The thing about politics is; it's a secret.

Berkian Eddur - 2

Winter in Líf's Holt

Chapter 14 - Glaciers

Glaciers are delicate and individual things, like humans. Instability is built into them.

― Will Harrison

Wolftooth sat with Stoick, Bertha, Brawlknife, Bile and Footsore in the empty guest hall. They looked at one another in worry, then diverted their eyes to the maps in front of them.

"Do we have time to send scouts to the islands; get more dragon reinforcements?" Brawlknife asked, scratching his hairy chin. The man was, for once, sober as the day he was born.

"We can, but it wouldn't be wise to do it before the Thing's end, at least," Stoick said, rubbing a hand down his face.

"True," Bertha replied, "but we can just say we're sending out a few to see how things are going back home to prepare for the return of our own Snoggletog, and making sure the rest of the folk on our island are playing nice."

"Aye, but it'd take a day to get there, a day to rally good troops, and then a day to come back. Even with the wind in our favour as it's been, there will be little we can done once they land."

"Berk's not that defenseless," Stoick replied, still frowning in thought. "But that damned child is leading an army of maniacs. I doubt he'll be able to control them for long."

"Not sure about that," Bile growled, staring angrily at the maps. "May he be damned to live the rest of eternity under Hel's right heel. I was good friends with…"

"We all were," Footsore commented, his own voice an angry snarl. "And I should have seen this coming. Our isle is the closest. Though I think, in all honesty, that there was foul play going on with those Outcasts."

"If it is as you say… we have a serious problem." Wolftooth shook his head. "And we still have to decide whether to inform our heirs right away."

"I'm all for't," Footsore said. "Son's in charge of the Army already. But fat lot of good we Trollguts'll do, with no dragons to make the journey there and back in a day. Even if the beasties tug the boat, we still have to go around the skols and reefs."

"Aye, same for us Snailsnots," Bile said. "Hopeless' closer, but then my boy's only a bairn yet, and what good would a rider missing do, an'a fleet a day away?"

"Well, there are many things that a fleet coming from the back, or the side, can do," Brawlknife said. "I'll wager that boy of yours would have something to contribute to this, Stoick. Seen the plans for the Red Death attack he pulled, and Freyr is on his side when it comes to traps."

"We vote, then," Stoick sighed resignedly. As the hosting chief, he got to be the one who called most of the shots. "We inform the heirs?"

"Aye," they all said, save Bile. The others nodded to him in understanding; the eight-year-old would be going to a safe place - in fact, perhaps he could be taken back to Hopeless altogether. Woolftooth gave Stoick a look, and Stoick nodded. They'd already agreed that Hiccup would be informed differently.

"We inform the generals?"

"I will not," said Wolftooth, and everyone nodded.

"I say aye, 'specially 'ere on Berk," Brawlknife rumbled. "Gotta make sure everyone who's who knows to start carting everyone off te' safety if things go down the path of the ice-giants." He slammed the table. "Ah, Hel take them all. Doing this at this time of year, too."

"S' the best time. Nobody expects it," Footsore said. "Awright then, I'll bite, and get the fleet ready, somehow."

"Nobody expects it, but then that's because t'is a difficult time of year," Bertha replied thoughtfully. "Still, we can't rely on Thor and Ras to take them to Hel's gate. They both love a good brawl."

"And we'll give them one. Let's just make sure we come out on top."

"Well then, aye for the generals?"

"Aye," the all replied. Stoick sighed, and Wolftooth patted his large arm.

"We are in this together, Stoick. It could have been any one of us." Wolftooth stopped, beginning to grin. The other men and Bertha looked at him. "In fact, this may be rather good."

"Oh?"

"We need to rally the islands and make sure they're safe, but none of us have received any messages yet, and that's a sure sign that nobody back home's been disturbed on the way. Which is so, very, stupid."

"How so?" Brawlknife asked. "Seems like a good plan to me, to attach all'a chiefs while they're in one place."

"Oh, aye, on the surface," Wolftooth said. "But then what's to stop all the archipelago from attaching back? If even one of us gets away, it will be open war, and we are all allies. That will be a treatise broken, a first strike dealt with no provocation, and all the allied clans up against a few. I'd say we'd have had losses at the start if we didn't get this forewarning, but then we would have crushed the lot."

"Unless they have a backup plan," Bertha said warningly. Wolftooth shrugged.

"They are surely to have it, but if this is any indication, it's probably as crazy as the original. So Stoick, next Thing meeting, we go on as if nothing's happening; then, we meet after for a good 'ale' and a good 'talk'."

=0=

Heather was enjoying herself in a spot of sun - it was truly something very rare this time of year. Particularly when it had snowed the night before, the first night without the wind ripping and howling at the huts. The air was shockingly cold, almost enough to snare the lungs and hold them hostage, but then she was swathed in about five layers of fur, and there was a blanket underneath her. She felt disgustingly pampered, and it helped feed into her sense of devious pleasure as all the other women around her bumped around with this task or the next.

Eh, they'd have the last laugh, in the end. Heather sighed as the goods began coming out, and her stomach started to revolt at the usually mouthwatering smell of fresh bread and fish to roast on the open fire, with vegetables in metal boxes to put on top of the flames and stew in their own juices, so she discretely hid her nose under one of the furs. Thuggory had better hope that this tiny Meathead was a boy, or that he could somehow find a way to gestate the next one, because she wasn't getting pregnant again.

"No way," Ruff said with a laugh. Her daughter was asleep, bundled up in furs, and she was attacking a chicken leg. "I thought Brunhilda was kidding."

"Nope," Astrid smiled deviously. She looked around and lowered her voice. "My hands are already healed, but I'm contemplating getting all my hair muddy somehow, again."

"I condone that plan," Heather sniggered. Cami joined in.

"You would, and so do I," Cami smirked. "And thanks for the … hint, earlier." Heather watched her pat her pocket, but she knew it had probably something to do with Tuffnut.

"Lalala, can't hear, don't have the interfer," Ruff said in an enthusiastic drawl, devious smile on her face. They were all eating and sewing. Astrid had finished working furiously at what looked like a pair of black boarskin trousers, and now was carving a design into a wooden pendant in a careful, precise hand. "You're really making it obvious, by the way," Ruffnut went on.

"What am I?" Astrid said, and though she didn't look up the smile on her face said everything.

"You're imagining your hands all over him every time he wears something you sewed for him."

"You blame her?" Brunhilda laughed, biting at an apple. "Ah, had I been twenty years younger…"

"That is disturbing on so many levels…" Astrid snorted.

"Oh, hush you," the elder woman replied with a wave of a hand, returning to darning someone's socks. "When you reach my age and your tits start sagging, you start to appreciate the ripeness of youth."

"And his arse in those trousers is ripe enough to take a bite out o-"

"Eh, mine," Astrid remarked, frowning at Ruffnut, who snickered back.

"I want more details of this bath," Cami broke in. "Don't think you're escaping so easy."

"Oh well," Astrid said, her grin and her blush showing she wasn't all that reluctant to speak of her conquest. "So first he spends a good half hour taking the splinters out of my hands and folding them this way and that and being incredibly gentle about it."

"I'll bet that got you hot under the collar," Cami commented. Astrid's grin only widened.

"Oh, he'd gotten soaked on the way to our hall, so what does he do? Take the tunic off and stay in the trousers next to the fire as he fiddles with my hands. He's got fifty seven freckles on his right shoulder."

Heather burst out laughing with the rest. "Woman, whatever torture you put him through after that, he deserved it. He was practically provoking you!"

"Then he puts balm on my hands and wraps them up. For splinters! It was ridiculous," Astrid laughed, "And I shoo him off to take his own bath, but when he comes out, I drag him back in there because of course, I can't wash my hair with all the bandages and ointment."

"Oh precious baby Thor," Cami laughed, flopping onto her belly on the blanket and snickering helplessly. "If it was any other guy, I'd say he did it on purpose, but Hiccup? Oh, what I'd give to see the look on his face."

"It was worth most kingdoms," Astrid admitted.

"So what, you made him sit there and wash you all over? And then you left?"

"I'll bet there was more than 'soap foam' left in there," Heather snarked. Ruff gave her a devious grin.

"That's exactly what I did," Astrid replied with a chuckle. Heather looked at her shrewdly, and of course knew there was more to the story than she was saying. The girl had come to her hut that morning, to help her prepare for the day as the female host, something she'd done to try to save Heather from Thuggory's horrid aunt soon after she found out about the woman.

They had also needed to discuss the behaviour of their dragons. If Hiccup was right, it was both elating and worrying. What if they had to release them, to live together in the wild, in order to prevent separating the pair once the Thing was over and everyone returned home for Snoggletog?

The guest hut had been warm, and they'd spoken for a few hours until the she-beast woke up. They'd escaped the horrid old lady to come to the sewing picnic in the snow, and Heather was very glad to see the glow on Astrid's cheek. The other girl had been sad and conflicted, and Heather had hated seeing her like that. Astrid was a strong warrior, generous with her time and help, but she had had no clue how to handle her own heart - no surprise, really, when she was almost more of a crusty warrior than Cami. Though Cami was in a class of her own, really...

"It was hilarious," Cami herself went on with a devious smirk, and Heather realised they'd moved on to speak of something else. "This redheaded daughter of a troll was standing there, weeds in her hair, thinking she's hot shit, and then she missed all the apples. She didn't get an arrow through a single one."

"Oh, how I would have liked to be there," Ruff said, looking up dreamily. "How badly did you rub it in?"

"How badly would you?" Cami replied, and Ruff gave her one of those signature crooked smirks that were utterly evil. "Exactly, sister. Her new nickname became 'sharpshot', and I can tell you that she's never been able to get half the muck out of her hair since she refuses to cut it out."

"Serves her right for challenging you, dear," Brunhilda stated with a matronly nod. "You don't just walk up and challenge an heir to a tribe if you know what's good for you. And this girl obviously had a few knots missing in her noggin, and not a few beads falling out of her ear."

"Oh, to have been there," Ruffnut said with a sigh. "I'd have liked to be your second, and give her a good pounding once you got bored of kicking her in the face."

Heather tittered with the rest, only half listening as the conversation turned to proper care for weaponry and the best way to kill and drain a hare when she noticed someone approaching.

"Um, are we waiting for someone?" she asked the other women. They turned to look at her, and then in the direction of her gaze. A girl - young, dressed well - was approaching them hesitantly.

"That's Sleet, Madfoot's daughter," Cami said in a hiss, and Heather saw Astrid's eyes go wide. Without a second thought, the blonde dropped her sewing, stood, and made her way towards the flinching girl. Heather (and everyone else) craned their necks to see Astrid begin talking to her, then grip her shoulders as she bent down to talk to the shorter girl more quietly.

"You think she'll kill her?" Ruff asked.

"I'm hoping for some hair-pulling, at least- what the, is she hugging her? Of all the…" Cami grumbled.

"Girls, quiet," Brunhilda said as Astrid began to lead the apparently terrified girl to the rest of them.

"Maybe she's bringing her here so we can all beat the ever loving crap out of her; I call first dibs," Cami whispered.

"Girls," Astrid said, looking back at Sleet encouragingly. "This is Sleet. And she's got something really important to tell us."

=0=

Hiccup had escaped to the forge that afternoon once the talks had relented. Astrid was nowhere in sight, which had been a bit of a let-down, as he'd been hoping to spend some more time with her. Snotlout hadn't really deserved that black eye, but he hadn't managed to talk Astrid out of giving it to him on principle. And Snotlout seemed almost expectant of it; like some badge of honour to show off. Eh, Vikings. He may be one of them, but he still didn't understand half of it.

So he was here, whistling with Gobber - in fact, they were doing duet whistling, and it was so weirdly awesome because they were both in tune. He loved putting his new apron on, rolling up his sleeves and getting his hands covered in soot while the metal blazed and bent to his will. Even if it was just the last of the yak shods, or fittings for new armour for Dogsbreath - the boy had been estranged long enough, honestly, and he needed to speak with him again. Still, it was a bit sad that he hadn't apologised yet - then again, Dogbreath had always been taciturn and had problems saying what he thought in a manner that wasn't blunt. Hiccup sighed mid-whistle, and then caught up the tune again; he'd go talk to him. What he'd done had made him angry, and put him in the middle of a manure heap. But he had also seemed unable to understand why they'd been all so angry at him, from what Thug had said. Maybe he just needed more friends, not less.

Eh, he'd think about it later. The work he was doing now had a little bit of finagling involved, and he really, really wanted to get this right. He'd noticed (with his tongue - the thought still made him blush) that Astrid's ears were pierced now. They'd never been before - another something to add to the ever growing bank of new details he was hoarding about Astrid. And of course, if her ears were pierced, he totally had to get her something for them. Sure, he'd given her jewellery he'd brought back with him, but that necklace of hers needed a mate. Or two.

She only took it off to bathe, and polished it every wash day; something else he'd learned. And something even more mind boggling had been that she thought he hadn't liked her. Of all the stupid things…

"Well, you fell over to look away!"

"Because you were naked!"

"Exactly!"

"Opposite reason! Totally opposite!"

He snickered to himself, delicately working the pincers to bend the warm silver into the design he wanted. She'd thought he didn't like her; Frigga have mercy of her sweet, misguided head. A man did his best to preserve her dignity and she went and got worried. The half-hour in the bathing room helping her to get the mud off had been the best and the worst of his miserable life. He'd had to wash her, gloriously naked and beautiful, because her hands were bound in bandages, and she had no mercy on him and hadn't let him only wash her back - of course she'd had mud on her chest, too. Not that he'd seen any, she didn't. Not that he'd looked. ...who was he kidding?

"So you …"

"Astrid, I had no idea how it would be received if I, er, showed interest. Ack, you women are so lucky! You can look without getting a knot in your trousers that gives you away!"

"So you were always so stiff and uncomfortable…"

"Yes, thank you; truer words were never spoken. Oh, yeah, laugh it up… ack! I dropped it, where - dear gods in Asgard sorry. Sorry - Asgard, there's the rag….

He quickly wiped the smile off his face. It was undignified. But by the gods her breast was soft. And she'd gasped and laughed instead of killing him.

"So yeah, for the sake of making the obvious more obvious, yes, you're beautiful and you drive me mad. Not that we hadn't found that out in the shed when I was at your mercy."

"Well… the feeling's very mutual. Not that we didn't find that out in the shed too. Um… do you think you can do my hair now? That shoulder's really clean, I promise. Ah, please Hiccup? My head really itches."

A pleading look over a pink, wet shoulder and he was totally lost. It took all of him just not to climb in the bath and do all sorts of unspeak- … Fantastic way of calming himself down, this. He had to try it more often.

Some chief he was going to make if someone found that weakness of his out. He was utterly doomed. And his brain was about as fogged up with the image of her in that bath and the feel of her soft skin as that bathing room had been.

Argh, he couldn't let himself get distracted. He still had to fix that bent shoulder pad of hers - and she wouldn't tell him how it got that way save 'venting steam', which usually meant she'd gone killing trees. Maybe she'd been imagining that shoulder guard was his head. Maybe that's why he was stalling to fix it - he couldn't help wincing every time he looked at it as an imaginary bruise throbbed on his skull. And oh heck, Gobber was giving him knowing looks, and it was beginning to get annoying, especially because he knew he was guilty as charged and couldn't stop the damn cheeks from going red.

Not that any distractions he tried worked for long, because ... it was not like he hadn't enjoyed washing her hair … or that she hadn't enjoyed it, if the constant happy humming and head thrown back were any indication. Which did not help in the-

"Hiccup!"

"GYA!"

The younger smith looked down at the tiny piece of silver in his pincers, which now sported a very interesting shape totally not what he needed it to look like. His dad came up behind him - and Gobber was mercifully quiet, though the darn eyebrows were giving him a stealth-wiggle - one of these days, he was going to get back at Gobber, he swore it. Find him a woman then catching him in a compromising position and tell all the Hall.

Well, no. He'd probably preen and throw a few hammer-headed yaks in there to make things 'spicy'. Erk.

"Hi, Dad. I see you've been practicing your indoor voice" he said in a tone that conveyed his annoyance, and at least his father had the decency to look sheepish as he glanced at the ruined piece of silver. Then he grinned to match Gobber when he caught sight of what was on the bench. Two of Toothless' smaller scales, roughly of the same size, and then the two silver webs slowly being built around them, and two silver hooks waiting on the side. Hiccup rolled his eyes as he blushed again.

"Ah, hard at work, eh?" his dad said in that teasing tone that never failed to make him feel flustered and stupid.

"I, um," he squared his shoulders. "Yes. I have plans. For after the Thing." He folded his arms and rested against the bench in an attempt to appear casual. "So; needed anything? Sword sharpened? Axe ground? Head put in the clincher?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing…"

"Well, son," his dad gave him a look, which meant he'd rewound the words in his head and heard them clearly only now. He'd probably get cuffed for that later, but he couldn't help it. He'd missed teasing his dad. It was always fun, and now that their relationship was repairing and that the utter, foundational conviction that he was loved had returned to it's proper, solid place, it had stopped giving him flutterings of trepidation every time he opened his mouth and something snarky came out. "If you have to be like that about it, maybe I won't tell you."

And that was another thing that was new; his dad teasing back. It was such a breath of fresh air. Although this air grated on his sense of curiosity.

"Eh, you interrupted me already," he said, gesturing with the silver piece still in pincer.

"Hum," Stoick replied; his dad was grinning under that beard, Hiccup knew him well enough to realise that his eyes were doing the pinchy thing. Uh-oh… "I would like you to do me a favour, son. There is someone I want you to talk to, and make up with."

"Er…" Hiccup waved the silver more questioningly this time.

"No, no. I know you and Astrid made up." Oh no, the wiggle brows. What did he know? Who'd told him? Surely not Astrid. Asgard, had he seen anything? His dad had never been there when they'd … in the hall. He'd never been there, right? Erk. "I want you to speak to Dogsbreath."

Ah. Hiccup deflated at once, head beginning to clear and fall into more serious patterns of thought. "Yeah, I was sort of planning to, anyway." He tilted his head at his father. "Wolftooth asking for a favour?"

"Not blatantly," his dad replied, and Hiccup snorted. Trust Wolftooth to be persnickety and subtle about it. "But the boy has some very important things to tell you, too."

Looking at his dad in askance, he noticed the tense set of his shoulders, despite the levity of the conversation, and the way his eyes looked through the windows as he stooped to fit into the smaller part of the shop, head bowed and trying to stay as close to Hiccup as possible.

Ah. Apparently there was something Thing-related going on here.

"I'll look for him later today, then. Maybe he can give me a hand with Farthog in the arena. Footsore said his wife would probably like a gentler dragon…" He looked at Gobber, who was whistling studiously, and his dad nodded. Well, at least Gobber was in on whatever it was, too. "And then I may invite him to the hall for some mead with us tonight."

"Excellent idea! I'll warn Astrid."

Yes, best warn Astrid. Before she got any idea into her head that involved her being in the tub, all pink and wet and - argh.

"Y-you do that," he replied, turning back to this work-bench to avoid seeing the reaction to the dreaded stutter. Bah! He was as bad as he used to be at fourteen!

His dad parted with one of his quietest laughs - which meant that the weapons on the wall rattled only slightly, and slapped his back, which now at least Hiccup could brace for. The line of the bench was going to make a nice bruise against his lower belly, though.

Wrangling his thoughts away from Astrid - ok, wrangling part of his thoughts away from Astrid - he went back to trying to work on the cooling silver, fingers doing their own thing as his brain churned.

Something important. Something important to tell Hiccup, but that his father obviously knew already. Possibly an apology, but also something else. Something important, if his dad's shifty attitude said anything. And Gobber knew, but Gobber was his dad's closest friend, so perhaps …

Speculation was useless. With a sigh, he took the work-in-progress and put it on the bench in his old, tiny work-room, saluting Gobber on the way out who gave him a nod and continued whistling and hammering as if nothing had happened.

Toothless was right outside, belly-up in a spot of sun.

"Hey bud," he said gently, and Toothless opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him eagerly. "Up for a short flight and some sniffing? I need to find Farthog and Dogsbreath."

Toothless gave him the smile he'd been named for, righted himself with a shake, and was off like a shot into the clear blue sky of that day as soon as Hiccup mounted. He had a friend to make up with, and, apparently, something important to find out.

=0=

He waited quietly in the dark, hoping for a squeak or a sound that would alert him of the arrival of his quarry. His grin was wide and evil as he crouched in his hiding spot under the table.

There is finally a rusting, and then a creaking as the old door opens on noisy hinges. He couldn't help the grin that spread on his face as his favourite victim walked in.

With a war cry, he leapt up, hatchet in hand, and within a moment was upon her. The next moment, he was flat on his belly, utterly winded from both the blow and the fall, arm twisted and face smooshed to the floor.

"Ow, I'm hurt," he muttered around his squashed cheeks and lips. "You totally win again."

"Of course I do, Tuffpuffin," she whispered in his ear, and then his hurting shoulder and belly and the dirt in his mouth was totally worth it. She scrambled off after a final endearing hair-tug, and he got up, sitting cross legged in the dust.

"You got away alright?" he asked her, looking at the door, only slightly ajar to let the light in. There was very little light in the room, and he could barely see a chair sitting under the hole in the ceiling, a table and a single, rickety closet, beside the stone fireplace which was the only thing that had survived the mildew. All in all, it was a perfect little creepy place to pull pranks in.

"I did. You?"

"The sister's covering for me. Astrid told me to get here."

"Hiccup." Cami's grin gleamed in the sparse light. "He also said he may have a solution."

"What, really?" Tuffnut grinned back at her, scooting closer. She sat crosslegged across from him, their knees touching, and leaned in.

"Yup. Possibly a permanent one, knowing him. But he said we've got to be careful, because we have to make sure to have our arses covered before we spring anything." She rolled her eyes. "If it were up to me, I'd have my dragon mow your hall down and call it a day."

"Ung, I know, don't remind me. It's a real temptation to just have Flat-Fart blow it up." Tuffnut growled when he remembered his horrid, stupid grandfather, may Hel take him and fart in his mouth, and the stupid blubbering mother he hadn't forgiven yet. She should have believed him, not some barmaid. "There is no way that stupid woman got past my trouser knots. Not when you can't."

"I know," Cami hissed. "That was our little game. You do the knots, I undo them, and then we get to play with what's inside."

Man, was it getting hot in there or was it just him? He loved it when she growled like that. Ok, ok; he loved it. He just needed never to let his sister find out.

"And then she knotted them right up again? As they were?" Tuffnut said incredulously with indignation, folding his arms. "Pu-lease. Ruffnut can't!"

"And Ruff's about as good as you on the knotting." Tuffnut preened. Screw it all, this girl liked him, and liked his sister. There was no going back. He gave her his best grin, and she punched him in the gut. His grin just got wider.

"Why are you …" she started, then, her hands turning from a punch to a caress as her fingers danced along the fur of his vest. "Last time you said you can't even be seen with me in the Hall anymore, to have a meal. Even if the others are all on the table with us." Tuffnut could have broken his nose on a rock right then, because Cami looked really sad. Not spitting mad, or glaring, or concocting a plan. Just plain sad. And he really wanted to break something.

"Yeah. Remember that barmaid who interrupted us the first night, when we were trying to drink Thuggory under the table?" he drawled.

Cami's eyes caught fire. He could see them scrunch up into a furious, hateful beam of deathy-doom even in the near darkness. "Is that her? Is it her? If I murder her in her sleep and then throw the body to sea, the arrangement's off, isn't it?"

Tuffnut shuddered. Loki, he loved this girl. May she and all her deviousness be preserved. And kept safe.

"That's my cousin," Tuff replied despondently. "She lives in my hall. Tells that smelly old man everything I do while I'm in the Great Hall."

"So we won't eat there anymore," Cami hissed. "We eat somewhere else. You can come to my hall. My women won't rat on us."

"Yeah, because me being seen coming in and out won't be suspicious at all," he huffed - he'd already thought of it, and Hiccup had shot the idea down. Fishlegs was now in on it, somehow, and Ruffnut was overjoyed about it, cackling that she could now plot their grandfather's death in the safety of her hall.

"And Fish and Ruff's?"

"They've got something on her. Fishlegs was really, really, really angry when Ruff told him. Don't know what he plans to do, but it's going to be awesome. Remember what I told you about Snotlout?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Yeah, well, I think that's going to pale in comparison to this. He actually crushed the pipe in his hand and left for his own hall, or so his father said. Mr Ingermann looked a little worried, and that means he was very worried. I really hope they issue a blood feud and Fishlegs gets to kill my stupid grandfather in combat. He'd crush him. Like the pipe!"

"That will be something to see…" Cami replied, and her fingers were still tugging at the fur on his vest, sometimes giving his loose hair a pull when it fluttered around her fingers. "Listen, why are you … you changed your mind." She frowned up at him. "First time I cornered you about this-"

"And punched me in the face," he recalled fondly.

"And kicked you in the knads," she snickered, and he winced, but cackled with her. Gods, this woman. "But not too hard. I need those later." Aw yes. "Anyway, you were all for just breaking off with the clan and going solo. Hiccup had said he'd support us, so…"

"They took your letters," he replied glumly. "I had them hidden, but that nosy stupid woman found them. And now my grandfather has them." He scowled down at his feet, folding his arms tighter and feeling like an utter cock. He wasn't sure he'd ever forgive his mother for that. "If I don't do what they say, they'll show them to people. And then you'll be stuck. If I shut up and just …" He shrugged. "Maybe I can divorce the cunt in a few years. Or you'll find someone else."

"I want my chicken destroyer," she argued querulously, and he didn't admit that he was so very, very relieved and happy and elated, at least until he realised what she said.

"Och, no no no! How'd you find that out! You weren't supposed to find that out!" He hid his face in his helmet, but his words echoed more instead of being muffled. "I'm going to die in shame!"

"Shut up," she replied with a laugh, slapping the helmet and knocking him over. He probably had line marks in a circle all around his face now, if the throbbing was any indication. She sighed dreamily. "It's awesome. All those chickens, all of them clacking and squaking, and then suddenly blowing up. Sweet baby Loki that must have been epic. And I missed it!"

Tuffnut couldn't have been more in love. Like, if someone emptied his insides and filled him with it, it would still be less than what he felt now. It didn't make sense, but he'd never been a fan of sense anyway.

"We could do it again," he offered, feeling like he was in a hazy place where everything was awesome and incredible. "Stoick would kill us so, so, so hard that Hel wouldn't be able to torture us, because we'd be deader than her, but it would be so worth it."

"Oh yes, especially if the explodey chickens were the ones of your clan!"

"Oh yeaaah!"

Aaaaand she was kissing him. And groping him. Aw yeah. And she had absolutely no problem with him groping her back. Now this was a wife worth having. And damnit all he'd tied those knots too well, why wouldn't they come off-

A groan and a tumble stopped them short. They'd rolled under the table, somehow, and Cami still had her hand down his pants - which meant that they were cutting into his back something fierce. Neither one of them dared move; if they were caught here, it would be incredible, massive, godawful trouble for the both of them. But especially for her, and that was unacceptable.

He gathered her up quickly (taking that hand out, unfortunately), and spotting a pile of rags, grabbed a few of them and covered as much of them as possible. The door to the shed opened a moment after, and a pair of unfamiliar legs were followed by two others.

"Check the closet," a voice growled, and the old rickety furniture made horrible protesting noises as the doors were flung open, and then one of them fell to the floor. Cami held him tighter, and he was sure it was because she thought he was scared, but he swore he'd spear these assholes and let her get away.

"Right. Get a light."

A candle was lit, and a stub was thrown to the ground next to them as a moment later the noise of a ceramic plate hit the table on top of them,

"Are you sure about this?" Tuffnut felt Cami stiffen considerably in her arms, and her face was suddenly murderous.

"Aye. Just got the bird back; there was a storm with that East wind, and the whole thing got delayed. They won't be here on time."

"Damn it all!"

"I know. We leave four days before Snoggletog, so that's not far off. They may as well turn back."

"Unless we find a way to prolong the talks."

"But how do we do that?" the first voice grumbled again. Cami's face was contorting into odd shapes. "I think that Wolftooth's had more than enough of us."

"We could always go with your first plan," said the other voice. "Say the dragon bastard took your daughter's innocence and sit back to watch the fireworks."

"Not gonna work," he growled. "Girl's still a bloody virgin. I couldn't get the guard to go in there and do his duty. Killed him, but all the others in the room quit. Can't find a bloody real Viking to pay his weight in gold."

"Eh, have someone do it now," the other man said. Tuffnut was getting bile rising in his throat. This guy was talking about having someone do that to his daughter? He risked a look at Cami, and instantly clamped his arms around her harder. She was the colour of an angry monstrous nightmare. Which was the colour of 'screamy deathy burny lots'.

"No good. That goddamn Dogsbreath is with her all the time. And if it's not, it's one of the goddamn women. I even saw her with the stupid dragon brat's promised." He spat on the ground, close to where their feet were. Tuffnut clamped a hand on Cami's mouth when he saw her open it, her fingers caressing the daggers he had in his belt.

"We'll have to think of something else, then."

"Hmm, tomorrow; There went the midday meal horn. If all three of us don't appear..."

"Yeah … may Berk rot in Hel's realm. It's raining again. This rock forsaken by the gods seem to be able to do little else…"

"I heard it actually hails…"

It was a moment before they moved. Cami had begun cussing a blue-streak behind his hand, and the old rags were so itchy he couldn't appreciate the layer of grit on them.

"-alf troll son of a diseased yak filled with rotting milk and poxed udders!" Cami hissed as he let her mouth go to take the rags off them.

"Did you hear what I heard?" he hissed back, his brain still stuck on what they'd proposed to do that girl he didn't even know. But he thought of someone doing that to his sister and … well, she would bash their head in and then bathe in their entrails. Or to Ca- eh, stupid. She'd wear their ribcage as a corset.

But still! It was - hey, wasn't it sort of what they were doing to him? Making him marry that horrid woman because she said so, and tying him down to a life where he had to have sex with her, which felt sort of rape-y … aw, great, so he was the hapless lass in this analogy? Fantastic.

"I really don't want to get raped," he grumbled to himself.

"What?" Cami asked. She blinked at him and looked at him consideringly.

"Ack, I meant, that poor girl, you know. It'd be probably what she'd be thinking."

Cami went purple as Stoick's Nightmare again. "That was so totally unacceptable that I'm going to tell my mother about it. Right the fuck now. It's against treaty rules, and against Bog laws, and just plain wrong on so many levels that I want to cut their man bits off and make them watch while I feed them to the pigs."

Tuffnut instinctively cupped his nether regions.

"And you are going to get fondled by no one else but me. Got me?" she hissed, her foul mood obviously transferring to their situation. He gulped, but shrugged.

"No problem here. You know, as long as it's mutual." She hit him on the head, knocking his helmet off. "Of course it's mutual. Stupid question."

She snorted, and he was proud to see her half-smirk come back. They moved cautiously towards the door, then crept out when they saw that the coast was clear.

"I'm going to my ma. Come with me - ah, but first, we need to go get my da'."

"Your 'da'?" Tuffnut asked, following behind her and trying not to get distracted by her tangled hair waving this way and that.

"Yeah, my dad," she replied. At his incredulous noise, she sniggered. "What, Bog women need men to make babies, too. S'why I need to break through those knots in your trousers after all."

"Eh," he said with a shrug, climbing over a knotted root. "He's here on Berk?"

"Da's here all the time. He's a Berk man like you, Tuffpuffin."

"What?" Tuffnut paused mid-stride. "Do I know him?"

"Sure you do," Cami paused to look back at him. "I could'a sworn I told you … you know the big crazy guy at the forge who taught Hiccup, right?"

"You mean Gobber?" Tuffnut choked out. Oh that was awesome! He got to get freebees at the forge if all went well, and -

Wait. No, Gobber was the girl's dad. Girl's dads were scary on the best of days and …

Oh. If everything went well, he'd get Gobber as a father-in-law. Gobber, with the perchance for sharp, sharp things, and the hook at the end of one arm he liked to cut other things with. Preferably men who went after his daughter.

"I'm going to be hurt," he muttered to himself as Cami kept sniggering and began to move forward again. Tuffnut stared at the tree in front of him. "I'm going to be very, very hurt," he told it.

=0=

And the thing about secrets is that there is no way of keeping them that way. That is, unless the author decides it so. Reconciliations between Dogsbreath and the other heirs will happen strictly off-screen – because after all, reconciliation is a process.