Chapter 54: We Are Who We Are

Many modern students of the history of science and engineering have bemoaned Hiccup Haddock's apparent "near miss" of the development of the steam engine. As the argument typically goes, he had all of the necessary components with which to construct such a device—boilers, pipes and tight-fitting valves with which to make pistons, and mechanical apparatuses with which to harness the power—and with his experimentalist and pragmatic predilections, he would have surely seen the potential of the device, especially as he had access to books describing Hero of Alexandria's Aeolipile, the first primitive steam-powered device, which predated Haddock by a millennium. Such speculators often envision what route history might have instead taken if Haddock had access to railroads and steamships in addition to dragons.

What such individuals forget is that it still took centuries of progress to develop steam power into the sort of practical forms of energy production they envision. From Brendan Mac Brian's first introduction of a primitive steam-powered mining pump in AD 1381, it took over two hundred and fifty years until the first triple-expansion steam engine and steam turbines were developed (by Mishra in AD 1633 and Cohen in AD 1642, respectively). Not only was Haddock missing many essential parts for the construction of steam engines—precision-bored piston-cylinders, for one example—he had no economic reason to invest the time and effort into developing steam power. He had already made significant strides in developing wind and water power in his teen years, which amply served his industrial power supply needs. Also his early boiler designs, while far superior to earlier approaches, were still extremely primitive and wasteful of heat, fuel and water (some of which were recaptured by other processes, including the famous Berk Baths). Finally, what many people overlook is that Haddock had recently acquired the aid of dragons. The early steam engines were only economically viable as they filled a small niche in a developed and mature dragon-based economy, allowing for more efficient pumping of water from terraurban environments. In Haddock's era, only the earliest potentials of dragon labor and construction had begun to be explored…

The Genius Has No Clothes: An Alternate View Of Innovation, 1818

March, AD 1042

Nidaros, Norway

Ruffnut watched as Tuffnut hobbled on the crutches, Marte at his side ready to catch him if he stumbled again.

Leaning her chin on her fist as she sat at the table, Ruffnut wondered how long it would take Tuff to realize that Marte was sweet on him. She doubted that it would go anywhere, between Marte's age and her still technically being in mourning, but she hoped to see the expression on his face when he figured it out.

Karin came over with a bowl of stewed greens and set it in front of Ruffnut. Ruff gave Karin a grateful look. She'd been having cravings for days, and was practically inhaling pickled cucumbers.

"How are you feeling?" Karin asked.

Ruffnut took up the spoon from the bowl and shoveled in a mouthful. "All right. Svanhildr is sure it's a boy. Magnus cheered, so I threw a pillow at him."

Karin laughed and sat down next to her. "Boy or girl, he'll be happy. He loves you."

Ruffnut felt her cheeks heat and ducked her head to hide it. "I know." Just then, the baby—who Ruffnut was sure was a girl—scored a solid hit on her stomach, and Ruffnut groaned.

Karin's eyes twinkled, and Ruffnut gave her a glare. "What?"

"Nothing. Just memories."

Just then, Tuffnut stumbled, letting out a curse in the Rus' that Vladimir had taught him over the last few months. Marte caught him before he hit the floor again. With his ankle healed and the broken leg still in a splint, he could walk with the crutches, but his month as an invalid in the bed had made him surprisingly weak.

His jaw set, Tuffnut pulled himself back upright with Marte's help, and resolutely started to walk across the floor again.

He'd almost made it—and Ruffnut had almost finished the bowl—when the door opened and an unwelcome voice intruded.

"Excuse me, milady," Einar's oily tones came from the door. "But I need you to look at this." He proffered a sheet of parchment with close, dense writing on it.

She grimaced. Einar and his games. Ever since Magnus had started actually administrating his own kingdom, Einar had been fighting back, subtly. Against her, his tactic was to to come to her with anything and everything to do with her dowry dragons, no matter how little. She'd realized quickly that he was trying to push her into formally giving up control over them—perhaps just simply by having her say something like 'You take care of it.' She'd almost fallen for it, too, but she'd paused and asked herself why he was coming to her over something so minor.

But now she had to deal with his harassment every couple of days.

"What is it today, Regent?" she asked, painting a false smile on her face.

His own smile equally false, he came over to her and handed her the parchment. "The miners up in the mountains want to use Deep Grinder and Slag to pursue a rich vein of ore," he said charmingly. "It's a minor issue—"

"So a minor miner issue?" she interrupted, smirking. He didn't like it when she did that.

"Yes," he said, his tone slightly strained and his eyes drawn together. "Exactly."

She smiled at him and proceeded to read over the parchment. Carefully.

And, as usual, his summary was almost too brief. "Iron and copper ore? I thought that they'd only found lead."

"They did at first," Einar said, his face admirably even, although she could see a very small muscle tic in his jaw.

She turned back to the parchment to hide her own smile. While it didn't look like there were any major surprises in this one, she hadn't forgotten his earlier attempt to sneak in a fee setup which would have given him control of half of the coin the dragons were earning. He'd begged that one off as a mistake and 'corrected' it.

Making him wait when he bothered her like this was turning into a contest of wills, and she found that she enjoyed it every bit as much as her usual pranking. Eventually, she finished reading over the suggestions, and signed it, having found no surprises.

This time.

"Anything else?" she asked with a false smile. Despite his fondest hopes, she wouldn't grow complacent.

"Not at this time, no," he said, turned smartly on his heel, and left.

As the door closed, she scowled—only to laugh as Tuffnut, having tumbled, let out a flurry of profanity in three languages.

###

Melfi, Roman Catepanate of Italias, Roman Empire (Disputed)

"Go, go, go!"

The dragons dove out of the cloudy sky towards Melfi. After losing most of their food supply to the fires four days ago, the rebels had done exactly what Kekaumenos had said they'd do: they'd foraged.

Or, in other words, they'd done exactly what the dragons had done to Berk up until a year and a half ago.

Stolen food.

The riders had taken out foraging party after foraging party over the last three days, and the desperation of the Lombards was becoming clearer. They'd tried attacking the dragon riders on the mountain, but rather than engage, Kekaumenos had ordered the forested slope set on fire behind the mounted knights and the riders had retreated to the city of Bari for the day. There, Kekaumenos had clashed with the Catepan, Georgios Maniakes, who had been furious that the Emperor had sent them in without putting them under his command, and had tried to assert control over them. Sigurd had mostly just stared. Maniakes—or Gyrgir, as Thorred called him in Norse—was huge, nearly the size of… of his old chief. But he hadn't managed to start ordering Kekaumenos around.

They'd returned yesterday after getting supplies at Bari, and had resumed harassing the foraging parties.

Now more than half of the surviving Lombard army was out of Melfi, desperately hunting for supplies—and Kekaumenos had decided that it was the time to strike at the head.

In a loose formation, they dove towards the small city of tents and small buildings that the Lombards bivouacked in, aiming straight for the cluster of buildings that Kekaumenos had identified as being the likely residence of the rebel leaders Argyrus and Arduin.

Then the trill sounds of a brass horn reached Sigurd—and below, an entire arc of tents suddenly rippled.

Sigurd's eyes widened in terror as he realized that the Lombards had set a trap for them.

"PULL UP!" he bellowed, and the entire formation struggled to pull out of the dive…

Just as the archers below loosed their arrows.

They hissed through the air around the dragons, and there were shrieks and bellows from men and dragons alike.

He looked back over the formation as they sped away from Melfi. "Everyone all right!?" he yelled, and people shouted in confirmation. Sigurd sighed in relief—until he saw the limp figure dangling from the belaying lines, his dragon trying to both keep pace and check on their rider.

"THORRED!" he shouted, terrified for his friend.

Gunnar, atop his Colchia, immediately yelled, "Ketilbjorn! Hrafn! Get him back to our camp! Now!"

Both of the other two thanes saluted and maneuvered their dragons up next to the dangling Thorred. Sigurd could see the skald bleeding freely; there was an arrow stuck through him, although he couldn't tell where; all he could see was the fletching, waving in the wind.

As the three dragons and riders turned away and left the group, Sigurd felt his fear for his friend turn to fury.

"Follow me, and prepare to fire on my command!" he ordered, and turned Hookfang around.

They dove again, and instead of flying in from hundreds of yards above the ground, they flew at top speed right over the hillside, the bellies of the dragons only a handful of yards above the tents and buildings. Sigurd could see the opening in the field of tents ahead and aimed them straight at the gap.

"Ready! … FIRE!"

Hookfang breathed out flame right above the archers, and screams erupted behind Sigurd, followed by more as the rest of his group overflew the archers—of which there were only a few dozen—and breathed fire as well. The archers hadn't seen them coming, not when the dragons had been shielded from their sight by the rim of tents and buildings.

As soon as they cleared the gap in the field, Sigurd pulled them into as tight a bank as they could manage and they overflew the archers again. A few of them managed to fire arrows, but none hit.

The buildings in the center of the blaze, their original targets, were on fire by now. Men were trying to organize to fight the fire, and Sigurd ignored them; they weren't a threat.

As he and Hookfang landed on the rough wooden building, it crackled underneath them, and part of the roof caved in.

"In there!" he said, and Hookfang breathed out flames into the structure.

A moment later, the doors burst open and a crowd of men came running out, some of them beating the flames on their bodies—but they didn't get far, as the other riders swooped in and snatched them up.

There was a bellow from Gunnar's dragon as the well-dressed man he'd grabbed slashed at the dragon's claw with a knife—and fell free a moment later.

Unfortunately for him, they'd already flown high above the burning tents, and he plummeted, vanishing into the smoke and flames a hundred and more feet below.

The riders made for their campsite, and dropped off their captives one at a time.

Kekaumenos openly gloated over the prisoners. "Ah, look who it is! Arduin!" he said to the most fancily dressed man, whose rich silk tunic and half-closed arming jacket both featured scorch marks. "And where is Argyrus?"

"Dead. One of your demon riders here dropped him," the ringleader said in curt Greek.

"Ah, what a shame. Well, we'll take you straight home so the Senate can decide your fate," Kekaumenos said with a grin. "Don't worry about Iron Arm and the rest of your Normans; we'll be back to clean them up later." He turned to Sigurd. "Make preparations to break camp."

"Aye sir. But first, is Thorred all right?"

Kekaumenos shrugged. "He's unconscious, with an arrow through his shoulder, and he apparently managed to whack his head on his dragon, judging by the lump. He'll probably recover."

Sigurd sagged in relief.

"But he'll recover faster in Constantinople," Kekaumenos hinted heavily.

"Aye sir!" Sigurd said, and saluted, and turned to break camp.

###

Saint-Brieuc, Duchy of Brittany, Francia

Inga woke with a start as strong hands grabbed her and pulled her out of the warmth of the furs and straw she'd been sleeping on.

As she screamed and kicked, her hands were bound, and she heard Redsnout howling and the shouts of more men, along with the straining of ropes.

A man went flying, and she heard Dogsbreath shout, "Yeah! Come at me!"

And they did.

A moment later, Dogsbreath was grappled by half a dozen men his size, fighting to get free. He was shortly bound as well. The two of them were hauled outside of the barn and forced to their knees in the cold mud.

Redsnout was still howling, and trying to get free—and then Inga heard the sound of a blade being pulled from a sheath behind her.

"Norseman! Order your dragon to stop fighting, or your woman dies!" a man bellowed behind her in accented but clearly understandable Norse.

Inga saw the blade between her and Dogsbreath… and Redsnout slowed and stared.

The blade drifted over to Inga's neck, and Inga could hear Dogsbreath panting in fear. "Well?"

Dogsbreath called out, "Redsnout, stop!"

Redsnout hesitated, and the villagers pounced.

Inga recognized them, having been here for over a week now, as they set about methodically trussing up the Nadder with rope and chain.

Christophe walked over and she spat at him. "You offered us hospitality!" she screamed in rage at him.

He looked down at her, his expression cold and callous in the pre-dawn light. "And you swore on false gods. No such oath can be held as valid. So we called our lord for help."

"And here I am on my father's behalf," the other voice spoke. The man standing behind her stepped forward, sheathing his blade as he did so. As Redsnout, bound in who knew how much rope and chain, was carried out of the barn by the villagers, she looked at their captor in the light of the torches.

He was standing over the fruitlessly struggling Redsnout, his posture clearly gloating and satisfied, even from behind, his shoulders held high, one hand on his hip, one foot stepping on Redsnout's nose-horn. Something about him and how he was standing, though, struck her as odd.

Then she noticed that his sword sheath was on his right hip.

Apparently satisfied, the man said, in a tone just loud enough for her to hear, "Finally. A dragon of my own." Then he said something else in Francian, which Inga still didn't understand, before turning to Christophe and asking something.

The backstabber produced Rolf's coffer, and the lord reached up to open it—with his right arm, which ended in a wrapped stump.

Scowling, he reached up with his left hand, opened the coffer, and rooted around inside it for a moment, before taking out a generous handful of coin and dragon scales, dumping them in his own purse, and closing the lid. He said something to Christophe, who bowed and left with the coffer.

The villagers loaded Redsnout onto a cart, and then put her and Dogsbreath onto a second one. She turned to Dogsbreath and muttered quietly, "Now we know why they were telling us to wait for better weather before moving on…"

He snorted angrily. "Yeah, no shit."

"That's enough out of both of you," the Francian said. "Be quiet."

"And who are you?" Inga asked, giving the ropes a try and frowning. They weren't well knotted, but there were a lot of them. And even if she escaped, she'd be stuck in a place with no money, no tools, and where she didn't speak the language.

But this man spoke hers.

He snorted. "You don't recognize me?"

She gave him a nasty smirk. "No, not a clue."

"I am Sir Henry of Brittany," he said pompously, "and I have a debt to settle with your brutal heathen tribe."

Dogsbreath inhaled sharply. "Oh shit. You."

"Ah, someone recognizes me. But we'll have plenty of time to talk… later." He waved with his stump, and someone pulled a cloth hood over Inga's head.

As the carts squeaked and bounced along through the dim morning grayness, Dogsbreath quietly told her about how their captor had lost his hand…

###

Maritime Republic of Genoa, Regno d'Italia, Sacrum Romanum Imperium

Viggo looked out over the bustling harbor of Genoa, a cup of wine in hand, and smiled. They'd left Centumcellae five days ago, and made good time. Despite the attitudes of the hidebound shipwrights back south, they'd made this short testing voyage to Genoa with panache.

And not a moment too soon, either. The senior churchmen had been growing impatient. Before setting out on this trip, he'd carefully hedged things so that if there was a problem, they could turn around and return for further attention, but thankfully, it looked like he didn't need to.

Nursing the wine, he allowed a genuine smile to grow across his face. Even now, days before the Spring Equinox, the harbor was full of ships and humming with activity. Viggo loved it. The merchant republic of Genoa, nominally under the auspices of the Kingdom of Italia, itself a component of the Holy Roman Empire, was one of the grandest ports that Viggo had visited in his far-flung travels across the known world. A hundred years before, it had been sacked and burned by the Fatimid Caliphate to the point that the city had lay abandoned. And now…

Viggo could count nearly a hundred ships from across the Mediterranean standing at anchor in the shelter of the harbor. While many of them were local Genoese ships, the remainder were from the other maritime republics, including Pisa, further south down the coast—Viggo's ship had stopped there overnight two days earlier—Venice, Ancona and Amalfi, along with several other vessels from other parts. Given the traditional rivalries between the merchant republics, Viggo was certainly amused at seeing the foreign ships at anchor; he would be willing to wager that their port fees were significantly higher…

His eyes suddenly narrowed as he saw the distinctive figure of his brother talking animatedly with someone by the Amalfian ship. Ryker was gesturing with increasing agitation, as was whoever it was that he was speaking with.

Finishing his wine regretfully, Viggo returned the cup to the tavern he'd gotten it from, and went to join his brother.

"Oh, good, Viggo. I was just about to go looking for you," Ryker said as Viggo walked up.

"What is it?" Viggo asked curtly.

Ryker turned to the Amalfian—probably the purser, now that Viggo got a closer look at him, judging by his clothes—and said in Latin, "Tell him."

The purser nodded and turned to Viggo. "According to several fleeing Lombard soldiers, a flock of dragons under the control of the Romans attacked them at Melfi, killing hundreds and capturing the Lombard rebel leaders, about two weeks ago."

The words entered Viggo's head, and promptly jammed the mechanisms within.

Shaking his head to try to get his thoughts in order, he asked curtly, "How many dragons?"

"Not many. Two dozen? But they fired the granary of Melfi, and picked off the foraging parties. The group I heard it from were survivors from one of those."

Viggo considered the man's words for a moment, and then stepped back. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced along the length of the dock for several strides and then back.

"And you are sure they were not just saying it as a grand tale told to impress you—perhaps for free drinks?" he asked.

The purser shook his head. "I would have thought it, but I heard other rumors about dragons being seen, and everyone's talking about the attack on Melfi." He chuckled darkly. "Supposedly, the Roman catepan is furious that they jumped his command and stole his glory."

"I see." The gears started to turn once more, and he held up his hand. "One moment. Brother, pay him."

As Ryker gave the purser some coins, Viggo paced in thought.

To begin with, he was going to assume that the purser's gossip was accurate—which meant that the Roman Empire now had somewhere between a handful and several dozen tamed and trained dragons for the purposes of warfare. If the Church was frightened before, it would be terrified now.

However, the relatively low number of dragons pointed to their taming being a recent development—especially given that it was the Roman Empire, justifiably famous for its armored horse cavalry, which they deployed in the hundreds and thousands.

In all likelihood, it was not an independent event of domestication, but instead derived from Berk's own taming event in some manner. While such a statement was a supposition, it was one that he felt confident in making, as two individuals both taming dragons in the space of two years on opposite sides of Europa would be highly improbable. That being said, the tales were spreading widely, and it would only take one person attempting such a feat and succeeding by sheer luck.

However, while there were undoubtedly hopeful dragon-tamers combing the wilds looking for dragons to tame, their chances of success were… slim. If for no other reason, because dragons were rare—a fact that Viggo both intimately knew and had contributed to. Any such hopeful tamer would have to expend significant effort, which cut down on the pool of potentials, notably reducing the probability of a second successful taming event. Rather than some random peasant lucking their way into a tamed dragon, it would instead be someone driven enough to successfully seek out a dragon. So while someone re-deriving the domestication based on the saga was unlikely, it was not impossible, and he set the point aside for later consideration.

However, a more direct connection from the original domestication point by Berk was more likely, simply due to the numbers reported by the purser. A single individual lucking into a single tamed dragon was certainly possible, but repeating that multiple times, as opposed to being derived from a source known for multiple tamed dragons? No, the latter was far more likely.

But how had they gotten there…

Viggo grimaced and almost slapped his forehead in exasperation at himself. Of course! The Varangians! The Norsemen served with distinction in the Empire—and in the aftermath of the post-Basil collapse from mismanagement, they made up the core of the Empire's current army. Clearly the riders in question had left Berk and gone to the Empire as Varangians, taking with them their dragons.

Yes… that made sense.

He turned to Ryker. "Prepare the ship. We sail out with the tide."

"Shouldn't we go back and see if they want us to investigate Constantinople?" Ryker asked.

Viggo shook his head. "In all likelihood, the source for those dragons is the place where we are being sent to investigate. Additionally, they already have spies in place in Constantinople; we'd be doing duplicate work, whereas we can discover original information by following our initial orders. Furthermore, I believe the Roman dragon-riders are Varangian mercenaries. As such, there is no way that the Church will not want information on how to hire more of them." He pointed northward. "Our goal and our mission still lie there."

###

Berk Baths, Isle of Berk, Alban Hebrides

Astrid yawned and stretched as she sat in the steaming pool in the new bathhouse. Wash Day was always nice in winter… And even better when one had a genius for a husband to completely redesign the bathhouse. And even if one was taking one's Wash Day on Tyr's Day, well past nightfall.

From the next seat over, Wulfhild chided her, "Don't fall asleep over there! I'm not getting out of here if you start drowning!"

Lazily, Astrid made a rude hand gesture at her friend, and they both laughed.

Heather, sitting nearby, gave a deep appreciative sigh. "I love our boys. Especially mine," she said smugly, and sank into the steaming water until just the tip of her nose and her eyes were above the surface.

"Well, yours is the one who found the idea. Hiccup just ran with it," Wulfhild said, sounding both proud and contented.

"And what a run…" Cami said languorously from her spot in the pool.

Astrid had to agree with that. The design was simple, but worked wonderfully. A dragon-carved cistern collected rainwater and snow and was warmed by the heat of the main fires via a vent. It had also become a handy place to dump the excess snow shoveled from the walking paths around the village. In addition to helping with fire prevention and keeping a supply of drinking water available, it slowly dripped into the new underground bathhouse.

Hiccup had designed a system for refilling the pools that had made Astrid hit him affectionately when she saw how simple it was. A heavy wooden float in the water was attached to a chain; if the float sank far enough, it pulled a lever that opened a valve. From that, more water from the cistern would pour into the pool until the float rose high enough for the counterweight to shut the flow off, just below the lip of the edge of the pool. When people entered the hot pool, the water level rose until it reached the lip of the pool and overflowed, running down channels that ran through the walls and into the next room, which Fishlegs called the tepidarium, from the Roman book that he had taken the idea from, which apparently meant 'warm room'. Then, as people used that pool and made the water rise and flow out in the same way, it went into another room where the water was cold, called the frigidarium. After that, it then flowed out into another cistern, but it didn't sit there. One of Hiccup's wind-powered chain-pumps slowly lifted that water up and out to a third cistern above the village, where it could be used for watering gardens, laundry, putting out fires and such.

Another cluster of rooms, consisting of a dry sauna, a changing room, and an entrance room, rounded out the underground bathhouse complex. Heating the entire thing was an exhaust tunnel from the Broodery furnace and boiler; the tunnel ran underneath the stone floors of the pools, warming the rock, which warmed the water in the pool to the point of steaming.

A similar system of metal pipes now warmed the Broodery as well, the old metal sheet that they'd used before having been taken out and remade, with the end result being that the Broodery was more evenly warmed, using the heat which radiated off of the pipes. Hiccup had even figured out some way to make the water flow back down to the boiler in a second pipe to be reheated after it got cold.

But as for the bathhouse… It was wonderful. The underground design kept the heat in and the drafts out wonderfully, a significant improvement over the old above-ground bathhouse. Fresh pine planking covered the bare stone, letting people walk without chilling their feet—or burning them in the hot room, where the stone was heated from below—and adding a wonderful resiny fragrance to the air. Candles and Nightmare-spit lamps sat on carved stones, giving a flickering light to the steaming space. The pools themselves were carved straight from the bare wavy-patterned rock that made up most of Berk's underground, with seats for the bathers; they could seat two dozen or more people at once per pool, but right now, having gone in for a late night dip, the four women had the space to themselves—by design, as they wanted to avoid getting dragged into discussions about the proposed laws. Ever since Fishlegs had finished his draft version a week ago on Stoick's behalf and submitted it for consideration, the debates were at high boil and some tempers were already running hot. And it would get worse; as per tradition, they had one month of formal consideration before calling it to a vote, meaning that they would be holding the Thing a few weeks after Thawfest—right at Astrid's birthday.

They could have used the old bathhouse for a daytime bath, as it was still kept stoked during the sunlit hours. That would have allowed them to avoid most of the crowds which would be using this place during the day, although Astrid saw no reason to, not when the new baths were just as free of crowds at this hour. It wasn't as if a late night dip was objectionable, and the new baths were worth the wait—although some people still seemed to prefer the old baths. While Astrid couldn't understand them in the slightest, she appreciated them not cluttering up the space.

Despite the preferences of that minority, however, they'd be converting the old place to other use soon. According to Fishlegs' accounting, it used something along the lines of three or four times as much wood per bath—and that wasn't accounting for how the new baths used what their boys called "waste heat" from the Broodery's furnace, meaning that it was essentially free warmth.

Hiccup and Fishlegs had proudly unveiled their new creation to the village the week before, after Hiccup's stump had healed from the infection. While there had been some murmurs at it, in general the tone had been positive. Astrid still remembered the looks of glee on Braun and Hilda's faces. Not only was the new place nicer, it needed fewer staff, and they'd been losing people to poaching from other job offers. Once the old bathhouse was decommissioned—Braun was making comments about turning it into a brewery—they'd be able to get by with fewer hands for the baths.

Cami sighed in a tone of contentment, dragging Astrid out of her thoughts. "Do you think that Hiccup would be willin' to build one of these back in my village?"

Wulfhild chortled. "Feeling pampered, Cami?"

"Yes, I am," she said, and slid deeper into the water. "You two are lucky to have him."

Astrid grinned. "No kidnapping our husband. Get your own!"

Cami touched her hand to her breastbone, her expression mock-incredulous. "What, you think that I'd steal Hiccup and have my way with him? Just because he's a handsome genius that apparently knows how to please a woman, given how I hear you two at night callin' his name?"

"Not helping your case there, Cami," Heather said with a chuckle.

Cami cackled. "I know."

Astrid gave her cousin a mock-glare, which made Cami laugh harder, but finally, she calmed down and gave Astrid and Wulfhild a more serious look. "Seriously, though, you two are okay? I didn't miss that you said 'our' husband."

Astrid shared a glance with Wulfhild and they both nodded.

"We've had some rough spots here and there, but we've gotten some advice and help in getting past them," Wulfhild said, and Astrid made a noise of agreement.

"And you haven't had any problems about…" Cami hesitated, "rank?"

"What do you mean?" Wulfhild asked. "She's the wife, I'm the concubine. Hiccup likes me and enjoys being with me, but he loves her."

Cami nodded. "But the fact that you're a princess and Astrid is just a shieldmaiden…?"

Wulfhild shrugged, and gave a silly evil grin before saying in a humorous voice, "Well, Astrid keeps somehow missing the poisons I put into her food. I expected her to keel over a month ago."

Heather snorted and said, "You don't cook," as Astrid laughed.

"True! You found the hole in my evil scheme," Wulfhild said with a chuckle and Cami giggled.

Astrid rolled her eyes and poked Wulfhild in the side. "Hiccup's a better cook than either of us."

"Or both of us, put together," Wulfhild said. "Remember that steamed milk drink you tried making back during Yule?" She made a face.

"Hey, it was fine!" Astrid protested half-heartedly.

Heather rolled her eyes. "You overheated the milk, and it scorched, curdled and soured all at once. And then you added… other things."

Astrid scowled and crossed her arms. "Fine! So I'm not a good cook."

"Nope. But before we all ganged up on Astrid, Cami, you asked if there's been any problem of 'rank'," Wulfhild said seriously, and glanced at Astrid before turning back to Cami. "I can honestly say 'no, there hasn't.' They're both my friends, and I'd rather be here as a concubine than a queen anywhere in Europa." She motioned as if to indicate the baths and everything else. Astrid grinned at her, and Wulfhild smiled back. "And anytime we do have a problem, we follow Rikard's advice and talk." She shrugged. "It's worked out just fine so far."

"And have you two… been with each other?" Cami asked carefully.

"Figures the Bog Burglar would ask that one," Heather commented wryly.

Cami shrugged, making the water slosh slightly. "It's not uncommon in my tribe, although not as much as some people fantasize and gossip about." She rolled her eyes. "Same story wherever we made port; either they believe that we're desperate to get laid because there are no men, or that we all prefer women."

Astrid rolled her eyes. "And what about you?"

Cami smirked. "We were talkin' about you and Wulf there, but, hey, sure, I'm not ashamed. Yes, I like both men and women and have been with both." She shrugged. "Just not at the same time. So I am wonderin'…" she trailed off significantly.

Astrid glanced at Heather, who looked amused.

"Oh, don't mind me," she said, her face barely above the surface of the water. "I'm happily monogamous. As much fun as it would be to tease you two with more advice, when it comes to threesomes, I have to use my imagination just like everyone else."

Astrid snorted. "Still shameless over there?"

"Yep. I'm only not sharing details because I don't want to embarrass Fishlegs, not because I care personally about what you think of me doing with him," Heather said.

Cami chortled. "That's the spirit!"

Wulfhild gave a small exasperated sigh. "But you don't care about our embarrassment? Or Hiccup's?"

"I'm not asking for details. That's your own business—even though I'm curious," Cami said. "I was just wonderin'." She came to a sitting position and said, "But, if you want, I'll go out and sit and steam for a bit in the sauna, or take a dip in that cold pool."

"You don't have to," Wulfhild said.

"All right," Cami said, smiling. "And I am glad that you two are doin' well."

"Thanks, Cami," Astrid said. "And… to answer your question, no, we haven't."

Wulfhild nodded. "At least, not without Hiccup there."

Cami nodded. "Thanks. Oh, by the way… I brought this." She stood up, grabbed a small bottle from the array of bath products that they'd brought with them, and poured out the contents on her hands.

"Oooh. That smells nice," Wulfhild said, and there was something of a collective sigh of enjoyment among the four of them at the scent. "Lavender?"

"Yep. One of the few things I saved from the ship," Cami said, and she passed the bottle over. "It's great rubbed into the skin."

There were few minutes of them doing just that, punctuated by advice and sighs of enjoyment. As Wulfhild massaged the oil onto Astrid's back, Heather spoke up. "I have a dumb question."

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Coming from you, I'm expecting to either laugh or scream at the end of this."

"Thank you!" Heather said mischievously. "So, dumb question is… how is it we have two female Razorwhips, and no males that we've found anywhere in the region in over a year and a half? Are our dragons going to be old maids?"

Astrid sighed and said, "I've been wondering the same about Toothless, really. Or the Skrill. We've been bringing in wild dragons for more than a year now; sometimes they follow the Dragon Mail riders in, others are brought in by tamed ones that seem to have gone out and collected their friends, a few we've gone out and brought in when they caused trouble. As far as I can tell, nearly every dragon in Eire and Alba has come to Berk. And we've got one Night Fury, one Skrill and two Razorwhips." She held out her hands helplessly. "You just can't have a species with so few members! How can we have over two thousand Gronckles and one Night Fury? Even if the other Night Furies were in hiding somewhere, we'd at least have heard of them by now!" She dropped her hands back under the water with a splash. "But it doesn't make any sense! If there were only, say, twenty Night Furies in all of Alba and Eire, then they'd all be siblings, or cousins, or something! And too much inbreeding is bad for cows, horses, sheep, or dragons!"

Everyone nodded, and Wulfhild sighed. "Maybe something managed to wipe them out?"

"Maybe, but I looked over the old records a few months back; going back a hundred years of raids and losses, we never were attacked with more than one Night Fury… we think. But definitely not more than two or three at most at a time," Astrid said. "And you'd think that with that kind of firepower, the Green Death would send more than one of its best dragons against the people who were killing the rest of the flock."

"You're assuming it was intelligent," Heather said.

"I'm assuming that it has… had at least as much brains as any dragon."

Cami shuddered and Astrid looked at her. "Sorry, but I'm picturin' a giant version of Skuggi and how much trouble he'd get into."

Astrid snorted; the Changewing had a low and wicked sense of humor.

"Well, if we can't find more Night Furies or Razorwhips…" Heather said leadingly.

"Yes?" Astrid prompted.

Heather shrugged. "Maybe we should see if Toothless is interested in Stormfly or Mistletoe, at least?"

Wulfhild and Astrid gave her confused looks in unison. "What? They're not Night Furies," Astrid said, as Wulfhild said, "But they're not the same…"

"Yeah, but he is a boy. I remember the dragon mating frenzy from last year. Fishlegs was running around trying to log it all, and I got roped into helping record it. And there were a lot of dragons mating out of their kind. At least let the poor dragon get laid, even if it won't lead to anything. I'll even volunteer Windshear. She doesn't have a boy, and I sympathize with that," Heather said reasonably.

Astrid looked at Heather with an expression somewhere between appalled and impressed.

"You're seriously suggesting that we have one of our dragons mate with Toothless this year?"

"Yep."

"You're either insane, or a genius."

"I think that they said that about your husband, ladies," Heather said with a grin.

"Nope," Astrid said tartly. "They… we all just thought he was useless."

Wulfhild patted her on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Oh, I know, I know, he's forgiven me for it. But… yeah. I still cringe sometimes, looking back at it all. Even if it's been more than a year."

"Well, that took a turn for the morose," Heather said. "Let's steer this back onto happier topics. Let's see… you two aren't getting ready to murder each other over jealousy, you both get laid regularly and so do I…"

"And what about me?" Cami asked, mock-petulantly. "Don't I get the same consideration as a dragon?"

"Well, I won't volunteer Fishlegs. Aside from the fact that he's mine after everything we've been through there, I think you might eat him alive," Heather said with a smirk, and Astrid made a noise of agreement, echoed by Wulfhild.

"Sorry, cuz, but while we might be interested in sharing Hiccup for a single night—if he was even interested—if you're looking to get laid regularly, you'll have to go hunting on your own," Astrid said firmly, although she was grinning as she said it.

Cami made a face. "Fine."

Heather smirked. "At least being interested in both men and women doubles your chances, right?"

"You'd think so…" Cami said with an eyeroll. "But it doesn't work out that way."

Heather gave her a sympathetic look.

Cami sighed. "Well, I don't want to drag things down either. So, let's see… other good shit going on… while there's the whole argument over the law, the newcomers are still being welcomed into the tribe; I haven't seen anybody sayin' they shouldn't be here, which is good."

Heather nodded. "And the village is flourishing and growing. And, well… if you'd told me last year at this time just how good of a chief Stoick is, I'd have called you a liar." She blushed. "I know this sounds extreme, but if he told me to jump off a cliff, I'd do it. I trust him."

"Stoick tends to have that effect," Wulfhild commented dryly. "Let's see… we're freeing people from bondage and thralldom… bringing prosperity to thousands…"

Heather nodded. "I'll admit, that last bit… well, hanging around Christians for two years is actually making me wonder a bit about all of this."

Wulfhild gave her a deadpan look and said with a humorous air, "Oh? How so, milady pagan?"

"Well, Lady Cross, your husband is doing a pretty good job of bringing peace to the warring and I think the verse about lambs and lions could be viewed allegorically for Vikings and dragons."

Wulfhild blinked, her amusement vanishing like the summer dew under the sun.

Astrid glanced at her, confused. "I don't get the reference."

Wulfhild leaned forward and waved a finger at Heather. "Hiccup is not the Second Coming!"

Heather smirked. "Nope, but I'm just sitting here, being amused at the signs and portents that someone less cynical might get confused by."

Wulfhild was staring at Heather, appalled.

Astrid, feeling annoyed at not understanding the joke, shared a glance with Cami, who shrugged, clearly equally mystified. Leaning forward, Astrid asked, "So… clue a girl in? What's the Second Coming, and why might people think that my husband is it?"

Wulfhild shook her head in a clearing motion. "It's the return of our Lord Jesus Christ to earth. He comes again to finish the job of bringing peace that he started the first time."

Astrid considered that for a moment. "Oh." Considered it some more. "I see." She looked at Wulfhild. "Is… is that going to be a problem?"

"I hope that it won't, and that Heather is just being crass," Wulfhild said tartly.

Heather just gave her a sunny smile.

"It's not a joke, Heather! That's the sort of thing that gets people executed for heresy!"

"All right, all right, sorry!" Heather held up her hands.

Wulfhild calmed down after a moment, still glaring at Heather. Astrid just looked at her friend, surprised. Wulfhild was usually the very definition of easygoing and calm.

Grabbing a comb from the tray on the lip of the pool, next to the ball of soap, Astrid leaned over and started brushing through Wulfhild's hair, making the other woman sigh in relaxation.

After a moment, Heather, speaking softly, said, "Sorry for killing the conversation. Didn't mean to touch a nerve."

Eyes closed as Astrid combed her hair, Wulfhild just said flatly, "It's all right. I'm still getting used to being one of the only Christians in a village full of pagans. It's weird for me too."

"How are you going to handle confession and all of that?" Heather asked, making Astrid cock her head in curiosity… and Wulfhild tensed under Astrid's fingers.

Several increasingly brittle moments passed, before Wulfhild said curtly, "I'd rather not talk about it."

Heather seemed to shrink in on herself a bit and said, "Okay. I'm sorry for offending you."

"Apology accepted," Wulfhild said, and leaned into Astrid's ministrations to her hair… and Astrid made a mental note to inquire later as she worked out a tangle.

They sat in silence for a while. Astrid finished combing Wulfhild's hair and helped her clean it, and her friend did the same for her. Heather and Cami came over to their bench to use the comb as well. As she started to work on Heather's hair, Cami quipped that the comb was clearly for blonds only, which made them all snort.

They sat, soaking in the heat, with only the gentle lapping of the water and the guttering of a few of the candles making noise. Astrid was so relaxed that it was difficult to resist the urge to just float on the water.

After a while longer, she spoke up lazily. "So… I don't know about you three, but I'm starting to get a bit wrinkled in here," she observed nonchalantly.

"Yep," Heather said. "Feels nice. I'm wondering how it'll feel when I have my monthly next week."

Astrid shrugged. "I've been wondering the same, honestly. With the water flow system, the water should stay fresh, instead of getting all gross. And it would just get washed away. Well, we'll find out sooner or later," she said, grimacing, but then turned at a noise from her side.

Wulfhild was just looking at her, with the air of someone holding a vat of Nightmare spittle in a room filled with lit candles.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Astrid…" Wulfhild said slowly, "your last monthly was back when the eggs were exploding… over two months ago." She looked at Astrid with an air of dropping the vat. "So was mine."

Cami and Heather both inhaled sharply as Astrid felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She started counting furiously as well, and then gave Wulfhild a look of shock. Almost seventy days for her, and seven less for Wulfhild.

"I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure…" Wulfhild said, "but…"

Heather looked stunned, while Cami exhaled slowly. "Whooo boy. So am I offerin' congratulations or condolences?" She looked at the pair of them assessingly. "But I'm gonna shut up now and not say anythin' else."

"Thanks, Cami," Astrid said, still stunned at the realization. She'd been so busy all winter and had apparently lost count. And she was usually so good about keeping track, which irritated her… but at the same time, deep inside herself, she felt a sense of bubbling excitement at the thought.

"It could just be late. It happens, sometimes," Heather said, apparently recovered from her surprise.

"To both of us?" Wulfhild rebutted.

"I don't see what difference that would make," Heather said, and then winced. "But… I… I don't know. So… um… I think it's my turn to actually shut up now."

"Good idea," Astrid said numbly. She turned to Wulfhild. "What do we do?"

"Well… I think we either start with telling Hiccup, or wait another week until we're sure," Wulfhild said. "I wasn't going to say anything until then."

Astrid shook her head. "Tell him. We tell him now."

"No. Tell him when we're sure," Wulfhild said. "It could just be… late. It could. Heather is right. Cycles do skip sometimes."

Astrid shook her head, clearing it, although the sense of excitement filled her gut like fluttering flocks of butterflies. "Okay. Yeah. Wait another week?"

Wulfhild nodded. "Yeah. Or two. But we might want to go have a talk with Nanna or one of the other midwives…"

Heather snorted. "Yeah, because people won't notice that." She shook her head. "Best option is to wait at least a few days or weeks to be sure. Then tell Hiccup. I'm going to keep my mouth shut. I swear."

Astrid glanced at Wulfhild, who was looking at her, and they both looked at Heather.

"Okay. Oath accepted."

Heather smiled and nodded as Cami suddenly burst out in laughter.

"What?" Wulfhild asked.

"If you two are pregnant together, I pity Hiccup in a few months!" Cami said, grinning, which then shifted to a smirk. "And, please, please, please, don't let him name them!"

###

Oileáin na gCaorach, Fifteen Miles East of Vedrarfjord

The pack of eight young men huddled around the fire in sullen silence. The crackle of the burning logs, the sound of the ocean waves against the nearby shoreline, and the call of cormorants were the only things that kept the scene from being one of silence.

Looking around the group, one of the men stirred and then, as everyone else shot him a hostile glare, he fell quiet and still again.

Another young man walked up, shivering, and moved in close to the fire.

"Any luck?" one of them asked.

He shook his head. "I managed to clip one, but it fell into the water." He looked disgusted with himself.

"No food, no water, no shelter…" one of the men huddled by the fire said disgustedly. "This was a great idea."

There was a harsh murmur of agreement around the fire.

"Hey! We all agreed to it!" said one of the men, the oldest at twenty-two.

"What you said was 'let's go raid the Viking town! It's filled with cowed thralls and cowardly Vikings, but they're rich and spending silver like mad.'"

"Aye. 'We got a purse of dragon-scales off of that one man just for catching him in the woods,' you said. 'He ran off like a coward and left it,' you said."

"'So clearly the whole town is full of cowards,' you said," another man groused.

"'Easy pickings,' you said," bemoaned a fourth.

"Don't blame this on me!" said the oldest man with a scowl.

"Why not? It was your idea!" said the man who had just come back from unsuccessfully hunting cormorants.

"Well, at least we ain't dead," said the leader desperately, feeling the lack of his ax rather keenly.

They all gave him mute glares.

"We be out on the middle of a rock in the middle of the cold water, with naught to eat, naught to drink, and night coming on fast," one said after a moment, summarizing what they'd all been thinking. "We ain't dead yet, brother."

"Well, they ain't planning on killin' us," said the leader, with an air of grasping at straws.

"Why d'you say that?" demanded the youngest at fourteen.

"Because we ain't dead!" he said. "They wanted us dead, they coulda just dropped us to go splat on the rocks when they first grabbed us. Instead, they dropped us here and gave us a fire."

That made a positive murmur around the group.

"Didna think of that," said one of the others.

"What they want us alive for, then?" another one demanded.

"Do I look like a Viking to yeh? I have no idea!"

"Probably sell us as thralls," one said morosely.

"Or feed us to the dragons. Bet they like their meat fresh," suggested another in a dispirited tone.

With that, they got back to huddling around their fire.

The day drew on, the sky grew darker, and the fire burned down more.

Night had long since fallen, and the fire was little more than flickers of flame on black logs with white ash along the edges, when there was suddenly the sound of leathery wings, and then they were surrounded by dragons.

They all cringed back, their sense of defiance and lust for glory and treasure in battle having been thoroughly quenched by an winter's day sitting on the Keeragh Islands to the east of Vedrarfjord.

A cheerful voice called out of the gloom. "Now that you've all had time to reflect on your behavior, boys, I have a question for all of you."

They just stared back mutely and sullenly at the blond woman mounted on the yellow dragon as she and her mount approached the fire. There were more dragons and riders flanking the remains of the bonfire, vaguely visible in the dim firelight.

"Are you all willing to behave yourselves if we take you off of this rock?" she continued.

"What if we say no? Will you leave us here?"

"Well, no. I'd rather not give Aegir anything that I don't have to," the woman said. "No, we'll just drop you off—alone and unarmed—outside, say, Dubh Linn or some other place, where you can feel free to tell other young men like yourselves exactly what a bad idea it is to try to attack my cities."

They all looked at each other, and then, finally, one of them spoke up hesitantly. "And what if we say aye?"

"Well then, we'll take you back home, give you something warm to eat and a dry place to sleep, and then, tomorrow, if you're so desperate for coin that you'll pull a stupid stunt like this, we'll see about finding you a job where you can earn it. Or you can leave, if you want."

"So, wait, we won't be made thralls?" one of them asked, as their bellies all rumbled at the mention of warm food.

"Now why would we do that? We've outlawed thralldom already. We'd be breaking our own rules, if we did that," she said primly.

"What's the catch?" asked the leader, trying to keep his wits—what there were left of them after a day of cold sea spray, at least—clear.

"No catch. If you want, you can come in, settle down, learn a trade or do some other honest work for good pay. Or," she cocked her head, "you can go back to trying your hands at the raider life."

"Why're you being so nice?" one of them asked.

"I didn't know that leaving you all out here to cool your heads for a day counted as nice by Eirish standards," said the woman. "I'll have to make a note. I was trying to make a nastier impression. Should I come back in the morning?"

Her dragon started to flap its wings, and they all suddenly started making protesting noises.

With a guileless expression, she looked at them all as her dragon settled back down. "What was that? I shouldn't leave?"

They all nodded mutely; their tough-as-nails raider personas had long since dissolved into the reality of being a bunch of cold, wet, tired and hungry boys out of their depth.

"Well then," she said, and waved her arm in a beckoning gesture. A few moments later, a cart, carried by more dragons, came into view above the waves. "Climb in and we'll get you those meals."

###

Less than an hour later, back in Vedrarfjord, Gunvor and Hákon watched the young men, spread out across several of the mead hall tables by 'accident', proceed to inhale the food put in front of them. They'd been purposefully broken up to keep them from staying in a tight knot of young petulance, and it seemed to be working at getting them to open up.

"Well, that worked," Hákon said, shaking his head in amusement. "What's to keep them from backsliding, though?"

"Work, and pay. And punishment if they break the laws. We'll treat them just like anyone else," Gunvor said. "For now, though, I think their only risk of breaking any rules is snoring too loudly in the barracks tonight. A more pitiful bunch of sad, wet puppies, I have rarely seen."

Hákon snorted. "Is that including me?"

She shrugged and gave a little laugh. "That night was a special circumstance, husband dearest." She waggled her eyebrows. "But, no, while you were more pitiful by yourself, they made up in numbers what they lacked in quality."

He laughed. "Well, that's our first group of bandits with more guts than brains, so far. I think that this bodes well."

She nodded and they turned and left the mead hall.

###

Saint-Malo, Duchy of Brittany, Francia

Inga wiggled the little knife in the keyhole of the shackle around her ankle, her tongue held between her teeth as she focused intently on the internal mechanism.

A soft click, more felt than heard, issued from the lock, and she whooped in glee—and then flinched, looking around the small room she was confined in as if she could see whether anyone had overheard her. But the room was as empty as it had been when Dogsbreath had been taken out this morning for another one of Henry's attacks on his neighbors.

Carefully opening the shackle, nerves on edge in case of anyone overhearing her, she slipped her ankle free of the metal ring, and gingerly lowered the attached chain to the floor.

Standing cautiously, she went over to the door and examined that lock as well. Looking at the metal plate set in the thick oak, she scowled. The keyhole was, unsurprisingly, on the outside. She'd already known that, but she'd hoped that she'd overlooked something.

Well, at least she was free of the damn shackle! Aside from occasionally letting her out occasionally to exercise and bathe, her captors had made her wear it almost constantly for the last three weeks. She'd been imprisoned in this little room as Henry's leverage on Dogsbreath. The chain was long enough to allow her to walk around about two-thirds of it, letting her sit at the table, look out the small, barred window, use the chamber pot, and lie on the bed that she shared with Dogsbreath.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and massaged her ankle as she pondered her next move. Clearly, her best option was to keep practicing so that she could get the shackle off quickly, but the thought of putting it back on at the moment literally made her nauseous.

At least it wasn't morning sickness. She'd had her monthly the week before, which had irritated Dogsbreath when she'd said that she couldn't engage in bedsports that night. But that irritation had evaporated when he'd seen the blood and started panicking, calling for a healer at the top of his lungs and begging her to be okay. She'd honestly been touched by his fear for her afterwards, although at the time, she'd mostly been exasperated and in pain.

She pulled her thoughts away from Dogsbreath and her anticipation of his returning. She had to get out of here or go insane from lack of things to do.

If nothing else, he was only one of a handful of people in this fief that spoke her language, and they'd gotten into the habit of talking with each other after lovemaking at night…

She bit her lip and shoved the thought aside. Now was not the time!

Not that she didn't have time in abundance at the moment. They'd given her embroidery materials, and having little else to do, she'd already finished a shirt for Dogsbreath, embroidered with an image of Redsnout. Now a pillowcase sat half-finished on the table. She had the embroidery needles, but she'd already discovered that they weren't strong enough to work as lockpicks. That was why she'd taken the risk and stolen the knife during her last brief walk.

All right. The window was too small for her to get out of, and she was much more slender than Dogsbreath was. So that escape route wasn't an option. The room wasn't searched—or at least it hadn't been so far—but that didn't mean she didn't still have to be careful. The table, chair and bed were all of sturdy construction, but short of trying to make a battering ram out of them and having Dogsbreath break down the door, she was at a loss there. The chain was attached to a bolt set into the wall; Dogsbreath had already tried to pull it loose with no success, so that wasn't going to be useful either.

She stood and walked over to the door again. The plate covering the lock was clearly new, much like her chain and shackle, and solidly embedded in the wood. She might be able to pry it open with the knife, given time and effort, but the damage would be so obvious that there was no way she'd be able to conceal her efforts from the servants who came to deliver her meals and empty the chamber pot.

Likewise, the door opened inwards, so she couldn't even try to slam it into their faces…

She paused.

The door opened inwards.

She squatted and looked, and softly squealed in excitement at the sight of the wonderfully vulnerable hinges on her side of the door…


AN: Okay! In case anyone was wondering, the first draft of that scene in the baths was written December 2, 2016, the fellows out on the rock were first drafted in February 2017, and Viggo's deployment was first drafted December 13, 2016. They've been edited since them-some of them extensively-but we're still not caught up with that first burst of outlining I did over a year and a half ago. Also, yes, congrats to everyone that picked up on Astrid and Wulfhild's pregnancies last chapter :D

Just a reminder that there is one more chapter before my July hiatus!

Beyond that, as of this past week, I have now been living here in Germany for one year. It's been quite the experience, and I'm glad that I have had this story to help me have a sense of continuity through the change. It has been my privilege, both in telling this story and in seeing the energetic response to it, and I hope to continue on from here.

From my perspective, the first third of the story I have planned is nearing completion, to conclude with Book II, which has been fully laid out and is undergoing final revisions before being given over to my beta readers. Books III and IV are being drafted now from my outline, much like how the scenes above were drafted so long ago, and those two books should comprise the middle third.

Once Book II is fully posted, I plan on posting Books I & II as stand-alone entries here on AO3. That way, I can tag them appropriately, and include them as part of a series, with an attached chapter-appendix of terms, names and maps for each, and then doing the same for the remaining books as they're completed. That way, people can download the individual books using AO3's function for that. Meanwhile, the story will continue to be updated on this entry (likely to be renamed "A Thing Of Vikings Omnibus") according to my Sunday schedule.

Again, thank you all for reading my story. It means so much to me that so many are enjoying it.