Snotlout's Bride Chapter 12

"Okay, first question," Su's brand-new husband demanded. "How did you get your hands on my sword?"

"Ancient Bog-Burglar secret," she replied mysteriously. "I can't tell you."

"Do you have any idea what I went through to get that sword?" Snotlout exclaimed. "The time, the effort, the humiliation?"

"I went through some humiliation when I got it, too," she answered thoughtfully. "Maybe we should name it Niðurlægingarsverðið, the Sword of Humiliation."

"What do you mean, 'we'?" he blustered. "It's my sword! It was mine to start with, and you just gave back it to me, remember?"

"Yes, and whatever is yours is also mine," she reminded him. "We're married now, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." That took the wind out of his bluster. It also reminded him that they were, indeed, married, and this was their wedding night, and they'd done nothing so far except argue about swords. He gazed at his lovely bride and had a quick attack of nerves. How should he get this thing started?

"So," he finally said. "Here we are."

"Yup, we sure are," Su nodded. She looked around the house that was now hers. The floorboards were brand-new and still slightly rough; a few months' foot traffic with heavy Viking boots would take care of that. All the furniture looked and smelled new. The only decorations were a shield on the wall and a wooden carving of a Monstrous Nightmare on one of the chests of drawers; she'd soon improve on that situation. A thick tree trunk had been carved into a stairway that led up to a loft above them. The central fire pit was freshly stoked with pine logs, which snapped and crackled as they burned. The bed was thick with furs and blankets. It looked like a cozy place to call "home." She reminded herself that, for her, it was home now.

He noticed her looking around. "Do you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," she agreed. He seemed to relax a bit. So he liked praise and compliments, did he? She remembered her mother's words at the washing this morning – "Men like Snotlout do not have egos. They are egos." She walked around, opening and closing a few drawers, examining the closet (which was full of his stuff, a state of affairs that would not last long), and checking out the kitchen and storage areas. The house needed some feminine touches here and there, but it would do.

Snotlout sat down on the bed and patted the bedclothes beside him. "Maybe you should check out this part next."

"I'll get there," she said distractedly. She wasn't going to rush into this thing. She'd get there eventually, but it would be when she was good and ready, not when he told her to do it. She wasn't at all sure when that would happen. She was still scared of the possible ramifications.

"Hey, we've got something important we need to do tonight!" he exclaimed.

"You know what? You're right." She sat down next to him, but when he leaned over to kiss her, she lightly pushed him away. "We need to settle, once and for all, who's in charge in this marriage."

He snorted. "That's me, of course. I'm the man here."

"That's not how we Bog-Burglars do things," she said firmly. "I've been trained all my life that girls are better than boys, and it works just fine for us. Give me one good reason why we aren't going to do that here."

"One good reason." He thought hard. "Okay. You aren't a Bog-Burglar anymore. You just married a man from Berk, namely me, so you're a Berk Viking now. That means we'll do things the Berk way. I'm in charge."

"Once a Bog-Burglar, always a Bog-Burglar," she quoted. "We saw at the reception how a girl clobbered a boy at flytings. We saw at the Thing how a woman beat a man at marriage negotiations. And do I have to bring up the little matter of your wedding sword again? Girls are obviously better. I'm in charge."

"No way!" Snotlout exclaimed. "The man is supposed to be in charge! Every Viking knows that."

"I didn't know that," she replied patiently.

"Well, where have you been all your life?" he demanded.

"On Bog-Burglar Island," she said matter-of-factly.

Snotlout paused and ran his eyes across her. She'd seen plenty of other boys look at her that way; she knew what he was thinking, and wondered how she might take advantage of it this time. "Look, I'd like to settle this as much as you do," he said urgently, "but is that the most important thing we ought to be doing? If we keep going back and forth like this, then we won't… we won't do what we're supposed to do tonight, and that means we aren't legally married. Do you want to tell that to the witnesses in the morning?"

"It won't bother me," she smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. "If we don't consummate, everyone will assume it's because you couldn't do it. Do you want to tell that to the witnesses in the morning?"

He scowled, then smiled. "I'll tell them I never had that problem with other girls, so it must be something to do with you."

It was her turn to scowl. "Well played." Then she turned angry. "Hey, what do you mean, 'with other girls?' How many other girls have there been?"

He clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. He'd said way too much, and he couldn't take it back. "Well?" she demanded. He weakly raised his other hand and held up one fat finger.

"It just happened," he almost whimpered. "I wasn't looking for trouble or anything."

She forced herself to scowl some more, but on the inside, she wanted to leap up and cheer. He'd broken the rules! That meant he couldn't complain when he found out she'd broken them, too. There would be no vengeful Jorgensons dragging her from the marriage bed to the killing ring with their swords drawn. Her greatest fear about her wedding night vanished like powdery snow in a strong wind.

Maybe she might be able to relax and enjoy this, after all.

She allowed her scowl to fade after a few seconds. "I guess it's not that big a deal. I mean, I could hardly expect a handsome stud-muffin like you to be completely untouched, could I?"

He relaxed, very slightly. "Yeah, you're right. But you're really not mad?"

"I'll get over it," she said off-handedly. "But I still haven't heard you admit that I ought to be in charge."

"Are we going to knock our heads together all night long?" he asked.

"My skull can take it," she nodded, almost eagerly. "Can yours?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't very high on my list of things to do tonight." He reached for her again; she slid away and folded her arms. Frustrated, he got up and paced back and forth for a few seconds. At last, he said, "Su, I'm afraid I've been thinking…"

"A dangerous pastime," she smiled.

"I know," he nodded. "I've been taking some heat from my father; he thinks I should be running this show. You've been messing my head as I'm learning what you Bog-Burglars think of a man. Now I'm balanced somewhere between marriage and Hel; do you think we could try a new plan?"

"Like what?" she wondered.

"How about a truce?" he asked.

"A truce?" she echoed him.

"Yeah. You know. We could… do the marriage thing tonight, and settle who's in charge some other day. What do you say?"

She thought about it. This was obviously a stalling tactic. That meant he knew he wasn't going to win this disagreement. Maybe she should hold out for her rights as the head of the household, and not yield until he admitted she was the one in charge? It looked like she had the leverage to do it – he was so eager to get on with their wedding night, he was willing to negotiate on how things would be for the rest of their lives. She had him right where she wanted him.

But the boy who was standing in front of her was supposed to be her husband. If they failed to consummate, for any reason at all, the marriage would be called off and she'd never see him again. Could she hope to find someone better? She doubted it. Certainly, none of the boys on her home island measured up to Snotlout; he had spirit and self-confidence that very few Bog-Burglar boys could equal. Also, she was the one who had practically begged her mother to get this boy for her. If she allowed the marriage contract to go unfulfilled, her mother might not be willing to go to such lengths to get another one for her. In a way, she'd made her bed, and now she had to sleep in it.

He wasn't such a bad guy, after all. He was even willing to temporarily set aside his own demand to be Number One in the marriage. A truce, he called it. Some Vikings would call it half of a surrender. They'd see it as a sign of weakness, and encourage her to go for the kill. But none of those Vikings was here tonight. It was just him and her. Husband and wife. They'd have to work this thing out on their own. He was right about the fact that they had to "do the marriage thing" tonight. He was willing to give a little. If she gave a little in return, what was the worst that could happen?

"Okay. Truce." She held out her hand. He sat down next to her again, but instead of clasping her hand to agree on the deal, he grabbed it, pulled her close, and kissed her eagerly. She started to resist, then changed her mind, and kissed him back even more eagerly. She'd scared off a Bog-Burglar boy or two with that eagerness, but Snotlout wasn't intimidated. Not even a little.

About twenty minutes later, an eavesdropper might have heard a quiet female voice say, "Okay, tell me who's in charge." And a weak male voice would have answered, "You're closer than you were an hour ago."

About twenty minutes after that, the eavesdropper might have heard a quiet male voice ask, "Now who's in charge?" And a weak female voice would have answered, "You are, a little bit, in certain areas, maybe."

When the father of the groom and the mother of the bride knocked on the door to wake them in the morning and bring them to the Mead Hall for the presenting of the morning-gift, there was no need for anyone to eavesdrop. They clearly heard the female voice call, "Can you come back in half an hour?" The male voice added, "Yeah, we're kind of busy here."

Spitelout turned to Bertha. "I'm tempted to go in anyway. I didn't raise my son to tell his father 'no.' The sooner we fulfill this contract and seal the deal, the happier I'll be." He rested his hand on the door latch.

"Don't you dare!" Bertha burst out, and slapped his hand away from the latch. "They'll get there eventually, and we'll be in-laws, and then you can relax. If they're... uhh... busy, that means they're getting along, and that's good. I was worried that they might kill each other during the night."

"No Jorgenson would ever do such a thing!" Spitelout exclaimed.

"Maybe not," Bertha replied, "but a Bog-Burglar might."

"Then I guess it's a good thing my son is turning your daughter into a Jorgenson, right?" Spitelout smirked.

Bertha didn't answer. She just mentally noted which side of his belt he carried his money pouch on.

o

A/N
To all the readers and reviewers who wished for a reunion scene between Hiccup and Camicazi: I couldn't write a scene like that, for the simple reason that I haven't read all the books, so I don't know much about their adventures together. Sorry.

If you're wondering whether Snotlout's little speech was inspired by the song "Gaston" from "Beauty and the Beast," then the answer is "Definitely yes." (I'm especially good at song recreating.)