot harder to see in general.

Foggier to a degree, though when she nudged to peer in, she was not met with much more resistance than a glance here or there. Whiteout figured that meant dragons could maybe feel when she was actually looking at the way their colors shone, though she’d have to try that out more with her brother when his mind wasn’t so groggy.

“Sapphire?” She blinked out of her staring, looking over at her father’s face, eyes drifting over his hooked snout, the shimmer of his scales, the curl of his horns. “Shall we do some more reading today or do you want to paint more?”

She tilted her head, looking to her talons thoughtfully, flexing her claws and watching them move. The shimmer of her scales was like his, though perhaps less like a glacier and more like the shifting moon. They smiled and raised two claws up.

Whiteout could see him smile from the corner of her eye and it made the blues settle more solidly in his head. A light sprinkling of snowfall, a gentle rosy of sunrise easing over it. “Very well, let’s let your brother sleep, okay?”

They nodded and moved to follow him as he led her away. She hoped Darkstalker felt better soon, maybe she’d paint something for him? Yeah! She could do that.

~

Foeslayer glared at the letter in her talons, smoke trailing from her maw, another patrol? She’d just gotten back! What was with Vigilance of late!? It wasn’t like the sandwings or skywings were doing much and the mudwings had already settled the spat they were having with the rainwings, it would be illogical for them to poke around towards the nightwing kingdom so soon.

Was it a power thing perhaps? A reminder that despite everything she still owed the tribe? 

“You trying to burn that with your mind?” She jolted from her glaring, blinking over and smiling when she saw one of her newest patrol partners. Mawcrush waved, they were pretty recognizable with their sturdy build and underbite (glinting jewels and teeth caps strung about and embedded into the exposed teeth).

The two of them hadn’t been close until recently when the other had asked about her and Arctic. Foeslayer may have… gotten a bit carried away with gushing over her love. She was honestly surprised the other had just gone with it, but it was pleasant enough, helped starve off the homesickness when away. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” She folded the letter away.

The other nightwing shrugged lazily, adjusting one of their tooth caps, “Eh, I’ve been fine, but what’s up with you and that letter?” They grinned, “I could feel the anger boiling off ya and I’m not even a mind reader.”

Foeslayer shook her head, “Oh you know, they’re just sending me back out on patrol after I got back only a few days ago, what about you?”

Mawcrush gave a sympathetic wince, “Darn, really? I haven’t gotten anything of late, so that means your icewing’s going to be left with the dragonets?”

“Arctic’s been busy with meetings admittedly, had to ask a friend to watch them,” She wrinkled her nose slightly and nudged the other with a wing, “Wait, hey, he’s not ‘my icewing,’ he doesn’t belong to anyone.”

A snort, “Oh, you know what I mean! Like how Farsight talks about his boyfriend.” 

“That’s all he ever talks about,” she muttered.

“Well, maybe he won’t be on this patrol,” they laughed.

Foeslayer shook her head, “I can only hope, by the way, I was just about to go get something to eat, you want to join?”

Her friend smiled, “Of course.”

~

Darkstalker trembled something awful as he was sick again, bile burning his tongue as his uncle, ScorchedEarth, gently rubbed his back. The dragonet couldn’t even do much more than hiccup out a sob as his stomach lurched again.

Everything felt mushy and warm and bad, he couldn’t even focus on anything but the pinch in his stomach. He sniffled as the last bit of bile came up, wiping at his mouth as bit fat tears trickled down his face. This sucked, being sick sucked.

ScorchedEarth gently nuzzled his head and he whined around the sobs. “Here, let’s go lay down, okay? I’ll get you some mint to chew on, how’s that buddy?”

The hybrid nodded with another sniffle, wiping at his face as the older dragon gently led him back to his room. Darkstalker practically flopped down, curling up as he buried his face into his chest, wings curling around him to hide away.

He wanted to stop feeling bad, peering out as he heard quiet talon falls. His sibling peered at him, eyes looking him over before she frowned, “Ick.”

Darkstalker nodded, voice quiet, “Don’t like it.”

Whiteout frowned, one talon moving to rest on his head. He wanted to shrug them off, but there was an odd way his sibling was scrunching up her face that made him pause.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then, very quietly whispered, “You… will be no more sick.”

He wrinkled his snout, moving to wave her off when a gentle coolness began to ease through him. He swallowed thickly and the motion felt clear. Darkstalker opened his mouth and his stomach didn’t lurch as he careful sat up, “Wut?”

The dazed look in his sibling’s eyes cleared as she shook her head, moving to clutch her talons to her chest. “Work?”

Darkstalker sniffled, wiping at his face again. That was… weird. The pain was gone. The warmth clinging to his scales going back to normal. Even his breathing felt lighter. Overall? He… didn’t feel sick anymore.

Whiteout brightened, having read his mind before he could say just that, the dragonet squeaking before moving to hug him tightly. Darkstalker just felt… confused. But it also… had felt familiar. Something settled and something clicked.

“I think—“ he was cut off by their uncle entering, the older dragon blinking at the two of them.

“Oh— Whiteout, be careful, your brother’s not—“

Whiteout spoke up, “Fixed it.”

ScorchedEarth paused, “What do… oh, cause of the hugs? Sure, fine, you can stay with little bug here if he’s feeling like it, okay snowflake?”

The siblings glanced to one other before Whiteout nodded, “Brotha better?”

Darkstalker made grabby hands for the mint ScorchedEarth had, chewing on it thoughtfully. It helped erase the nasty taste in his mouth, the dragonet yawning after finishing his mouthful. “I am feelin betta.”

His sibling beamed before snuggling against him, Darkstalker relaxing into the hug.

“You sure, Darkstalker?” He nodded again and their uncle moved to settle nearby, probably incase Darkstalker’s sick came back. “That’s good, I’ll be right here if you feel bad again, okay?”

The dragonet chirped, “Okay!” He settled, though the dragonet had a feeling that Whiteout had done a lot more than ‘hug him better.’

Chapter Text

It was to be a beautiful, clear day, despite how the seers had apparently foreseen an incoming storm weeks ago. It was to be a sweet, gracious time. It was a reassured, absent moment.

Within the compounds of her great walls, a queen was waiting for her plans to fall neatly into line. The greedy sense of regality that she portrayed upon her bloodied throne shadowed by a distant care. Her wings and head settled in lax carelessness, unapologetic in her interest to hear when some dragon or another would happen upon an ‘accident’ or ‘tragedy.’

Vigilance lived up to her namesake, afterall. Watching and waiting. Claws guiltless in their empty commands. How could she not see the opportunity as the perfect jewel for her collection?

Foeslayer was sent away (she had such potential for being a loyal dragon early on, an utter waste when her damnable heart got too big for comfort). Arctic was currently muzzled (as much as he could be, he always was much easier to control when alone, though his stubborn mouthiness unfortunately held). The dragonets were under the watch of some lackluster low-cliff (a simple, disposable dragon with no family and no importance).

All she had to do was wait for the results of her gamble, reaping the wonders from the dirtied hands of her favorite assassin and her newest spies.

Vigilance smiled as she rested her jeweled talon upon the table before her, claws clicking in a slow, rhythmic cycle.

What a great day indeed.

~

When it happened, it happened without warning. And it all started with a knock on the front door, polite yet sharp. ScorchedEarth had jolted at the sound at first, the nightwing-sandwing taking a moment to hurriedly calm his beating heart when he realized what had awoken him. Sheesh, he had a crick in his neck, how long had he been out for?

The hybrid yawned widely before stretching, moving to stand from the spot he’d fallen asleep in the dragonets’ room. He squinted outside the nearest window, pausing momentarily to check in on the dragonets, who were thankfully still fast asleep, before trailing along to the front of the home.

He mentally went through the list of dragons it could be before he realized with a newfound giddiness that Arctic had mentioned Macaw would be coming over at some point. ScorchedEarth smiled, even if that old rainwing was a daybird, it always was a delight to see him.

Fireballs above, when had they last sat down for a chat and drink? He’d have to ask the merchant when he’d be free to that next. The hybrid opened the door with a grin on his face, ready to greet his old mentor when a sharp pain struck him across the throat.

He should have never opened that damned door.

~

Darkstalker woke up to a commotion, jerking awake with a confused ‘awwr?’ before he felt an agony like nothing he’d known before.

He jolted, small claws reaching for his throat when he realized swiftly that it hadn’t been his pain he was feeling. He turned, eyes widening at the ajar door.

His uncle was hurt— there was a loud crash, the sounds of a struggle, and then a gurgled yell that was cut off too soon. He stiffened, the little hybrid unable to keep track as several thoughts came through, jumbled and intertwined—

Claws dug into his arm and he flinched hard, tears that weren’t his streaming down his face. Whiteout stared back, eyes wide as the moons themselves, her breathing rapid and panicked.

Darkstalker tried to speak, tried to focus on her thoughts, but— all he saw was blood and pain in his head.

Whiteout wheezed for breath and he tried to hide her beneath his wing, but he couldn’t stop trembling— he didn’t know what to do—! 

The two siblings pressed against one another when they realized it had gone silent outside, the jumbled thoughts blurring into nothing but a beacon of agony and a horrific silence.

The door was nudged open by bloodied talons and a nightwing neither of them recognized smiled down at them. “Well, well, well~! There you little bastards are,” the stranger said with a giddy hiss, “Let’s get this over with.”

Darkstalker tried to push Whiteout behind himself but he knew it would make no difference. They were trapped and no one was coming to save them.

~

Arctic sighed softly, staring narrowly at the assemble of nightwings before himself, a bunch of old bats with mouths full of venom. Vigilance hadn’t even shown her ugly mug today, the prince wondering for the millionth time why he even abided by these orders from a royal he could care less about.

He sighed frost, tail flicking slowly in irritation, he swore these dragons were just stalling for time. Most of this discussion was honest to the stars complaining by this point, and oh was he getting sick of it.

At the very least when Foeslayer was around, he wasn’t alone with these hooked-snouted, ash-snorting low-lives. One ear flicked sharply as he glanced out the nearest window, exhaling as he saw how dark the sky had gotten, they were just wasting his time now, weren’t they?

Something odd curled in his chest at that thought, and truthfully, he wasn’t sure why, but it felt like… something deep in his soul was trying to warn him. Arctic wondered briefly if that’s how the seers felt when a vision built in their head, his frown deepening as the urge to get home grew.

Well, it wasn’t like he’d be missing anything if he did go home, right? Just to be sure.

The prince felt like a paranoid mess, standing up with a heavy sigh. The latest whiner at the table turned to watch him, mouth curling as something odd flashed in their eyes, “And where do you think you’re going, icewing?”

Normally, he might just yield to keep the peace, he wasn’t exactly as bold as his love, but today? Today he wasn’t having it. “I’m going home,” he hissed, moving to round the table.

A nightwing stood up, horn jewels chiming together from where they dangled from golden hoops, “Sit.”

He bared his teeth in turn, the icewing feeling a new panic settle deep in his bones. They were trying to keep him here, what in the great ice cliffs would they—

His eyes widened as he took a step back. Something was going on at his home. He turned and he saw that a couple other nightwing’s had stood, Arctic’s spines raising slowly as they began to rattle warningly. “Get out of my way,” the prince said lowly.

The first nightwing spoke from his seat, glancing sharply at a few of his associates, “These are important matters we are talking to yo—“

“Silence your mouth before I silence it for you,” the icewing growled, raising his wings with frost curling from his maw. He could see smoke raising from another dragon’s snout just out the corner of his eye, shifting claws and seats almost as loud as the blood pounding in his ears.

“Was that a threat, lost prince?”

He bolted, shouldering one dragon roughly in the chest before exhaling frost at another, his sudden action enough to startle the gathered group before they scrambled to catch up with him. It didn’t matter though, Arctic was younger and faster.

The prince left claw marks in the door with how hard he shoved out the room, giving the startled guards posted outside barely a glance as he ran. He had to go— he had to go now! Something was wrong! Something was WRONG!

The icewing practically threw himself off the closest balcony as he hurried home, desperate and fearful of what he’d find.

~

ScorchedEarth scraped at the ground weakly as he saw blurred forms move past him, gasping desperately for air as blood gurgled from his maw, eyelids fluttering. It hurt, it hurt so much, he tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t move.

He wasn’t sure what the second nightwing had done to his arm, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t supposed to twist that way, the one wing he could still feel fluttering like a half-dead butterfly. 

It had happened so quick. And he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. His claws weakly pressed against his throat as he heard dull screams, his heart skipping a beat.

Again the hybrid tried to move, tried to stand, anything, but his vision swam as the pain shot through him. He was going to die, wasn’t he?

He should have done more, he should have… have done better… the kids, the dragonets… wh… what was…

His head lulled against the stone floor, claws falling limp.

~

Arctic slammed into the ground, coughing harshly as he stumbled. He winced at the scraps on his palms before freezing. The door was wide open, and… and there, there was blood splattered on it.

His breath caught, eyes wild. When he managed words, his voice was a scream, “DARKSTALKER!? WHITEOUT! SCOR—“

He rushed forward, desperately trying to ignore the panic growing through him. The inside was a warzone, his eyes darting about to the bloodied talonprints smeared across the floor, the damaged table, the shattered pictures lying on the ground from something being flung into them.

The smell of blood filled his nose and he gagged at the fear of who’s it—

Macaw turned to look at him with tears streaming down his face where he protectively stood over an all too-familiar hybrid lying on the floor.

Arctic swallowed, mouth dry as he tried to speak, eyes locking onto the still form of ScorchEarthed. “W-what—what—“

The rainwing spoke through a tremor, “I-I—I don’t know, but for the love of the rains we need your magic now!”

He didn’t have to be told twice, quickly hurrying to be side-by-side with the older, claws trembling, “Great moons above—!”

His friend’s throat had been torn open, blood seeping through the blankets Macaw was pressing desperately against the mangled flesh, Scorch’s breathing shallow and gurgling, the ruined mess of one wing twitching from where it lay beneath him.

Arctic didn’t have much more time to stare as Macaw’s free talon gripped his arm sharply, “ARCTIC!”

He hurried to find something to enchant, grasping desperately at one of his own earrings before ripping the damned thing out entirely when he could quite get it off as quickly as he like. The magic flowed easily from his lips, breathes coming in gasps, “E-e-enchant, sa—save this, earring save his fu—fucking life!”

The icewing ignored the sting in his ear, the tears running down his cheeks, the sticky gore on his claws— he placed the earring to the wound, and for the first time in years, he prayed.

His head felt thick, chest aching fiercely, and for a few terrifying moments… nothing happened. He turned to stare at Macaw through his blurred vision, mouth agape as he wheezed, the rainwing stared back, and the icewing realized how badly the other was shaking.

And the blood. There was blood all over the older dragon, covering his arms from no doubt trying to stem the blood flow, smears on his face as though he’d tried to wipe the tears at some point, and it made him sick.

Macaw was also, unlike all other times Arctic had seen him, a pale, sickly greenish-white with black and gray littering his scales in erratic shifting patterns. This was bad, this was very bad—

A loud gasp made them both look over, Scorch’s eyes rolling into the back of his head with the force the hybrid had given jerking his head back, his claws scrambling for his neck suddenly. Macaw flinched back and Scorch tore the blankets away, grasping at his neck as the flesh began to knit back together, tissue and blood flushing the area. 

Arctic couldn’t move, watching the muscle grow back, skin resettle, and then a crack made the hybrid scream. The icewing jerked back into Macaw, the rainwing catching him as they watched the wing flare out as Scorch rolled to his side, gasping and gagging.

It was terrible and beautiful and Arctic couldn’t breath—

A snap as bones resettled, a twist of flesh moving back into place, scales fresh and new emerging. It barely took a minute before Scorch was on his talons coughing up globulars of dark, coagulated blood. 

The prince didn’t dare move until he realized he still hadn’t seen his children. He tore away from Macaw and bolted down the hallway, crying out as he rammed into the wall in his hurry. He didn’t care though, he had, he had to—

He shoved the door open, heart ready to explode, and— and—

The room was empty. 

He fell forward and began to scream.

~

Whiteout squeaked as she was thrown inside the room, her claws scrambling for purchase before she shakily stood back up. They gasped in sharply, eyes wild as she turned to desperately find her brother, but, but he wasn’t there. She ran at the door and began to pound on it, screeching out a wail as she felt his mind desperately reach for her on the other side.

NO NO NO NO N—

She rammed her shoulder into the door, claws desperately digging into the wood, her need to get back to Darkstalker taking over any other thought in her mind.

HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME—

Whiteout screamed, choking on her own sobs as she tried over and over, even as her brother’s presence got farther and farther away. She had to— she had—

She sobbed, small fists pressed to the door, crumbling against the door. Her mind was filled with blood. Blood and screaming and pain.

She wanted to go home!

~

Vigilance smiled as Quickdeath kissed her claws, the assassin having whispered of his success in acquiring her newest addition to her collection, the Queen more than pleased with the dragon.

Her eyes barely flickered to the other stood quietly behind her favorite, though she noted with some annoyance that that one had managed to track some blood into her throne room.

How bothersome.

She sighed, watching Quickdeath follow her gaze. He smiled pleasantly, “Here, I’ll go deal with that mess, your highness.”

The nightwing hummed, turning back to him. She moved to get his pay from besides her when a sudden choking sound made her flinch and look back over.

Her eyes widened as she watched two bodies fall to the ground and a knife clatter ownerless to the floor moments later. Oh. Oh her assassins and— Quickdeath looked to her with a wide gasping mouth, eyes staring at her before slowly looking to the new gaping hole in his chest.

He gurgled before going limp, the Queen scrambling to her feet. No one dared move, no one dared breath.

Then every window in that room shattered as a roar tore through the very air around them. The storm had arrived as promised.

Chapter Text

The doors of Vigilance’s throne room tore open as glass cascaded across the floor, the very air cracking loudly like a roll of thunder, Arctic stalking in with all the grace of a ghost on the wind.

His eyes seemed to glow, his wings were outstretched, and everything about him was tense and ready to strike. He opened his mouth and bellowed, “Vigilance!”

There was an anger unlike any had seen screwed across his face, teeth bared as frost curled from his maw. Armed guards shrank back, soldiers pressing themselves as far from his presence as possible.

But then again, his focus was on one dragon, and one dragon alone. Vigilance stared, for once in her life struck silent by the fact that she didn’t know what to say.

Arctic lashed his tail and the doors slammed shut behind him on their own accord, a building growl rumbling from the icewing. “Where. Are. My dragonets?” His voice carried crystal clear in the silence left in the wake of his arrival.

The nightwing queen simply watched him. She… she blinked slowly, heart skipping a beat. Her neck spines moved to stand at their tallest as she opened her wings, finally finding her voice, “What… is the meaning of this?”

Arctic hissed, “I know what you did.” He glanced carelessly to the two dead nightwings on the ground, “Unlike you crooked dragons, magic can not lie.”

Vigilance swallowed, “You… killed two… two o-of my subjects, icewing.”

“They tried to kill my friend, my brother,” he growled in turn, “They hurt my dragonets, the magic merely sent the message of what occurs to those that dare harm my family. I thought you a clever dragon, but it is becoming more and more clear you are nought but a pathetic fool.”

“You are out of line,” the nightwing hissed as a tension built in her chest, “You seem to forget your place! This is my kingdom, my tribe, my—“

“I’m not yours.”

“Excuse me?”

He sneered, raising his wings with a hiss, “I am not your little trinket, I am not your animus, I am not yours. You don’t control me, but more importantly—“ Arctic’s eyes flashed as the knife raised up from the pool of blood it’d been lying in to point its wicked blade directly at her,” —you can’t control me.”

“Guard—“

“If anyone makes a single move against me, I will kill you, and unlike the mercy I have gifted to these two,” his tail flicked dismissively at the dead assassins, “I will be certain that it won’t be quick.” There was such a cool collectedness to his words, a certainty.

He really would kill her, wouldn’t he? A coldness shuddered down her spine making her swallow thickly once more. She bared her teeth, trying to ease the tremble that was beginning to rise through her. “You— you can’t—“

“I very well can and very much will. I will give you one more chance to tell me where my dragonets are before I give an heir an early succession.”

The building realization that she was powerless in this situation curled tighter and tighter in her chest. How dare this imbecile! Vigilance was the queen! She had assassins and mercenaries and spies all at her beckon call! She— she, shouldn’t be so fearful of one dragon talking back! She— she shouldn’t—

Yet.

Yet she was, wasn’t she?

The truth was, she really couldn’t know what this icewing would do. Vigilance had thought him to pathetic, too meek to do anything, now she had two bodies in her throne room and a knife aimed right at her. One command and…

Cautiously, she flicked her tail at one guard, doing her best to keep her voice level and neutral, “You, lead him to the storage rooms in the right wing.”

The nightwing jolted, a younger individual, scrawny and lithe, a collage of deep blues and accented silvers. They were new and if the icewing tried anything, that one wouldn’t be missed all that much. Afterall, she had more impressive daughters still.

“Mot-my queen?” Her voice was pitched slightly with concern, but Vigilance didn’t care.

Vigilance snarled, “Do so now!”

The brat flinched and turned to stare wide-eyed at Arctic, wings beginning to tremble, “T-This, this way, p-prince.”

Vigilance didn’t dare breath as Arctic watched the young nightwing cautiously move towards the door. The queen raised one jeweled claw and a few of the guards picked up on the silent command. They stared at her, clutching their spears and blades before looking at the turned icewing.

Only one moved, tackling Arctic to the ground, the icewing gasping at the sudden attack. Vigilance moved to her feet, ready to bolt, watching as dark and pale scales tumbled against one another. Her talons scrapped to open one of her secret exits, but before she could do much of anything, she felt something cold pressing dangerously against the back of her neck.

She froze, eyes widening as the blade shifted slightly. “That was a dangerous trick,” Arctic spoke up, voice low.

Vigilance cautiously looked over her shoulder, feeling the knife drift in place. It sat right over the spot where the back of her skull connected to her neck. 

The nightwing guard that had attacked was slumped against the ground, though by the rise and fall of their chest, they were unconscious rather than dead. Arctic stared at the nightwing queen now. “You know, I shouldn’t have been surprised that something like that would be tried, attacking me while my back was turned.”

Vigilance tried not to show her growing panic. She’d taken a risk right then, a costly one. 

“It won’t happen again, will it?” His eyes blazed.

Vigilance didn’t respond, she didn’t dare move. 

“Knife—“

She tensed, quickly speaking, “N-No.”

“You will never dare try such a thing ever again, do I make myself clear?

The nightwing wheezed faintly, dipping her head in a nod.

“If you ever, and I mean ever, even dare make a command against me or my family, I will carve your tongue and eyes out. I will show you pain. Agony. I will make you regret ever hatching. Am I understood?”

She made a sound, wings shaking, “Y-Yes.” The knife shifted in place and she felt like she was going to be sick. It stayed there for what felt like a millennia, before finally, finally sliding away. She let out a strangled breath, slumping against her throne, eyes wide.

Vigilance could see a couple dragons rush to her aid, but she couldn’t focus on a thing. Her ears rang, heart pounding desperately. 

Distantly, the doors were opened and her weakest heir slipped out with the prince hot on her heels.

The queen still didn’t dare move. Her heart rattled in her chest, lungs feeling like a snake had wrapped about them. She had less control then she had ever had before. Death would have been a mercy, she could feel all eyes were on her, weakness exposed for their hungry gazes to take in.

“If… if,” she wheezed for breath, “If a-any, any speak— speak of, o-of, of this matter— you will a-all be, be executed.”

She felt like nothing more than a desperate, weak dragonet. It scared her.

~

Arctic exhaled frost as the jittery nightwing hurried along, the notably younger dragon’s neck spines stood tall and quivering. The guards wings tucked close to her body as her armor softly clinked with her movements.

The prince spoke, trying to ease the anger from his tone, “What’s your name?”

The guard shivered, “W-Warstart—Warstarter, p-prince.”

“I see.” That sounded about right, the icewing not quite managing to hold back a snort. He let the uneasy silence stretch, mind flicking back over the two bodies he’d left in the throne room.

Scorch had told him as much as he could have managed after recovering from his near death, and seeing as Arctic’s spell had been to find and impale those that tried to kill the hybrid and those that took his dragonets, he imagined he was justified in a manner to feel some gratitude at their deaths.

With dragons like that and a message stained in blood, he doubted a repeat of such an offense would ever take place again. But oh, how his body was straining.

Perhaps he’d gone a little far with the nightwing queen or the guard, he hadn’t expected her to actually try something after so blatantly threatening her…

Still. He couldn’t actually kill her right then and there, firstly, torture had never exactly been a hobby he even considered indulging; secondly? To actually kill Vigilance would have undoubtedly shockwaves and consequences.

He wasn’t quite ready to deal with all that, though truthfully, he wondered what Foeslayer would have done? He had sent a message for her to return as soon as possible, but she was still at least a few days out. The icewing desperately wished for her comfort, her strength.

His whole body was beginning to shake now, the building pressure in his head and throat clawing at him once more. He couldn’t afford to fall apart though, Arctic had to get his children, he had—

He swayed a moment, slumping against a wall at a sudden wave of light-headedness. It made him want to gag, the lurch of his stomach making him hiss softly. Oh, oh dear, he really had pushed himself, hadn’t he? How much magic had healing Scorch taken from him? How much energy had that knife needed? 

The prince shook the stars from his vision, chest rising and falling more desperately, this wasn’t good— this was not good—

“P-prince?” He blearily looked up, seeing that guard staring at him anxiously.

Oh yeah, oh he could not afford this right now. He wasn’t safe at all, he straightened, baring his teeth, “Keep, k-keep walking…”

The nightwing flinched and something akin to guilt treaded through him, but he could bother with all that later, he had to get to Whiteout and Darkstalker as soon as possible. He hoped they were okay, anxiety crowding his mind now.

He had to stop every now and again as they passed through differing halls and corridors, the occasional nightwing passing through freezing at his appearance and the anxious guard. He assumed it had to do with the bloody footprints he was leaving behind and the blood crusted on his scales, but there was only so much he could do.

He silently apologized to the poor dragons that would have to clean up the aftermath of this visit.

~

Darkstalker had sobbed so hard he’d made himself sick, the dragonet curled up on himself in embarrassment and panic, trying to ignore the bile that further tried to slip from his jaws. He swallowed thickly, panting little breaths shaking him.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel Whiteout’s mind, he couldn’t hear anything or— he hiccuped and lurched forward as he began to cough again.

He wanted his mom and dad! He wanted his sibling! He wan—

Breath, breath— just have to—

His eyes darted up and he sucked in a breath at the familiar weight of the thoughts. The crisp sharpness, the wavering waves within that mind.

They have to be around, oh please great moons let them be safe— I’ll tear this whole castle down—!

He sniffled thickly, hiccups threatening to choke him. The hybrid rushed to the door, Darkstalker taking a deep inhale before wailing for his dad.

It didn’t take long for Arctic to quite literally tear the door down to scoop him up in a tight hug. The dragonet wailed against those familiar, cool scales, clutching to them desperately.

He wanted to go home. 

~

Warstarter eyed the icewing prince warily as she undid the next door, hoping for her own sake as much as the prince’s that the dragon didn’t try to bust this door open as well. The first one would probably get her yelled at and that was figuring her— the queen didn’t take her frustrations out on her anyways.

She swallowed as the lock clicked and hurriedly backed up, the prince clutching the one dragonet to his chest as he shoved open the door with the other arm, standing on his hindlegs to do so. It didn’t take long for another bundle of shaking scales and sobbing whines to join the first.

The nightwing tried not to watch, but something painful tugged at the scene. She didn’t know what to do about any of this, less so what to even think. The image of that blade tearing through those two dragons was going to haunt her for weeks to come. 

“T-Take us… take us to the… the… closest exit,” the icewing wheezed, looking closer and closer to collapse by the second. Warstarter did as she always did, ducked her head and obeyed.

~

Arctic took to the air in an instant, barely casting a second glance behind himself as he took his dragonets home, the two cradled to his chest. Whiteout was still wailing and screaming, Darkstalker shaking with little hiccups. He felt his heart shatter into pieces, desperate to get them as far from the palace as possible.

It would take much too long for his liking to finally arrive home, stumbling and nearly passing out right then and there. Thankfully, he still had enough sense to get inside, eyes darting about warily.

He was vaguely curious to note that the previous disarray was almost completely gone, save for scuff marks and claw scrapes still present in the stone and wall, as well as the destroyed furniture and decor being altogether absent.

Even the bloodsmears and stains were gone, Arctic’s eye ridges furrowing in confusion. Who—

“Arctic! Dragonets!” Macaw’s voice made them all flinch, jolting the icewing prince to attention again. The older dragon was already hurrying to shepherd them to a nest of blankets and pillows that had been settled on the floor, “Here, here, lie down.”

The icewing had so many questions but nothing would leave his mouth, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier by the second. He felt talons guiding him down gently, blinking groggily as he found himself laid down now, Darkstalker and Whiteout being assisted to lay down close to him.

He grumbled out something, maybe it was supposed to be a question, but Macaw hushed him. The rainwing was a cascade of pale worry, moving to run a talon soothingly over Arctic’s forehead, “It’s okay, kid. You got them, just, dazzling sunlight, what did you do to yourself?”

He gave a weak smile, faintly aware of his dragonets trying to speak to him. “M’…ma…gic…” He slurred.

Macaw’s increasingly blurry face creased into what might have been growing concern but Arctic’s eyes were already settling close. He had never used his power so forcibly or so much of it within such a short period of time before… it made him…

The prince barely could make another coherent thought as he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Macaw hummed lowly from where he laid next to Arctic’s sleeping form, watching as Darkstalker and Whiteout finally couldn’t keep their little heads up and fell asleep in turn. He waited a moment, then another. When he was certain they wouldn’t be stirred back into wakefulness, he glanced over to the far wall.

The rainwing straightened, flicking his tail sharply, “Dragonfruit, Honey, would you two check in on Scorch, please?”

He could see camouflaged scales shimmer into color, Dragonfruit stood in his usual cascade of red and green while Honey appeared in a shifting gradient of yellowish-green. “Okay, dad,” Honey said softly while Dragonfruit came over to silently bump his head against his father’s shoulder.

Macaw gave the two a soft smile before slowly standing, stretching a moment before getting back to work. He knew that getting a new table ordered would take a good while, but he’d gone ahead and was piecing together some of those broken picture frames. 

Arctic and the kids deserved to rest as long as they wanted, though the rainwing couldn’t help but be curious what hell shall be wrought upon Foeslayer’s return. Last he’d heard, she was still somewhere about the sand-night border, but he doubted she’d linger a moment more than necessary.

He hummed and silently checked to make sure he had some liquor on claw. 

~

Darkstalker woke up with a sob in his throat and panic in his heart, bloodied nightmares and twisted memories stabbing through his mind. He scrambled to his feet, gasping and desperately trying to blink the tears from his eyes—

There was blood on his talons, there was so much blood, red and blue and he was the one responsible, he’d done this, he’d done this—

“Darkstalker?” He sniffled harshly, wiping his face as he looked over before making grabby hands at his uncle Honey.

He didn’t even know when the rainwing had gotten there, the hybrid’s head hurt too much to really think it over. He just wanted to be held.

The rainwing moved to pick him up, wings curling around them both, “Nightmare, kiddo?”

He hiccuped, curling his tail securely around the older dragon’s arm, pausing when he realized with a newfound panic that he didn’t know where his sibling or dad were.

Almost as though reading his thoughts, the rainwing nudged him and gestured to the side. He gave a little sob as he looked over, slumping against his uncle with an overwhelming relief. Whiteout was fast asleep, curled tightly against their father’s arm.

Darkstalker wiped at his face and buried his head against Honey, giving another little sob.

“It’s okay, kiddo. You’re all okay.”

~

It had been a few days since the attemped kidnapping of the dragonets. Arctic still hadn’t woken up. Everyone was getting worried. No one had dared come to the home besides friends and family, but still, Macaw had dragons watching the home.

To keep eyes for any sign that there were more dangers to be concerned with. So far, the coast had been clear, but they could all feel the tension rise with every passing hour.

Foeslayer was on her way home. They waited.

~

The sky was dark with twisting storm clouds, hung there in a great, haunting shadow over the kingdom.

Few dragons were out, unsure when the storm would finally strike. This didn’t stop one dragon though, a mother’s rage was a focused and terrible thing.

Foeslayer swept into the nightwing kingdom with bloodshot eyes and a snarl etched onto her face. Her armor clung to her body, wings trembling as she pushed herself further on. She had barely stopped flying since Arctic’s desperate voice had spoken in her ear with tears clinging to every word.

“T-They took them! They took the dragonets— oh no, no—“

She hadn’t heard from him since. Her heart pounded like a war drum in her ears.

They’d dare hurt her family. They dared touch her children. She exhaled plumes of smoke from her maw as she inhaled sharply.

The nightwing felt like she was burning from the inside out. Vigilance would regret everything in her acursed life. She would make it hurt, she would make that dragon bleed!

Her eyes never strayed from the castle in the distance, teeth bared in a deadly snarl. Even when she could feel the shadow of an unseen dragon fall into place besides her, she did not distract from her burning desire.

Foeslayer would very well live up to her damned name right here and there, by all the moons, she’d burn this kingdom to the ground if anything had happened to her loved ones!

~

Warstarter eyed her mother silently, jaw tight as she bit back the urge to speak. The freshly healed scars across her face reminded her to watch her tongue, though she couldn’t help but feel… like she waiting for something to happen with bated breath.

She wasn’t sure why, but with each day that had passed since her mother’s failed attempt at stealing the hybrid dragonets, it was as though all were waiting to see what would happen next.

Arctic hadn’t excatly left quiet and pleasant. He had killed two dragons with barely a show of concern. That knife would have carved through her mother’s head before anyone would have been able to act.

What would have happened if the icewing had done it? Which of her sister’s would take the throne? Or perhaps it would be a cousin? She wasn’t certain.

“Guard,” Vigilance spoke up, making her straighten with a nervous twitch.

“Y-yes, my— uh, my Queen…?” 

The older nightwing looked away from the window she’d been staring out with a distant expression, “Has word arrived yet?”

Ah. Yes. The spies her mother had had watching the icewing prince’s home. Not a single one had shown up since that day.

She swallowed, hoping to avoid being struck again, “No.”

The queen growled under her breath, standing. Warstarter cowered back a moment, expecting harsh claws to bite once more into her scales and skin.

They didn’t come, the nightwing peering an eye open warily. Vigilance wasn’t looking at her. Her gaze having returned to her window with a frown. 

Then there came a knock on the door. Gentle and calm. Warstarter saw her mother look over sharply, but something didn’t feel right.

Nevertherless, when she was commanded to let the dragon in, she did so.

~

She walked into the room with a rattling hiss exiting her jaws, eyes wide and wild with a hatred that burned the Queen’s gaze. Foeslayer smiled, “My Queen. I have a message for you.”

Vigilance stared. More so as the nightwing eased a step closer, wings raising slowly. She opened her maw to shout when she was suddenly shoved harshly into the wall, claws she couldn’t see wrapping around her snout and throat.

She gagged, trying to claw them off when the invisible talons began to force her mouth open. Vigilance looked to her guard sharply but the idiot merely stood there, watching with wide eyes.

Claws caught her tongue as she attempted to speak, the nightwing beginning to try and thrash further until something tightened around her neck. She tried to pry it off, but it felt as though her unseen foe was well used to a struggling victim. They held steadfast as her panic grew.

In one sudden motion there was a flash of something metallic. Vigilance flinched and an odd warmth began to fill her mouth. She was released suddenly.

She fell to the ground with a gasp, quickly trying to speak before coughing harshly. Blood splattered across the floor and she inhaled sharply as she saw something being held in the air.

It looked like— her claws went to her mouth, to the warmth pooling in her jaws, between her teeth, down her chin. 

A flesh stump sparked agony through her head as she pulled her talons away, claws trembling and wet with blood.

Three moons above.

They had— they just— they’d just cut out her tongue. Vigilance gurgled as she stumbled away, staring over as Foeslayer spoke once more. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when speaking,” her voice was calm, much too calm for the smoke curling up with each word. “But I suppose… this’ll work.”

She lunged forth with her jaws before Vigilance could act, making a choked sound as teeth clamped around her horn and forced her head down full force against the ground.

Spots flared before her eyes like starlight, her claws scrapping the ground as she had her head bashed into the stone floor again. She stumbled as she was released, eyes fluttering before she fell and struggled to keep her head up.

There was a ringing in her head, darkness clawing at the corners of her vision. She looked to her guard desperately, Warstarter didn’t move a muscle to help.

Vigilance slipped into unconsciousness as a shadow fell over her.

~

Foeslayer came home with blood on her claws and a cool serenity.

Arctic was struggling to keep his eyes open, having woken up merely an hour or so before her arrival. He looked up at her as she stood above him, the silence stretching before he managed to speak.

“What did you do?” He whispered.

“I sent a message.”

He sighed, groggily moved to rest against her as she settled besides him. His eyelids drifted closed and he spoke on, “How… h-how can you… be so strong? I… I, I never wanted blood on my claws…”

“It’s okay.” She whispered back, the cold emptiness that had been lingering in her words warming. “I’ll stain mine for you love.”

Arctic nodded quietly. He looked at her as tears began to fall down his face, “I was so scared and— a-and— Foeslayer— I, I k-killed someone— by the storms I killed two d-dragons.” A sob tightened in his chest. “I— I felt— I felt so scared and, a-and he tried to hurt our kids and—“

She hushed him gently, wrapping a wing around him. “It’s okay… I know. Just… breath for me, okay love?”

He buried his face against her as he broke down fully. He didn’t know how long he cried, he didn’t know much of what was happening around himself honestly. All he knew was that the dragonets were being watched over by family and Foeslayer was warm against him.

The icewing was… so tired, his eyelids growing heavier until he passed out once more in her embrace.

Chapter Text

“Arctic?”

The icewing hummed before giving a yawn. “Yes, my emerald?” They had managed to do some work around the house, tidying up and trying to resettle into the calm they had both known before everything had been flipped onto its head.

The dragonets were under the watchful eyes of a couple of their rainwing aunts in their room. The two siblings had barely let the other out of their sight, Arctic and Foeslayer having had to wait until the two had fallen asleep before they could leave their dragonets’ sides. Darkstalker had been having awful nightmares and Whiteout would scream if they left her sight for too long.

It was difficult to settle back with those scars on their children’s minds. But, well, they were going to try. 

Foeslayer gently grabbed ahold of one of her love’s wrists, pressing a couple kisses to his knuckles. “You know, you have very dainty wrists, love.”

The prince blinked slowly before groggily looking up at her, “…Foeslayer, what?”

She just nodded to herself, “Look, I can touch my thumb to my claws.” Holding his wrist up, she tapped her thumb against each claw. “I sometimes have a fun moment where I realize how absolutely scrawny you are compared to me.”

Arctic couldn’t help but pout, “I’m not scrawny… besides! It doesn’t matter, I’m average for an icewing!”

“Are you dear, are you really?”

His pout deepened, “…okay so I might be more lightly built than many icewings but that doesn’t mean a thing!”

“Makes you perfect for cuddles,” she mused, dragging him towards the couch before dragging him down with her. He barely gave any resistance, merely huffing as she worked to tuck him close to her chest with a toothy grin.

The icewing shifted around so he could tuck his head under her chin, “Silence, peasant.”

“Oh~ of course, my liege.” 

“Mmmmmmmm…”

With a laugh Foeslayer wrapped her wings around him, closing her eyes with a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

He buried himself against her, shuddering a moment. “I’m glad you’re safe.” She could already hear sleep burying its teeth into him once more, the nightwing adjusting herself so he could better lean against her. He’d been so utterly drained as of late, Foeslayer was silently worried that he’d never quite be the same.

Her claws traced the delicate curve of his limbs, moving to intertwine their talons. His claws squeezed hers as his eyes relaxed shut once more. 

The nightwing softly muttered an old song under her breath, she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it, but she hoped it’d ease the other’s mind. Her heart softened as she listened to the way his breathing eased.

“I’d do anything for you,” she whispered under her breath. She could still feel the warmth of blood on her claws, still hear the princess agree with her story, still taste the ash of smoke on her tongue.

“Anything.”

She meant it with every fiber in her being.

Chapter Text

Warstarter swallowed thickly as she wrung out the rag she’d been using, forcing herself to look at… the ‘queen.’ Though, could she really be called that anymore?

“Move your head a bit to the side, please?” She asked softly. Vigilance stared blankly at her a moment, then, with a pinch to her brow, the older nightwing did so.

She relaxed a touch, dabbing the cloth along the gashes along Vigilance’s head and neck. “Thank you.”

No response. Warstarter wasn’t quite sure what was going on in the other’s mind right now. And not just because of Vigilance’s… newfound incability to speak. The other nightwing was different in other ways, ever since she’d woken up days after Foeslayer had left.

Slower reaction time. Moments where she seemed confused and unsteady. The way those eyes went blank sometimes.

Her mother may not have been the best, but she did hope that time would allow Vigilance to recover some of her fire. If just to chase away some of the guilt in her own heart for what she’d allowed to happen and for what she’d agreed to afterwards.

That discussion haunted her mind, but she wouldn’t lie and say she was forced into the matter. Warstarter had shaken Foeslayer’s bloodied talon willingly, listened to the other’s proposition, tasted the shiver of power that was within her own grasp now.

The fact alone that she could help manipulate what happened next was… it was thrilling. To have this chance was, well, she’d do it all again. Simple as that. 

Still… she never wanted Vigilance dead. The fact Foeslayer had even stopped her attack when Warstarter had plead with the other dragon, that was… she didn’t know. She opened her mouth to fill the silence with idle words when she heard a knock on the room’s door.

She tensed, really hoping it wasn’t another advisor trying to test her. While she was certain the excuse that her mother had grown ill was under heavy scrutinty, none had pushed the matter too far as of yet.

One of the great wonders of Vigilance’s little habit of killing off those that irritated her, even if half of those deaths were ruled as ‘accidents’ or ‘unknown illness,’ no one wanted to test their luck. It was an open secret that Vigilance had her talons deep within the darker parts of the kingdom, but as long as you kept your head down, you’d likely never even be a flicker of thought in the queen’s head.

The knock changed suddenly and she let out a sigh of relief the same time that Vigilance’s blank stare sharpened into one of clear fear. “I’ll get that, it’ll be okay,” Warstarter soothed, her mother eyeing her with a sharp huff of air.

She wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but she figured not to dwell on it. She eased over to the door and let it crack open.

The dragon that stood there was on all-fours at the moment. They had dark-scales, the tell-tale glint of silver tears down their neck, the ruff of long neck spines. A nightwing her mind supplied easily from a glance, but she’d grown to learn better.

Their face was a bit too narrow, their horns curling notable, their smile exposing teeth that didn’t look quite right. Enough to be shrugged off if you didn’t know.

She stepped aside so they could enter, even the way they moved was a near perfection. Heavy set along the front of the body as they walked on their palms, tail balancing out behind them in a slooping arc, wings appearing stocky yet regal in their raised, half-folded state.

Warstarter locked the door behind them before looking back over at them. It was as she paid more attention that the uncanny nature of this ‘nightwing’ made her shudder.

The neck looked thick-set until you realized the way the head moved and turned wasn’t quite lining up. The scales dappled in just the right way to create the illusion of a solid form until the dragon let themself loosen their stance. The neck seemed to uncoil, unnaturally lengthening, and though she knew it was all just tricks of the light and the masterful control of each scale’s color, it was still rather unnerving.

The spines that before resembled neck spines moved to the sides rather than raising upwards or easing downwards as expected to reveal a ruff instead. A shimmer of shifting shades as the wings were raised and experienced the same horrific illusion-shedding that the neck had.

The dragon raised themself to be stood taller still, settling on their toes more comfortably as their legs were no longer restricted to the hunched fold they’d been held in. 

It was when the dragons ‘scales’ appeared to melt away that her brain really began to cry out ‘that wasn’t a nightwing’ even if she already knew that in the logical part of her mind. Each ‘shadowed’ protion that created the look of overlayered scales faded and brightened, the silver tears vanished, and before she knew it, there was a rainwing in the room.

The bright colors, the way the tail curled up in a perfect loop of muscular, the slim yet elegant build. The ruff shifted and stretched before they shook themself, “I always feel so stiff walking around this kingdom, its always easier pretending to be a skywing!”

“That still unnerves me so much, Spix,” she chuckled warily, walking over.

“You flatter me, little queen,” they smiled again, she couldn’t see their fangs from where they were most likely folded away, but she still tried to catch a glimpse.

“Heh, y-you really don’t have to call me that—“

A claw raised her chin when she moved to duck her head, the other’s startling blue eyes intense in their own right, “Head held high, this isn’t a title cheaply given, it’s one you have to sink your teeth into, understood?” Their grin sharpened and she was reminded that despite the almost fragile appearance, that this dragon could very well kill her before she realized what was happening.

“…it seems so,” Warstarter fidgeted with her claws as she sat back on her haunches, trying to take their advice.

Spix’s eyes crinkled slightly, “Better. Now! While it’s always a delight to travel out the rainforest, we must unfortunately speak business.” Their head turned on that elegant neck to stare back at Vigilance, who had stayed where she’d been sat, tense. “In more private locale, perhaps.”

“Why do you say that? We’ve spoken here before and she can’t exactly talk about what’s s—“

“She was unconscious last time,” they reminded, “And who said she had to talk? My business isn’t with her, it’s with you.” 

“That’s… true. But, ah, I’d rather not—“

“Leave her alone?” They tilted their head, smile quirking as Warstarter hesitated to give a nod. “We all know if she left this room, it’d be a death sentence. I further doubt she’d try to yell her thoughts out to attract a mindreader, her current condition is quite unbefitting of a monarch.”

Vigilance wasn’t looking at them anymore, but she was visibly tensed. Her tail lashed slowly behind herself, wings tucked close to her body as a talon shakily raised to her face.

Warstarter forced herself to look away. “She’s still Vigilance. W-Well, and if it’d be a death sentence, that’s not for sure—“

“Little queen.”

The nightwing winced, “Surely no one would—“

“Opportunity breeds change. If you want to keep control, you must keep your talons buried deep into what’s happening. There’s already talk, already whisperings; two nightwings are ‘missing,’ someone had to clean up the blood left in the wake of the prince and his lover’s ‘visits,’ and her highness locking herself away isn’t subtle.”

“Her council was in place to keep the prince’s attention, and then they failed. They know they are replaceable and Vigilance keeps them on their toes because of that, so why hasn’t she done anything to them? No healers or medics have been called to the castle recently, so what illness keeps the queen away? Why has the queen been only talking to you?“

“Many barely realize you are a member of the royal family, Warstarter. You are under surveillance and suspicion, and you want to know why no one has breached this silence?”

Warstarter’s mouth was horribly dry as she whispered, “Why?”

Spix leaned in, “Because you’re following in Vigilance’s footsteps.”

She blinked, brow furrowing, “What?”

The rainwing chuckled, flicking out a wing towards where Vigilance sat, the older nightwing watching them with narrowed eyes now. “Did you really think your mother won her throne fairly? The one some call ‘The Assassin’s Queen?’ Ha! No, no, little queen. She’s not the smartest—“

A hiss showed her mother was indeed listening closely.

“—nor the strongest! She’s powerless, she strikes those that won’t strike back, she is vain and entitled. But she does have one thing going for her. She has connections.”

“How… h-how does that…?”

Spix waved a talon, “You know Foeslayer wasn’t alone when she made the deal with you, and in a sense, it wasn’t just her who you were pleading with. You weren’t foolish enough to try and fight for your mother’s life, you wouldn’t have survived, but you had an opportunity and you took it. Keeping the competition alive is interesting. And now, you have the attention of not just the nightwings, but also the rainwings and icewings.”

“The icewings, too…?”

“Did you think the kingdoms don’t have their own methods of finding out information about one another? And even without spies, the new icewing queen has been in contact with the lost prince for some time now.”

“She… has?” 

“Thinking the muzzle fits tight enough doesn’t mean the claws can’t scratch you—“

“That’s why you must bind the wrists,” Warstarter finished their sentence softly.

“Mhm. And your dearest mother neglected that part.”

She sighed, “I don’t know if I have answers though for everyone expecting something… something big from me, I just… I j-just didn’t want to watch my mother die infront of me. She’s… she’s never been the kindest, but I never wanted to kill her…”

“And perhaps that’s why your sisters never gave you regard as someone to watch. Perhaps that’s why you were chosen to be your mother’s guard. Perhaps that’s why no one knows what you might do next. You weren’t a real factor in the matter before, you were nameless and controlled.”

Spix made a thoughtful hum as they gently reached out to touch some of the fresh scars on Warstarter’s face, the nightwing barely fighting back the urge to flinch away. The contact was gentle however, “Muzzled. And yet, you don’t exactly bite in the first place, do you?”

“I… don’t know.” She wanted to look away and hide her face, she didn’t dare to. Somehow, she knew Spix could sense that, their smile easing into something just a bit more genuine.

“That’s what makes it all so exciting. Things are up in the air, but you, little queen? You have connections now. You hold interest. You hold opportunities. Besides, being in your mother’s shadow means you’ve gotten to learn more than the daughters she’s kept distracted with other tasks.”

“That’s… that is true, I, huh, I never… never thought of that? Why would she not want her heirs to—“

“To keep them needing her around longer to learn.”

“Oh,” she glanced to Vigilance, her mother’s gaze had trailed off to the wall again. Her eyes had gone blank, a moment of slipped awareness. “…okay. Okay, let’s go talk.”

“With pleasure,” Spix nodded, moving to follow her as she stood a moment later. Warstarter had to sink her teeth in and get her claws dirtied, she couldn’t be a coward anymore.

Keeping her chin up, the nightwing hesitated just a moment, “…will, will my mother—“

“I have eyes watching, little queen.”

Despite the admittedly ominous nature of that statement, Warstarter was thankful nevertheless. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t be a good diplomat if I didn’t look out for those I speak with,” the rainwing teased as their scales shifted and they adjusted their posture.

The two dragons left the room, closing it and leaving their secret charge alone.

~

“Arctic?”

The icewing looked over with a soft hum, seeing ScorchedEarth stood in his doorway, the hybrid offering him a tired smile. The prince couldn’t help but glance to the other’s neck briefly—

A dragon’s neck shouldn’t be torn open like that. He didn’t even know if the desperate gasps coming from the other were even getting any actual air into Scorch’s lungs. The moist, visceral sound of him choking on his own blood was spine-chilling.

There was just too much blood. The blankets shifted as Macaw tried to get more pressure on the injury, but it wasn’t doing anything. Arctic knew he was watching someone he cared about die. Even in all his life, he’d never seen an injury like that, whoever did this hadn’t cared to finish the job. 

They had left Scorch broken and mutilated, left him to writhe in his own agony, to die slowly and alone—

The only evidence of the hybrid’s brush with death was a twisted, pale scar across his throat.

Arctic forced himself to look at his friend’s face, though by the way Scorch’s eyes softened, he knew he’d been caught staring again.

Thankfully, the other didn’t call him out on it. “Spix came back with some updates from the palace.”

He nodded gently, “I’ll be out in a moment.”

“I’ll drag you out by your horn if you aren’t,” Scorch laughed. Arctic could see the very earring that had saved the hybrid’s life glinting from his ear as he turned his head. The icewing had been too paranoid that if they removed it, Scorch would somehow fall apart, he’d begged the hybrid to keep it.

The prince held his breath, watching the other start to walk off before he blurted out, “I’m glad to see you moving around again.”

Even after the enchantment that had healed him, his friend had been in a bad spot. Unconsciousness had claimed the hybrid soon after Arctic had gone to find his dragonets. Just like how the prince had been asleep for ages, Scorch had been in and out.

Macaw had been pretty adamant about the two of them getting as much rest as they could. Foeslayer hadn’t given them much else of a choice after that, when she’d returned, oh how she’d fretted over them all. 

Scorch paused, looking over his shoulder before giving him a soft expression, “I’m glad to be here.”

He smiled in turn before, with a flutter of embarrassment, Arctic ducked his head and coughed. “Well, uhm, heh. You’re like a pest, can’t get rid of you easily.”

“Mhmm~”

Arctic chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. He could hear Scorch finally walk away, eyes trailing to his own talons now. He flexed his claws and even if—

They were covered in gore. He’d walked through blood without even a glance. It was still warm, seeping along the crevices of his palms, lapping at his claws—!

—he couldn’t quite look at them without a shutter in his chest… he knew he still had some control over what he did. This magic, this incredible, cruel magic could destroy—

The shattering of glass as he stormed into the throne room. A hiss of boiling anger making the words flow so easily as the knife he’d once held flew from his grasp.

Two bodies. Two lives extinguished. Cold, dead eyes watched him in blank interest.

A third would be as simple as a flick of the wrist. The queen’s eyes were filled with horror, and more importantly, true fear.

—but it could also heal and rebuild. Arctic took in a shuttering breath before slowly releasing it.

There was much still to do, much to figure out, but he knew for certain he was no longer going to idly stand by. 

Arctic raised to his feet and went out to join the others.

~

Snowfox lazily drew a claw in slow, absent circles along her lover’s arm as the two of them sat in blissful silence. It was late in the day and they had finally managed to shake off the last of their meetings and be allowed time to breathe.

You see, under Diamond’s rule, a large portion of kingdom resources had been filed into the maintenance and image of the palace; it led to an appearance of wealth and grandeur for other tribes visiting for talks while neglecting those outside prying eyes.

And while certainly the rest of the kingdom could manage without the constant claw of the higher circles delving into their everyday business, Fox wasn’t planning to keep up this trend.

She wanted a kingdom that didn’t just sparkle and glimmer, she wanted one that truly flourished.

So, with the help of Snowflake and several of the head messengers, they’d been working on developing possible new travel routes and roadways (flying could only take you so far when half the year was ravaged by blizzards and whiteouts) between even the farthest reaches of the kingdom.

Timing travel and figuring methods around seasonal shifts in weather and conditions had been irritating, but at least they could finally move on from talks and tracing maps and all that fun to actually getting into the testing process.

Fox was just letting her eyes ease shut when a door opened and she heard the tip-tapping of serrated claws against the floor. Fighting back a long groan, she pried her eyes open and looked over.

It turned out to be one of her favorite messengers, a dragon by the name of Frostbite. While she wasn't the fastest of flyers and had a tendency to run her mouth, Fox found her a wonderful change of pace. She was blunt, straightforward, and had a memory as sharp as Snowflake’s own tongue.

Frostbite didn’t quiver into a bow, she walked casually over and even dared to sit down right there rather than remain in stiff posture. Fox couldn’t help but observe the other with interest, still so stunned that dragons like this lived within her kingdom.

Royal icewings had a habit of being bright and clean, whites and grays and hints of blues. Growing up in the palace gave you opportunity to live within its walls even into adulthood, and while there was always the image placed that an icewing had to earn that position, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The palace wanted an image to uphold, dragons of a perfect match to the image held by the other kingdoms. If you weren’t that perfect cut? You would often find that no matter the work, you’d barely be allowed even into the third circle.

Outside the palace, where the imperfect dragons were placed, variety was normality. 

She’d seen dragons whose horns curled or branched off; colors carved from the glaciers’ richest greens to even the sunrise mistings of pinks or yellows; teeth jutting like tusks or spines twisting into curious arches; thick spots or bandings, stripes and speckles; a imperfect collage of everything an icewing shouldn’t be.

Sharp spoken, brash, independent. Decorating themselves and their homes in rich, vibrant colors or soft bundles of processed furs and hides. Families held together not by tense hierarchy but a gentle sense of community.

It was breathtaking.

And here now stood one such dragon. Frostbite’s scales an utter mess of swirling mint greens, crisp blues, and faded whites. Her jaw holding a jutted underbite and spines spread out in an irregular spray rather than a sleeked back order.

Fox gave a gesture for Frostbite to speak, the only real show of respect the other dragon held that she hadn’t already relayed her message.

Frostbite was straight to the point as always, “Prince Arctic has agreed to set a meeting with you, he said there’s matters to discuss and that you may hold interest in hearing not only from him, but one of the nightwing heirs.”

That got her attention, she’d heard a few things about shifts in the nightwing kingdom, but getting the story straight from her cousin’s mouth? Oh, now that was something. She had already been trying to get more information about Vigilance’s one daughter, War-something? Eh, she could figure that one’s name later, but this? This was practically served to her on a silver platter!

The messenger moved to pull something from her bag, Fox waving Snowflake off as the noble tensed. She had guards to check what was brought to her after a failed attempt on her life by one of Diamond’s most loyal generals, besides, she had personally been there to witness the lower circle icewings offer dragons to serve in her new messenger system. 

Frostbite had breezed through the competition and it had been pretty easy to figure this dragon had been more than eager to do more with her life than becoming another fisher.

“He said, and I’ll be honest, my Queen, I don’t know what the lowest hells he meant about this, that when you wish to discuss this, take this earring—“

Oh so that’s what that was! She squinted at the sparking diamond between the other’s claws.

“—place it in your ear, hold your talons there, and as you speak, he will hear.”

Ohhh, had he done what she was thinking he’d done? HA! She held out her talons to accept the piece of jewelry, seeing even Snowflake had a look of immense curiosity as she rolled it in her palm.

“Hmm. Very well, thank you, Frostbite. You’re dismissed.”

The messenger grunted, dipped her head, and while her gaze lingered with a hint of confusion on the earring, she did as she was told with barely a moment’s hesitation.

Fox raised the earring to her ear and spoke, “Arctic?”

Silence, she wondered a moment if he’d just sent this to mess with her. That was until, as clear as day, his voice filled her head as though he was speaking right into her ear.

“It’s been some time since I’ve heard your voice.”

The icewing couldn’t help but smile, “Oh, it’s been too long.”