Out to the East, the sun was only a hairsbreadth above the horizon, casting yellow rays of light across the deck of the Bog Burglar ship. Toothless stood uncertainly behind Maour, facing Bertha and Camicazi. His sleek form cast a long shadow across the ship.

Maour was feeling as uncertain as Toothless looked. Less than ten minutes ago, they had planned on leaving immediately, on just dropping Camicazi off, saying hello to her mother to prove Camicazi's story, and taking off. Now…

Now, they somehow had a mutual defense treaty with the entire Bog Burglar tribe, one carefully written but no less real, an actual treaty signed and agreed upon. Camicazi was behind that, but Maour did not fully understand how she had managed it. He had gone with it, not daring to question his own luck…

But now, with the ink drying in front of them, he had to ask. Or, in the spirit of not risking offending his new ally seconds after it became official, to make a leading statement. "You came to terms with all of… this… rather quickly," he observed, gesturing to himself and Toothless.

"Like I said, we don't really hate dragons," Camicazi answered happily. She was still beaming, probably glad her plan had worked out so well. "So why not?"

"It's more than that," Bertha corrected. "We don't have anything to lose, and everything to gain. Reputation means nothing to us; our whole tribe is seen as inferior by most anyway."

'Why?' Toothless rumbled, trusting Maour to ask for him.

"Toothless wants to know why," Maour conveyed, ignoring the look of disbelief clearly visible on Bertha's face. "I think I have an idea, but I might be wrong."
"If that idea is that it's because only our women ever leave the island, you'd be right," Bertha grunted. "We do the trading, the leading, and the fighting. No 'real Viking' can stand the thought of that." She huffed scornfully. "The more hard-headed still think there have to be men running things in secret somewhere."
"Honestly," Maour admitted, "I didn't even know that was how things worked for you. Is there a reason?" He was curious, and it seemed like Bertha was going to give actual answers, instead of just shrugging him off.

"Tradition," Bertha explained. "Camicazi?"

"Yes?" Camicazi looked up from her knives, clearly bored.

"Explain why we are as we are," Bertha requested, the steel in her voice implying she would not accept the wrong answer.

"Four generations back, a band of women thieves was started," Camicazi began, droning on in what had to be the most monotone, boring tone she could think of. "Nobody knows their names, or where they came from. They got infamous, took over a whole island as a base, and women from other tribes flocked to join them. Thus, the Bog Burglars."

"I would have thought you'd like your own history," Maour remarked. Really, why wouldn't Camicazi be enamored with a story about thievery and fame?
"The past is the past, and it's not like we know more than that," Camicazi explained blandly, twirling one of her knives. "Nobody even knows what they did; that's how good they were. Everything that ever went missing while they were around they apparently stole, to hear the stories now. But we don't have any of the cool stuff they supposedly took, so who cares?"

"It is our history, however 'boring,' and I am just glad you know the basics," Bertha admitted. Then she turned to Maour. "A new tribe, one that does things strangely and differently. We need allies because we don't do open war unless we have to."

Now Maour was getting the picture. Maybe this was so easy for a reason.

'Desperate, not great at fighting head on, and already different, disrespected no matter what,' Toothless mused, summarizing what Maour was already thinking. 'And they weren't really bothered by the Queen's existence anyway. I guess that all makes sense.' He tilted his head. 'There are strange sounds coming from below us.'

"Really?" Maour looked down at the deck beneath his feet, and remembered what, or more accurately who was down there. "Bertha? I think your crew is getting a little impatient." But what could they be doing down there?

"Camicazi, go bring five of them up," Bertha instructed after a moment, picking up the treaty and waving it in the air, helping the ink dry. "Three of our most level-headed, and two of our most impulsive."

"What do I tell them? You know they'll expect to know what they're walking into," Camicazi remarked, grinning slyly.

"They're going to meet our tribe's newest allies," Bertha said. "Simple and vague. I want to get a good idea of how they'll react before bringing the whole crew up."

'Bertha seems smarter than most Vikings,' Toothless murmured, watching the large Chief approvingly. 'I expected her to just have Camicazi bring them all up at once and hope for the best.'

"You wouldn't know most Vikings," Maour murmured right back. "But yes, she is." Probably another result of how the Bog Burglar tribe operated internally.

"Oy, I'm not deaf," Bertha interjected, glaring at Maour. "Why do you talk to it, anyway?"

He," Maour stressed, "is like you or me. The only differences are language and appearance." And apparently instinct, and probably some other things, but Maour was trying to make a point, not be as accurate as possible.

Toothless stalked forward, eyeing Bertha sternly. He nodded to Maour, visibly indicating that he agreed with what Maour had just said.

"Don't tell my crew that; not all of them are neutral towards flying reptiles," Bertha warned. "Hearing you say something like that will just enrage them."

"Allies treating my brother like an animal will enrage me," Maour retorted. "And him, though we both can control ourselves."

"Better a friendly animal than an enemy," Bertha reasoned. "Does it matter, so long as we're not attacking either of you?"

'Yes.' Toothless growled softly. 'It does.` He circled Bertha, still growling.

She turned to watch him, nervously putting her hand just above her sword hilt. "Maour?"
'No, deal with me,' Toothless asserted, addressing her directly, though she could not hear him. 'Maour, do not translate.'

"I don't see how this is helping, but okay," Maour agreed skeptically. "He says to deal with him, and wants me to not translate for a moment," he relayed sheepishly.

'You don't trust me,' Toothless said blandly, still circling, slowly getting closer. 'Animal, or person?' He stopped, very obviously growling and warbling in turn, contradicting himself with every new sound.

Bertha's eyes narrowed, and her hand wavered. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked Maour. "I don't understand it."
"Beats me," Maour replied unhelpfully, trying to decipher his brother's strategy on his own. He had no idea what Toothless was trying to do.

Toothless glared at Bertha for a long moment, before closing his eyes and shaking his head. 'I hear Camicazi coming back. We do not have time for this.' He returned to Maour's side.

"So… what were you going to do?" Maour still had no idea.

'I don't know; I was making it up as I went,' Toothless admitted. 'She may have a point; being treated like an animal is demeaning, but it is still a step up from a demon or an enemy to be slaughtered. We can more easily get them to understand the whole truth later when we have time.'

"He says we don't have time for anything more than 'friendly animal' right now," Maour related sourly, knowing that the Bog Burglars would be up any minute. "But we won't leave it like that forever."

Bertha stared at him, and then Toothless. Her face was unreadable, but if Maour had to guess, he would say she was troubled.

Then the hatch that led down into the bowels of the ship flipped open, and the time for talking to Bertha alone was over. Camicazi popped up, getting out of the way and gesturing grandly at Toothless, pointing to something just out of sight for those who had yet to climb up. "Meet our newest allies!"

A woman with a large bun of flaxen yellow hair popped into sight, her head the only part of her above the rim of the hatch. Her eyes widened, and she quickly scurried up, moving quite adeptly despite her bulk, clearly torn between attacking and gaping at her seemingly unconcerned Chief.

"Stand down, Gretta," Bertha commanded. "They're allies."

"Dragons can't be allies," Gretta objected, not sounding all that sure of herself. She had an ax at her waist, but she wasn't reaching for it. "Can they?"

"O' course they can; else we'd be defendin' ourselves righ' now," a burly woman remarked, casually climbing up behind Gretta, and eyeing Toothless curiously.

The next two women up onto deck both nervously made to draw their weapons, but stopped before actually doing so, clearly reading the non-hostile mood Toothless was projecting-

And, Maour noticed with a sly grin, Toothless was definitely going all out on that. He was sitting on his hind legs, eyes as wide as they would go, ears and frills sticking out in a way that made him look both curious and slightly silly. No claws were visible, and his slightly open mouth clearly held no teeth. All in all, he couldn't look more harmless than he did at the moment.

Which made the last woman's reaction even more surprising, if not exactly unexpected. She had fiery red hair, so red Maour suspected it had been dyed, and practically flew up the last few rungs of the ladder once she saw what was waiting for her, drawing a pair of short swords even as she rolled to the side and charged, all in one fluid movement-

Only to be blocked by Camicazi and two of the other Bog Burglars, all of whom had clearly been expecting this. The woman hesitated to strike members of her own tribe, and that was all the time Camicazi needed to deftly grab her wrists and squeeze. Strangely enough, a simple squeeze made the woman drop both swords as if her hands no longer worked, and she winced, pulling away with startled and terrified eyes.

Not a single sound had been made throughout the entire fight, if such a short and one-sided encounter could be called such, and the twin thumps of sword hilts and blades hitting the deck sounded loud by comparison.

"That's Asira," Bertha calmly explained. "Showed up one day a few years ago and begged to be taken in. She isn't totally right in the head, but she's a good sailor and an amazing fighter when motivated."

'She does not smell insane either,' Toothless noted, sniffing at the wind. He still hadn't dropped his 'cute' facade, but his voice was anything but, disgruntled and annoyed. 'I am beginning to think that dragons can only smell a certain kind of madness.'

"So…" Maour took in how Asira was edging towards her swords, even now. "Is there a way to get her to understand we're not a threat?"

"Of course." Bertha picked up the treaty and handed it to the nearest Bog Burglar, who proceeded to shove it into Asira's hands.

Maour almost protested that, but it was over before he could object. He really didn't think it was a good idea to give the only copy they had to someone who was not well, mentally. They could always make another one, but he didn't want to push his luck.

Asira's eyes quickly scanned down the page and narrowed as they went. Eventually, she handed the treaty to Camicazi, much to Maour's relief, and retrieved her swords, calmly sliding them into their sheaths.

Then, to Maour's utter bemusement, she turned around and left them there, heading to a pile of spare rope and sitting down by it, pulling one end to herself.

"Back to work," Bertha explained. "She may be a little odd, but she can read, and she trusts me. That's all she needs."

'She unnerves me,' Toothless muttered. 'What if she is just waiting to strike?'

"Keep your guard up," Maour responded quietly. "She unnerves me, too." It was hard to tell what might set someone like that off. He understood Vikings, but no Viking would ever just calm down like that. No dragon would either, not so easily. Asira was not someone he could predict in the slightest, though it seemed she did follow some internal logic, for Bertha and the other Bog Burglars to so easily predict and counter her actions.

"So these ones are allies," Gretta asked, speaking to Bertha. "Jus' them, or..?"

"More than jus' them, but I've yet to get an accurate assessment o' their island's military strength," Bertha replied neutrally. "What we see here is worth the alliance on its own, and we know there is more."

Camicazi handed the treaty to Gretta. "Here. When you're done with it, take it down and make copies."

"The only one good at writin' fast, so I get stuck with that job, I take it?" Gretta grinned, grabbing the treaty. "I'll read as I copy." She descended back into the ship with the treaty.

Maour supposed he was going to get plenty of chances to perfect his signature, depending on how enthusiastic Gretta was about making them backups. He and Bertha would have to sign every copy of the treaty, eventually. At least now he could keep one to bring home and show the pack.

The remaining three women stood awkwardly, unwilling to go below deck or just go back to their jobs with a black dragon sitting patiently in front of them. They were clearly at a loss as to what to do next.

"How many more people do you have below deck?" Maour asked Bertha.

"A dozen or so," Bertha replied. "This won't take long. Camicazi, bring up some more, and the rest of you be ready to stop them from breaking our treaty."

What followed was a predictable, repetitive process. The reactions seemed split into two categories. Either worried obedience, which Maour had already seen-

Or, as the last woman up on deck demonstrated quite thoroughly, loud objections.

"Yer crazy, Bertha!" the raven-haired woman growled, disarmed but no less angry. "Dragons are the reason I'm here. I'll not serve any Chief who allies with 'em."

On second thought, maybe this one's reaction was a little too severe to be a good example. Maour winced at that outright treasonous declaration. The other women had just hurled abuse until Bertha ordered them to shut up. None had gone that far. Even Toothless was eyeing the woman with a surprised look that did nothing to diminish his 'cute' appearance.

"Is that so, Hildegarde?" Bertha asked dangerously, stepping forward.

"Aye, Bertha," Hildegarde gritted angrily. "I'll serve ye loyally until the gathering gets started, and then I'll find me own way off of this island."

"Done." Bertha glared at her mutinous subject. "Betray us or strike at our allies before then, and you will be punished as any of mine would. Do it after, and I'll treat you as an enemy."

"So no difference, then," Hildegard muttered rebelliously.

"Actually, no, I'm changing my mind," Bertha decided. "You're spending the next week in the brig. I'll let you out once the meeting starts, but you're too much of a liability now."

Hildegarde did not struggle as three women led her right below deck. She seemed fine with the idea of spending a week imprisoned. Her eyes never once left Toothless, glaring with hate.

"Saw that one coming," one of the other women remarked. "She's not one to work with dragons."

"Allies are worth provoking a single Bog Burglar," Bertha declared. "Anyone else want to join her in leaving the tribe?"

Nobody volunteered. Most of them, even the angry ones, seemed offended by the very suggestion.

"Then these two are allies, and you'll treat them as such," Bertha declared with an air of finality. "At ease."

That seemed to be the signal for the women to go back to their normal schedules, but most didn't move. A few headed down below, but seven in total remained, staring awkwardly at Toothless.

'I am getting tired of holding this,' Toothless remarked casually. 'My ears hurt, and I think I'm giving myself a headache from keeping my eyes wide so long.'

Maour decided to be proactive. He took a step forward, drawing the women's' attention. "Seriously, we're friendly. You don't have to… well, stand there and wait for something to happen."

"Give 'em time to adjust, I'm still jumpy around you two myself," Bertha grumbled. "For now though, there's one more thing that needs to be done."

"Yeah," Camicazi jumped in, enthusiastic to be doing something, or anything at all. "Getting the Order-Keeper to declare you two under his protection."

"And more importantly, doing it before any of his men notice the black scaly bulk sitting on my deck," Bertha added. "They patrol the island and the ships, looking for trouble. One will be along soon enough, but he'll be a low-level guard. We need to get you two to the actual Order-Keeper."

"Without you getting skewered or diced in the process," Camicazi added happily. "These guys mean business, which is hilarious given the tribe's name."

"They're the Peaceables because they keep the peace at all tribal gatherings, not because they can't hold their own in a fight," Bertha sighed. "You know that."

"Pick a stupid tribe name and I'll mock it. I know, I just don't care," Camicazi retorted.

"Anyway," Maour interjected, hoping to get things back on track, "we need to do this now. Where does this Order-Keeper usually hang around, and how do we get his protection?"

'And will I have to look harmless to do it?' Toothless whined, slumping slightly. 'Maour, can I go back to normal now?'

"Yeah, sure," Maour agreed, surprised his brother felt he needed permission. "We're done with the whole 'cute might stop them from throwing sharp objects' strategy."

'Good.' Toothless slumped, let his teeth shoot back into place, and narrowed his eyes, looking much more like an actual dragon. There were a few startled inhales of grunts from the crew who had been watching him, but no other response. He walked around in a tight circle to stand by Maour, only watching the rest of the ship out of the corner of his eye.

"The Order-Keeper is usually on the island itself somewhere," Bertha explained, pointing out at the bare hill that basically made up the entire island. "We can't see him from here, so on the other side right now."

Now that Maour was looking, he could see men sitting around the island, dotted across the large hill like freckles, grey and green lumps. "Why do they look like that?"
"The Peaceables are a strange lot." Bertha crossed her arms, staring out at the island alongside Maour. "You'd have to ask them yourself. They don't wear metal armor unless fighting an actual war; you'll see them in full kit once other tribes start showing. The only one wearing armor will be the Order-Keeper, which is why I'm sure he's not within view."

"Shines like the sun," Camicazi explained. "A full-body suit of polished iron, so that he stands out from a mile away."

"He's supposed to be easy to find; that's the point." Bertha pointed out at the island. "Dropping in on him like you did us will get you speared through the heart. We've gotta go on foot."

"Somehow, I don't think a black dragon and a man in black armor are getting to the other side of that hill unnoticed," Maour remarked.

"Nope," Bertha agreed. "And while you'd probably just be watched, your dragon would be driven off. Unless…"

Camicazi grinned forebodingly. "We brought a few bolas and chains," she remarked helpfully.

Toothless growled at her. 'I am not comfortable with being tied up,' he objected, drawing his tail in close to him as if to defend it.

"Yeah, I don't think either of us wants to go that way," Maour agreed.

"Relax, you big coward," Camicazi quipped, leering at Toothless mockingly. "If you can't bear a little deception, you'll never get anywhere in life."

"I can't bear being helpless among enemies," Toothless retorted sourly.

"Again, not happening," Maour agreed. "Too risky."

"Okay… how about we loop a chain around his neck, but nothing else, and have you lead him along?" Camicazi proposed thoughtfully, apparently getting that this was serious, and that teasing was a waste of time. "He'd have to act docile, but if things go bad he's not helpless."

Toothless glared at her, but when he spoke, his voice was resigned. 'Maour, if you are the one holding the other end, then I can do that.'

"I still don't like it," Maour complained, "but fine. Toothless says he can tolerate that. But once we get to the Order-Keeper, I'm not going to pretend he's some restrained animal. The peace needs to apply to both of us, and I am not going to lead Toothless around with a leash once the other tribes start showing up." If he and Toothless were going to be here anyway, they'd also be working to change or at least challenge as many minds as possible, and that would not help at all.

"This is just to get the dragon past the rest of the Peaceables; you'd have to tell the Order-Keeper the full truth in any case," Bertha agreed. "Camicazi, go-"

"Get the chains, I know," Camicazi cut in, before darting over to the hatch leading down into the ship. "What am I, your errand girl?"

Bertha didn't bother replying to that. They waited until Camicazi reemerged, carrying several loops of a sturdy chain, or more accurately dragging it, as she was only holding the ends. The majority of it rattled and clanked along behind her as she clambered up the ladder.

Then she handed it off to Maour, and he was struck by what he was doing. This felt wrong. Very, very wrong. He hesitated, looking Toothless in the eye.

'Whatever it takes to protect our home and family,' Toothless said quietly, understanding Maour's unease. 'If I had hands, I'd put it on myself, but I don't, so you have to.'

Toothless was asking him to do it. Maour still didn't like it, but this was all just for show, and protection besides. He forced himself to lightly wrap the chain around Toothless's broad neck twice, and then, in a moment of inspiration, subtly hooked one of the links into the front of the saddle. Now he couldn't actually tighten the loops by accident, because he'd just pull on the saddle.

"Convincing enough at a distance," Bertha objected, "but anyone who gets close will see that you don't actually have much control. We need more-"

"This is enough," Maour cut in firmly. "Toothless will make up for it by acting beaten down and docile. Nobody would ever guess the truth."

"There are rumors of a dragon rider floating around," Bertha countered. "They might just put two and two together."

"So?" Maour asked carefully, knowing he didn't want to truly oppose Bertha if at all possible. "They will still see a dragon that is clearly a captive, however lightly restrained. Thinking I am the dragon rider will not change that."

"On your head be it, if they start asking questions," Bertha grumbled. "Our alliance does not cover the Peaceables, so if they attack you, we will not break the peace to defend you."

"If they attack me or him, we're out of here," Maour declared. "We'll find the Order-Keeper, grab him from the air, and introduce ourselves somewhere safe." That would be risky, extremely so, but if it was too dangerous he and Toothless could just let things cool down and try again later.

"Fine. Let's go." Bertha headed towards the side of the ship, and Camicazi followed.

"You're going?" Maour asked.

"Why would I not? This will be fun," she replied eagerly.

A half-hour of tense walking later, and Camicazi was probably questioning whether this was worth it after all. Nobody would be able to describe what they were doing as fun. Nerve-wracking, risky, and dangerous, yes, but not fun.

Maour led Toothless along by the chain, making sure to tug on it every once in a while, knowing it would not actually tighten around Toothless's neck with how he had arranged it. Toothless walked with his head down, his tail dragging on the sand, and generally looked miserable.

The only reason Maour didn't believe Toothless himself was that he could hear his brother, who kept up a constant stream of directions and encouragement.

'Tug it again; I see a Peaceable looking our way. Harder, you're just pulling on the saddle, so don't be afraid to yank on it. I'm going to stumble in a second to make it look better…'

Bertha and Camicazi led the way, walking confidently around the edge of the hill. If they were nervous, it didn't show.

The disguise was working, no matter how nerve-wracking. None of the Peaceables had done more than look from afar; only a few had even stared for more than the time it took to understand the scene. They seemed to find watching the horizon more interesting than three Vikings and an obviously captive dragon.

They were disciplined. That was actually more worrying, not less. Maour preferred unruly, easily-distracted Vikings as enemies. Right now, their discipline was a good thing, but if the Order-Keeper decided that Toothless needed to die, that same discipline would make getting away harder. More focused enemies were more dangerous enemies.

Ideally, these Vikings would not be enemies. Maour heaved a sigh of relief when he caught his fight glimpse of a heavily-armored Viking standing on the shore in the distance, reflecting the rising sun with every small movement. There was no way that was anyone but the Order-Keeper; he looked exactly as Bertha had described him.

Once the Order-Keeper noticed them, turning for some other reason and catching sight of the approaching group, he began walking to meet them halfway, moving at an impressively fast pace despite the almost impractically heavy armor covering him.

Bertha hailed him once they were close enough for her to make herself heard, which was actually some distance away. "Ho, Order-Keeper!"

He yelled something back, but he was too far away to be heard. Bertha had an impressive set of lungs; Maour and Toothless had both winced when she shouted.

Eventually, the two groups reached each other, meeting on a grassy slope by the beach. The Order-Keeper removed his metal helmet and looked the group over.

"Dragons can be sacrificed, but ritual combat must take place off-shore if you feel the need for it," he began without preamble. "If this is a contest with the dragon as a prize, my men and I are sworn to be neutral in all things between tribes, so no, we can't participate."

"We're actually not here for any of that," Maour responded, faintly sick at the idea of Toothless being sacrificed to some god. "You are the Order-Keeper, right?"

"Of course. And you…" he leaned in, looking Maour over. "Clearly not a woman, so not a Bog Burglar unless Ragnarok is coming and they've let one leave the island, and definitely not one of mine. What is your business here?" His voice was dangerous now.

"I seek to be placed under your protection, as I wish to speak with many of the Chiefs that will be meeting here," Maour requested formally. "Well, actually, I request that for both myself and my brother."

"That protection only applies to Chiefs and their retinues, or those who speak for their tribe in some capacity. And where is this brother?"

"I speak for the Isle of Night; we have no Chief," Maour declared proudly, knowing that what he said was true whether the Isle of Night only meant him and Toothless, or the entire pack. "That would make my brother my retinue." He could just as truthfully have claimed Toothless spoke for the Isle of Night and that he himself was the retinue, but they were pushing their luck enough as it was. Hopefully, the Order-Keeper would not press him on where his brother was.

"Then if you swear to uphold the peace and abide by my decisions, of course, you can be placed under my protection," the Order-Keeper agreed, far less hostilely. "It is always good to see new tribes join our meetings. I believe the last was actually the Bog Burglars." He cast a glance over at Bertha. "Who you seem to know. You are aware that breaking an oath sworn on sacred ground has consequences both here and with the gods?"

"I was made aware of this, yes." That would actually make all of this easier, not harder. He was telling the truth, if in a restricted way when it came to the supposed Isle of Night, so he would not be breaking any oaths. The Order-Keeper would not have to worry about whether he was really representing a tribe, and not just some trick being pulled by Bertha or anyone else, because with how serious this 'sacred ground' business seemed to be, nobody would dare break it. If it could hold Dagur's homicidal insanity, it had to be a strong deterrent.

"Then we shall swear you to the peace now, and that is all that is needed." The Order-Keeper withdrew a small dagger. "The oath is made over blood. I hope you don't mind."

"Does my brother need to swear too?" Maour asked worriedly. "He has a bit of trouble speaking…" That almost felt too obvious, but the Order-Keeper probably wouldn't hear 'trouble speaking' and immediately think 'the chained up dragon must somehow be his brother because it can't talk!'

The Order-Keeper shook his head and held out the dagger to Maour. "No, if you are in charge, your word will bind him. You will need a small amount of blood from him, though, freely given in my presence. It's just a custom, no more."

Maour understood why that last bit was said reassuringly. Blood was rumored to be used in darker things than sealing oaths, and the more superstitious Vikings might balk at giving it like this if the Order-Keeper did not reassure them that it was just to make the oath more official.

As for the rest… he took the dagger and held it up, looking it over. He himself was not superstitious, but there was no harm in checking for anything odd beforehand. It was just an ordinary blade, of good quality and fairly new. That was actually a little surprising, and quite reassuring. He would have expected an old blade if this was an old custom. A new one was a pleasant surprise.

"What do I have to say?" he asked, wanting to get on with it. After swearing himself, he needed Toothless's blood, and the Order-Keeper was right here, so if they could get this done before the Order-Keeper thought to question the presence of a seemingly irrelevant dragon, so much the better.

"I, whatever your name is, solemnly swear that I am indeed who I say, and have the right to speak for my tribe. I swear to uphold the peace of this place. I will not strike at another with intent to harm, or I will voluntarily submit to the judgment of the Order-Keeper, my own people, and the gods, whom the Order-Keeper will send me to immediately." The Order-Keeper's voice was steel.

That was… really, really harsh. If Maour was interpreting that right, any kind of attack was punishable with immediate execution. That was what the oath meant by the Order-Keeper sending the attacker to their gods immediately.

Still, he had no issues with it personally. He did worry about how many Vikings might get themselves executed by attacking Toothless, but that was out of his hands, and it would be their own faults.

"I, Svarturflugmaður, or Maour if you want my informal name, solemnly swear that I am indeed who I say, and have the right to speak for my people. I swear to uphold the peace of this place. I will not strike at another with intent to harm, or I will voluntarily submit to the judgment of the Order-Keeper, my own people, and the gods, whom the Order-Keeper will send me to immediately." Maour repeated, and then cut the palm of his hand with the knife, letting a few drops of blood stain it. The pain was a small price for the almost overly powerful protection he had just secured.

Now, for the rest. "My brother needs to freely give blood with you as a witness to be included in this, right?" Maour confirmed.

"Yes. If he is ill or injured, I can come to him, wherever he is," the Order-Keeper offered gravely. "You said he cannot speak."

"Not in any voice you'd be able to hear," Maour agreed. Before the Order-Keeper could respond, he turned to Toothless, and in the process dropped the chain he'd hooked to his belt while using the knife.

Toothless held out a paw immediately, obviously understanding what was going on. 'I suppose I don't have to say anything. They're not my gods anyway. I don't think I have any.'

Now there was a question to ask the Eldurs when they got home. Maour had somehow never wondered whether the dragons had some equivalent to gods, and had always just assumed they didn't, as nobody had ever mentioned any. It was a bit odd that Toothless wasn't even sure. The Eldurs probably had a good explanation for all of that.

"What are you doing?" the Order-Keeper asked incredulously.

Maour held out the knife under Toothless's upraised paw but did not cut him. He looked back at the Order-Keeper. "Freely given blood means my brother is protected by your peace."

Something pressed down on the knife from above, and hot blood dripped onto Maour's hand. Maour didn't even need to look to know the deed was done. Once Toothless had pulled his paw back, Maour stood and offered the knife to the flabbergasted Order-Keeper, and smiled widely. "Done."

The Order-Keeper took the knife back, never looking away from Toothless. "Where are you speaking for, again?"

Maour turned to Toothless and took the chains off of his neck, dropping them to the ground and promptly forgetting about them. He didn't like those chains. If Bertha wanted them back, she could get them later. "The Isle of Night. Those chains were just so that we could get to you without fighting a running battle. He is as capable as you or me of understanding what he is now bound by."

"Maour and Toothless are cool," Camicazi volunteered, breaking her silence. "Don't worry about it."

"I have no choice but to worry about it," the Order-Keeper remarked, staring at Toothless, "as I now have to explain to my men why a dragon is under our peace."

"Let me put it this way," Maour offered. "We wouldn't want this peace if he planned to break it. You'll have more trouble stopping everyone else who's coming from attacking us."

"Including my own men," the Order-Keeper sighed. "I must request that you and your… brother… come with me. We will circle the island, and I will inform all of my men personally that you two are under the peace. While we walk, you might explain this strange thing?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure," Maour agreed. He had no problems with talking, though the same secrets he kept from Bertha would be kept from the Order-Keeper. Any chance to practice explaining the truth about dragons was welcome. He had a feeling he was going to need that practice when less rule-conscious and more aggressive Vikings started showing up, even if they were bound to only use their words, not their fists or swords.

Author's Note: In case anyone is getting impatient, don't worry, next chapter is both the beginning of the actual meeting of tribes and the last one before we switch over to catch up with Heather.

Also, this chapter has not been beta-read, but I'm forging ahead anyway, as promised. If anything changes once my beta gets to it, it'll be noted up at the top of the chapter when I update this. The perils of non-coinciding schedules and busy weeks.