La Coordination

Act Six

The doors to Mead Hall shut with a dreadful thud. Sure, he'd been through many situations where he was more than uncomfortable, agitated and worried but this had to be one of the worst. Although this did not compare to the first time Dagur showed up on Berk; the time when he thought Oswald the Agreeable was still alive and willing to keep the peace between the tribes without any kind of argument. That was terrible. Back then there was a chance that things could turn sour at any moment but this time around there was a chance for peace. Of course it was a very slim chance but it was something. He had to make the best of this, no matter what.

Stoick the Vast allowed his guest to take a seat first, of course at the far end of the table in question while he, Gobber and Spitelout sat side by side. They were going to discuss this like men and if there was any kind of trouble, then they would settle it like warriors. No tricks or traps on their end, this was going to remain civil.

"So how are we going to 'talk' about this or what?" Dagur groaned, throwing himself into his seat almost like some sort of spoiled child.

"Yes," Stoick nodded, placing his arms on the table. "We need to know what you want from us and what we can expect from you. I won't tolerate you setting us up and taking us for fools. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah." The younger male's hand flew into the air and waved back and forth. "Let's get this done; I have a village to run. I thought I made it clear that I need a domestic worker, is that so much to ask for?"

"Yeah, about that." Gobber spoke from his left. "Domestic worker can mean number of things; wanna clarify exactly what you need?"

"UGH." Dagur tipped himself backward in his wooden seat. "You know, one of those workers. The type that cook? We need one of those cooking slaves." His eyes darted away the older trio while his hand whirled in the air once or twice.

"What?" Spitelout's lip lifted. "What happened to your last village chef?"

"Well," The redheaded young man brought his arms to his chest and crossed them. "After my father's unfortunate, untimely, and unexpected passing, some of my workers caught a bad case of cowardice. The fled like mice and all because they thought I was 'too aggressive', 'too unagreeable' or 'too unpredictable'." He continued one, briefly allowing his shoulders to rise and fall. "So a few of my guards have been preparing our meals and it isn't going as planned."

"Oh?" Stoick's brow lifted.

"What's wrong with that? It sounds like you already have a replacement." Spitelout narrowed his eyes, no doubt ready to pounce with his sword ready.

"Are you kidding me?!" Dagur spat, voice growing loud enough to make the room vibrate. "Those idiots can't cook! They have no idea how to prepare meat! Half the village has parasites as it is!"

"Oh," Gobber's eyebrows touched the top of his forehead. "That is a problem. Dreadful things, worms."

Stoick leaned into the table, stare not giving in for anything. "So you want one of our chefs? What makes you think we'll just hand over one of our own? We can't trust you."

"Now why would I come all the way down here if I was just gonna kill off one of your pathetic chefs? I've already wasted a lot of time and energy getting down here!" He responded, child-like pout getting the better of him.

"Now, you wouldn't have wasted anything had you sent us a message ahead of time." The chief struck back.

"And how could I be sure that you wouldn't have just ignored my request? Coming down here shows you I mean business." Dagur pushed his chair forward once again to where all four legs were placed on the ground. "BUT, that's beside the point. I'm here now. Just give me what I want and this treaty will be signed."

"Just because we sign a treaty doesn't guarantee me that you and your tribe will behave." The largest redhead in the hall gripped his fists. "How can we be sure that you won't ambush us in the meantime?"

The younger man's chin tipped downward, causing the light from the room to cast a dark shadow over his sharp features. "You're just gonna hafta trust me."

"No," Spitelout's right open palm hit the wooden surface. "We won't risk that!"

The deranged Viking removed his arms from his chest and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Fine, we can play it this way too. If you don't agree to my offer then when I get home I can prepare for my assault and you can expect my armada next month."

The leader felt his heart cease to beat, even if it was just for a moment. Sweat began to gather in his clenched hands while his teeth grinded together in his mouth. This was not what he wanted, if there was a chance they could settle this without any kind of violence, then that was the way it was going to go, even if that meant someone had to leave with Dagur.

"We won't be terrorized by you!" Spitelout leapt from his seat, pointing his index finger in visitor's direction. "You can't force us to sign what you want just because you threaten us!"

A single dark brow lifted on the Berserker's face. Almost like he needed time to digest what his right-hand man had just said, he waited a moment or two before sitting upright in his seat and pounding his left fist on the table beneath them. "And what makes you think we aren't feeling threatened by you! You all have those disgusting creatures listening to your every word! I can't trust you either!"

"Are you suggesting we would launch an attack on your village without a good reason?" Stoick felt his cheek twitch.

"So what if I am?" Dagur's arms returned to their crossed position over his chest. "Fact is, if I'm gonna trust you, you're gonna hafta trust me."

"Well, before any of that has to happen," Gobber's light tone caught the room's attention. "Let's talk about this cooking slave of yours. What are you looking for?"

Another exaggerated sigh left the youngster's lips, eyes rolling along the way. "Anyone with the sense to cook a meal without killing the village."

The sound of Spitelout taking his seat once again made Stoick exhale. Thank Odin for Gobber and his way of turning around a situation. But even with things cooled down for the moment being, there was still the matter at hand to deal with. He needed someone, someone to cook for him and the Berserkers. A person with enough free time and experience to do so…

"Funny seeing the minute I get back, with all my new skills, I have to go right back to sheep herding."

Hea. But could he really do that? She had a sister here, friends here and Hiccup. How could he ship her off when she had just made so much progress to stay on Berk? She'd worked so hard with Hiccup and just to throw it all away? But could it really be considered 'thrown away' if she was in turn helping the whole community by keeping both the villagers and dragons safe?

"We have a person."

Both he and Gobber flinched hard. They then both turned, only to see Spitelout with a look of sternness they'd only seen in him in times of war. He couldn't be thinking the same thing, could he?

"Good!" Dagur's tone lifted, a smirk returning to his lips. "Let's get him all packed up and ship out!"

"No," Gobber leaned forward, looking past him at toward the darker haired male. "We can't just ship you-know-who out!"

"Do you have any other suggestions?" The man at his right repeated the blond's actions and moved into the table. "We can seriously send out anyone else. Ingerman's already busy as it is cooking and feeding us. We can get a new sheep herder; no one else knows how to cook!"

"Stoick," Gobber moved his attention away from the third wheel. "We can't in all good faith do this. There's gotta be another way."

"Are we done here ladies?" Dagur's voice caught the leader's eye. "I have things to do." He noted with his hands now free from his chest and fingers tapping on the table.

"What else do you want us to do?!" Spitelout snapped, clearly ignoring the guest at their table.

What were they supposed to do? This was a single sacrifice, one that would benefit everyone. If the situation was explained to the girl then she would understand, wouldn't she? She would agree, he knew that much. It also didn't help that she was desperate to cook and disliked dragons anyhow. Maybe this was for the better, for her and the village.

"We do have a cook." Stoick's eyes flickered across the table.

"Stoick."

Regardless of his best friend's pleas at his left, the chief held strong, refusing to look his way. "But she's inexperienced. I'm not sure how well she can actually cook; it might not be to your liking."

"She?" Dagur stiffened. "Who?"

"Hea." Spitelout jumped in. "She's been training for years now but she's never been 'field tested'."

"Hea?" The younger man repeated. "You mean the girl? You can't be serious. And she hasn't been 'tested'? How do I know if she can handle this job? She's going to be feeding my armada! I need someone who knows what they're doing!"

"That's all we have." Spitelout added. "It'll do."

"She'd better."

"This goes without mentioning that she might not want to go with you." Gobber hissed, eyes still on him and Spitelout but comment directed to Dagur.

"Ah, that doesn't matter. Just give the word and she'll be on the ship in no time." The young adult threw his hand forward almost as if he were talking about a piece of livestock.

"Well, that's the problem." The blacksmith countered. "See, she's not really a Viking per se, more like a guest…a guest who isn't going home anytime soon. So we can't just order her around."

"Sure you can." The visitor sat up from his seat, laughing along the way.

"We would need her permission." Stoick's eyes followed the male as he stood.

"And what are you going to do if she declines?"

"She won't." Spitelout answered.

"Do you really expect me to take a gamble on this girl when I can't be sure if she can actually cook?" Dagur's voice began to grow loud once again. "On top of the fact that she can reject my offer!"

Obviously feeling fed up with the arguing, Spitelout extended his arms out, "What do you want some kind of trial run with her?"

As the last words of the question hit the Berserker's ear, he fell silent. The look of frustration on his features faded away almost as in an instant while his limbs fell limp. Had he taken that last statement as an insult? Maybe sarcasm was the very last thing he needed before snapping?

"That's it!"

Almost as in the blink of an eye, his expression flipped. From anger to surprise and finally to excitement. Dagur's frown turned right side up into a near menacing grin while he clenched his fists at chest-level.

"That's what we'll do!" He announced as he walked around the table, coming closer to the trio. "I will stay here a number of weeks until it can be proven to me that she can cook to my standards!"

"What?" The three spoke at once.

"Yes!" His voice took on a near high-pitched tone. "This way she can grow used to cooking for me and I'll know exactly what I'm getting! What a perfect plan! You have to agree with that!"

After taking a moment to close his hanging jaw, Stoick narrowed his field of vision at the crazed teen in front of him. "And what if she still declines?"

"In his opinion," Dagur gestured toward the man at his right. "She won't."

"But if she does?"

"Ugh!" The redhead's arms lifted. "If she says no, I take your current chef in charge." Dagur's left arm dropped while he used his right to point his index finger at him. "He's a part of your tribe, right? Then he should have no excuse to decline when it's an order from you."

Gobber allowed his elbow hit the table and his cheek fell into his open palm. "This is a bad idea."

"You do this for me and I'll sign that treaty."

"We'll talk to her." No matter how his gut was twisting inside, Stoick stood from his chair and looked to his fellow chief with his hand extended. "We will work something out. Today."

Act End.