The politics don't only affect the big picture.

Berkian Eddur - 2

Winter in Líf's Holt

Chapter 15 - Due bounds

Whatever has overstepped its due bounds is always in a state of instability.

― Seneca

Ruffnut sat by the fire in her hall, knitting a vest she wasn't sure was too big or too tiny. Mama Ingermann had been trying to teach her, and Ruffnut had been surprised when she caught the finger movements up surprisingly quickly with the result that she could produce swathes and swathes of knitted wool. It was the counting that beat her completely. Luckily, Mama Ingermann was patient, and they'd agreed that Ruff could just knit, and then Fishlegs' mother would do the other stuff with it. It gave her an odd satisfaction to know that all the littles in the Ingermann household were dressed in wool she had knitted together. Even her brother had helped, somehow showing he had a knack for something other than disaster and a good eye for yarn and fabric quality and colour.

Her brother wasn't here right now though; if he knew what was good for him, he would be in the woods with Cami. As happy-go-lucky as she was, that girl had been cut up right and proper about the affair with her stupid twin. Loki, Ruff thought she would be saddled with him for life, and that no woman would ever want him no matter how much their parents tried to sell him off. And now there he was, hot-stuff.

Hot-stuff who'd gotten her into trouble. She pouted, rocking the wooden cradle with her foot and glaring down at her ever-faster fingers, what was supposed to be the front of the woolen vest growing surely longer than it was supposed to. It didn't really matter - Mama Ingermann always found something to do with her offerings, and the inside of both their halls had never looked so warm and pretty. But the clicking and clacking wasn't relieving her stress as she'd hoped. Not when she was waiting for a verdict.

Finally, just as she was about to rise and put another log into the fire, the front door opened. Ruffnut froze, feeling oddly vulnerable as she looked at her husband standing there for a moment before he shuddered and shut the door behind him. He didn't say a word as he walked in, which didn't bode well, but Ruffnut went ahead and threw the log into the flames anyway.

"So, what's the chop?" she asked, trying for her usual nonchalance and failing miserably. She wasn't sure what to do; should she be extra nice? Or would that make it seem like she thought she was wrong? She hadn't had much choice! So should she just pretend to be ok, or would that make him mad?

She hated when she had a problem she couldn't punch in the face. Granted, her grandfather was a good candidate, but he wasn't on hand right now, and that was annoying. So she just stood there and looked at Fishlegs, rocking her cradle with one hand absently.

He sat down on the bench by the fire, right next to where she had been knitting her heart out. He ladled some of the whey soup into a tankard and started blowing and sipping, opening his mouth several times and saying nothing, and making Ruff more and more anxious until she began wondering whether punching the husband would get him unclogged and her de-stressed.

It usually worked. But she wasn't sure in this case.

He gave her a couple of looks as he sipped before he sighed. "I'm not mad at you," he said. Ruffnut felt relief at once. Then she straightened up again. She didn't know whether she should be relieved! Or offended! "Well, I am, but … well, I'm not sure."

She blinked at her husband. Then she slumped forward, looking down at the sleeping Woodnut and rocking the cot more gently when she realised she'd increased the pace in her agitation. "Good, because I'm not sure whether I should feel worried, spitting mad, or so very, very sorry and grovelling and promising so much sex you won't be able to walk."

Fishlegs choked on his soup; good, at least some things didn't change. He gave her a look and she pretended to look chastised.

"Well," he went on with a wobbly voice, coughing a little more. Then he put his tankard on his lap and shrugged, opening his other arm, and Ruffnut finally felt alright again as she sat down beside him and snuggled up to his woolen clothes - her work, again. Ha. "I'm mad at you. But I'm madder at your clan. And I realise that they put you in such a bad position that you didn't know what to do."

"Yeah. They threatened Woodnut. I'm not even sure they could, but they did and how could I risk that?" she replied, feeling sad and angry and confused.

"Oh, they couldn't," he replied, and Ruffnut found herself smiling at the imminent destruction about to take place. That was the voice he'd used just before he'd strung Snotlout out to dry.

"No?" Ruffnut said, bloodlust beginning to boil.

"No. Talked it over with my mum and dad." Ruffnut flinched. "Oh, don't worry. They're more worried about you than angy. And I think I'm more mad you didn't talk to me, but … if they told you they'd do it if you told me too… Mama made me see that she would have done the same if any one of us would have been threatened too. She said it's a mother thing." Aw, that was nice. She was going to have to let Mama Ingermann take Woodnut for a week now. She'd come back eating while sitting up correctly, and Ruffnut would have to take aaages to break her out of it, but it was the least she could do. "Which is why I'm more mad at your clan. And I'm going to make sure they don't mess with the Ingermann again."

"Are we issuing a blood-feud?" Ruffnut asked excitedly. Sure, she knew they weren't (and she had no problem at all re-aligning herself as an Ingermann now) but the thoughts were sweet, sweet bloodshed.

"No. We actually thought about it." What?! Oh, she knew the Ingermann were more awesome than they looked. "But that would include your brother. Which is stupid." Oh, right. She hadn't thought of that. It's why she let her husband do the thinking anyway.

"So no blood feud. But what?" They could duel. Mr Ingermann was so, so strong, he could lift three threes with roots still in and not break a sweat. And her g'pa would be dared by name, and then he couldn't throw the task to someone else because of his age - probably her brother. He'd probably make Tuff do it just because he was a bastard and would find it funny - and he couldn't escape.

Or Fishlegs could do it. Oh yes, he could. Her husband has this face when he was angry (at anyone but her) that was so darn hot.

"Oh, we're doing a little bit of talking between us first. It so happens that Hiccup had asked me to look for … well, you know about that. It's why we talked. Anyway, what I found is going to be very useful." Fishlegs gave her a look she'd never seen before. It was utterly devious and he actually cackled. She was so in love. "You know how they're obsessed with honour. We'll just kick them in the balls. Figuratively at least."

Ruffnut looked at him for a few more moments as he kept giving her that smile and sipping his soup like nothing had happened. Her husband had cackled and blasphemed and he pretending nothing had happened. It needed to be rectified.

"If you repeat this anywhere, first I'll kill whoever you told, deny it, then find you and cull your balls," she hissed. His face instantly went into 'yes ma'am!' mode. Good, the training was working. "But I love you. A lot. Like, if you squeeze me right now it's the only thing that would leak out." She took his mug, put it on the bench and stood, dragging him behind her by the arm. "Now come to the bedroom and give me more babies."

When he answered with an 'eep', her grin became obscene.

=0=

He had to admit, it was a great satisfaction. It wasn't every day that he could make Hiccup hammer his own thumb and then look like that. Slack-jawed suited him.

Gobber gave an evil chuckle, which Cami mirrored. Hiccup ran a hand down his face and blinked at them.

"Yeah, I can really see it now. In fact, I don't see how I could have missed it before. Wow. So Gobber's your dad. And you never told me? Even when I told you I'd become his apprentice?"

Cami shrugged. "There wasn't enough time. I wanted to make a whole production of it." She pointed at his face, "because I wanted to make that happen. But then your dad stopped bringing you, and the Thing hasn't happened on Berk in almost ten years."

"Oh aye," Gobber said, putting his repaired mace down and resting against the bench, arms folded in reminiscence. "We just couldn'ea do it here, not knowing when a raid would hit. The beasties had us busy enough without you folk come mucking around."

"And that means I didn't get to see you for almost three years! You ne'er sailed by Bog's outer islands the way you used to!" Cami pouted. Gobber gave her a light cuff on the head, and she took it with a sheepish look."Now look'e here, lass. Who's the one with the flying beastie who didn't come see her old pa, eh?"

"What was I s'posed to do, fly in and say hi? Berk'd have lynched me."

Gobber stopped to think about it.

"Eh, you have a point."

"And Hiccup was counting on us keeping you scardy willies in the dark so he could keep pretending to be shady and mysterious."

"Hey!"

"Eh, that too."

"And ma told me she she gave you all my little gifts." Cami looked at him eagerly, and he gave her a fond pat on the head.

"Aye, keep them in me drawer at home, right beside the spare peg-leg." Cami beamed at him, leaning in to rest on his shoulder. Hiccup was giving them a half-dazed, half-disbelieving smile, and he went back to finagling away at something on his opposite bench, giving them some privacy with his back turned. "But that doesn't mean that you get to fool yer old 'da and not come visit now. And how's that worm of yours doing?"

Gobber got a bump at his elbow, and he snickered when an irate snort gave the dragon away. He pat it on the head, and Sting gave a start and rippled into vision.

"Rule number one in stealth, lassie," he told the blinking dragon. "Never give your position away, even when you're provoked. Odds are, they're doing it to see if you're there," he finished off with a flourish of his hook. Cami gave a chuckle and took her dragon's face in her hand, putting it in her lap where Sting gave a pouty gargle and submitted to be petted.

"She's learning, da'," she snickered. "Hiccup said she was only three years old when I found her. Wandered off from her nest, most like. Curious little brat." Sting gave a whine, and Gobber patted her flank, making her wiggle. The dragon gave a baleful look for tickling her, but then curled a tail around him.

"There's a good lass. You'll protect my devious little bairn, yes?" he told Sting. Cami snorted again, but Sting preened at being given such an evidently important a task. Then he turned a stern look to his girl. "And I'll do the protecting where it comes to the lads. So now, spill it."

Cami went stiff, colour rising up her neck. She glared at him furiously, but he just folded his arms and looked at her silently and expectantly, just as he had every time he'd ever wanted to get something across to her. He'd had, perhaps, a more active role than most fathers of Bog Heirs, with Bertha being quite taken with him that she found excuse to come to Berk in those early years often enough for his bairn to actually know his name and his authority. And just as much as she had when she was a wee lass with nothing more than skin on her bones and bush of flighty hair and flightier ideas underneath, she gave him a pout, folded her arms, haunched her shoulders and submitted.

"Da', look, it's being sorted." Or almost submitted. Because she was a good lass and her mother's bairn too. "Ask Hiccup."

"I'm staying out of this one, 'lassie'," Hiccup piped up from the other side of the shop, still working on whatever it was he was doing to try to get laid with Astrid. Or maybe try not to get laid. He hadn't quite understood what he was trying to do between the blushing and the spluttering when he'd asked.

"I'll feed you to a troll, one of these days," she growled at him, Sting mimicking her, but only playfully as Toothless's head came up through the window and chuffed at her. Sting whined, and submitted right away. "Oi, tell your big bad dragon to stop bullying mine."

"I've already told you, Cami," Hiccup replied patiently, still bent over his bench. "After Toothless took down the Red Death, all the other dragons started seeing him as some sort of Alpha. Not that the big lazy arse deserves it." He got a look, and Toothless accurately blasted Hiccup's hammer out of his hand on the downswipe. Gobber ducked, taking his lass with him as it sailed by their heads, and Hiccup looked up to give Toothless a look pretty much the equivalent of the one the dragon had given earlier. There was a dragon-ish giggle, chuckle or cackle - Gobber wasn't sure which - and then Sting was chirping at Toothless, flaring her long fleshy horns, and Toothless preened.

"I think she's saying 'good shot'," Cami chuckled. When her dragon shook Cami's arms off and went outside to sit next to Toothless and preen him, they all blinked.

"I think she just offered to have his babies," Gobber said with a snicker, expecting the horrified look from both his bairns. Hiccup, the elder of the two, gave up first and shrugged. "Don't think it would work, but she's trying, poor lass. Now, don't think you've skived the question." He threw an arm around Cami, who had hopped up to sit on one of the window benches to be at eye-level with her old da'. She pouted at him, and Hiccup promptly pretended to go out and have an argument with his dragon about work safety and firing hammers at people's heads.

"Really, da', Hiccup's helping me sort it." She was giving him a hopeful pout. No doubt, the hope was that he'd drop it. Fat chance.

"Like a good brother would," Gobber said. She gave him a horrified look and he snickered. "I brought up that boy equal measures I brought up you, lass. But that doesn't mean this old man will give up his right to take care of his little lass. Now spill it. Who do I have to skin?"

"It's not his fault," Cami growled. "I was coming to talk to you a while ago but he said you'd kill him if I did. And I said it wasn't true, but maybe he was right and you're an oaf."

Oh, poor heart. He was being replaced. His little girl never sided with anyone above her cool da' before, not when he was the one with the hook hand.

"Now look here, you give me the whole story, and I tell you whether or not I'll skin him."

"Or how about this; I tell you part of it, see how red you go, and then decide whether to tell you the rest," she replied defiantly. Gobber sighed, running a hand down his mustache and then nodded. Stubborn lass; all her mother.

"Ok, well, um." She sat up straighter, looking at him defiantly. "I chose him."

"Awright."

"And he has sense, so he chose me."

"Awright."

"But there are … problems."

"What, he's married?" Gobber asked, jokingly. Cami flinched and a terribly cold passed over his skin. "Lass, if I find that you have been after another woman's man, and that you've gone and broke bairn's hearts by taking their da' away, so help me Thor, I'll put you across my knee."

"Da!" she said huffily, going red with anger. "There aren't any children, and she doesn't have any real claim on him! I had him first!"

"Ah, a love rival," Gobber said with a shrug. "Just thump her."

"I can't," she pouted. Gobber scratched his chin.

""She a general's daughter?"

"She's a barmaid."

"Then thump her with a thunkard. Will be added funnies."

"I can't because ma wants me to try not to start a war."

"Eh, barmaids get thumped all the time. An' how's he think about her, the lad? He's not fiddling be with both your hearts, right?" Gobber had a sudden thought and gave her a sharp look. "Is he 'fiddlin' at all, for all that matter?"

"Naw," Cami shrugged. "Not for lack of trying on my part," she went on with a pout.

"What? There's another lad this side of the archipelago apart from Hiccup who can keep it in his pants when a woman offers?" Gobber considered it. A flat-toned 'Thank you, Gobber, for that,' was heard from outside. And ignored. "I'd normally say he's an idiot, but I like 'im right now."

"Made a game out of it, actually," Cami said, and she was sad as she shrugged. Gobber rubbed her arm and she leaned into her old da'. "When I could get through the knots on his trousers we could get married."

Gobber blinked. Where had he heard that?

"Anyway, his family is against us, I think. Because I'd take the children. And because I'd keep the lasses and send the sons and not help raise them." She looked glum. "I'd help raise them. It's easier with the dragons now."

"Ah," Gobber said, beginning to understand. There had been incidents in the past that had occurred somewhat like this. Sometimes, the choice of a Bog Woman wasn't looked upon with the due respect it deserved; Bog Women always gave strong children. If the family got involved, it was all more complicated than a mace-to-the-head could fix. "So they're causing trouble, not the lad?"

"Caused it already," she sighed. "They promised him to another woman." Gobber felt himself go scarlet as his vision blurred red. That was a horrible insult! "Apparently she came forward with some claim or other, but I say they paid her to do it, or something like that, and they up and wrote the contract without even really looking to see if it's true. He hates her, and if I can't get through the knots on his trousers, she certainly can't!"

"Right enough," Gobber said mildly. "The lad's say in this?" He was trying to reserve judgement and stop himself from going to Stoick to ask permission to declare a blood feud, promise to Frigga that he was, but it was harder than chopping his own arm off.

"He wanted to cut himself off at first." Gobber's respect for the lad increased. At least he knew what his daughter was worth. "But then he started avoiding me, and I found out it was because they got my letters. To him, that is. And he said that he'll marry the other lass if they keep it from coming out and…" she shrugged. Gobber didn't need her to elaborate. He knew what would happen to his little girl if those letters came out.

"Awright, I'll bite. I like this lad this far," he said. "Who is it now. You owe your da' a name if I'm to help you."

"You wouldn't know him," Cami hedged, looking away. Gobber puffed up.

"Don't you lie to me, daughter. You'd have told me the name in the first place if it was like that. So tell me. Now."

"Tuffnut."

Gobber gaped at her for a few moments.

"Tuff- Tuffnut? As in Tuffnut Thorston, that almighty scourge from Loki's loins who-" He paused and scratched his chin. "'Ang on, I actually think he's perfect for you. And that sister of his thought him the right way to treat a woman of your good breed." He pat her on the arm. "An' he's being good to you. With just enough brain about him to be afraid of ya as to be afraid for ya." He cackled, clanking his hook against his helmet. "Like this cloudy old head."

"Yeah," Cami replied, looking relieved and happy that he approved. His poor lass. She still loved her da' if she wanted his approval. "But it's all gone to dog now."

"Not quite yet, not quite yet. Didn't you say the lad was helping you?" Gobber replied, pointing out the window at Hiccup, who had stopped to talk to one of the generals from UglyThug.

"Yes, he's already found something." she shrugged, lowering her voice. "Pa, you can't tell anyone, ok? Not even ma."

"Listen here now…"

"Ma will have to take it up to the Thing. We're trying to keep it 'tween us so we can manage it without those letters coming out," she pleaded, and Odin was he a sucker for pretty eyes. There was no shame in it - if Thor could dress as a lass, he could be wound roun' the finger of one. Or two.

He sighed in resignation, and she hugged him around the middle. "Your ma is going to skin me, salt the pelt and make me wear it," he grumbled. "Can I tell 'er half of it? She already guessed it's on a lad you were mooning."

"Wasn't mooning," she muttered rebelliously into his shoulder.

"Sure you weren't, as much as Hiccup's never mooned on his own lass. Or Astrid didn't moon for him while he was gone, either."

"Oh, this I didn't know!" Cami crowed, eyes shining with potential mischief. He gave her a warning look.

"Don't go embarrassing the lass. Odin knows it took her the second forever to come t'terms with the fact she wanted a man at all."

"Oh, I know, I got her on that track myself," she answered proudly. When Gobber raised a brow she puffed her chest out. "What, did you think she got there on her own? I knew how Hiccup was on her - since he was eleven, for Frigga's sake - and when she came up with some nonsense in her head to try to stay off him because she didn't have the woman-parts to fess up to him, I set her straight. Seems to have gone down well."

"Eh," Gobber said with a grin forming. That was his lass. "How'd you do it? I was on the point of beating their heads together."

"I beat her head into the ground instead, 'n she did the rest," she shrugged. Gobber nodded.

"We're Vikings," he said. "A good knock to the head works better than sappy words."

"Though the sappy words are good sometimes," she added, and Gobber was rather disturbed to see that look on her face. Then she punched him in the mug, and his pebble-tooth came out. "Don't look at me like that, you need the honey with the hatchet!"

He glared at her, feeling around his gum with his tongue and admonishing her in a slur. She snorted, producing a new river stone which he took up and stuck into his mouth after wiping it down on his front.

"Well, Hiccup seems to have gone off," he said, smacking his lips about to get used to the new tooth. "And left his work out - that lad, distracted as ever they came. Wouldn't touch those," he added, when his boggie lass ventured closer. "Those are for Astrid; for Snoggletog, I reckon, or sometime later. Not quite sure what 'e's planning to do, and can't quite decide whether he's trying to get into her leggings or stay out of them."

"Stay out, from what I know. Good man knows to respect a woman. Though I reckon she'd say she'd do with a little less respecting," his daughter snickered. Gobber shook his head.

"Just make sure that boy of yours keeps doing the respecting, and I won't have to gut him and make you a widow before you even resolve this problem, are we clear?"

Cami chuckled, but it was nervous, especially when she saw him begin to sharpen his hook. Her cheek twitched.

"No threatening to cut anything off before I use it, da'. 'S'not fair."

He gave her a stink eye. "Fair's relative, lass."

She swallowed. "I'll tell him to make the knots extra hard, shall I?"

"Aye. But so you know, I'll just cut through with the rest of him as I cleave him in two, knots or no knots. Wedding first."

Her eye twitched too.

"I swear I only love you because you're the coolest dad ever. Otherwise, I'd gut you."

He gave her a shining smile. "That's my girl."

=0=

It was normal for the women of Berk to meet once every quarter moon at least so that the supra-domestic chores that everyone pitched a hand in - such as the chores at harvest time, the chores during the milling periods, during feasts, or during something like The Thing - could be equally distributed.

The Haddock hall, therefore, was full of women of all ages and all walks of life. Even some of the barmaids pitched in, although a few had been hand-picked to remain behind in the mead Hall at all times. Brunhilda knew that the choice of who to leave behind this time had been very, very carefully made.

Brunhilda was so proud of her daughter. Who knew, after all those hard pregnancies, the missed children, the fevers taking some of them away before they got names, that when she had finally held that precious, precious girl-child in her arms nineteen years ago, looking up at her with misted blue eyes and screaming her lungs out, she would be looking at the next head woman of Berk?

And she was smart enough to know when to delegate, smart enough to know when to lead and when to ask for help.

The normal meeting to delegate laundry chores this time became something else. Not that this wasn't normal too - it was pretty standard for Berk. And it was rather exciting to have a few foreign lasses in with them as well. Sleet was here, Heather was sitting down and had Droplaug Ingermann fussing over her with some of her miraculous tea for settling stomachs. Her colour was already better.

The door opened and closed, and Cami pushed and pulled her way to the front. When Astrid saw she had arrived, she unsling Brisinga from her back and laid it out on the ground. Every woman in the room did the same with their primary weapon, so that a circle of shining metal laid around the fire, gold and red reflections flicking and dancing across all the polished surfaces. Goethi waved her staff over them in blessing, and then gave Astrid a serious, grave nod.

"I told you to bring your weapons," Astrid said without mincing words. "So you all know what this is about. I open the council of the Berk Women under my call. With our guests." Cami saluted, Heather waved and Sleet raised her eyes for a single moment. "My mother knows the traditions. She will lead part-way."

Astrid looked out at the room as if she'd been standing at the helm of her sex on Berk all her life. Brunhilda kept in a tear with all her Vikingly stubborn heart. Hiccup was getting more than he bargained for, settling on her little girl when he was eight years old. Well, suits him for taking her little warrior away from her.

"Some of you are new; some of us have been here since we became of age." She nodded towards Droplaug, towards Sigríðr - Sigga - Vingoss, married into the Jorgensen - and so many others; especially those who were not there. "For those who are new; these meetings are sacred to us all. Anyone who offends these meetings offends the gods, and offends us all. Anything that is said within these walls remains within them; we must all swear to't." Goethi shook her staff again, and the room fell even quieter. "All must repeat; We swear never to breathe word of this meeting or its content to neither the menfolk nor the ones not present, may lightning strike me and all my sheep get poxy, ug ug."

The room repeated it in a chorus, the Ug Ug resounding around the hall. Brunhilda pursed her lips at Gerda Thorston's conspicuous absence, her slightly lagging final 'Ug' a long-standing running joke. Astrid had not invited her; it was her little girl's first political decision, and Brunhilda wasn't sure about it, but she didn't know enough to judge her, and could only support her as she learned.

"What are we here for, then?" A young mother asked from the back of the room, her baby whining with fatigue.

"We need to discuss battle plans," Astrid said, and an instant hush fell on the room. "Berk is not safe. We need to guard our own. The men are probably talking on this elsewhere; we'll probably talk on it in the Hall when Stoick tells us. But I've found out through a friend." Astrid extended a hand towards Sleet, who jumped and went the colour of ripe plums as all the women in the room turned to look at her. She nodded at a few, almost tripped in her own dress, and went to stand next to Astrid. A few of the younger girls tittered, while some of the elder ones gave her fond nods.

"What's this threat then," Ruff asked, cradling Woodnut almost fiercely. Many grim faces mirrored her own; they were used to war. After facing giant reptiles trying to eat you, little could phase you in battle.

"We don't exactly know," Astrid replied, and Brunhilda knew at once that she was lying by the way she looked down at the flames instead of looking everyone in the eye. "Sleet told us and Dogsbreath what she knew, at great personal risk. I will need someone - anyone - with Sleet at all times. She's to be with a group of us all the time as we have been doing this last few days."

"So that's why we had that order?" Phlegma asked. Astrid nodded.

"She's not safe," Cami snarled. "We need to keep her safe if we're to tie her to us with twine. Women care for one another."

"Aye," the room answered, and Sleet went redder, looking down at her fiddling hands.

"Now, we need to distribute the rosters. Ruff." Ruffnut grabbed a number of sticks with differently coloured ends, put them in a keg, and everyone fished one. "Who were the usual heads of squad? Don't fish any. You can do that. Phlegma, I'm counting on you. Does everyone have one?"

Brunhilda passed the jar on, as she had kept her old role of flanking Val co-ordinating, and taken it over when her battle-sister had gone; she just added healer duties to it. Now she flanked her own daughter who had inherited the role. Life was so strange.

Once everyone had a coloured stick, Astrid continued.

"How many of us have young children or are gravid?" she asked. Ruffnut answered promptly.

"Including me, there are about sixty of us with nursing gas-monsters." There was a titter of laughter. "And then there are another ten weaned ones crawling around everywhere."

"How many of you are here?"

"All of us weaners. But only about three of the ones with the tiniest youngings." Ruffnut replied. "A lot of them are counting weeks still, and the tots are without names."

"Ok," Astrid replied. "Droplaug; you are the one in charge of organisation a retreat, correct?" Droplaug nodded, still patting Heather's shoulder. "I want you to go to each and every one of them in the next days. Make sure they have all their necessities ready at a moment's notice. Who fished the orange sticks?" A number of women raised a hand. "You answer to Droplaug. I want you to divvy up the village mothers between you and see that everyone's well prepared."

A chorus of 'aye's answered. Cami cackled quietly.

"Sigríðr, you're in charge of the women who go up on dragons. Who has red ones? You will answer to Sigríðr - I want at least one woman for each of Stoick's teams. Those idiots don't know what's good for them."

"Oh, aye to that!" and a cheer rose up.

"The chief probably has the grain covered - Sigríðr, go over their plans with your husband. See if Spitelout and Stoick missed anything. Make sure there's enough whey saved together with the other grains. They always forget how important it is."

"Phlegma - you've got the hardest task. Who fished the white sticks? All of you are on the 'get them out of there' duty. When they get injured and won't quit, you swoop in, bonk them a good one on the head and get them to Goethi and my mother. It's a hard, thankless task. Those who don't feel up to it can change without shame. Try not to kill them, if at all possible." Brunhilda laughed with the others. "Those who fished the blue sticks? You're with me. We're the ground troops, we cover the others and we cover the men, and we mow down anyone who stands in our way as we do it. We protect Goethi and my mother, and take as many prisoners as we can."

All the woman answered with wolfish pride.

"Very well. I had you pick to make it fair, and to keep control of the numbers I needed. Now, anyone who feels better suited in battle for another role, see if anyone will exchange." There were a few swaps and a bit of jittery argument, but in the end all the women settled down with some satisfaction.

"This is wonderful," Heather said, her grin showing that Glunda's remedy had worked. "We have to do this on Freezing. It's fantastic."

"Oh, that it is," Sigríðr laughed. "The first rule is; never tell the menfolk."

"That's right," Droplaug laughed."Then when crisis comes, we work like clockwork, and all the men think it's some sort of magic."

"Ha!" Said Dryleaf. "Like a beehive, they think, with all our minds alike. Go tell them!"

"And it's always so much fun to pretend we can talk with our minds. My husband's fairly convinced it's true because my daughters and I have eyes, and we used them instead of looking at the clouds."

"And ears too, for that matter!"

"Very well," Astrid said, joining in the tittering as she picked up her axe. The room went quiet again as Astrid rested it on its hilt, now long enough to hold comfortably like that. "Those who picked the blank sticks are the auxiliaries. You will exchange the role with whoever is picked by Stoick for other tasks if they conflict with someone's assignment. Oh, and Phlegma," Astrid embedded her axe into her cooking table. "If Hiccup gets stubborn, call for me. No one gets to drag him away but me. Understood?"

"Not yet your husband, and already making you destroy furniture, oy," Sigga said with a snicker that Brunhilda shared. Her daughter shrugged, unperturbed.

"He might as well be," Astrid replied, causing the room to smile and look at each other knowingly.

"Oh aye, that may be true, but you're going to need a new table," Phlegma said with a laugh. Astrid looked at it with a frown.

"I suppose," she said. Her smile betrayed the fact that she was not too upset. "But I have more firewood."

"That's the spirit!"

"But oi, Stoick is going to think you're mad at someone in the house if you leave it there." Ruffnut got a truly evil sneer splitting her lips. "Leave it there! At least for a few days. Get them to go on tip toes around you for absolutely no reason."

"That's a great idea - makes up for the mess they make without fail."

"Just say you were chopping onions and it was taking too long."

"Or that you were swatting a fly. I love the face they make when we apparently make no sense to them. They look at us like we're dragons on a rampage."

Brunhilda gave a tiny snort, remembering the times when her husband had given her that look. Astrid shook her head at the lot of them and folded her arms.

"If there aren't any questions, we can move on to the actual distribution of tasks for the end of The Thing and Snoggletog." Astrid gave a smile around as the atmosphere in the room became warmer still at the mention of the much-beloved Winter holiday.

"Just one," Phlegma asked. Astrid nodded. "Am I right in assuming that the danger Sleet is exposed to is of the … familial kind?" Astrid nodded. A hush settled onto the room, and poor Sleet looked down in shame. Cami growled; Brunhilda knew exactly why, and it made her feel ill. "Then if there is that power over her, where she can't refuse a direct summons, how are we to protect her from something like that?"

"You tell whoever is summoning her that I gave her a task, and if they have a problem with that, they can answer directly to me." If that axe wasn't in the table already, it would probably be there right now anyway. "And then you send a terror my way with a note, so I'll know to be prepared to receive them."

"Aye," Phegma replied. The rest of the tasks where given out without problems - if one ignored Ruffnut's suggestion that they blow up a few, specific things (and people) as part of the celebrations. By the end, women were trickling out of Stoick's hall with tasks and thoughts, laughs and whispers on their lips. Sleet gave a meek nod and left, Cami glued to her side. Brunhilda moved beside her daughter on time to see her nod towards Sigga. Droplaug also joined their circle and Astrid drew her in.

"Tell Gerda to join you. Are you still ok with it?" Droplaug nodded with her usual benign smile, and helped Heather out. "Now I just hope Ruffnut disobeys as usual and is out on the battlefield that day. I don't want to know what she'd do if she found her mother there."

"Oh, the possibilities are endless," Sigga replied, eying the axe in the table. "The chop's probable. She's done her harm. She deserves it."

"Sigga," Brunhilda admonished mildly. Sigga had always been a hard woman, and had become more so after marrying Spitelout. Their son, at least, was doing slightly better under Hiccup's wing and leeching off the younger boy's kindness, but it was no surprise that he had turned into a glory-hog to try to earn a smile on his parents' face.

"Be that as it may, she's an experienced member of the tribe and I'm not letting that go to waste in a time of crises. Droplaug will need help. Gerda can provide it; she needs to get her head screwed on straight if she wants her daughter back, but that is outside this situation. That's the end of it."

Brunhilda could have burst with pride. Sigga gave her a half-lidded looked after her daughter had walked out, dragging the table behind her. No doubt, it would be tinder in a few moments.

"I have to say, I can see why my boy was trying to hold out for her," she said with a shrug. Brunhilda felt her feathers ruffle on Hiccup's behalf - that boy was as much her son as any of the other rascals she'd pushed out screaming into the world, and not only because of her past close friendship with Val.

"Hiccup would have won her anyway," she declared with little room for argument. Sigga shrugged with little care.

"My boy's an idiot. They would have divorced after a few months. She's too strong for him, and he's too feeble for her. His dad's the same, but at least he knows when to yield to me and when I want him to use his own head. Snotlout's not got that sense yet." Then she snorted. "Hiccup's always had it. Remember when they used to play their games? She used to beat up anyone who used to try to get in on it. Then he used to give her a look and say a few words…"

"Aye," Brunhilda replied with a reedy, proud voice. "I'm not as worried, anymore."

Sigga laughed, arms akimbo and chest jiggling in open merriment that Brunhilda found herself sharing.

"I'm not at all! It's going to be a disaster. They're going to smash things. A lot. And once they're done smashing everything in sight, they're going to start building it up again."

"And it's going to be glorious," Brunhilda said, a devious smile on their face.

"Nobody tell the twins," Sigga hissed. "They'll think it's permission to blow up the buildings, too, and it's been months since we had to rebuild! A record!"

Both women left the hut laughing. Astrid outside was standing over what was left of her kitchen table, Hiccup, just returning from one of the concluding talks at the Hall, blinking down at the wooden debris and making bland observations about the alternate uses of kitchen utensils as Brisinga kept making short work of it while the banter flew free and playfully vitriolic.

Sigga gave her another knowing look. "And that's before they start having children."

Both youngsters blushed, and the two older women walked off laughing, arm-in-arm.

=0=

The manoeuvrings have ended. Please, put on your seatbelt.