Short disclaimer. While I did go ahead and take the names of the canon!chiefs, I haven't actually read the books in which they are featured, and the wiki sadly had no quotes for me to mine. So, if any of them are drastically OOC, give me a shout and I'll be happy to try and revise them to better fit their canon character.

Chapter 19

Although I knew Dad had drank a lot last night, he had no traces of a hangover when he woke up. He yawned, stretched, and cracked his back in the process of that. But he was Viking, and something like that was no different than being bitten by a mosquito. I woke to him humming in front of a mirror as he dragged a comb through his scraggly beard. Sneaky watched his every move.

When he was satisfied, he placed his helmet neatly upon his head, adjusting it until it was just right. He picked up his sword, swung it through the air once before sheathing it at his side, and then he grabbed his shield, as well.

He didn't turn around to face me. Through his mirror's reflection, he looked me in the eye.

"Big day, today," he said. "After this, everything will be different. For better or for worse . . . Hiccup, what's around your neck?"

"Oh, this? Well, uh . . ." Last night, I had taken the cuff bracelets off, but I had forgotten about the necklace.

Dad chuckled. "Don't let any of the Raiders see that. Don't need sticky fingers on top of everything."

"Got it." I kicked it under the bed with the others.

On deck, Gobber tossed me a few fish. Many of the adult Vikings, just as immune to alcohol as my Dad, were awake. They prowled the deck in lonely pairs, keeping watch over the docks and ocean. Swords, daggers, all sorts of pointy things were kept close. None of them were being brandished, but I could tell that they were freshly sharpened. Even Gobber's hook had that particular edge to it.

"The Berserkers docked last night," Dad said. "I had hoped they would miss this one . . . would have been fine if Oswald was still chief."

"You'll be fine," Gobber said. "Everyone knows Dagur is a bit loose in the head. He isn't known as Deranged for his friendliness."

"Astrid," I murmured as she appeared on deck. I hoped that she didn't take anything Snotlout said yesterday to heart.

"Hey, Hiccup. Ready to go, Chief?"

Dad patted his chest. There were little knobs attached to the armour around his neckline that I could cling to, and I did so, shivering as the cool metal touched my underbelly. Coarse, red hair tickled the nooks and crannies on my back as he adjusted his beard, shaping it so that it hid me from view. I could still through the tangled mess, but no one would be able to see me unless they were very close.

"Let's go."

The march to the Raider's Great Hall was quiet and uneventful. A feeling of peace had passed over the village – probably because most people were still sleeping off yesterday. Partying and alcohol would do that to you. There were unconscious Vikings here and there, draped over crates and logs like weird decorations. One heavyset guy had a bird tugging at his beard. Banners fluttered in the half-hearted wind, twitching, and then dropping limp as if they, too, had been drinking.

Their Great Hall was grander than any I had seen. Of course, the Raiders did have that tiny advantage of avoiding that whole dragons-burning-everything-down phase. And they had put it to good use. While the outside architecture wasn't that different, the Raiders had gone ahead and slathered the thing in paint. On one long side, the side facing the sea and potential invaders, a mural had been painted. It had the Raiders on foreign shore, with their dragon-headed ships tucked off to the far left side. In the center, a figure –Chief Hagan the Barbaric, of course – had his sword parallel to the ground as he chopped through the neck of some Roman (No idea who, but I bet the Raiders knew). His painted army of warriors cheered at the sight, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the village was burning down around them.

Typical.

I didn't get to see the other side, but on the wall which actually held the doors, two pupil-less ravens stared at us. The silent message was clear: Take caution. The gods are watching.

"Hail, Chief Stoick the Vast!" The greeting was loud and clear as we strode through the doors. Genuine, too. The other Chiefs looked at him with varying degrees of warmth, from Chief Hagan's crooked grin, to Mogadon's laugh and his pointing to the empty throne next to him. It was times like these where I remembered that everyone, except Dad himself, had been killed at a Gathering many years ago. Of course, all the Tribes already had their successors declared before the accident, but according to Spitelout and Gobber, Dad had still spent some time rebuilding the other Tribes. They were all thankful for it. Which was a really good thing, considering it had been a Gathering in Berk that had killed them.

Actually, let me revise one of my previous statements. Everyone was happy to see Dad, except for one. As I shuffled through the scents, I detected one of hostility. I followed the scent to its source and spied no other than Dagur the Deranged. He was eyeing my father the way a hungry cat would stare at a mouse. The veins on his arms popped as he strangled his armrest. He would be trouble. I was sure of it.

Chief Hagan yawned. He scratched his underarm lazily before starting his speech. "Now that we're all here and gathered . . . Welcome to my village, nice to have you here, blah blah blah. Of course, you're all honoured to be here. "

As he continued to mock the typical pleasantries, I studied the rest of the audience. To our right, was Mogadon. Thuggory sat on a smaller throne next to him. To our left, were the representatives of the Bog Burglars: their chief . . . uh, their chief . . . Big-Boobied Bertha. Really. That's her name. Rumour had it that more than one animal had been suffocated by – I think everyone gets the point. Her daughter and heir, Camicazi, was rather pretty, too. She reminded me a lot of Astrid.

Next to our resident Deranged Chief, was yet another crazy guy whose black hair was sticking out in clumps: Nobert the Nutjob, chief of the Hysterics. In a word, that tribe was crazy. You could barely have a conversation without one of them bursting into a rant about some crazy, made-up world called America. And did I mention they were convinced the world was round? Crazy.

Across from us was the chief of the Lava Louts, Berk's historic, greatest enemy . . . Chief Ranvir. I had no idea why the Lava Louts were considered Berk's worst enemy. It had been that way since as long as I could remember, and both tribes didn't seem interested in changing things. If anything, they took pride in it. That being said, the Lava Louts had spent the last few years rubbing me the wrong way. Not because of anything they said, or did, but what they wore: dragon skin. Shiny, thick coats of dragon skin. Sometimes, I just really wanted to punch them.

There were two other people, two that I knew very well: Alvin the Treacherous, and Savage. It had been a while since we had last seen each other. Not since we had helped Alvin take back his tribe from Dagur. And even though Alvin had nodded respectfully at our entrance, his face was neutral again. We had parted with the suggestion that we were to be allies, but I couldn't predict whether he would honour that.

Hagan suddenly cleared his throat. "First order of business. Last night, I was told that a couple of kids –"

"How much?" Dad interrupted.

"Hmm?"

"How much damage by the Thorston twins?"

Hagan grinned. From this angle, the resemblance to a wolf's smile was uncanny. "Not as much as usual. I'm surprised you still bring them."

Dad shifted. "Considering the circumstances, I thought it best. Now, how much do I owe -?"

Crack.

Nearly half a dozen, battle-hardened Vikings leapt to their feet, but it was only Dagur. He had slammed the pommel of his knife onto his throne's armrest, and was clenching his teeth like he was grinding a bone between them.

"Stop wasting time!" he demanded, as if he had the divine right to dictate what we did. "I didn't spend a week on a boat for this."

"Shut your mouth!" Alvin snapped. His eyes seemed to flash, not just with hate, but with the memory of Dagur's crimes.

Hagan, on the other hand, shrugged. "I wouldn't mind skipping to the dragons."

A quick vote later, and it was agreed: dragons, it was. A bead of sweat tried to navigate its way down Dad's chin, but was snatched up by a strand of beard. Astrid straightened up in her seat; it was weird how I could actually smell that she was hiding her nervousness.

Hagan asked, "So, just what is this business with the dragons?"

Dad tried to say something, but there was no controlling the Deranged Chief. In a flash, like someone had lit his pants on fire, he was standing. Every word he spoke seemed to be accompanied by a white fleck of spit.

"Berk wants us to stop killing dragons!" he snarled.

A pause.

Mogadon said, "Err, let me explain. You know we've been at war with the beasts with hundreds of years. Stoick has the idea that we should draw up some sort of truce."

There was no warning when Dad stood. Only quick reflexes stopped me from tumbling into the open. "It was never a war. The dragons raided us, and we defended ourselves. But the raids have stopped; there is no reason to continue hunting them."

Before anything could be said, Nobert leaned over and clamped a hand over Dagur's mouth. Apparently, the young chief was coming across as too annoying even for him. In the lapse, Big-Boobied Bertha asked, "And what happens when the raids start again?"

"They won't," Dad vowed. "It wasn't their fault to begin with."

"Yes, you did mention something along those lines to me before," Mogadon said. He had a particular glint in his eyes now, the same one Dagur had worn when we had entered.

Dad quickly explained the Red Death to them. It didn't seem to stir the crowd at all. All I could see was a circle of bored faces, and even scent couldn't tell me what really lay inside their heads.

Bertha said, "You're avoiding the question. So what if they were hypnotized? They can be hypnotized again. I won't have these creatures roaming my island knowing that they could turn on us in an instant!"

Hagan raised a hand for silence. "Is there any way to protect them from this hypnotism?"

"I . . ." Dad glanced at Astrid, who did her best to give him an encouraging smile. "Hiccup led our dragon riders into battle with the Red Death without any problems. He must have figured something out."

Uh, no. I don't think I really did. It just kind of happened.

"How convenient he's not here," Ranvir drawled.

Astrid spoke up, "We told you, he's needed –"

"Shush, girl. No one asked you."

Outraged, Astrid tried to say something back, but Dad waved her off. I knew he wasn't happy about it, but I knew there wasn't much he could do either. Astrid and I weren't betrothed, so the other heirs and chiefs expected her to be silent unless spoken to. She must have known this, too, but the face she wore was one of betrayal.

I would be hearing about this in the evening.

Dad took a deep breath. "I will admit it is risky. But, we're Vikings! We live for danger. We used to draw swords against the Romans for fun. How is not killing dragons any more dangerous than that?"

"It's different when the danger is on another's shore," Ranvir said.

Dad countered, "There had always been a chance that the Romans would come after us. You know that."

"That's different. Romans can't fly, or breathe fire."

"Romans can't be tamed," Dad said. "Dragons can be. It is no different than when we took the boars from the woods to be our livestock. Dragons are just as useful – even more so. There is nothing else like them."

It made me uncomfortable to hear my own father speak of dragons like this . . . like unthinking tools. They weren't; dragons were smart, wonderful creatures. Not a weapon to be wielded by any careless Viking. But Dad knew his audience better than me. He knew what he had to say to sway the crowd.

"Why destroy what can be put to use?" Somewhere in his speech, Dad had wandered into the center of the circle. "The dragons were a pain in the past. I had wanted them dead more than any of you can imagine . . . but even I could see the potential in wrangling those beasts. Odin sent them to us for a reason."

"Blah, blah, blah." Dagur had finally wrestled Nobert's hand away. "Who cares? They're dragons! They're just dumb animals."

"Says the boy whose tribe worships the Skrill!" Alvin sounded mad. Very mad. "When you had your chance, you didn't hesitate to tame a dragon."

That drew attention. All eyes turned to Dagur, who clearly had no idea how to counter the truth.

"And you certainly weren't talking about killing dragons when you were trying to kill me with a Skrill," Alvin hissed. "I stand with Berk."

There was a shift in the air. More than one chief and their heir were exchanging furtive glances. This spat between Dagur and Alvin . . . it might just be the best thing that could have happened to us. See, the Berserkers and Outcasts have always been the least trustworthy of tribes. They were always picking fights for ridiculous reasons – even during the dragons raids, we had to be on the lookout for their flags. So, if they were secretly taming dragons, then suddenly every other tribe felt vulnerable. And when you were vulnerable because your enemy had a shiny new weapon, then you wanted one, too.

"Is it really that easy to train fire-breathing animals?" Hagan said.

"Dragons are easy to train," Dad answered. "Why, Hiccup didn't even take a day to tame a group that we had been using as target practice for months. They are . . ."

He stopped suddenly. Just stopped. Long enough that Astrid tried to discreetly nudge him.

" . . . They are natural servants."

Slaves. That's what he wanted to say. Astrid stared at him. I was . . . I . . . he was going too far! If they thought of dragons as slaves, Dad knew how they would be treated. I stabbed him in the throat with my claw, and his massive hand swung up and squashed me. He tried to pass it off as rubbing his beard.

"That doesn't mean they aren't dangerous," Nobert said. "The skraelings were, too, but . . . Never setting foot in America again."

"All dogs bite when they are cornered," Dad said as he returned to his seat. "The key with dragons is to guide them with a gentle hand. They are like the nisse: happy to serve, but disrespect them and they are quick to attack."

"And where's your proof?" Ranvir demanded. His voice seemed to coil around me like a snake. "Your tribe is apparently the expert in training dragons. I see no dragon."

I felt a touch on my spine. I twisted, and pressed my forehead against his finger. I'm ready.

"Dragons? Is that what you want? Why didn't you say so?" Dad said.

Light blinded me. Dad's hands were wrapped around my midsection as he held me in the open. There were shouts, the sharp smell of metal being drawn, but nobody was charging yet. I'll take that as a good sign.

"What is that?" Ranvir barked.

"A Night Fury."

Silence. Pure silence. Even from Dagur and Alvin. They had been expecting Toothless, not me.

"They don't exist." Of all people, it was Nobert the Nutjob who said that.

"I have a little dragon in my hand that says otherwise." He tried to pet my head. It felt like he was going to tear my scalp off.

Mogadon blurted," Your son rode that into battle?"

"He rode the older Night Fury," Dad said quickly. "Not this little guy."

"You have two?" Dagur nearly screamed. For a moment, it looked like he was actually going to charge, but Alvin happily sent Savage over to restrain him.

Dad ignored him. "Astrid, why don't you take over? You're his trainer, after all."

I felt like there was some kind of inside joke there.

Astrid took me happily. "Sure thing, Chief."

"She's his trainer?" Hagan asked that with all the grace and politeness of a hog leaping upon a banquet table.

"It was Hiccup's Snoggletog present to me. It only made sense." I could hear her sharp smile. "After all, Hiccup's Night Fury was the father . . ."

Oh, good move. Yes, we Vikings in Berk weren't just training dragons, we were breeding them. Try to deny that they could be trained, now!

"And it's trained?" Bertha asked.

Astrid put me down. As I was turning to face her, she flashed me a quick signal with her hand. The signal we used to tell our dragons to sit.

Okay. Sure. Sit and wait for Astrid to decide on something to show them. It took me a few seconds before I realized that had been part of the demonstration.

"Down," she ordered.

For the next minute or so, I let Astrid order me around. I sat; I rolled; I twirled; I waited at her heel like a good pet. I even begged for a little herring. Above all, I avoided looking at the others. I knew word would get out, and the twins wouldn't let me forget it. But, when I pretended the other Vikings weren't there, it made me feel a little better.

"Good boy," she said, almost breathless. She held one arm straight out, tapped it with her other hand, and I happily climbed up her back and onto her arm.

"A dragon will do anything if it likes you enough. Do I need to show you more?" she asked our spectators.

Camicazi spoke up. "How do we know that's a Night Fury?"

Astrid and I exchanged a glance. She grabbed her helmet, and tossed it into the air. "Go!"

Screek!

The signature blast sent the poor thing spinning across the room, where it stuck in a wall. Being the vigilant, never-resting boyfriend, I scampered over and retrieved it for her. Took me more than two tries to get it out of the wall. And it came back with a chunk of wood still attached. But it was the thought that counted!

With me cradled in her arms, Astrid asked, "Any more questions?"

There were. I could see them in their eyes. But no one actually asked anything, and I wasn't sure what to make of that.

Astrid whispered to me, "Fetching my helmet was a really smart idea. I think that sold it."

. . . And it wasn't even why I did it.

Then, Thuggory was bold enough to stand up. Even though no one else moved from their throne, the circle of Vikings seemed to grow tighter. I checked Astrid; she had grown still, but not tense. Dad was carefully watching the proceedings, and his scent revealed nothing. At least I couldn't smell any danger from Thuggory.

He stopped about a foot away. One hand hovered near his chest. "May I?"

She nodded, surprised. Most Vikings just took what they wanted and asked permission later. Especially heirs. Especially heirs that weren't dealing with other heirs or chiefs.

Thuggory held his hand out. I swallowed my pride – wait until the twins hear about this – and sniffed his hand. It must have startled him, because he jumped and hit me in the chin. That made him pause, and the already silent crowd grew quieter. I sighed mentally, and then allowed a purr to rumble through my throat.

That did it. The tension broke, and a wave of curious Vikings were suddenly on their feet and heading towards me.

"Settle down!" Dad stood in front of us, a living barricade. "He doesn't like to be crowded. It frightens him."

"Frightens him?" someone scoffed. "It's a Night Fury."

"A baby Night Fury," Dad stressed. "He's not used to meeting strangers."

Did I ever tell you how much I love Dad? Because I do, I really do. And I even loved him before he neatly saved me from being mobbed by a pack of grabby Vikings.

Thuggory asked Astrid, "What's his name?"

"His name? Uh . . . Thornado?"

He nodded to himself, almost thoughtfully. Afterwards, he returned to his father's side.

"Alright, Stoick. I think everyone here can agree that dragons are clearly trainable. What do you want from us?" Mogadon asked.

"Give them a chance," Dad said. "Stop hunting them. If you want the dragons on your side, you have to show them that you aren't a threat. And if that isn't enough, I'm sure Hiccup would be happy to help."

"Never!" With the sharp sound of danger, Dagur's axe was in hand. Same went with Hagan and his sword. As much as the old chief liked a good brawl, I knew one in this situation was utterly unacceptable.

"Sit down," Hagan growled. His hair seemed to bristle.

Dagur snarled, "Berk is full of traitors and liars, and you're going to listen to them?"

"Hiccup and Stoick are the most honourable men I have ever dealt with," Alvin said calmly.

"Says Alvin the Treacherous."

"Whatever this problem you three have with each other is, I don't care." Nobert picked at his fingernails. He yawned widely, exposing a gold tooth. "But if dragons can be tamed . . . it's worth checking out. Maybe it's the key to finally settling America . . . I'll give them a chance."

"Aren't you lucky?" Dagur said to Astrid, rolling his eyes. "You have the support of a liar, and a nutjob."

But then Mogadon spoke. "I've seen more proof of your claims than anyone else. We'll stop hunting them . . . if you promise to have your riders stop flying over our island. They're spooking the sheep."

Dad chuckled. "I'll speak with them."

Bertha was next. "If we catch dragons around our village, we're still going to take care of them . . . but we won't seek them out."

Ranvir said, "It's worth a shot."

Alvin said, "You already know where I stand."

Hagan held eye contact with Dagur for a moment, as if to taunt him. Then, to Dad, he said, "You better be right that Hiccup is going to help."

That was it. We had everyone but Dagur, and I didn't expect him to cave. Sure enough, he was shaking his head, and backing towards his throne like a wounded animal. If the place wasn't stuffed with very large and aggressive Vikings, he would have attacked.

"We all had an agreement to kill dragons! If you break that . . . that's war."

Flatly, Chief Hagan said, "I'm terrified."

There was nothing else to be said. Dagur, Deranged though he was, knew he had lost. He shoved his way out of the hall, muttering something about vengeance.

Hagan said, "We'll give it a year's trial. Decide next Gathering whether Berk is right. Agreed?"

One by one, the chiefs voiced their agreement.

"Then that's settled." Hagan plopped down into his throne. "Now, back to the Thorston twins . . ."

"I think that went well," Astrid said, as we left the Great Hall. I was perched on her shoulder. Now that the chiefs had seen me, there was no point in hiding. Dad still said that we should keep Toothless and Sneaky hidden. For a trump card, if we needed one.

Dad didn't say anything.

"Stoick?"

"We may have overdone it," he said quietly.

Astrid and I looked at each other. "What do you mean?"

He sighed a great, heavy sigh. "Don't forget: Berk is not your usual tribe. We are much too peaceful. These next few years will be very rough for the Romans . . ."

He looked off into the distance, where between the trees, you could just glimpse the ships of the Berserkers and the Lava Louts.

". . . Or for everyone."

Review Responses:

sweettea1: Thanks! Hiccup can be (kind of) scary when he wants to be :)

Jazz: Snotlout's been grumpy McGrump in this fic so far. And now he's a grumpy McGrump with a leg wound.

Guest: Well obviously I can't really say anything without giving things away. So, sorry about that. But what's this dragon-y magic Hiccup's mom has? I thought she was just really good at understanding them?