"Upon this a question arises: whether it be better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with." – Niccolo Machiavelli - The Prince
Political Maneuvering
A full week of sailing passed before the desired land was spotted. He identified several landmarks on the cliffs and immediately understood exactly where they were. They were not very far off course, despite the storm they had sailed through. He gave the instructions to the man at the helm and then went back below decks to his quarters where he collapsed on the bed.
He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He had not been sleeping well thus far on their voyage. What was occupying his mind had nothing to do with the pitch and rocking of the boat or the hardtack they had for every meal.
The summons he had received had been to a full council of Chiefs. That had not happened in many years. In fact, the last time it had happened had been to discuss the matter of a man who promised to help rid them of the dragon problem. By making him their king. What had happened after they laughed him out of the assembly hall had been one of the most terrifying things he had ever seen. He was the only one that he knew of who had survived that day. And now he was going to have to return to that terrible place.
A full council was rarely called since the tribes were not always at peace with each other and there were rarely reasons to do so. He was almost sure about why he had been summoned.
It had to be about the dragons on Berk. Word must have somehow gotten out that Berk was now home to dragons and that they were Berk's pets.
As a Chief himself, he could understand the concerns that his fellow Chieftains must feel at this news. They all knew how much damage and destruction dragons could cause. What if the Berkians discovered how to get their dragons to attack specific tribes? What if he himself had some secret grudge against one of the tribes? There was too much that was unknown to the other Chiefs.
There would be several days to reaffirm treaties, reassure other Chiefs, and maybe change some minds.
He closed his eyes and did his best to catch a bit of rest before his ship docked and the real work could begin.
Hopefully, nothing too disruptive was going to happen back on Berk in the meantime.
A knocking on his door woke him up slightly later. He groaned his frustration as Spitelout pushed open the door to his cabin.
"Chief, we are docking now."
Sure enough, the boat jerked to a halt moments later.
"Ok, I'll be right up."
The door closed, leaving him in peace. For the moment at least.
Alright, time to do this.
Stoick stood up and put on his boots and his Chieftain's cape. He walked outside his cabin and up the stairs to the deck where he stood against the railing and observed the surroundings.
There were several other ships docked as well, each bearing the banners and insignia of their respective tribes.
Ah, there's Osvald's ship.
The Chief of the Berserker tribe was well-known for his amicable nature and eagerness to come to agreement. It was quite odd considering the name of his tribe, but none of the other tribes were inclined to complain about his quirks. As long as he kept the peace and saw that his normally aggressive tribe did not turn on neighboring peoples, the Chiefs would gladly indulge his quirks.
There are the Cenhelm, Volsung, and Vaina,
It had been a long time since any of these tribes had made contact with his own. From what he could recall, the Cenhelm and Volsung, being heavily sea-bearing tribes focused on raiding the mainland, were more impacted by pirates than by dragons. The Vaina were mostly fishermen and had suffered heavily over the years from the dragon scourge. It should be very difficult to win them over to his own side.
Looks like that is everyone. Alright, I should go and make introductions.
"Spitelout, have the supplies taken off ship and get the camp set up. And remember, no one talks about our dragons back home."
Spitelout nodded in understanding and began to organize the rest of the men below decks.
Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, disembarked the vessel with his shoulders squared and chin held high. This was not a time that he could afford to show any weakness.
Being the Chief of Berk, it was only proper that he should be the first one to disembark and set foot on the Isle of Eirene. It was so named because it was a neutral territory where the Chieftains of yore had agreed to resolve inter-tribal disputes, arrange for treaties, and ensure the well-being of their tribes against the rest of the world.
But because of the need for safety when disagreements necessarily became heated, no one who entered the inner sanctum was permitted to carry weapons. All knives, daggers, swords, clubs, axes, and whatever else one carried had to be checked at the entrance to the innermost sanctum where the negotiations took place. The only permitted weapons were ones own fists.
He looked around at the sprawling village that had certainly appeared in the last few days alone. The island was itself mostly barren of any resources of value such as trees or game to hunt. Hence no one lived on the island permanently. Tents and other makeshift dwellings, each flying their respective tribal colors, were spread out a decent distance from the one grounded structure on the island. This stone building in the center of the island on the only hill on the otherwise flat island had stood for as long as anyone could remember.
It was also through the roof of this building that Drago's dragon army had burst through at his command. He could still see it from here; the rear exit that he had fled through and the rocks that he had taken shelter among. The fires. The burning bodies.
He left behind Spitelout and the rest of the men had brought with him so that he could walk with the ghosts of the past. All the good Chiefs and men who had died because of a single madman. The confusion that the slaughter had caused as tribes went through the expected turmoil of succession and changes of power. The loss of communication between tribes and gradual mistrust that built between them.
He hauled himself up the hill and went to stand next to the rocks that had saved his life nearly two decades ago.
The tribes had become very insular after that day. They stopped raiding the mainland as a group and became focused on their own internal issues. Trade had effectively ceased between the tribes until only recently.
He braced himself against the rocks with a palm and stood there for several minutes.
"This will all change soon."
He turned away from the place and strode back into camp.
Messengers from each of the tribes carried news back and forth that evening. The first night now that everyone had arrived on the island was to be spent in feasting and drinking. It was in the morning that the Chiefs would gather and get to business.
By the time that the sun was setting across the sea, the torches had been lit in the Hall. Pots of stew were cooking over fires, barrels of mead brought by each tribe were hauled into place, and the laughter was already starting to intensify. And that was before the mead had a chance to take effect.
As for himself, Stoick was living up to his name by sitting quietly at his table while chewing on some bread and drinking mead. This was such a different atmosphere to what he was accustomed to back on Berk. Everyone was jovial. Even though these were tribes that had fought each other in the past, they were still delighting in each other's company. Telling stories. Challenging each other to arm wrestling competitions and others of the like.
Finally, he saw someone who he recognized and was glad to see.
"Osvald, my friend."
Osvald came over and the two grasped forearms. Stoick couldn't help but reminisce about the last time they had done so. That had been when they signed the last Berserker-Berk treaty in dragon blood and had feasted afterward.
Osvald was an odd man for a Berserker. Where most Berserkers were tall, broad, and proud, he was shorter, heavier, and had a kind countenance. His face was still worn with the cares and trials of being a Chief and leading people.
"Just the man I wanted to see," Osvald muttered.
They sat down together and clanged their mugs together. They tipped their mugs back and downed each of their respective mugs before tipping them over and slamming them on the tabletop.
"And how have you been these last few years, Stoick?"
Unlike other Vikings, Osvald's voice was soft and reserved instead of brash and boasting.
"Not too bad. How is your son Dagur?"
Osvald grimaced at the mention of Dagur's name.
"He has gotten even wilder than I remember. It all started after his mother was killed five years ago. He likes throwing knives and has gotten quite good at it."
"So he is practicing to be a warrior. How is that bad?"
"He practices on birds, cats, and our cattle."
Stoick agreed that such behavior was unacceptable.
"Well, he was practicing on them. I gave him a good talking-to afterwards and I haven't caught him doing it since then."
Something about the way he said that suggested that he doubted that Dagur's behavior was truly improved.
"Is he here with you?"
"He is somewhere on the island, I'm not sure exactly where. How about your boy Hiccup?"
His thoughts immediately went back to Berk where, gods-willing, Hiccup was keeping himself out of trouble and keeping the secret. The only real danger would be if Astrid were to somehow figure out the truth. But Hiccup was very smart and surely would be able to keep anyone from figuring it out.
Osvald must have sensed that something was amiss from his expression. He signaled one of his men over.
"Bring us some more mead," he instructed the man who immediately complied.
"Hiccup is in Valhalla," Stoick then muttered.
"Oh, I'm glad to hear it. You know what I mean. How did it happen?"
"A battle against a dragon."
At the mention of the word dragon, Osvald visibly flinched before trying to pass it off as an itch.
"I'm not surprised. The boy was always very brave and headstrong but not the strongest lad as I recall. Did you kill the dragon that did it?"
"No, Hiccup did."
The Berserker man returned with two mugs filled to the brim. Osvald inclined his head while raising his mug in a salute.
"Well, then his was a death to be envied."
"If any are to be envied," he added in a whisper that only Stoick could hear.
Stoick knew that Osvald was a clever Chief and had to play the game while in the company of his men. Still, they both had to stay since it wouldn't be appropriate for either of them to leave the feast.
"What kind of dragon was it?"
"I don't think there is a name for it. I had never seen one of its kind before then and I hope no one ever does again."
He paused for a minute before continuing.
"Osvald, we go way back, you and I. Do you know why we have been called to this Council?"
Osvald paused and regarded him for a moment.
"You remember why the Chiefs were summoned the last time, right?"
"How could I not?"
"What exactly was that reason Stoick?"
"There were rumors that a man was building a dragon army."
"Yes, that was the reason back then. This time, however… let's just say that there have been some similar whispers."
"Drago?"
Osvald looked at him levelly while seeming to debate something with himself.
"Perhaps. I'm really interested to find out what the truth is instead of what is rumor."
He bent down to whisper in Stoick's ear.
"Be careful, people can do bad things when they are scared."
With that, Osvald was helped to his feet by one of his men since he was rather unsteady on his feet.
"Until tomorrow, Stoick."
He nodded back to Osvald while mulling over what he had just been told. What had Osvald meant to imply with what he had whispered?
I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
He downed the remainder of the mug as the revelry continued around him.
Stoick stood before the entrance to the Sanctum. The men standing in front of the entrance represented all the tribes gathered on the island.
Just like the other Chiefs gathered inside, he had to publicly present his weapons to show that he was not planning any subterfuge. It was just another part of the ceremony.
He unhooked the axe he had clipped to his vest and laid it to rest outside the council chambers. The men being satisfied that he had no other weapons on his person, he was permitted to enter.
It was rather eerie how similar it looked to the last time there had been a council meeting. The other four Chiefs were already seated in their chairs around the central fire pit.
"Chief Stoick the Vast, we've been expecting you," announced a man whom Stoick did not recognize.
"Who are you?"
"I am Edgaras the Swift, Chief of the Volsung."
He nodded back at his fellow Chieftain and briefly acknowledged the other two whom he recognized, Svana of the Vaina, a massive and broad-shouldered woman, and Esmond of the Cenhelm, a tall man adorned with necklaces of dragon scales and teeth and who had an assortment of scars on his face.
"Well, we are all gathered now. Let's get this over with. I'll give the invocation," Osvald interjected.
"Odin All-Father, you watch over us and lend us your strength. Thor, your power adorns the skies. Protect us against Loki's snares, give us power against the dragons, and see us to the Table of Kings in Valhalla that we may feast and fight at your side at the end of all things."
Odd, I don't remember that part about the dragons.
"I hope that all of your peoples survived the last few winters as well as mine did," Edgaras opened with a boast.
"That we did. Especially this last winter. The dragons didn't bother us as much as they did in the past," Osvald answered.
"Anyone know why that might be?" Edgaras followed.
"Some of my men encountered dragon trappers in the southern waters," Svana answered.
"Same here," Esmond added.
"But it is impossible. It cannot be him. He hasn't been seen in over twenty years!" Stoick objected.
"So maybe it is not him. Maybe it is someone else," Esmond stated.
"Who then?" Stoick asked.
No one answered him for the longest time. Their silence was deafening.
I know where this is going.
"Well, Stoick, we have heard some incredible rumors. We wanted to find out what is actually happening before we decide to take action," Osvald finally answered.
"What rumors?"
"That you are building a dragon army."
Absolute silence reigned. Stoick crossed his arms and looked out at them as they avoided catching his eye.
"And what is the basis of these rumors?"
"Traders and vessels passing by Berk have seen that your island has lots of dragons. And even more incredible, there are reportedly dragons living in your village like horses or cattle. Now this seemed impossible, but several boats carried the same rumor."
More silence.
"Do you deny these rumors, Stoick?" Esmond asked heatedly.
"I do deny them! I am not building a dragon army!" Stoick slammed his fist on his chair for emphasis.
"So how do you explain the sightings then?" Esmond countered.
"They… they saw the truth. Berk has made peace with the dragons."
"Impossible!" Esmond scoffed.
"What do you mean you made peace with the beasts?" Osvald asked.
"They are not the monsters that we always thought they were. They…"
"I've heard enough! You are either crazy or you are building a dragon army, just like Drago!" Esmond declared while rising to his feet.
Stoick flew to his feet as well in anger. It was quite typical of Nord negotiations. They were very blunt.
"Don't you dare compare me to that monster!"
The two stared off a while longer before slowly taking their seats again. Stoick then continued.
"Yes, we have dragons living with us back on Berk. They are… our pets and are useful to have around. Some of them help us catch fish and others hunt in the forest. Some of my people especially like flying with them."
"And you do not plan on turning them into an army?" Osvald asked.
"Of course not. Why would I?"
"To conquer us of course."
"And why would I want that? When have I ever suggested that I wanted to conquer any of you?"
Edgaras spoke up.
"It is not so much whether you actually want to or not. It is that you could if you wanted to. In the past, all of our tribes were roughly equal. With dragons on your side, well, we all remember how bad the raids were in the past. None of us would have a chance against your tribe."
He begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was a fair point. Having dragons on his side would be an almost insurmountable challenge for another tribe if it ever came to war.
"What do you want me to say? My tribe is at peace with the dragons, and we are going to keep it that way."
"How did that happen by the way? You haven't actually told us," Osvald pointed out.
"My son Hiccup... actually found it out. The dragons were obeying a very large dragon that made them hunt for it. Now that it is dead, the rest of the dragons don't need to hunt like they used to."
"And how did it die exactly?"
"A dragon helped us. My son, Hiccup, had a dragon of his own, and they somehow made the other one crash into Dragon Island. He saved my entire tribe and he… died."
He saw no reason to tell them what kind of dragon Hiccup had as a pet. The knowledge that his son's dragon had been a Night Fury, the most feared and profane of all dragons, could not have garnered him any more favor than the none that he currently had.
"Let's pretend this story of yours is true. What do you expect us to think about what you have done?" Edgaras asked of him.
"Frankly, I don't really care what you think. My island has peace now, and there is no reason to break it."
Esmond grasped his heaviest necklace and held it out for everyone to clearly see.
"I took these as prizes from the dragons I killed. It was empty when I became Chief."
"I do not doubt your bravery. We are both accomplished dragon killers."
"So why have you gone so weak? I remember hearing stories about Stoick the Vast, the bane of all dragons. Why have you forgotten our traditions, our warrior way?"
Stoick sighed deeply.
"I have not forgotten. Why do you think we have traditions anyway?"
Esmond looked confused for a moment.
"What kind of question is that? Why do we have traditions, indeed! We have them because they are right!"
Stoick shook his head.
"No, we have them because they have worked. That does not mean they will always work. Killing dragons was right when they were stealing our food and trying to kill us. Now that they are not trying to kill us, it would not be right to keep fighting them."
He turned to Svana. It was difficult to figure her position since she had kept quiet over the last few minutes.
"Wouldn't it be better for you if dragons helped you catch fish than if they attacked your tribe and ate your fish? Berk is easily catching three times what we used to catch now that our dragons help us."
She seemed visibly moved by the idea.
"I think we are getting a bit distracted, we should get back to the reason we called this meeting," Esmond interjected to gather attention again.
"You admit that you are amassing a large number of wild dragons and that you are making them your 'pets'. The way I see it, there are only two options for you: banish the dragons from your island and return to disposing of them like proper Nords, or keep them and make yourself the enemy of this council, just like Alvin and the Outcasts."
Banish the dragons and return to killing them. There was no possibility that he could agree to that proposal. Who knew how the dragons would react to being cast out or if they could understand anything concerning their fate. And then there was his own, private reason for not wanting to banish dragons. It would mean banishing someone he had a duty to save.
But the alternative, having Berk be cast out and considered just another Outcast tribe, was itself a terrible fate. It would mean having true enemies all around the borders and it would also mean that none of their tribes would be willing to do trade with his tribe. Some solitary traders like Johann might still pass by, but none of the tribal interactions would occur. None of the tribes this far north were completely self-sufficient. It would be a very slow death sentence for his tribe if such a condition lasted indefinitely. They all knew how destitute the Outcasts had seemingly become.
Unless we did start using dragons to conquer…
No, there must be another way.
He looked around, trying to gauge their reactions.
"Actually, there is another option," he finally replied.
"Which is?" Osvald asked.
"What would you think about getting dragons of your own just as my people have?"
The other Chieftains visibly froze in surprise at the idea.
"You know it is not impossible, so why not just get dragons of your own to train?"
Osvald was the one to answer him.
"No one has ever thought of doing it. And none of us have ever had peaceful interactions with them. We wouldn't have an idea where to start."
"Well, we do. In fact, we have a way of teaching people back on Berk. I could… show your tribes what we know about dragons."
"Wait," Edgaras interjected, "you would show us your secret to controlling dragons?"
He knew that it wasn't entirely correct to say that they controlled the dragons in the same way that they did with livestock. Dragons were far more 'willful' and not exactly the kind of creature that could be easily broken like a horse. These Chieftains were unlikely to appreciate the difference right now.
"I would show you what we know and, if you learn, you might get some dragons of your own."
"How do you propose to show us?" Osvald asked.
"You could come to Berk and learn just like my people do."
"Forgive my skepticism Stoick, but going to your island would leave us completely in your power and our tribes vulnerable," Esmond objected as he stood again.
The man was starting to get on Stoick's nerves.
"Well, since you seem to think that I plan on conquering you, you have nothing to lose. You have my offer and that is all!"
The two remained facing each other, neither willing to back down. They had finally directly challenged each other and their manly pride would not permit them to relent.
Osvald rose and said in a placating voice, "Now now, I'm sure that we can make an agreement here."
"No!" Esmond growled, "He demands too much! Dragons are not good creatures! I have seen too many good people die because of them."
Esmond looked around at the other Chiefs. Their expressions indicated to him that he was completely alone.
"Come on, agree with me! Edgaras, this is not what we talked about earlier!"
"That was before Stoick offered to show us what he knows. This is too good of an opportunity to pass up," Edgaras admitted.
Esmond looked around at the other two Chiefs, realized that he would find no support there, and turned to leave the Chamber. He paused at the door and turned to face Stoick.
"I won't forget the old ways unlike you all!"
Esmond fumed and stormed from the Chamber, leaving the doors swinging behind him. Stoick relaxed and sank back into his chair while breathing a deep sigh of relief.
"He will not forget that, you know," Osvald casually mentioned.
"I know, I'm just not worried about him."
Edgaras then raised an objection.
"He did have one good point. It would be hard and dangerous for us to leave our tribes to come to yours and there learn what you propose to show us. Would you consider sending some of your people to show us on our own lands?"
It was not an unreasonable proposal. It would certainly be more convenient for him to not have to travel to all the islands in turn, especially when he was no expert himself on how to gain a dragon's trust. And he happened to know a few dragon-riders who would certainly do this for the tribe.
Astrid has proven herself to be very dependable. She will do this for Berk.
"Yes, I will send my best dragon rider. There is only one problem."
"What is that?" Edgaras asked.
"Berk's best rider is a woman."
At this, both Edgaras and Osvald laughed uproariously until they had to hold their sides. Svana gave a subtle grin that went unnoticed by the two men.
"Nord warriors…" Edgaras began.
"And Berserkers," Osvald interrupted.
"… and Berserkers being taught about dragons by a girl. That will be a sight to see. I'll try to make sure my men don't take… liberties with her," Edgaras finished his thought with an amused chuckle.
Stoick did not laugh.
"Well, she will be flying to each of your tribes on her Deadly Nadder. One thing we have learned about dragons is that they are very protective. And I would say that Astrid is herself the equal of most men at using an axe."
Edgaras shrugged, saying, "Some men like the challenge. It makes the conquering all the more satisfying."
Osvald took the opportunity to rub his hands together, saying, "Well, this has been very successful. I'm glad it worked out this way. Shall we draw up the treaty? I'm eager to get off this rock."
They each nodded in turn. A scribe was sent for, and he brought four scrolls and a stylus with ink. They spent the better part of the next hour deciding on the exact terms of the treaty and then dictated them to be recorded by the scribe. After doing so, they recessed for midday mead and a meal while the scribe made four copies of the treaty.
None of the remaining Chiefs were surprised that Esmond and the rest of the Cenhelm had already departed the island. The tips of the sails of their ships were barely visible on the southern horizon if one was shown exactly where to look.
Well, they certainly made good time. Good riddance to them.
He sat down on his ship's bow with Spitelout and gnawed on some freshly butchered and roasted chicken.
"How did it go in there Chief?" Spitelout asked.
"It looks like we have a treaty. Even better, we might be headed back home today."
"That was very fast. I hope we do too. You don't mind if I ask, but is this the same place that Drago attacked over twenty years ago?" Spitelout asked.
A pained expression came over Stoick's face for a moment.
"Yes, it is. All the more reason why I want to leave as soon as possible."
Spitelout nodded without saying anything else. Stoick finished his chicken, hard bread, and mead and went to walk around the miniature village that remained after the Cenhelm departed. He bumped into Osvald while doing so. Only this time Osvald was not alone.
"Stoick, glad to see you again. I'm glad that we were able to work out this treaty. Do you recognize my boy Dagur here?"
Dagur had certainly grown a lot since the last time he saw him. Dagur was as tall as his father and rather skinnier. But he had an air of quickness about him, a sort of nervous energy which hinted at the instability which Osvald had warned him about. Even the way Dagur held himself with his head just slightly lowered and his unblinking gaze fixed in front of him seemed slightly malevolent.
Or maybe Osvald was just having problems relating to a son who was on the cusp of reaching manhood.
"I do indeed Osvald. You have grown very fast Dagur. Your father must be proud of you."
When Dagur spoke, it was with a bit of a higher pitched voice than Stoick expected. Dagur, it seemed, was just outgrowing his boyhood voice.
"He will be proud of me when I skin my first dragon and sit in the Berserker Hall as the Chief. And do you know what kind of dragon it will be? I will be the first to ever kill a Night Fury! And I will wear its skin as my cloak. But enough about me, where is your boy Hiccup? I remember how much fun we had…"
Stoick completely missed everything else Dagur said. Hearing how vehemently Dagur wanted to kill a Night Fury and then hearing Hiccup's name spoken within the same breath touched a deep chord in him. Hiccup was so vulnerable now since almost all Nords would consider him the ultimate prize. It reminded him of his secret mission which he as of yet had made absolutely no progress on.
Osvald completely misunderstood Stoick's absentminded look and assumed that it had something to do with experiencing Dagur's eccentricity firsthand or at being reminded of Hiccup's death.
"Stoick, may I speak to you alone? Chiefly business," Osvald asked.
"Ugh, it's always business with you," Dagur complained at the obvious dismissal.
"Make sure your stuff is packed son, we should be heading back home soon."
Osvald and Stoick were left alone and Stoick briefly grumbled his thanks at escaping that encounter. He was also able to ask a specific question now that they were alone.
"Osvald, ever since dragons started living on Berk, there have been strange rumors going around even among my people. Some people have said that they have seen other people get turned into dragons. Have you ever heard any of these stories?"
"No, can't say that I have. At least, not outside of the very old tales."
"Ok, I was just curious if you knew how the people were supposed to be changed back in these stories. That way," here he raised his eyebrows and gave Osvald a knowing look, "I can know what to look for when my people start… disappearing."
They looked at each other in all seriousness for a few more moments before grinning and chuckling.
"Well, in that case," Osvald answered him, "I'd say that the only options would be to accept that they are gone forever or to use black sorcery."
Osvald clapped Stoick on the shoulder good-naturedly, completely missing the pained look on Stoick's face before his Chieftain's mask hid his inner pain.
"Aye, that sounds about right," Stoick muttered.
"Well, Stoick, I must go back to my people for now. It looks like some of them are about to duel. I will see you later for the treaty signing."
They grasped forearms and went their separate ways. None of the other Chiefs were likely to know any more about magic, and he did not trust them as much as he did Osvald.
I'll have to find some other way then...
All four Chiefs were gathered in the Sanctum in the late afternoon, reviewing the four copies of the treaty to make sure the terms were properly recorded and copied onto each scroll.
"Everything seems to be in order here," Osvald remarked after reading his scroll.
"Alright, let's do this, bring it in!" Edgaras shouted to a servant near the entrance.
What does he mean 'bring it in?'
The servant reappeared a minute later with a bundle in his arms. The man dropped the bundle on the table, and the bundle gave a squeak as it shifted slightly.
It was a Terrible Terror. It was muzzled, its wings, faded a dirty blue, were held against its side by a length of rope, and its feet were tied together. This tiny dragon was very underfed and had probably been starved on the entire voyage to this island.
He knew exactly why it had been brought. The signing of a major treaty between multiple tribes was a special occurrence and had to be recognized as such. Tradition was that the parties to the treaties always made their mark using dragon blood as ink. They were going to kill the Terror.
The servant reappeared with the ceremonial knife and a pencil.
"Do we really need to do this?" he asked of the other Chiefs.
"What is the matter?" Edgaras asked.
"Doesn't it seem wrong to kill a dragon for its blood just so that we can sign a treaty? A treaty that will let you get dragons of your own?"
Edgaras thought for a moment.
"Ironic maybe. But why do you care? It is just a Terror, and this is how we have signed treaties for generations."
"True, but it is necessary to keep doing it this way? As I said before, some traditions do not need to be kept."
"Stoick, what we are agreeing to here is incredible enough, and we will have difficulty convincing our peoples that it is real. Our Elders will need to see the signatures to know that it is a valid treaty."
There was no getting around that point. The Elders of the other three tribes would want to know that the treaty was properly signed. It had to be done with dragon's blood.
And it was just a Terrible Terror. A sickly and likely dying one too.
Elder Gothi had adopted a small flock of Terrors that seemed to roost at her dwelling.
The tiny Terror did not look dangerous at all. There was no way that it could hurt him.
"He's not dangerous! He won't hurt you!"
One dragon's life for a treaty that would benefit Berk and, eventually, other dragons.
"Dad, No!"
What would Valka have said? What about Hiccup?.
They were not here.
"Make it quick," he muttered.
Edgaras picked up the knife and stood next to the table where the Terror was laid. The Terror froze when it saw the figure towering over it.
One piercing shriek echoed through the hall despite the muzzle and then there was silence.
Each of the other three Chiefs took the pencil and coated the tip in the blood dripping from the hole in the Terror's chest.
They each signed the treaty in their own fashions. Then it was his turn.
He haltingly took the bloodstained pencil in hand, dipped it in the crimson pool, and signed his name at the bottom of each scroll.
Every symbol felt like it took something from him. He was marking himself forever as one who sanctioned the killing of a dragon for no reason other than tradition when he was the leader of a people that had accepted dragons into daily life.
He was announcing that he was a hypocrite. A necessary one, but a hypocrite nonetheless.
I can't let him know. He would never forgive me. I had to let this happen.
What would Valka have said?
The final stroke went into his last signature, and he quickly set aside the pencil. The other Chiefs waited a couple minutes to let the signatures dry, wished each other safe travels, and departed the building with their copies of the treaty. They were not ones to waste time with lengthy farewell speeches.
He waited a moment longer despite his wish to get away from this place. This terrible place that had now seen death for two straight councils. He looked back at the table where the documents were signed.
The body of the Terror still lay on the table. Still and lifeless with unseeing eyes. An attendant would likely arrive soon to dispose of the body, likely by tossing it on the ground with no ceremony.
It wasn't obvious what moved him to do something. Maybe it was a sense of justice or guilt.
He wrapped the bloodstained corpse back up in the rags and carried the bundle out of the building, his copy of the treaty tucked away in a pocket. He walked into the village which was in the process of being disassembled. Everyone was carrying supplies to the boats and no one would think anything of the bundle he carried.
He found an abandoned fire pit and placed his bundle in the pit. He gathered some firewood and piled it around the rags. It was while doing so that he realized that some of the blood had seeped through the rags and stained his forearm and cuffs.
Finally, he set fire to the improvised pyre. As soon as the wood caught, he turned and left for the shore. Spitelout had had been left with instructions to have the ship ready to depart when he got back.
The shape of the Council building once again caught his eye from up on the hill.
"I hope I never see this place again."
He paused at the docks and looked back the way he came while washing his hands in the ocean water. Smoke was rising from over the hill.
"Spitelout!"
"Ready to disembark, Chief," Spitelout appeared on deck.
"Set sail for home!" Stoick roared.
The gathered crew cheered in relief. They had been expecting to be on the seas for several more weeks and several of them had been able to make good trades during their two days among the other tribes.
Stoick hauled himself up onto the vessel. Just as he was the first from his tribe on the island, so he was the last.
"What is the word?" Spitelout asked.
"We have a peace treaty with the Berserkers, Vaina, and Volsung. I'll talk about it when we get back home. You have the deck."
Without further ado, Stoick went below deck to his cabin and left the basic duties to Spitelout. He himself was completely drained from the day of negotiating, stress, and hard choices that had to be made. All he wanted to do was sleep.
He tossed the treaty scroll to the foot of the bed. The dark spot on his sleeve caught his eye even through the dimmer light in his cabin.
"Out spot! Out!" he muttered in frustration as he rubbed at the fabric, knowing full well that it would not remove the stain.
He gave up moments later and collapsed in his bed with his eyes closed.
The sounds of the shore began to fall away behind the ship as it made its way out into the open ocean.
I'll be home soon, son. I sure hope nothing bad has happened back there.