'This is boring.' Toothless stretched out, clawing idly at one of the old logs used as seats up on the hill's summit. There was a circle of similar logs, all facing a new and as of now unlit bonfire in the middle. The grassy slope tapered off up here, creating a moderately large space that was flat and open.
Maour was sitting on the same log Toothless was clawing. He could feel his brother's restless movements through the old and slightly rotten wood. "Yes, it is." he would much rather be up in the sky, but this was the best way to be sure nothing bad happened when he and Toothless tried to land. This was the day of the meeting, and ships were approaching the island from all directions.
The last ten days had gone by in what felt like an hour, each one passing far too quickly. Those days had been spent roaming the small island, flying for fun, fishing, and talking to Bog Burglars, though that was a little awkward. Most of them didn't mind Maour, but Toothless made them wary, and the feeling was mutual. They were allies, but friends would be stretching it for most of the crew.
'I think we should fly around,' Toothless suggested. 'Take a closer look at some of those ships.'
"And get shot down, if we get too close," Maour countered, having already reasoned all of this out the night before. "They won't know we're part of the peace until they land." The Order-Keeper was amiable enough, though also still wary of Toothless, and he was dedicated to his job. The moment each ship dropped anchor, several Peacables would make sure everyone on board knew who, exactly, the peace covered.
Then the Order-Keeper himself would make the rounds and add all of the Chieftains, heirs, and other Vikings to the peace, using the same oath and ceremonial knife Maour and Toothless had used. That would take a while, but the ships were all varying distances away, so there would not be much waiting involved for any one ship. That was the closest Vikings could get to a line; happening to be so spread out as to arrive separately.
Then, once night fell, the Chiefs and their seconds would make their way up to the hill, and introductions would be made. What had Bertha said about the schedule?
'First night is bragging and updating the roster. Who's new, who's dead, all of that. The next day is mingling, and the next night is making deals and negotiating. Third day is whatever people feel like doing, and the third night is when the big stuff is announced.'
In this case, the big stuff might be war. Astrid could and probably would convince Snotlout to make her vendetta official once she saw that Maour was representing his own people here, and therefore present to be challenged.
Astrid… Maour shivered. It was going to be nerve wracking to be on the same island as Astrid for several days. He and Toothless were going to sleep on a distant sea stack just within sight of the island, just in case, but still. Seeing her face to face and not needing to go for his scythe would be interesting.
Assuming she held to the peace. She and Dagur were wild cards, possibly crazy enough to not care about breaking it. Dagur might have held it before, but Maour wasn't going to count on it. So he and Toothless needed to be careful anyway.
Hence the plan to spend the day on this hilltop. Nobody had any reason to come up here until sundown, but everybody could see all that happened here from anywhere on the island. It gave the other tribes some time to get used to the idea of not attacking Toothless before coming into close contact with him, and also ensured no sneak attacks would be mounted today. Nobody could sneak up on the summit of this hill; there was absolutely nowhere to hide.
'What are you going to say to Astrid?' Toothless asked, seemingly out of the blue, looking up at Maour with wide, worried eyes. 'Last time did not go so well.'
"Last time was five years ago," Maour reminded him. "And I really don't know. I don't have much to say to her that hasn't been said already. Also, what brings that up?" He had been thinking about Astrid, among other things, but Toothless couldn't know that.
'That is Berk's crest, isn't it?' Toothless asked, looking out to sea. 'Use my eyes. It's far away.'
Maour did as instructed, and saw a distant sail approaching. That was Berk's crest all right, a Nightmare being stabbed by a large sword. Simple, direct, and dragon-fighting. Berk's identity in a nutshell.
"Yup. They'll get here after noon," Maour estimated. "See any other ships?"
Toothless turned in a slow circle, looking out to sea. 'There's one.'
Maour didn't recognize that crest, a pickaxe striking a man's skull. "Odd, that one. Any more?"
One complete circle later, and Maour pulled away from Toothless's vision. "So everyone else is too far out to see." That meant nobody would get to the island before noon, and most would likely arrive well after that. "I guess we can go flying for a few hours after all."
Those few hours passed quickly. Time always passed quickly when one was dreading something to come. Toothless ate a hearty meal of raw fish, but Maour passed up on the chance to land and have his own lunch. He was too nervous to be hungry. This felt like walking up to a tavern in the middle of some random village and announcing that he was the dragon rider. Stupid and possibly suicidal.
That feeling only increased as the first ship dropped anchor in the shallows of the island. The Berk ship, which would contain Snotlout, Astrid, Gobber, and whoever else they had brought along. Two of Maour's worst enemies, here on the same island as him.
He and Toothless watched from the summit as a small dinghy was rowed out to the Berkian ship, and the Order-Keeper let aboard. He disappeared below deck, and the ship was eerily still and silent for a time.
'I do not like this,' Toothless murmured. 'Even if I know it is safe in theory.'
"In practice, it feels just as unsafe as meeting up with Astrid normally would," Maour agreed, voicing his thoughts on the subject. "Remember, we cannot strike first, no matter what."
'Else the Peacables will do their best to execute us,' Toothless grunted. 'I know. The same goes for her. Should we provoke her? That might actually solve our problems. Her and Dagur.'
Maour had already considered that. 'Provoking Astrid might mean one of us dies to get rid of her. She'll only get one shot, but we don't want to risk that shot being fatal." It was too dangerous, especially given that if either of them died, the other was stranded, and thus as good as dead if real hostilities followed.
'Then I suppose it is a good thing Heather is not here; she would not care if provoking Dagur would be too dangerous,' Toothless remarked. 'But it is also too bad, because she might have been able to convince him to stop chasing her.'
"Maybe." He wasn't sure Dagur could be convinced of anything. "Also, are the Berserkers even coming?" Many ships could be seen approaching from all directions, but the Skrill emblem that meant Berserkers was absent.
Toothless spun in another slow circle, like he had hours before. 'Is that them?'
"Does the emblem have a Skrill?" Maour asked, not checking Toothless's vision. His brother knew all too well what a Skrill looked like.
'Yes. There are a lot of them. I count seven,' Toothless said worriedly. 'He brought a lot of ships.'
That was bad. Very bad. "I hope most stay offshore." Technically speaking, there was apparently a one ship limit per tribe; Camicazi's ship, which had shown up a few days ago, had to stay anchored pretty far out, as that would have made two ships for the Bog Burglars. Still, the idea of six Berserker ships prowling the waters around the island was not a comforting one.
'We'll have to find a sea stack that is further away from this island,' Toothless grumbled. 'One they cannot reach in the night.'
He was right. With six ships, Dagur could try and assault any sea stack within a night's stealthy sailing. They were going to need to be careful in where they slept, too. So much for the nights being a safe time, out of reach of all Vikings.
Maour continued to watch Astrid's ship, though his own eyes could not make out too much from this distance. Being linked with Toothless enhanced his night vision, but not really his overall vision, which was still very much limited.
Still, he could see enough to notice the Order-Keeper coming back onto the deck, and the dozen or so Vikings following along. The thin one with blond hair would be Astrid, and the…
Wait, where was Snotlout? He would be the one talking to the Order-Keeper, but that guy was somewhat short and portly. Had Snotlout put on weight?
Wait, who cared? That was literally the least of Maour's concerns right now. Funny, but unimportant. What was more important was what the Berkians were going to do once they set foot on the island.
As it turned out, nothing.
'They are setting up tents,' Toothless observed.
"Everyone will; it's a hassle to go back and forth with no real docks, and this place is safe." The shore would be lined with clusters of tents soon enough.
Dagur and his Berserker fleet, if seven ships could be called that, arrived last, just before sunset. One ship split from the rest, coming to rest far from all the others, on the other side of the island. The remaining six seemed content to stay put, half an hour's sailing away from the island. Soon enough, Dagur and his men set foot on the island-
And immediately made their way around the shore to the Berkian encampment.
"That's not good," Maour muttered, watching the distant cluster of tents and Vikings closely. Astrid and Dagur meeting was something he somehow hadn't considered until now. They had a common interest, and a common affliction. That could be bad.
For now though, nothing happened. The figure he was pretty sure had to be Dagur pointed up at the hill, stomped around for a little bit, and did nothing, eventually settling down. So much for the better.
Nobody approached the hilltop until nightfall. Then, figures began to make the climb, from all sides, two from each encampment.
"Showtime, bud," Maour announced. "Ready?"
'Calm but dangerous, intelligent, on guard against any and all attacks, but not jumpy enough to strike first,' Toothless listed. 'Of course, I'm ready. Just be glad you did not bring a Myrkur along. They can only pull off intimidating if they're too tired to mess around.' He shifted to sit behind the log Maour had claimed, his wings folded in and ears alert, resting on his hind legs and curling his tail around the log behind Maour. It was the next best thing to actually sitting on the log, which was too weak and rotten to support him.
First to reach the summit of the hill was the Order-Keeper, who stood in front of the bonfire, watching the Vikings who had followed him as they took their seats.
Bertha and Camicazi immediately went to the log to the left of Toothless and calmly sat down, eyeing the other chiefs challengingly. This meeting was a lot of subtle challenges and posturing, and Bertha was starting right now, by demonstrating that she was perfectly fine sitting close to a dragon. Camicazi in particular was smirking at Astrid and Snotlout, flaunting her presence on the island.
The other chiefs and seconds all hesitated at some point in the process of picking their seats, eyeing the dragon among them cautiously or angrily, depending on the person. Toothless kept a very close eye on the large and imposing Viking garbed in chainmail that sat down on the log to his right, followed by a nondescript Viking.
Maour took careful note of the fact that the Berserkers and Berkians were both seated on the opposite side of the firepit, as far away from Toothless as possible, and next to each other. Snotlout had brought Astrid, of course, and Dagur had brought Savage. They were far too comfortable next to each other for Maour's liking.
Once all the chiefs were seated, the Order-Keeper began to speak. "Welcome, chiefs and seconds. The meeting of those in power will begin with the lighting of the bonfire, and all traditional rules apply to everyone on the island, as normal. Even the dragon seated among you, which is not at all normal. His Chief has assured me that he will keep the peace as all of you will, and he will in all ways be treated no differently here." The Order-Keeper pulled out a flint and began the laborious process of attempting to light a bonfire.
Maour interrupted a few attempts in. "If it helps, we can speed that up."
Toothless grinned when the Order-Keeper nodded and stepped away. He fired a small plasma blast into the center of the pile, and in moments the entire thing was ablaze. A round of instinctive flinching occurred all around the fire at the sound of his shot. If this was a meeting of reputation and challenges, Toothless had just scored over everyone there. Only Maour didn't flinch. Even Bertha couldn't help a reaction born of years of dragon-fighting.
The Order-Keeper bowed in their direction in thanks. "Now, for the introductions. We will begin with no one in particular and proceed to the left. This time, let's start with the Hysterics." He turned to face said tribe's chief.
The larger of the two Vikings there stood. "I am chief of the Hysterics, Norbert the Nutcase. Hear me scream and despair!" He seemed to remember something. "Oh, and my second in command is Tomon the Terribly Bad." Said slightly scrawny Viking waved.
Maour recalled what Bertha had, over the course of the week, told him of the Hysterics. Norbert was apparently a habitual liar, and chief of a tribe that had a reputation for dramatics and stupidity exceptional even among Vikings.
The next Chief stood. He was a large man with red hair and a ceremonial pickaxe. "I am chief of the Rockbreakers, Sigvard the Smasher. My pickaxe is as deadly as my sword. And this is Shin, my nephew." The skinny Viking next to him grunted in acknowledgment.
The Rockbreakers were, according to Bertha, stubborn and totally lacking in the military department, specializing more in supplying wars than entering them, though every one of them could fight, like all Vikings. They had to be the ones with the skull-splitting pickaxe as an insignia, given both Sigvard and Shin wore elaborate, sharpened pickaxes at their belts like weapons.
The next man was one Maour knew from all the stories. A giant of a man, with crazy hair and a crazy beard, and beady eyes. "And I am the one and only Alvin the Treacherous, Chief of the Outcasts. Let me be clear, that name was earned." He scowled over at the Berserkers. "Oi, Savage! You traitorous scum! Because o' you defecting, I 'ad to get a new second! This 'ere is Bertel the Brainless." He gestured to the short and portly Viking next to him.
Maour needed no advice from Bertha on that one. He had no plans to deal with Alvin or even speak to him if at all possible.
The next Viking was a thin and lithe man who moved quickly and abruptly as he stood. "I am Aldir the Aggravating, chief of the Waxears. As always, if anyone thinks they know why Thor is mad at us, we'd love to hear it. And this is my daughter, Kim." A small girl, about twelve by Maour's guess, waved happily, then went back to staring in awe at Toothless. She certainly didn't seem at all scared of him.
'What does he mean by Thor being mad at them?' Toothless asked quietly.
Maour shrugged wordlessly, at a loss for an answer. Bertha had suggested he approach the Waxears about entering the defensive alliance, because they were one of the tribes more likely to appreciate the idea, but she hadn't said much about them beyond that.
The Viking sitting on the log to the right of Maour and Toothless stood. "I am chief of the Visithugs, Duncar the Dilapidator. We pillage as a way of life, as all Vikings should! And this is Lewin, my senior strategist." A shifty-looking man with a black mustache nodded subtly.
Maour stood, knowing that he was next in line to introduce himself. "I am chief representative of the Isle of Night, Svarturflugmaður. And this is my brother, Svarturkappi. We will die defending our home if need be, but detest violence." Hopefully, that would send the right message, as strange as it was for anyone to proudly claim they didn't like violence at a meeting of Vikings.
Bertha stood immediately after him, cutting off any potential comments on Maour's declaration. "I am chief of the Bog-Burglars, Big-Boobied Bertha. Check your pockets when we're around. And this is my daughter and heir, Camicazi."
Camicazi tossed a pair of underpants to Astrid, who caught them with a disgusted look on her face. "Give those back to Gobber when you see him and tell him not to leave them in plain sight next time." She grinned maniacally.
Toothless laughed, drawing wary looks from most of the Vikings around him.
The Order-Keeper intervened, an annoyed look on his face. "Next would be the Meatheads."
A large man stood, rocking the log as he lifted his weight off of it. "I am chief of the Meatheads, Mogadon the Merciless. Best chicken and venison in the archipelago! And this is my son, Thuggory." A man Maour had mentioned in passing, someone known from prior interactions, stood at the acknowledgment.
The Meatheads were another tribe Bertha had recommended Maour approach about entering the defensive alliance, but he was far more hesitant to approach anyone who had known him from before, which both Mogadon and Thuggory did. He'd wait and see how things went.
Then came those after the Meatheads. "I am chief of the Lava-Louts, Pigfeet the Perilous. You can just call me Trott, everyone does. And this is my second-in-command, Ross." The man speaking gave an easy smile, and gestured to the fairly similar man sitting next to him. They were both nondescript, save for a mischievous glint in their eyes, out of place in such imposing Viking figures.
'They seem nice,' Toothless remarked.
They did, at that, but looks could be deceiving, and probably were in this case. The Lava-Louts were, according to Bertha, always under attack from tribes to the far East, whom they had apparently raided ceaselessly in generations past. They would be absolutely no use in a defensive alliance in any case, because they were already fighting their own wars on a regular basis.
Dagur stood, fingering his holstered ax and eyeing Toothless. "I am chief of the Berserkers, Dagur the Deranged. I hunt dragons for sport. And this is Savage." He gestured to the man behind him. "But nobody cares about him."
Maour met eyes with Dagur, and did not shudder at the crazed gleam in the other man's gaze. He knew Dagur was crazy. The fact that he had not yet attacked implied he was just sane enough to want to live past the hour, so they were mostly safe at the moment.
Snotlout stood, beaming with overinflated ego and pride. "I am chief of Berk, Snotlout the Superior. Berk stands at the forefront of the war against dragons. And this is Astrid, my counselor." He gestured to Astrid, who was glaring at Maour in undisguised hatred. She might have been supposed to say something, but she clearly didn't care.
After a moment, the Order-Keeper clapped his hands together. "That's the introductions. Now, we have some new faces. What of Stoick the Vast?"
Snotlout sneered out at the crowd. "Stoick died in his sleep recently. As his son Hiccup," and at this he shot Maour a glare, "is a filthy traitor, I was next in line."
Maour snorted, unable and unwilling to hold back what he knew. "Sure, died in his sleep. Did you and Astrid kill him together, Snotlout, or did she do it herself?"He knew he sounded bitter, and he didn't care. Getting the truth out was worth it, and nobody would suspect Gobber if he said it now, before he could possibly have spoken to him.
"I don't know what you're talking about, traitor." Snotlout looked shaken, and several of the older chiefs eyed him angrily. They were the ones who had been on good terms with Stoick.
Alvin was one of the ones glaring at Snotlout. "Oy, Snotlout. I don't take kindly to you offin' Stoick before him and I could settle old scores."
The Order-Keeper tried to move the conversation along. "That explains that. We also have an entirely new tribe here. That of the Isle of Night. If Svarturflugmaður would tell us a little about his people, I'm sure it would save quite a bit of time later."
Snotlout sneered at Maour. "He has no people. We kicked his traitorous butt off of Berk years ago. I'm surprised he's still alive."
Maour wasn't content to let that pass, either. "Wrong, Snotlout. I exiled myself before you got the chance. But that is in the past. I represent the Isle of Night. We wish to live in peace with all tribes, but that is becoming more and more difficult, which is why I am here."
'So far, so good,' Toothless said warily. 'Half of them aren't even watching me anymore.'
That was good. Maour relaxed a little, despite the circumstances. There was something incredibly freeing about taking Snotlout on with words. He preferred talking to fighting anyway.
Smith of the Waxears interrupted. "How come we've never heard of this 'Isle of Night' before?" He sounded genuinely interested.
"Because it doesn't exist!"
"Shut up Snotlout, you know nothing. That at least hasn't changed." Yes, this was very freeing. Maour was beginning to have fun with the fact that Snotlout couldn't strike back. "Anyway, we've been around for quite a while, and living anonymously was how we kept the peace. No one attacks a tribe they don't know exists. But that won't last forever. Eventually, someone with ill-will towards some of my people will stumble upon us."
Astrid pointed her ax at Toothless, quivering with rage. "You count a dragon among those people."
Maour nodded. "Yes, we do." Way more than one, but they didn't need to know that. "I would think the fact that my brother is sitting peacefully and listening carefully would force you to question some of your assumptions, Astrid, but I know you're hopeless."
"Hiccup, what in Thor's name is going on?" Thuggory asked incredulously.
Maour frowned, unwilling to go over explaining himself once again. "I have cast that name aside, in favor of better ones given to me. I am Svarturflugmaður, and you will refer to me as such." He smiled. "My friends and family use another name, but you'll have to earn that right."
Thuggory scoffed. "Well, you might be crazy, but at least you've grown a spine now."
"So, little scrawny Hiccup is the dragon rider," Dagur exclaimed, finally getting it, or maybe just losing what little patience he had in waiting for an opening in the argument. "I ought to gut you right now. Where is Heather?"
Maour smirked. "Far from here and getting farther as we speak. And somehow I doubt you could gut me even if you were allowed to try, given I fought you to a standstill last time. I hope the hip wound healed well?" That might be a little too far. Maour resolved not to test Dagur too much.
Dagur spluttered, angrily, visibly beside himself with rage. "You know that wasn't a fair fight! Besides, you had help."
Maour nodded, keeping calm. "I did. And will continue to, for the foreseeable future. Let me give you some advice. Stop chasing someone who wants you dead. If you ever caught her, Heather would take the opportunity to kill you herself, for good reason." He returned to addressing the whole assembly. "My people are fairly laid-back and intelligent, but deadly when forced to defend themselves." Best to move on before Dagur exploded.
Sigvard of the Rockbreakers grunted thoughtfully. "Why is it called the Isle of Night?"
'I just came up with it; there's no way you're telling them its named after our species,' Toothless quickly said, looking over at Maour.
Maour thought fast, striving to come up with an explanation that could be worded to only apply to himself, but was also true and fit the name- and found one almost immediately. "We aren't your average Vikings." Or even Vikings at all. "We have for various reasons adjusted to sleep in the day and be awake at night. We are, though not naturally so, nocturnal. Hence, the Isle of Night." Well, the humans weren't naturally nocturnal. Night Furies were, though not by necessity. And the fact that he himself was nocturnal was on the very short list of information the pack had deemed acceptable to be shared if necessary.
That announcement was met with a varied assortment of stares. Most of the chieftains and various other seconds didn't seem quite sure what to make of that.
'You handled that one well, but you should distract them with something less dangerous,' Toothless suggested.
That was a good idea, and Maour had just the thing. "Oh, and Norbert?" he continued after a moment. "Your tribe says the world is round, right?"
Norbert nodded happily. "Yes, we do."
"Well, it turns out you're right. I've seen proof of that. Go up high enough on dragon-back, and anyone can see the horizon curving." That ought to make the Hysterics happy, and thoroughly distract everyone else.
"You're telling us a Hysteric wasn't lying?" the weedy man who had been introduced as Lewin exclaimed. "Yeah, right."
Norbert laughed happily, totally ignoring Lewin. "We knew it! You might be as crazy as we are, but at least you've proven that!" He abruptly frowned. "But of course, no one will believe you either."
Maour shrugged. "Probably not." Lewin was a good indicator of how most people would take that. 'The dragon rider agrees' was not going to be a strong argument in favor of anything. "Any other questions about flying or what one can see from the air?" That was a safe topic.
Astrid spit into the fire, before gritting one out. "Where is your island?"
Maour glared at her. "So you can come and kill us, or die trying, which is much more likely? Not a chance." He decided to out Astrid in front of everyone. "Oh, and you all should know Astrid is as crazy as Dagur, though better at hiding it. Dragons can smell insanity, and Dagur and Astrid both have it bad."
Astrid grinned, shocking Maour, and Snotlout, who edged away from her. "Yup. Doesn't matter."
Since when had she figured that out? That was a question for later.
Dagur laughed maniacally. "I agree with that! And Hiccup, nothing has changed. I can still kick your scrawny butt any time, any place." He was glaring now, clearly still smarting from the earlier insult.
"Except on this island, any time in the next few days," Maour corrected calmly.
"That is correct," the Order-Keeper announced loudly. "Now, do we have any other new business to attend to tonight?"
Chieftains and their seconds looked around, watching each other. Some stared at Toothless, and others Maour. Everybody seemed to be waiting to see what crazy thing would happen next.
After a few moments, the Order-Keeper coughed and broke the silence. "Then I believe that concludes updating the rolls. We will meet here tomorrow at sundown for the official negotiation session. Please enjoy the rest of the day prior to that in peaceful catching-up and conversation." He emphasized peaceful, eyeing Dagur.
"I don' see why we should listen to you," Bertel, Alvin's second in command, objected. "You let a dragon in on the peace, so it don't mean much anyway."
The Order-Keeper stiffened. He turned to face Bertel, glaring dangerously. "Test the peace, then, and find out whether the gods still consider an oath sealed in blood to be binding. You will get to ask them personally."
Alvin threw a large hand over Bertel's mouth, looking like he wished he could punch instead of muffle. "Oy, he doesn' speak for me."
"No, he does not, Alvin, but you had better be careful," the Order-Keeper warned. "You have a habit of breaking your word. Do not give me reason to believe you will do so here."
"'Ere's the only place anyone will deal wit' me," Alvin gritted. "Ye know I'll not give that up for anythin'."
"Good." The Order-Keeper stared into the eyes of all the other Chiefs and their subordinates, including Maour and Toothless. "Anyone else want to question the peace?"
No reply. Vikings they might be, but threat of death and then punishment held their tongues no matter what they thought of the matter. It would hold their blades, too. Hopefully.
"As I thought. I am always available to settle disputes, day or night, rain or shine," the Order-Keeper continued. "Bring it to me. And remember, any violence whatsoever is prohibited. Sparring matches must take place offshore, and while minor accidents do not count as intentional violence, I am not going to believe the excuse of an accident without a thorough investigation. Good night to you all."
That was clearly the signal for everyone to disperse. The Rockbreakers, Hysterics, and Waxears all left together, their chiefs talking amiably enough, headed down the hillside. Mogadon and his son stared at Maour for a long moment before leaving, followed closely by the Lava Louts and most of the other tribes.
Astrid and Dagur glared at Maour with twin looks of utter hatred. Dagur reached for his ax, and Astrid for hers.
Then Savage spoke up. "Sir, the preparations?"
Dagur's mood lifted in an instant. "Perfect. I need a way to blow off some steam." He practically sprinted down the hill. Savage followed at a more steady pace.
"I am going to kill you," Astrid said slowly. "You, and every dragon you care about." Her voice was hot with barely constrained rage. "And some of them are not here." With that, she turned her back to him and began the walk down the hill.
"You're doomed, Hiccup," Snotlout said bluntly, smiling smugly. "Even if you did trick the Order-Keeper into letting you stay here, you can't live here forever."
"I mean, I probably could," Maour countered idly. "Free fish in the ocean, a source of fire that doesn't need wood, plenty of water to distill and then drink… I could manage. I don't have to, but I could." To be honest, distilling enough fresh water to live off of without running Toothless ragged or importing wood might be a pretty difficult problem, but he could figure it out.
"But you won't." Snotlout stood, grunting as he lifted himself from the log. "Traitor."
"Have you gained weight?" Maour asked innocently. "If someone told you to 'be the bigger man,' they didn't mean literally."
"What? Shut up," Snotlout said angrily, his hand going to the sword at his waist. "I'll teach you to mouth off."
"And here I thought it would be the crazy people getting themselves killed tonight," Camicazi interrupted, leering at Snotlout. "Prove just how bone-headed you are, Snotlout, and draw that sword. If, of course, someone cunning and talented has not replaced it with a false hilt in your scabbard." She smiled smugly, looking at his sheath.
Snotlout's jaw dropped as he pulled at his sword only to find exactly what Camicazi had told him would be there, a hilt with no blade. "I… give it back!"
"Treaty-breakers don't get returns," Bertha said sternly, favoring the Chief of Berk with a heavy, foreboding glare. "You and your insane right hand woman tried to kidnap my daughter. We'll 'kidnap' everything of yours we get our hands on, and you're not getting any of it back."
"The penalty for being caught thieving is being taken offshore and flogged," Snotlout threatened.
Bertha and Camicazi both smiled widely. "As if a Bog Burglar would ever be caught," Camicazi crowed. "Guard your valuables, Snotty, it won't matter. You would have done better to not bring anything."
"Whatever." Snotlout shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "We'll just get it all back once we burn your island to the ground."
"Is that a threat from the Chief of Berk?" Bertha asked coldly.
"Maybe." Snotlout turned his back on them, and began making his way down the island. "See you tomorrow, traitors and thieves!"
'Would pushing him count as violence?' Toothless asked speculatively, walking over to the edge of the summit to watch Snotlout go, a dangerous gleam in his eye.
"Definitely, if he fell all the way down," Maour reasoned. "Don't try it."
"Try what? Stealing from him? Because I'm going to steal that scabbard tonight, and take my fake hilt back too." Camicazi crossed her arms. "Don't try to stop me."
"I'll wish you luck, but isn't taunting Berk a bad idea?" Maour asked skeptically. "You might have my aid, but it's not smart to invite war." He didn't want to be dragged out to defend the Bog Burglars because Camicazi damaged Snotlout's pride beyond repair.
"They already declared war by kidnapping our heir; they just haven't made if official yet," Bertha explained. "And they won't if they know they can't win, so tomorrow we both need to scout out the tribes I mentioned."
"The Waxears and Meatheads, right?" Maour asked, just to be sure he knew what Bertha thought he would be doing.
"You do them; I'll see if I can get Sigvard on board," Bertha agreed. "He'll be a tough sell, but his tribe can supply the rest of us even if they don't have much of a military, so it's worth a shot. And we're just feeling them out tomorrow; the actual negotiations come tomorrow night."
"Right." Maour looked to Toothless. "I did all the talking tonight. How about I stick to translating for you tomorrow?"
Toothless stared at him as if he had lost his mind. 'They'd never believe you aren't just making my words up, and I don't know normal Vikings well at all. Besides, if I'm talking I can't be watching our backs. You talk, I'll guard and look intimidating or harmless as needed. If we ever go to a meeting of dragons, we can switch roles.'
"Wouldn't that be something to see," Maour agreed, thinking of a meeting of different kinds of dragons, like tribes. The Berserkers would be Skrill, Berk… Changewings, maybe, because he had only ever met one Changewing, and it had tried to kill him...
"I still hate only hearing one half of the conversation," Camicazi complained. "I'm leaving. See you two tomorrow."
Maour nodded absently, still thinking of the 'tribes as dragon species' comparison. That was a fun line of thought; maybe he and Toothless could make a game of it to fill some hours of flight time later, when they went home.
'Maour, we are the only ones up here. Let's go to a good, distant sea stack.' Toothless shook himself out, flapping his wings experimentally. 'My wings are cramped from sitting still so long.'
"Right," Maour agreed, getting into the saddle. "A very distant one." He looked up at the sky, noting the lack of clouds. "And circle around, so the Berserker ships don't see us leaving."
'Maour?'
"Yes?" Maour wasn't sure why they weren't leaving yet.
'Use my sight, and tell me what I am looking at,' Toothless requested. 'Because I really hope I'm seeing things.'
Maour did as told, and groaned as what Toothless meant became apparent. "Great. Just great." As if things were not dicey and complicated enough as they were.
Author's Note: I'm not going to say it straight-out; it's far too obvious already. On a totally unrelated note, we're switching over to Heather and her not-so-merry band of assassins next week, so be prepared to go back in time a few weeks. (And this chapter is also not beta-proofed yet, so there is also that. Seems my beta is also on vacation; fine by me.)