Flying, Camicazi decided, was not as fun as she had hoped. Not the way Maour and Toothless did it, anyway, gliding straight and level for hours on end. She was still hungry for the experience of real flight, spinning and diving and who knew what else, but she figured that Maour and Toothless would find a way to make that boring, too. And then there was the problem Maour was so nonchalantly waving off as nothing...

"It will go away eventually," Maour asserted, failing to hide his amusement. Toothless didn't even bother trying, rumbling with laughter.

"Laugh now," she threatened, waddling over to the stream they had chosen to land by. "I will get the both of you for this." Maour had never told her just how badly sore she would be after a whole night in the air. Three nights of flying later, and she was sure she would never get used to being saddle-sore. Maybe it was a good thing that there were no horses to ride in an archipelago. At least ships were comfortable!

She leaned over, splashing her face with water, and drinking her fill. The wind up there made travel less than comfortable, even if one did sleep through most of it, as she had, and her face felt dry and painfully cold.

The results of sleeping through the flight were still better than the alternative, though. Maour could muck around with being nocturnal; she might even have liked that idea if she didn't have to represent her tribe once they got to where they were going. A tired, lackluster heir was no good. She needed to be in top form to repeatedly rob each and every other heir present.

Speaking of top form, or lack thereof… "Do you really have to sleep all day?" she asked pointedly. "I get that he does," she admitted, pointing at Toothless, "but surely you don't. All you do it sit on him and stare into the distance for hours on end."

Maour shrugged. "I don't, but I'd rather not be tired when we drop you off. Toothless and I will make better time if we head straight back out. We're not stopping where we drop you off."

Camicazi let that go. "Fine, another boring day to myself." She did not enjoy being stranded on some desolate sandbar from dawn until dusk. The wilderness was boring; people were what interested her. But she had no choice. That was just how these two traveled, and she was a passenger.

"I'm sure you'll find something to do," Maour asserted, following Toothless down to a small beach. The two of them began to settle down on a flat part of the sand, well above where the tide would reach. "Keep watch?"
"Of course." She might be bored, but she wasn't stupid. She'd see any ship coming from hours away.

Maour might be just the tiniest bit stupid to trust her to keep watch, but she was just glad he still retained a little optimism. Besides, she wasn't going to sell him out. Even if the Night Fury would net her quite the bounty, sold to the right people. It was better to take from people, not to be paid.

Well, that and Maour was her friend, so she didn't want to betray him. But the first reason was one she could cite if asked by someone later. More fun to steal what she might have otherwise been paid.

None of that alleviated her boredom now, though. She wandered the small island, resenting every individual blade of grass for not being more interesting. There was nothing to steal, nobody to trick, and nothing to do or look at. She did not do sitting still and thinking. This was not fun.

Whatever, she was getting back to her people. That was important enough to justify the boredom. And she did need to think, to plan. Time was growing short.

Her deadline was sleeping in the sand on the beach, a black dot that almost absorbed sunlight. Maour and Toothless did not intend to stay any longer than needed to drop her off. She would wave goodbye, possibly forever, tomorrow morning, at the pace they traveled.

That was not acceptable. She liked Maour, and she was beginning to find Toothless funny, even if he was somehow too serious for her, despite not being able to say anything directly. She at least wanted to have a way to find them again.

That could probably be solved if she just told Maour what she wanted. He'd come up with some cryptic way to get in contact, and that would be it. But that wasn't fun, and she never went for the easy answer.

No, she wanted to keep him on the meeting island. He needed to crush his enemies, however reluctant he was to agree to that, and to do that he'd need allies. The meeting of chieftains was the best possible place to get those. And he planned on just leaving without trying!

It also helped that his enemies were her tribe's enemies, now. Well, Berk was definitely no longer an ally, anyway, and the Berserkers had been making ominous offers of 'friendship' that amounted to demands for surrender. She was pretty sure she could get her mother into this fairly easily.

All of this hinged on a few uncertainties. She was not used to planning for those, preferring to handle them in the moment, but she had nothing but time, so what else was there to do?

She cast Maour and Toothless a glance, and her eyes caught the sand all around them. She had a whole day…

She could work and think. It would not be hard to do both.

Maour did not notice anything was wrong at first. He yawned, stretching and lightly pushing Toothless's wing away. It was dusk; he woke at the same time every evening. His body was on a schedule, the schedule of flying all night and sleeping all day, with little in between besides eating and drinking. Having Camicazi as a passenger these last few nights had not changed much, either. She slept all night, somehow managing to nod off, leaning against his back.

That was fine. He was just glad she was getting along with Toothless, and holding back the urge to rifle through Toothless's saddlebags. She had learned restraint, at some point in the last six years.

Then he opened his eyes, wondering if Camicazi was around, and saw something he did not expect.

"Toothless," he said loudly. "Did you have a strange dream?"

Toothless huffed, his eyes slowly opening, as if he was reluctant to give up sleep. 'What? No.'

"You're sure? No dreams of digging, or anything like that?"

'Why?'

Maour shrugged, sitting up. "Because I don't remember going to sleep in a hole, and yet here we are." He was pretty sure Camicazi was somehow behind the fact that sand was all around him, up past his head in height, but how had she managed to move them without waking them up?

'In a hole,' Toothless repeated, looking around with wide eyes. 'But… I know I have not moved.'

"I didn't think so either," Maour agreed, listening carefully. If this was Camicazi's work, she was stifling her laughter well. Then again, she could only hear half the conversation, so maybe his reaction was not as funny as it could have been. He was genuinely curious as to how she had done it, though, so he stood, his head passing above the-

"Oh." He could not help but feel impressed. "We didn't move, someone just piled massive mounds of sand up all around us." Now he knew how Camicazi had spent her day.

'Is she insane?' Toothless asked seriously. 'I cannot smell it, but this is not the work of someone normal.'

"What does Toothless think?" Camicazi asked, jumping up from behind a nearby sand dune, smiling widely.

"He thinks you're unique," Maour said, twisted his brother's words.

Toothless shrugged, pushing through the nearest wall of sand and walking out. 'In a way.'

"That I am," Camicazi happily agreed. "Anyway, this is the last night of flying, right?"

"I'll wake you when we get there," Maour confirmed, "so that we can drop you off."

"Hey, you'll have to at least say hello to my mother," Camicazi objected, speaking as if he should have known that. "I need proof I'm not crazy when I explain how I made it to the meeting island before my own ship."

Maour had no intention to linger on an island Astrid and other Vikings from all over the archipelago would be meeting at… but he saw her point. "Fine. A quick greeting, and then we're off."

'Yes. We need to make it back as soon as possible,' Toothless agreed. 'The eggs probably will not hatch for a few more weeks or even months, but we should not waste time.'

The eggs… Maour had not forgotten about them, but hearing Toothless speak of them reminded him of that entire situation. "Agreed."

"What? Come on, you know I hate being left out of the loop," Camicazi complained.

"He was saying we should not waste time," Maour hedged. "Come on, let's go."

One night of flying later, and Toothless reached the meeting island. Or, he and Maour assumed it was the meeting island.

The island in question was a somewhat small, circular lump of sand and grass, a large hill rising almost like a wannabe volcano or mountain, only steep enough to be a difficult walk. What made it look like a meeting island was the firepit and ring of log seats at the hill's summit, and the three large ships anchored just off the shore.

Maour stuck a hand back and lightly shook Camicazi, knowing she was a light sleeper- and a dangerous one. It was a good thing she had lost her knives. Being stabbed in the back by a startled Bog-Burglar would be a very embarrassing way to die.

"Yes, this is it," Camicazi announced almost immediately after being shaken. "Mom's ship is the big one."

'They're all big,' Toothless noted.

"The one with the Bog-Burglar crest," Maour added, pointing to the ship anchored alone. He was just glad Toothless probably wouldn't ask-

'What is that crest? I do not understand it,' Toothless asked innocently, gliding down towards the ship. He circled it from above, well aware that they would not be seen until the sun had fully risen, if then.

Maour groaned. "I do not want to explain that." The Bog Burglars seemed to revel in embarrassing even the roughest men from other tribes, and their tribal crest reflected that.

"The crest?" Camicazi asked brightly. "I can explain! The hand represents our expertise at theft, and the knife how dangerous we are!"

'And the worm?' Toothless inquired. 'Maour, can you ask for me?'

"He wants to know about what the knife is stabbing," Maour groaned.

"Oh, that?" Camicazi asked slyly. "Just a warning. I think we should ditch the symbolism, but mom says it's more fun explaining it to anyone who asks."

Maour was just glad it really was a worm on the crest, as opposed to what Camicazi wanted it to be. A tribe that was predominantly women, with all women leadership and warriors, might have something to prove, but even as it was their crest made him cringe, let alone some of the other things they did.

'Strange. Do Vikings have a feud with worms, too?' Toothless asked innocently. "They seem harmless enough to me."

"Now I know you get it and are just trying to embarrass me," Maour revealed. 'Don't act like you don't get symbolism all of a sudden."

'It was worth a shot,' Toothless said happily. 'So, drop Camicazi on this ship and get back into the sky?'

"We have to at least say hello to her mother," Maour reminded him. "But I'd like to do that without being screamed at or shot at."

"Drop me, and come back around in two minutes," Camicazi suggested confidently. "That's all the time I need. But you had better come back."

"Or what?" Maour asked, even as Toothless swooped in for the drop off. Camicazi would just slide out of the saddle and land on deck at the bottom of the dive. Toothless was good enough to slow down at the lowest point so that Camicazi wouldn't be moving too fast.

"Or I keep whatever this is!" Camicazi called out, waving a metal rod and dropping from the saddle.

Toothless powered up, moving away from the ship to continue circling the island. 'Did she steal from our saddlebags?' he asked indignantly.

"Yes, but all she got was one of the replacement rods. Specifically, one of the ten we brought." Maour grinned. "She can keep that, for all I care, but I'd rather not be on her bad side if we ever run into her in the future, so we should go down and keep our promise anyway."

'As if you would ever break your word,' Toothless asserted. 'Though dropping into a hostile ship does feel a little risky. Maybe we should give her a little more time.'

"Fine by me." That might also make Camicazi wonder if they were coming back, which was an added bonus. Maour liked being around her, but she was definitely more pushy now than the last time he had seen her… or maybe he just had a spine to push back with, now. Either way, he found himself pushing back far more often than he remembered being necessary.

As for it being risky… "I would almost be more worried about Camicazi pulling some trick on us," he admitted. "Like capturing us for fun… and then deciding not to let us go." He trusted her to not intentionally betray them, but Camicazi's chaotic ways meant that trust did not extend as far as it would with anyone else.

'As long as we are careful,' Toothless concluded. 'Also, who are these other ships? I like their crest far better.'

"I… don't know, actually." Maour knew plenty of tribal crests, though his memory of them was extremely dull from disuse, for obvious reasons, but two shields and what looked like barley or some other type of crop was definitely not one he had heard of. "It doesn't really matter to us, though. We're leaving."

'To home, to the eggs and helping our parents," Toothless crowed. "I cannot wait.'

"You're certainly enthusiastic," Maour remarked. "Again, we have plenty of time to spare."

'I know, but something inside me says we need to be there, now,' Toothless admitted. 'It is probably instinct.'

"Well, I don't have that same instinct, but I still agree with the sentiment." He would agree more if he knew where Astrid was going, but there was no good way to find out now. She would be sailing here, staying for a week or so, and then sailing back to Berk, all before setting out on her nest hunt. Waiting for almost a month was not an appealing option.

Maour harbored some half-formed plans of going back out or sending someone else, just to be sure Astrid was not heading directly South, and thus towards them, but he had not solidified those plans yet. In any case, given the relative travel times, they could go home and someone else could fly out here, all before Astrid actually left on her nest hunt. Travel times were annoyingly complex when comparing dragon to ship, but at least Maour had the dragon side of things to work with. It certainly opened up a lot of options.

Toothless huffed and turned once more, heading back to the Bog Burglar ship. 'That should be long enough.'

Maour took his helmet off, hanging it on the saddle. Best to not look intimidating, if at all possible. Given who he was riding, that was mostly out of his control, but at least anyone on deck would be able to see his face.

'Two humans visible on deck,' Toothless reported as they swooped in.

Maour could see them too. One was clearly Camicazi, and the other had to be her mother, a large and imposing figure. "The other one's her mom. Think Camicazi, but much bigger and much louder." He was just glad no other crew was around. They must have all been sent below deck.

Toothless dropped onto the deck of the ship almost perfectly silently, only a slight whoosh of displaced air announcing his presence. He growled lightly as a way to get the attention of the two women with their backs to him.

Both whirled almost as one, the larger pulling out an almost comically oversized sword. "Sneakin' up on us?"

"Landing in the best spot," Maour corrected idly, knowing that he wanted to keep things light and, if possible, friendly. "Long time no see, Chief Bertha."

"What, not going to use mom's full title?" Camicazi asked with a smirk.

"No," Maour replied with a straight face. "That's just to embarrass other Chiefs. The rest of us don't have to use it."
"You're not wrong," Bertha agreed. Her voice was deeper than her daughter's, but smoother and more melodious, belying her large and decidedly rough appearance. "Camicazi tells me you brought her out of Berk's grasp?" A careful question that skirted the literal dragon on deck.

"A favor done for a friend," Maour explained. "How much else has she told you?" He did not want to stay long, but he would also not let Bertha harbor any major misconceptions. That could be more dangerous than her sword, in the long run, if she acted on inaccurate ideas.

"Let me see… You hang around with dragons, you have no interest in Berk except as a potential enemy, you're no friend of the Berserkers, and you need allies," Bertha summarized. "Along with telling me that we're no longer friends with Berk, and that we need allies to replace them."

Maour stared at Camicazi, understanding what she had done. "I think your daughter is trying to tell us something," he remarked.

"Clearly," Bertha agreed. "And given the Berserkers have been making noises about conquering recently, it looks like we have all of our enemies in common. She may not be wrong."
"Talk about me like I'm not here and I'll keep this," Camicazi threatened, waving the rod she had stolen. "And yes, we should be allies. It's obvious!"

"Explain," Bertha requested, eyeing Maour. "There is the obvious downside of working with dragons to be considered."
"We're Bog Burglars; we take any friends we can get," Camicazi scoffed, dismissing that as if it was nothing. "Especially friends as disreputable as us. We're seen as second class by the rest of the archipelago, and so is he." She pointed to Maour or Toothless; it wasn't quite clear which she meant. "Same enemies, so any strike on them benefits us both. And advantages no other tribe in the archipelago can get. We flew here from Berk in three days, mother."

"You make good points," Bertha mused. "And given the dragon has yet to kill anyone, I'd say it can be worked with well enough." She looked to Maour. "How much?"
"For what?" Maour was slowly liking the idea of being allied with an actual tribe, but there were far too many complications to be worked out, and he had no actual authority to speak for his people.

"For the dragon," Bertha clarified. "And lessons for one or more of my warriors on how to use it."

'More than anyone in this world can pay,' Toothless snarled, taking a step back.

Maour put a hand on his brother's head, reassuring him with his words at the same time. "He is not mine to sell, and I could put no price to him anyway. You misunderstand; there is no control here."

"Yeah, that's not really how it works," Camicazi agreed, favoring Maour with an apologetic smile. "Besides, Toothless is a boy. We only have women warriors."

"I'd be willing to overlook that in order to have a tamed Night Fury," Bertha grumbled. "So how exactly does it work, then?"
So much for a quick hello before leaving. Maour met Bertha's gaze and did his best to look as serious as possible. "They are people. We work together because both of us want to."

Bertha snorted. "Change your name and look, but you can't change who you are. Still with the crazy ideas that blow up in your face."

"This one didn't," Maour retorted. "Just know that Toothless is not separated from me except by force, and if you manage that, you'll have far bigger problems than Berk or the Berserkers."

"Fine, then. I still want a part of this," Bertha admitted, gesturing to Toothless. "Camicazi is right, we can't afford to be picky, and picky was never my style to begin with. I just take whatever I can find. So what can you offer my tribe?"

"What can you offer mine?" Maour asked skeptically, inwardly enthusiastic but hiding it. Bertha, because of her tribe's circumstances and ideals, had taken to dragons in less than ten minutes. He had never dreamed it could be that easy!

"An ally against Berkians and Berserkers," Bertha offered. "Just those two, though. I don't want to be against every tribe that will take shots at a Night Fury if given the chance."

"Neither do we," Maour agreed. "Just those two. But alliances go both ways, and I cannot promise much." He would not break his word.

'Maour, we cannot promise much of anything,' Toothless objected. 'But I think you already know what we have to offer.'

"Our own services," Maour whispered, replying to Toothless. 'You up for me promising our help in exchange for theirs if we need it?"

'Better we fight our enemies here with friends than at home, alone,' Toothless reasoned. 'I trust you.'

"What can you promise?" Bertha asked, following up on the last thing Maour had said to her. "What tribe are we talking about, anyway?"

"What tribe?" Now Maour had to think quickly, because to tell Bertha the absolute truth was both against his own promises to preserve secrecy, and sure to shake her willingness to enter into any sort of deal. She still clearly thought he was in charge of Toothless; finding out that humans were a minority, if an equally treated one, would shake her willingness to get involved with them.

'Call us the Isle of Night,' Toothless proposed. 'I like the sound of that.'

Maour nodded thankfully. "We are the Isle of Night," he declared, mentally classifying 'we' as himself and Toothless. He could speak for the both of them. "The location of our home island is secret, and I have sworn not to reveal it without permission."

"And the map he has doesn't list any Isle of Night," Camicazi remarked. "I saw it before we left Berk, and that definitely wasn't on it." She seemed to be willing to watch Maour work without contradicting him, or else she would have called him out on the name she had not heard until just now.

And of course she was content; she had somehow maneuvered him into negotiating a treaty with her tribe. This had to have been her plan all along. Maour couldn't really be mad at her for that; this might actually work out in his favor.

"If we are to be allies, I have to know where it is," Bertha objected. "Generally, allies defend each other if need be."

"Actually, that's all I want our alliance to be," Maour explained. "Mutual defense against either tribe." He did not want to be dragged into a war against Berk if Astrid and Snotlout were somehow deposed tomorrow, but Bertha still wanted vengeance for their actions. He also didn't really want to have to come out here and fight to defend the Bog Burglars from either Astrid or Dagur, but that was a sacrifice he was going to have to make to get the same from Bertha.

"We can do that," Bertha agreed. "Mutual defense isn't much, but it's something. Camicazi, go get us some parchment. I think this is going to work out."

Camicazi quickly disappeared below deck.

"My daughter does not easily trust," Bertha remarked. "If she did not vouch so strongly for you, I would have a Night Fury head in my quarters right now."

"Agree to disagree," Maour remarked. "Betray us, and you will regret it."

"Also, since when do you have a backbone?" Bertha asked. "I remember a pliable boy who my daughter led around like a henchman."

"That's who everyone remembers," Maour agreed mildly, not letting his annoyance with that fairly accurate description show. "But they remember Hiccup. I am not him, not in any way you will care about. Best to make that distinction now; it will only trip you up if you do not. I am Svarturflugmaður, or Maour to my friends."

"Standing with a dragon at your back and negotiating with a Chief as if you have any right to do so," Bertha remarked. "I have no difficulty seeing the difference, Svarturflugmaður." She tripped over his name, but she had at least tried.

"Thank you. If only it was that easy with everyone." Really, he would rather not have to explain himself, but if he had to, he would rather it be like this, simple and without argument. "Also, thank you for not asking a thousand questions."

"About why you left your tribe, or why Stoick threw you out, or what in Thor's name you're doing with your life?" Bertha asked wryly. "Camicazi has already asked anything I would think of, with three days to work on you. I expect a full report sooner or later, and she would tell me anything I needed to know to make this deal. She will make a good Chief once I am gone." The implication was obvious.

"And I would not have made a good Chief in any case," Maour remarked casually, not willing to let that subtle poke at his past slide, not when he had a good retort. "I never really wanted the position in the first place. I am far better being myself."

Camicazi burst back onto the deck, carrying a pile of parchment, several small vials, and a few quills, for signing things. She was also visibly armed with a pair of knives.

Bertha saw that almost immediately. "Took a detour to get your best knives, I see." She took the parchment and glared at it, as if it had done her a personal injustice. "I hate writing, but it has to be done."

"I could do it," Camicazi volunteered, setting the vials and quills down on deck.

"You could also add in some 'extra' clauses in the margins that nobody would notice until the ink was dry," Bertha remarked. "Not happening."

"Worth a try," Camicazi remarked. "Also, the crew is getting pretty antsy down there. You might want to let them know what's going on sooner or later."

"Not until this is done and signed," Bertha countered, beginning to write in cramped runes. "It will be easier to explain that way."

Maour tried to read the runes upside-down, but he was too far away to even make them out. He slid off of Toothless, dropping onto the deck, and walked around to stand beside Bertha. If he was going to be agreeing to this, he wanted to be in on making it.

"A standard defensive treaty," Bertha explained as she wrote. "Specifically against Berk and Berserker offensives." Then she stopped. "In the event of an attack, what size force do we pledge? Three ships, or ten?" She looked over at Maour. "You would know what you can promise."

"Maybe not a set number," Maour hedged, an idea occurring almost immediately. "Forces change. Possibly a percentage? Say, one fourth of the Isle of Night's military forces."

"What do you count as a military force?" Bertha asked suspiciously.

"A rider and dragon, or a ship and crew," Maour answered smoothly. "And of course, a fourth, rounded up to the nearest unit." Using math with a Viking was a bad idea, but this was pretty basic, and Maour had noticed that most Vikings were better with numbers if things were put into a practical perspective, like food or in this case soldiers.

"So if you are the only one of your island," Bertha realized, "you will have to come no matter what. But do you count a dragon and rider as one unit, or two? I do not want just you, and not the dragon."
"I'm going to ignore the insult," Maour quipped. "A dragon and rider is one unit. So is a ship and crew."

"We will also pledge a minimum of one fourth rounded up to the nearest unit," Bertha declared, writing down everything they had agreed upon. "That's not so much, really, but anything is better than nothing. These units, will they be under their ally's command?"

"Yes, with some discretion," Maour agreed. "They can refuse obviously horrible orders, such as being sent on suicide missions."

"Of course; my people are not fodder to be slaughtered in your stead," Bertha huffed. "How long must units sent out to support stay?"

"Until the enemy has given up or been defeated," Maour replied, far more reluctant this time around. "Any time limit will backfire on us, by forcing us to rush and end the enemy before we lose our support."

"Then you should add a provision for switching out equivalent units," Camicazi said, adding her own opinion. "Because some wars can last months, or even years. I'd hate to be stuck on a defensive blockade while everyone at home just lazes around. Let the Chiefs send replacements if they want."
"Reasonable enough. Maour?"

"Definitely," Maour agreed. If nothing else, he could probably get Heather and maybe Einfari out here, if the Berserkers were involved. Really, he had no idea how all of this was going to go down with the rest of the pack, but as it was, he was not promising anything he and Toothless alone could not provide. At worst, he had just signed them both up for fighting Berk or the Berserkers out here with Bertha. At best, he had just procured a fourth of a tribe in the event of his home being attacked. Totally worth the personal commitment.

"Let's see…" Bertha scrawled a little more. "I am leaving this open. If other tribes want to join in, and we agree, they will be held to the same terms."

"Other tribes..." Maour mused.

'Why do I get the feeling we are not going home once you are done with this?' Toothless groaned.

"Do you think any other tribes would agree to this?" Maour asked hopefully.

"The Berserkers are making pretty general noises about going on the warpath," Bertha reasoned. "Other tribes with no allies will be getting nervous. We're all meeting here in a week or so. This is the perfect time for getting people in on this."

"But obviously, you'd have to be here to convince them, Maour," Camicazi added. "You're not a Chief, but as long as we get the Order-Keeper's permission, the same rules can apply to you."

"I'm not going to stay on this island when other tribes start showing up!" Maour objected, shocked that Camicazi thought he would be stupid enough to do that. "They'll just kill Toothless, and probably me as well."

"When was the last time you came to one of these?" Camicazi asked curiously.

"Well… never, actually." Stoick had not taken him on the last one, and since they were held every five years or so, he was too young to have gone on any of the ones before that.

"That explains a lot. If we get the Order-Keeper to declare you under the island's rules," Camicazi explained, "nobody will dare touch you. There's no killing or fighting here; else we'd never get anything done."

"Anyone who attacks another will be dishonored, punished, and possibly punished again in the afterlife," Bertha added. "That last one's not all that clear, but the gods will not just ignore such a blatant disregard for sacred ground."

'Sacred ground?' Toothless asked, warbling in confusion. 'What does that mean?'

"Sacred ground?" Maour repeated, just as curious.

"Don't ask me, I never paid attention when people talked about it," Bertha admitted. "Something big happened here a long time ago, and ever since then, no violence is permitted against any under the Order-keeper's protection."

"Basically, you can stick your tongue out at Dagur himself, and he'll have to swallow his homicidal rage," Camicazi summarized. "I've done it; even 'the Derangedness' holds to the peace here."

'Maour, can we not just get our entire island declared sacred ground?' Toothless suggested. 'That sounds perfect.'

"I don't think so; it sounds like something huge would have to happen there," Maour replied quietly. In a louder voice, he checked to be sure he was understanding right. "So all we have to do is get one guy's approval, and we can stay here for the whole meeting?"

"The Order-Keeper," Bertha confirmed. "Once we're done with this treaty, I'll send someone to go get him. Best to get that done immediately, even if we do have more than a week before anyone else gets here. His tribe acts as protectors of the peace, and you don't want to run into one of them before getting approval. The peace only applies to people who have it. Anyone else is run off or killed."

"Okay…" Maour turned to Toothless. "Buddy, I know you wanted to get home-"

'We can get more protectors for our island,' Toothless cut in. 'I can wait a few weeks if that is the payoff. We do have some time to spare. The eggs should not hatch for a while yet.'

"Good to hear." Maour turned to Bertha. "We can stay. Is there anything else we need to add to the treaty?"

"Well, not really," Bertha admitted, looking over her handiwork. "Alliance agreement, a pledge to send at least one fourth of our forces rounded up to the nearest unit, units defined as either a ship and crew or a dragon and rider, explanation of duration and authority, provision for replacement, applicable enemies named, defensive initiatives only… all is set." She absently dipped the quill in the small vial of ink Camicazi had provided. "I don't think you'll want to sign in dragon's blood, so ink is good enough." She scrawled a very cramped and dense signature at the bottom of the parchment, and handed the quill to Maour.

Maour considered it, reading it all over one last time. It was basically a personal sacrifice to protect his people. He and Toothless could do that, and it would only be a personal sacrifice if the pack totally refused to back him. If they liked this, which he was pretty sure they would, they would treat the 'Isle of Night' as referring to the whole pack, and act accordingly.

And if not, he was still holding to his word. He signed, writing out his full name as best he could, sounding it out in runes, as for obvious reasons he had never actually seen it written down before. It ended up being quite the long signature, all in all, twice as lengthy as Bertha's.

"Midgard has officially lost its mind," Bertha announced with a deep laugh. "The Bog Burglars are allied with a Night Fury and its rider." She looked to Maour. "And now that we are allies… how many dragons does this 'Isle of Night' really have?"

"I am not yet allowed to say," Maour answered. "More than what you see here." That much was common knowledge; plenty of Berkians had seen Cloey in the arena and at the nest, with Toothless. "And there are more riders than you see here, too." Dagur or Savage had probably seen Heather with Einfari, so that was no secret either.

"I look forward to seeing what else you have up your sleeve," Bertha admitted, waving the parchment in the air to let it dry. "A lot has changed, but you still remind me of a Bog Burglar in one specific way. You don't let what's normal stop you from doing whatever comes to mind."

Maour decided to take that as a compliment. "Thank you." Then he looked to Camicazi, and considered what she had somewhat tricked him into. Staying here, under an apparently sufficient peace to allow him and Toothless safety among Vikings, to stand face to face with Dagur and even Astrid with no fear of physical reprisal. To possibly obtain even more allies, instead of just hoping Astrid would not come their way.

"And thank you, too," he said to Camicazi. Things were not going as he had planned, but there was far more opportunity to be had this way. It was too bad Heather was not here; she might have been able to talk Dagur out of pursuing her, given time and safety from physical reprisal.

Author's Note: So, all of that happened. Originally (and I kept the scene, so you'll see it at the end of this story, when I post a selection of deleted scenes) this plot twist wasn't even a twist, Maour and Camicazi coming up with it together. I forced both characters to act OOC to get that, though. At least this way, it's not so strange. (and Maour isn't giving away secrets left, right, and center, something that made me facepalm as I read through the original version of this chapter). Things are getting interesting, now… And we still haven't checked in on the other plotline presumably progressing somewhere else in the world right now. In case anyone is wondering, I'm not going to bounce between the two lines with every other chapter, so we will need to go back in time a little once we move over to Heather's POV, which won't be for another few chapters.