Forever Me- Thank you for that word. :)
SpannerSpoon- Sorry for that. I am excited though I fear for Hiccup growing up in Book Eleven, what suffering he'll go through. Rest assured, both Stoick and Thornado are alive, and Thornado feels vengeful.
Guest- You got your wish here. :)
No one liked the plan. Everyone called it terrible, risky, and even stupid. Wee MacGuffin went on an angry ramble that not even his father could understand. Elinor kept shifting her hands from place to place. Astrid didn't like the idea of me as bait, and Astrid had always encouraged me to do crazy schemes. Merida agreed with her, which didn't boost any confidence.
"I'M the one who's most likely to lose his freedom with this endeavor, as opposed to dozens of us dying on the battlefield," I pointed out in the middle of these arguments. "And like I said, we don't have a choice."
The lords wanted to add their two pence, and they kept interrupting each other. A fight would have broken out among them and Fergus if not for Elinor's presence and my ability to project.
The more I outlined each crucial person's role, the less people rejected the plan. The lords listened, with mild reluctance, but they listened. Elinor pressed her lips and asked necessary questions, questions that allowed me to refine certain points.
"You realize that if Alvin even guesses at the undertaking, that he has no reason to take your word for anything. He may kill your father outright."
"I know. But he'll have his eyes on me the whole time. That's essential."
"Are you going to have a trick up your sleeve?"
"I have one. He thinks I'm broken, and he's half-right. I just have to convince him that I'm completely broken and he won't suspect a thing."
That didn't reassure her, but she did stop asking about it. Merida looked concerned but clung to her brothers instead. I went on outlining the details, instructing the lords on their part strongly. We would need one or two days to prepare, at the very least to make a trip to the Dunbroch smithy.
"Why do you say half-broken?" she asked afterward, as we broke to discuss the news with the mostly uninjured members of our army. We walked into the camp shadows, to the outskirts where few could hear us.
"Because I still remember Frigga's Promise, and the attack in the castle." I pointed at my chest, where the bruises were. "I know that people who should have supported me - not you, and not my friends on Berk - stabbed me in the back and almost succeeded in making me a slave. That's not going to stop with this, even when Alvin and the Hysterics are defeated."
She took a moment to answer. Her eyes were watery, not just with cold. Merida was scared for me. She was worried about the Viking cousin she had once called "draugr."
"You're always welcome at the castle, you know. And with my brothers, you'll have a fun family."
"That's assuming I can return to Dunbroch. If the plan works."
"It will. You've thought of everything, including how much can go wrong. But you need to tell her, you know, about being chased the rest of your life. If you want her to stay with you."
"Tell who? Astrid?"
"Certainly not that red-faced angry girl sitting with your giant friend."
"Merida-"
"Hiccup, you don't kiss a girl to death and expect her to understand every wee bit of you," she said. "She doesn't, though she knows most of you. I don't like Astrid, but you do. If she breaks your heart just because a few Viking louts see you as a prize-"
She unsheathed her sword and made a slitting gesture. There was a chaste gap between us because we weren't courting each other, and to ensure we were not THAT close. Even if we had tried, Toothless was watching.
"Good luck with that," I said dryly, refusing to voice the doubts that rose in my head.
"It will be with a sword, not an axe," she promised. "She won't see it coming."
"I'd rather if you didn't. She might think you're jealous."
Merida snorted.
"Hah! Me, jealous! No offense, but I'd rather have a go at that Thuggory fellow. If I were interested in Vikings."
"I'll be sure to pass on the memo," I promised.
She left me there, to help her dad sharpen the arrows, even spar with him a little. I took a while to gather my thoughts, to fight the fear of how badly things could go wrong while feeling astonished that Thuggory's charm attracted Merida. Then we had to make physical progress with the plan's machinations, and I put the princess out of mind.
First and most important was my fencing. I was a natural as Fergus had said, but even naturals had to practice. I hadn't held a blade since the Outcasts had taken me from Dunbroch, and a week of rustiness could make all the difference.
Fergus tested my ability, as did Wee Macintosh. He had thought to pack practice blades after hearing that Elinor had found me, and he had several for me to choose. The other men cleared away a campfire so we could fence, and so I could remind myself how to make the blade spin. The sparring also helped the men calm down, to feel the wind rush past our faces.
"You've still got the skill lad," Fergus grunted. "But skill isn't the only thing, even if you know all the tricks. You have to be able to endure long enough. You need an environment that works to your advantage, and to strike down your opponent slowly."
"You don't say," I panted, feeling sweat mix with the cold. "I'm sure Alvin will let me strike him multiple times and utilize the Dunbroch cobblestones."
He was right, though; I couldn't just hope to cut down Alvin and pray that the rest of the plan would go well. He had Loki's copy of Endeavor, meaning I'd have to wield a foreign blade. I had to draw out the duel as long as possible, without getting tired out and without missing Hamish II's blade.
Still, we overcame that obstacle and I found new things to add to my smithy to-do list. Camicazi's broken wrist was another problem, because she was right-handed and her right wrist had the fracture. As much as she fussed about still being able to pick locks and sneak on her Changewing, her face would cringe every time she attempted to demonstrate her abilities. Like it or not, we couldn't send her in alone.
"But I won't be alone," she protested. "I'll have my dragon with me. We make a good team, as good as an entire army of dragons!"
"Cami," I said in my most reasonable voice. "It's not that we doubt your ability, or your love for danger. But we're trying to make it more dangerous for you, so you can prove yourself. After all, one more person and dragon to look out for while freeing violent hostages."
Her eyes lit up. We were sitting in her tent, watching her display her skills. Her dragon wrapped its tail around my satchel and toyed with it. It batted thick eyelashes at Toothless, who didn't respond.
"Is there any other Academy student who you can teach to pick locks and such? Just the basics?"
"Not any of the BOYS," she said derisively. "Maybe you, but you're not bad for a boy."
"I don't think I'm an option. Which of the girls would you trust then? Which of the academy students?"
"Not your girlfriend." She gave me a cheeky grin. "It's too much fun making her angry."
I gave her a look. Merida, who was listening with fascination, returned the grin to Camicazi.
"Maybe Tantrum O'Ugerly," Camicazi commiserated. "She has quite a lot of potential for an heir to the Uglithugs. May want to use those skills to get away from her Ug-ly father."
"I wouldn't blame any girl whose father is called Ug," I muttered. "So Tantrum. She's going to be your load and sidekick, with her dragon. You need to get her ready, as if she were to join the Bog Burglar tribe and about to take on a perilous burglary."
"Mother says that we're not allowed to steal people." Camicazi gave another wild grin, making her resemble a blond imp. "But she's not here, is she?"
I feared having put an impossible idea in her head. Still, she talked to Fishlegs and Tantrum that evening, and the Uglithug heir showed enough interest to take basic wires and tools for picking chains and shackles. Only thing was that her nails got in the way. Each white tip clicked against the tools, making unnecessary noise.
"Those need to come off." Camicazi pointed to Tantrum, who withdrew her hands protectively. "Not sensible at all when you want to be quiet."
"They're a defense mechanism against the cruelties of the world!" Fishlegs said from where he stood next to me. "Tantrum's father is highly oppressive, and she's not allowed to do many things on her own. Her nails are one of the few ways she can express herself-"
Camicazi turned to face him. Then, with Night Fury speed, she leaped up and slashed with a small blade. With her left hand, or we wouldn't have even seen the slashing, since her movements were clumsy.
The next moment, Fishlegs's trousers had fallen down, and he shrieked. Apparently his winter long johns had pink fish sewn to them.
"That I didn't need to see," I muttered. "Camicazi! Apologize!"
"Only if he apologizes for being rude," she answered, wincing. "I was talking to Tantrum, not to him."
"I apologize on his behalf," Tantrum said in a bored tone. "Can I see that knife?"
Camicazi handed it to her. Tantrum then held it to the girl's throat before transferring it to her nails.
"I'm only doing this because you have trust issues," Tantrum said, paring off each white tip. The nails fell into a pile on her lap. "But embarrass my boyfriend, and I will turn on you. Terribly."
"No boy is worth it. You'd be better off with the Bog Burglars, not needing him," Camicazi declared. She looked happier now that Tantrum had threatened her.
"I do need him, and I want him," Tantrum's face lifted as her eyes met Fishlegs's. "Not many Uglithugs know how to behave the part of a gentleman, let alone construct affectionate poetry."
Fishlegs's ears went red while he picked up the remains of his trousers. Tantrum's gaze held him in the tent, however. Camicazi was satisfied that an older girl was listening to her and practiced at picking locks again.
That was how things stood by the end of that day: our two burglars had a working relationship that threatened to fray, I had to find enough strength in myself to fence without weeks of preparation, and we hadn't even visited the smithy or bargained with Morgan. If he let us bargain.
Toothless and I still slept outside, wrapped around each other for comfort. The injured needed the tents, and I wanted to enjoy the outside while I could. Astrid and Stormfly joined us once, but there wasn't much privacy in a war camp. Even so, we huddled next to each other under the dragons' wings and on her bundling for a bed. Once, she had punched me for hugging her in the snow, but that seemed like ages ago. When we had been on Berk, in peaceful Devastating Winter.
"Astrid, you know, when we win-"
"Yes?" she murmured, pulling me closer. Red dotted her cheeks in gentle pinpricks.
I couldn't do it. Not when we were days from victory or disaster. I wanted to kiss every bit of red off her face, to taste her warmth and presence. Gods, I had missed her in the day that she had pretended to leave Scotland; I didn't want to let go of her. If I got enslaved, I didn't want our last moments to involve a break-up.
"Nothing," I said. "Just rambling. Good night."
Her eyes fluttered with suspicion, but we were too tired to argue.
I woke when burning smell hit my nose. Dragon nip, roasting by a fire along with damp moss. It made me sit up straight. Astrid kept sleeping against my chest.
Toothless's eyes shot open as I untangled myself from his wings. A small light from the camp's outskirts lit, from a small corner with no tents. Faint, falsetto singing came from there, mingled with the scent of burnt dragon nip.
Gods, not now, I thought. Toothless growled at the singing. He tugged at my trousers with only gums, having retracted his teeth for the night.
"I know, bud," I sighed. "But I don't think it's a trap. Loki made us pay for the rescue already. He's just yanking my chain."
He let go of me, with reluctance. My feet seemed to move on their own. They went towards the smell and the singing.
Loki was sitting on a fallen log that had somehow lost its dampness. There was a hole in the log, in which he had started a small fire. It burned orange against the grey, slushy frost.
"Fancy seeing you here, Highness," he said.
"Likewise, son of Odin." I dipped my head.
He patted a seat on the log, on the other side of the burning hole. I walked over despite my misgivings. Not wise to displease a god who had done you a service.
"Don't think I'm here to offer help. I'm merely here to get a good view of the show," he said. "To assess your chances without me. It's going to be a battle of brawny brains versus scrawny brains."
"You'll probably get splendid entertainment," I remarked. "We're not having the duel here; we're going to be moving to a field closer to the coast, where he is with my dad and the hostages."
"He wants to be close to the ocean so that the minute the ice melts, he can take off. Quite daring of him, if I may say so."
The motives I already knew, even though I wouldn't call them "daring". Alvin was expecting to win. He had a valuable bargaining chip, the one person that Berk always needed.
"Why did you wake me, if you wanted to calculate odds?"
He waved his hand over the burning hole. The dragon nip smelled sweetest when it was set on fire.
"I wanted make an offer. If Alvin becomes mortal, I won't have a champion on Midgard. At least, not one as resourceful. I could use a boy like you to be my agent. To carry out organized mischief and subvert the superficial authorities."
I watched the burnt grass crackle in the fire. Innocent green easily became scorched, tainted black.
"You'd be immortal, so that no blade could cut your throat. No fall or dragon fire would kill you. You'd always have my support, both in terms of advice and in terms of planning. I may even help you win this battle, make sure nothing goes wrong with your scheme."
Loki meant well, as best as a god of mischief could mean. He had seen what his champion had done to me, a smaller boy who was smart and still prone to helplessness.
His eyes held no warmth however, though they pretended to. He didn't have to start a fire for an evening chat, but he hadn't needed to burn dragon nip either. And if I were immortal? I could still be a slave like Jason, only the chiefs who wanted to own me weren't as kind as the goddess Frigga.
I didn't need immortality. I needed my plan to work.
"Son of Odin, that is a generous offer, but I cannot honestly accept," I said. "And by 'honestly,' I mean that it would conflict with our previous agreement. Alvin may very well still be immortal even if I were your champion, and the whole point of having this plan is to make him mortal. We would constantly clash, so to speak"
He rolled a burning leaf in his hand. I tried not to cringe from the fire and went on.
"I mean no disrespect. I merely wish to have a fair chance at fighting Alvin and defeating him, even on his terms."
"You speak well when turning down a generous offer," he said, and though disappointed his tone held pride. "Even if you win, he won't give your father, your sword, or the hostages back. That is something you have to consider."
"I've considered it every waking moment, since I read the letter from the messenger hawk. Not like I'm planning to honor all of the honor duel terms."
"Nor should you." He patted the leaf as if it were a furry animal. "Maybe I'll make you my champion when you're not looking, and when you try to die-"
He blew the smoldering remains of the leaf. The redness and black did not die down, however. Neither did the scent.
I gave a wan smile. Typical sense of humor from a Norse God.
He reached over the burning hole and clapped me on the back. I recoiled. That threw off my caution, as I tried not to fall into the bouquet of flames.
"Are you going to help Alvin as well, to even the odds?" I had to ask. "Has he asked for help?"
"He asked how I assisted you," he said, frankly. "After you escaped. He wanted to know if the blade had special properties. I may have told the truth, or I may have lied. What do you think?"
I steadied myself on the log.
"If he knew how exactly you were going to stop him, he wouldn't be open for negotiation, would he? He'd be trying to tear the small bonds you've formed between the Vikings and Scots. Like he helped tear you away from Berk."
That seemed to be logical reasoning. But even the soundest logic could have sharp twists among basic statements. And Loki hadn't confirmed that he had denied help to Alvin. Perhaps he played with both of us to produce the most violent result.
Loki stood up, beckoned that I could stand up as well. The embers in the log's hole died, replacing the heat with evening chill. Wind mixed with the nip, and his wicked grin returned.
"Just put on a good show. For Alvin, and for myself. Then maybe I'll assist you with the battle."
He withdrew into the trees' shadows, and I found myself stumbling back to camp, to a worried Toothless and sleeping Astrid.
"Good luck, Highness," Loki called to my retreating figure. When I turned to wave my thanks, he tried to give a mischievous grin, to show that he was joking. But the shadows darkened his face, so that only his eyes shone. And they were full of sincerity, if not warmth.
Loki may not have been offering help, but he wanted me to win. He was on my side.