Chapter 7

ASTRID

When Eret ambled into his tent, Astrid was perched on one of the chairs - her arms crossed and teeth bared.

"Who do you work for?" she asked.

Eret, shoulders falling, sighed and moved to his bed. "You certainly don't waste any time," he muttered as he dropped his cloak and jacket onto the pile of furs and hides spread across his mattress.

"No, I don't," Astrid said. She surveyed him with a sneer. "One burn mark and a few vague warnings aren't enough. What's really going on?"

"Do you mind turning around?" Eret, halfway through the buttons on his shirt, raised his eyebrows at her.

Huffing, she stood and turned to face the fabric wall. "Talk." If he was talking, she'd be able to hear where he was in the room and thus wouldn't need to worry about him sneaking up on her. Also, she wanted actual answers.

When a moment of only distant clanging and chatter filled the tent, Astrid snapped again, "Talk!"

He sighed. "My employer is known as Drago Bludivist to most."

Astrid waited. Again, Eret left a long pause after his words, resulting in Astrid growling, "Keep going."

"You haven't heard of him?"

"No," she spat, and the admission floods her face with heat and grits her teeth together.

"He's... a visionary. Keeps several bands of dragon trappers in his retinue, though my experience lends me seniority over my own crew."

"Okay, and this visionary has hired all these dragon trappers because... why?" Astrid crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

Eret yet again hesitated to speak, so Astrid could hear the rustling of fabric and clinking of belt buckles before Eret continued. "Drago takes issue with the current political structure of this country. He believes it's time for a radical change, which requires an army. His army is populated with humans... and dragons."

Astrid almost pivoted to look at him. "Dragons? In his army? Are you serious?"

"Why do you think he's hired so many dragon trappers? Almost every professional in this archipelago is taking orders from him."

"How does he-" So many questions flew around Astrid's brain that she struggled to pluck just one. "How does he control them?"

"Money."

"No, the dragons," she snapped.

Eret hummed before answering. "I don't know the exact process, but dragons are beasts, so they respond well to displays of power. Drago, as far as I can tell, seems to have mastered that."

"You don't know for sure how he's doing it?"

"My profession keeps me moving. I don't spend extended periods of time at his encampment, so exactly what he does isn't something I end up seeing. I've witnessed the end result, and, well, that's enough to convince me his methods are effective." He cleared his throat. "You can turn around, by the way."

Astrid spun so quickly that a cloud of dizziness hit her. She sunk into the chair, and she opened her mouth to fire another question when movement outside the door flap caught her eye.

"Boss! Got your food here!"

Rolling back the pale sleeves of his tunic, Eret stepped to the fabric. He pulled it to the side just enough to make eye contact with the man, offer a word of gratitude, and pull the platter into his own hands. Astrid watched Eret slide the tray piled high with food onto the table. He grabbed a glowing green apple, sunk his teeth into it, and passed it to her.

Astrid wolfed it down, only pausing after the first few bites to say through a mouthful of food, "Don't think I can't interrogate you and eat."

Watching her tear the apple apart, Eret picked up a chicken leg. "I, ah, wouldn't dream of underestimating you."

After devouring the apple, Astrid waited until Eret had nibbled at a bock of cheese and thrown it to her before continuing her questioning. "So... Drago takes issue with the leadership. Isn't that just a fancy way of saying he wants to take over the country?"

Eret swallowed his bite of chicken before replying, "He doesn't exactly share his plans with me, but that's what I've gathered, yes."

"And he's got an army, so he's not exactly keen on negotiations."

"Again, as far as I can tell-"

Astrid groaned over his explanation. Whatever reasons Eret had for dodging direct answers were a mystery to her, and obviously he wouldn't be clearly explaining his evasiveness. "Fine," she said. "When's the last time you've seen him?"

"It's been just over a full moon's cycle. We received a messenger yesterday who relayed Drago's orders that we return back to his encampment."

Studying the jerky activity of his fingers, Astrid said, "I'm guessing that's not normal."

"No, I usually return only when all my cages are occupied. In the past, he's been... rather unpleasant if I return with less than that." Whether Eret swallowed down his food or his fear was anyone's guess.

Astrid's eyes flickered to the curved edge of the burn mark peering over the collar of his shirt. "Okay then."

"Are you done-"

"Why?"

Ripping a piece of bread in half and handing one piece to Astrid, Eret frowned at her. "Excuse me?"

"Why does he dislike the royalty? Why does he want to take over? What other 'why' is there?" Astrid snatched the bread from his fingers.

Eret's frown deepened. "I'm not from this island, but I imagine it's the same as anywhere else. Every man thinks he ought to lead, and if he's got enough resources or confidence, he'll act on that thought."

Astrid wound one hand in her hair. "It's like this everywhere?"

"Everywhere I've been, at least," Eret said with a shrug. He pulled at the cloth hanging off the back of his chair and draped it over the food. "Eat what you wish, but I'm retiring for the night. Tomorrow will be more of the same."

"Dragon trapping?"

Sinking into the bed, Eret heaved a sigh. "It is my profession, after all."

Astrid stood. "Don't leave the candle lit for me. I'm going out."

Eret had already been leaning toward the candle. He paused, eyes narrowed at her. "Where?"

"Around the camp." She crossed her arms and snipped, "If that's alright with you?"

He seemed to ponder it a moment before rolling his eyes. "I don't think I'd be able to stop you either way. Just-" Eret stopped and surveyed her. "I don't suppose you'd want some different clothes?"

Astrid dropped her head to study her beaten dress. Her fingers itched to prod at its frays and holes, but she restrained herself. She couldn't decide whether or not confirming his statement would show vulnerability, so she said nothing.

Shaking his head, Eret continued, "There's a reddish tent beyond the campfire just outside. Ask Mulver for some clothes."

"And armor?"

"You're supposed to be a woman of the night. Armor will stir up too much attention."

She grimaced at his assessment. As much as the idea of armor appealed to her, the last thing she wanted was more attention. "Alright," she grumbled.

"Be careful. And don't stay out too late. We'll begin packing up the camp tomorrow as well." With that, he blew out the candle.

Astrid stretched out a hand to feel for the gap in the fabric and, when she grasped it, ducked out into the camp beyond.

Darkness had seeped into the camp, held at bay only by the glow of torches and lanterns scattered across the grounds. The occasional burst of fire from irate caged dragons lit up the clearing and the surrounding trees, but thick clouds suffocated any light that may have come from the stars and moon above. Though the sun still lurked about the edges of the world, the way it insisted on doing in these warmer months, its light did not reach the camp.

Astrid paused only a minute to marvel at how diverse the world beyond her old tower could be. This night - and the world and people below it - barely resembled the evening of her birthday, spent in Berk's capital city. Neither could she draw many resemblances between here and the lonely days spent on the run with her mother.

Her feet carried her past the campfire and the jeers of Eret's men to the abode of the man called Mulver. Eret had labeled it a "reddish tent" - a very generous description for a swath of fabric the color of half-dried blood, posted up on a chaotic mess of poles and pegs. Around the uneven and slightly swaying mess were strewn barrels and crates piled high with various items. Astrid felt her lip curl as she approached it all. A skinny man darted past her, snatched a helmet from one of the barrels, plopped it down on his head so it sunk past his eyes, and scurried off into the darkness.

Fabric draped over the frontmost pole so that the door flap gaped wide and unable to be fully closed. Astrid pinched the corner of the fabric to duck under it. "Hello?" she called.

What she'd assumed was one among many lumpy piles inside the tent rustled and sprung up. Astrid found herself nearly face to face with a gnarled and leather-faced man. His back hunched so far that he might have been far taller than her with a straight spine, but instead he had to squint up at her.

"Hello yourself," his rumbling voice returned.

"Eret said I could get some clothes here." Astrid nearly shook with the effort of keeping her voice even. It seemed too loud in this musty mess of a tent.

Mulver blinked twice at her before snorting something that might have been his version of a laugh. "Ah-ha, you're his recent companion then? Yes, a very pretty thing indeed, though not to my taste." He waved around his fingers, each as curled as his spine.

Astrid fought through her first instinct - to punch him - and her second instinct - to bury her fingers in her braid and knead at it to stave off the nervous energy. Instead, she stood still, nodded, and promised herself that Mulver would feel her wrath. Someday. When she could do so without arousing any unwanted attention.

Because, she thought as she watched Mulver toddle around and poke at the various piles, she wasn't safe here. Every man in this camp could catch a dragon and thus had more experience and expertise in combat than she did. Every man far outweighed her in strength and in literal weight. Though she hadn't glimpsed a woman at the camp besides herself and her mo- Gothel, Astrid imagined any other woman here would also outmatch her. Even with Eret's protection, all it took was one rebellious thought to put Astrid at their mercy. And she doubted they'd spare her any mercy.

Beyond the camp, she had no shelter, no means of obtaining food, and no destination. As threatening as the men of this camp were, they were at least a known enemy.

A shuddering breath threatened to explode from her chest, and she bit down hard on her lip.

Astrid had no one.

She yanked herself from the chill of her mind when Mulver's mutterings rose into a call to her: "Here you are!"

With speed she wouldn't have expected, Mulver yanked his arm back and pelted a ball of fabrics at Astrid. She managed to catch it and pin it to her chest.

"It'll be big on you, yes, very big," Mulver said, with a smile revealing a straight white set of gleaming teeth.

Astrid cleared her throat. "I can sew."

"Yes, I imagine it's a necessity in your line of work," Mulver said. He then offered her a snigger rather than an explanation.

Stretching out the fabrics for a better view of her new clothing, Astrid chewed on her lip in thought. Mulver had provided her with a simple brown tunic and brown set of pants. Both ballooned massively beyond what Astrid would need - and she almost wondered if she could make an entirely new piece out of the leftover fabric after her alterations.

Astrid had always been a terrible seamstress, according to Gothel. From this point forward, however, her clothes would serve the purpose of function and not beauty. How neat and even Astrid's stitches looked didn't matter as long as they held together firmly.

"Thank you," Astrid told Mulver, though she had to force the words out. "I don't suppose you'd have shoes my size, would you?"

Mulver snorted, a loud, disgusting, juicy noise. "Every man in this camp is either begging me for shoes or about to start begging me for shoes. Good luck finding a pair anywhere."

She couldn't smother her grimace. After half-folding the clothes and draping them over her arm, Astrid backed out of the tent.

As she retreated back into the night, Mulver called after her, "Not going to try them on?"

Astrid thought of her dagger, tucked into a pocket of her belt.

Don't stab him. Don't stab him. Don't stab him.

Don't stab him yet.

Pivoting sharply, she shot into a brisk pace. After her and Eret's confrontation in the woods, she had arrived back at the camp far earlier than he had. Since she'd chosen to remain in his tent - and paw through his belongings again to search for suitable shoes - Astrid hadn't seen where his men had left the cage of the dragon she had met.

She would have to check every cage, then. Setting her shoulders, she forced her sore legs to walk faster.

At least the rare moment of extended darkness had enticed most of the men to retreat to their tents for sleeping. Astrid no longer had the luxury of closing windows in order to block the ever-present summer light from her tower. She wanted to sleep as well, to luxuriate in the sun's brief retreat from the sky.

A hooded figure sprung out in front of her. Astrid's hand was already on the hilt of her dagger when she recognized the shape as her mothe- as Gothel.

Gothel glared.

Astrid glared back.

"If you keep your face that way, it will wrinkle."

"Good."

Gothel's resulting sigh flowed up strongly enough to toss a curl of her dark hair. With the tips of her fingers, Gothel pulled the curl away from her face and sighed again, even deeper.

"What do you want, Mother?" Astrid winced. The "mother" had slipped in - a habit she'd have to break as soon as possible.

The resulting eye-roll nearly had Astrid copying it in full force. "I'm just checking up on you, dear. Since you've gotten all tangled up with that Eret fellow, you've hardly spared a second for me." Gothel smirked.

Blood boiling, Astrid fired back, "If by 'tangled up' you mean you forced me into his chambers to do whatever he wants with me-"

"Oh, please, you're making it sound like I'm some kind of villain. Astrid, dear, see reason-"

"I am seeing very clearly-"

"-and after all," Gothel continued. "You could have left the morning after, couldn't you? But I don't seem to remember you leaving that tent until this morning." She stretched out a bony finger to tap Astrid's nose.

Astrid jerked backward even as her brain suggested she bite Gothel's finger. Opening her mouth, Astrid summoned a protest, but Gothel kept speaking.

"It musn't have been too terrible if you stayed long after, hm? I suppose that Hiccup boy was easier to get over than even I could have thought."

Astrid slammed Gothel flat onto the ground. Her hands curled into the fabric stretching over her mother's shoulders. She stared down into the wide, dark eyes. Spit flew from Astrid's mouth when she hissed, "Don't you ever say his name."

If Astrid didn't think his name, if she didn't say his name, if nobody said his name-

If her brain blocked off those memories of a crooked grin, and his knuckles grazing her shoulders as he pulled a cloak over her hair, and stacks of books on the cold library floor, and black scales under her toes, and lanterns twirling, and the way his breath shuddered when she kissed him, and blood crawling across the tower's tiles-

If she didn't think about him, she could be okay.

Only when Astrid had thrown those memories and thoughts back into the dark corner of her mind where she'd forced them days ago did she push herself back onto her feet. Gazing down, she noted the mud staining her mother's dress. It had soaked through part of her skirts.

Gothel propped herself onto her elbows. Her eyes still nearly popped out of her head as she stared at Astrid. Astrid let numbness take over enough that she couldn't even glare back. She just looked blankly.

"Something has gotten into you," Gothel whispered, and her eyes narrowed into those now-familiar slits. "I don't know what you've become."

Astrid searched her crowded mind for a response. She came up with none. So she turned from her mother and kept walking. Gothel called after her, but her calls went unanswered.

She searched without thinking, passing cage after cage in a sort of reverie only punctured by the eyes: the terror and anger quivering in the eyes of every dragon she passed. Still she drifted on, suffocating any thought that dared venture out into the wide open space of her mind.

Time had passed in some uncountable capacity when Astrid heard it just beyond a cluster of tents. A trilling noise. A warning. A cry for help, perhaps. She shook the fog from her mind and walked faster. Even late at night, the eyes of Eret's men scratched at every bit of exposed skin, but she lifted her chest and pretended only she and the dragons remained awake in the dark.

She circled around the tents in her way to see that the trilling belonged to the dragon she'd been questing to find. She watched as it set to frantic circling in its cage, paused, sniffed with trembling nostrils at the corners, and then began twirling again and again.

It froze and then snarled. Astrid must have come close enough for it to notice her. It aligned its body like an arrow pointing at Astrid. She watched its wings stretch to far less than even a fourth of their full span, knocking against the metal bars. It had more success with the bristling of its spikes. They looked sharper now, inside the cage.

When the dragon opened its mouth, Astrid leaped back into a crouch, but only a dusting of sparks sputtered out of its throat. That made sense, she supposed. Somewhere - she didn't let herself think about where - she had learned that dragons usually had shot limits. It would have fired everything it had long ago when the sleeping darts had worn off and it found itself surrounded by unfriendly humans.

All humans must be unfriendly in a dragon's eyes.

She studied the construction of the cage. No doubt the trappers utilized this particular type of metal in order to survive all sorts of dragons' fires. Scuff marks and scratches abounded across the bars of the cage, or at least what she could see of it in the light of a nearby fire. Glancing backwards, Astrid noted the empty seats around the campfire. Though it glowed on a few logs still intact, those who had lit it had long retired for the night. She'd spotted a man moving around and putting out fires earlier. The night had dragged a chill over the campground.

When she turned back to the dragon, she realized that though it stood poised to attack - no matter how futile - it had ceased its sputtering, hissing, and snarling.

Something seized her chest tightly enough for her to whisper, "I'm sorry."

The hissing spiked up for a moment before fading away again.

"If I hadn't been there, you might have noticed they were coming. You could have gotten away," Astrid murmured. She did not step closer. The dragon twitched its head so that it could stare with one of its beady eyes. Astrid looked back into the gleaming yellow pool sliced open by a long black pupil.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and she wished there was more to say.

HICCUP

"You did what?"

Hiccup managed to bite back a comment about how that question should be added to the family crest based on how often Stoick yelled it at him. He was surprised his tongue didn't bleed, actually.

"Scouting. Making sure the kingdom is safe. You know. Princely duties." A younger version of himself would be drawing imaginary sketches on the floor with the toe of his boot, or staring at the floor, or swinging his arms awkwardly at his sides. Hiccup congratulated himself on standing tall and still as he looked his father in the eye.

Corran spoke. "And how exactly did you scout so far in such a short period of time?" he growled.

"I have my ways." Hiccup didn't let his eyes stray from Stoick.

They all knew how Hiccup had managed it - he didn't glance around, but he could imagine the looks that the warriors in the hall were shooting at each other. Hiccup had the good sense not to wear his flightsuit beneath the distant rafters creaking above their heads in the great hall - the less his father knew about his inventions and devices, the better - but the people around him comprehended the general meanings of Hiccup's statement.

"He has his ways," Corran parroted as his long, bloodless fingers gripped a mug of ale.

Stoick couldn't keep still, not even to maintain eye contact. He began pacing across the floor, his heavy steps accentuated by the echoes off the stone and onto the long-faded tapestries draped along the walls. "This is insane," he snarled. "I ought to have you locked up, Hal, do you understand that?"

"I"m not useful to you in a cell."

Stoick swung a hand toward him in a dramatic gesture - not that Hiccup had ever doubted where his own wild hand motions originated - and paced ever faster. "You're at least right about that! You'd make far too easy of a target for our enemies!"

The lack of response or shifting poses among the warriors told Hiccup that the kings' warriors knew of the assassination attempts. Were they told, or did the news make it through the gossip mill? he wondered absently as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"I intend to go to Laghne next," he said. Might as well rip the bandage away from the wound now.

Protests exploded across the room, but Hiccup waited until Cor had flattened the noise with a wave of his hand. "I can get there faster than your scouts can," Hiccup continued. He thought better of asking if they'd sent any scouts at all - if they were trying to pretend the threat wasn't as far reaching as the southeastern coast. Cor and Stoick seemed to change their minds and switch sides every few days.

This. This is why I hate politics.

Hiccup was a fan of calm debate before aggressive decisions, but only an idiot would equate that with the current political madness of Berk. Based on his travels with the jarls in past years, he could say with at least some confidence that the rest of the Archipelago wasn't faring much better in this age.

After a long silence, Stoick's face pinched into a dark mass of brooding anger. "You will not be going anywhere."

Hiccup said nothing. He surveyed his father's dark eyes, the upper lip lifted like a curtain to reveal the scowl, the clenched fists and shoulders - and Hiccup gave up on peaceful negotiations with his father.

Turning on his heel, he deadpanned, "As if you've ever been able to stop me from anything."

Stoick yelled after him to no avail.

Pressing through the doors into another day of thick clouds and thicker downpours, Hiccup resigned himself to yet again doing what he must for Berk, no matter how unpopular.

"Halt, lad." He had just reached the awning of the castle surrounding the great hall when the voice reached him. Wincing as a droplet rolled off the edge and down the back of his tunic, Hiccup turned.

Hrevneir, one of the jarls' faithful warriors, stalked toward him.

"Hey," he replied only when she reached him under the awning.

The drumming of the rain filled the extended silence stretching between them. Hiccup studied her appearance. The braids she usually wore long and swinging across her back had been tied into a large loop behind her head, but otherwise she looked the same as usual, with three layers of tanned hides forming her armor, several swords bolted to her belt, and tattoos lacing her bare, dark arms. She frowned at him, but he'd seen her around the corners and hallways of his life for so long that he recognized the frown as a fixture of her neutral expression.

Hrevnir's hand curled around her axe. Hiccup had to pull his eyes from the pale scars spun across her fingers like a spiders' web when she spoke.

"A dragon killed my sister."

Hiccup winced. "I'm sorry," he offered after another pause.

Her frown deepened. "I'm not." No doubt noting how Hiccup's brow shot into his hairline, she continued, "She had caught one of the dragon's younglings. Toyed with it like a cat with a mouse before killing it. It brought her..." The muscles in her arms tensed. "...joy."

As if anything he did could block the chilling picture from his mind, Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut.

"The dragon ripped her apart. I could not fault it for doing so."

Peeling his eyes open again, Hiccup nodded at her.

"All this happened before my eyes, in the dawn of my youth." From her belt, Hrevnir pulled a dagger and twirled it in her fingers. "Do you know what I thought when my mother found what remained of my sister, young heir?"

A thought sparked in his brain, an answer to her question, but he did not speak it aloud. He only shook his head. The thought was proven right nonetheless when Hrevnir spoke.

"My mother's screams sounded like those of the dragon when it discovered what my sister had done to its youngling. I wondered why our enemies felt the same pain as us."

"I..." Hiccup swallowed and bowed his head. When he lifted it again after a moment, he nodded at Hrevnir.

She nodded back. "You are wise, lad."

"Wiser than my dad?" he burst out, but she only blinked at him. "Right, right. Yeah. Sorry."

Sliding her dagger back into her belt, Hrevnir said, "You may find more allies in Berk than you expect. Remember that." She took a step back toward the doors of the great hall, backwards into the embrace of the pale gray light and torrents of rain. "Whatever you may find in Laghne, I would much like to hear about it... and your counsel on how to address it."

Hiccup only just managed to keep his jaw from dropping. He was glad when she turned and walked away so that she would not see the shock no doubt plastered across his body.

As a child, he had accepted the jarls' warriors as a band of giant monoliths who would only ever see Hiccup as the village fool at best and a disappointment to vikings everywhere at worst.

Sliding through the door and into the castle, Hiccup set a brisk pace toward his room. The newfound support from Hrevnir - and, if she was right, from others in the castle - wouldn't impact his preparations for his journey to Laghne at all. He still had another plan to build and set in motion before he could leave, and Thor only knew if that would go his way at all. Still, at this point, he'd take all the victories he could get. They were in short supply.

"Hey Mulch! Is Heather around?" Hiccup masked a natural grimace from the taste of the mead. Drinking anything from Mulchbucket's supply of alcohol was a hit or miss, but Hiccup's loyalty to this tavern couldn't be swayed by something as inconsequential as mead quality.

"Sorry, no. You a friend of hers?" No recognition sparked in Mulch's eyes as he slid a platter of chicken across the mottled wood table. Hiccup figured his hood helped conceal his identity as a regular patron of Mulchbucket's.

Thanks to his father's meddling, he would have to keep a lower profile than normal in his favorite spots around the city. It had taken him a few days before, mid-flight, the realization had hit him. He'd yelped and then swore almost nonstop for the rest of his excursion with Toothless.

Stoick's plan was clever. Hiccup could give him credit for that. If Hiccup resurfaced among the public without any disguises, people would start to wonder who he truly was. After all, they'd all heard about some tragic dragon-related accident leading to the death of Hiccup the local vagabond. Why would the royal family lie about that, people would ask, if Hiccup was truly a nobody? Stoick had effectively ruined any chance at casual anonymity without a disguise.

"Kind of?" Hiccup said. Were they friends? He'd never actually asked. Assumed is what he'd done. "Yes. Maybe."

"Kind of, yes, maybe," Mulch muttered with a huff.

A hooded figure slid onto the other bench across the table from Hiccup. Noting the thin, moon-hued fingers with neatly trimmed nails, Hiccup nodded to Cass, who looked around to survey the room before pulling her own hood a little farther forward. Smart.

"Another drink for your friend?" Mulch asked.

"Please," Hiccup replied, and Mulch finished stacking dishes from a vacated booth before bumbling off for the kitchen.

Cass leaned forward, her voice a rasping whisper. "I suppose you'd know whether the mead is any good here."

Hiccup grinned. If he had to suffer through today's batch, then he'd love company for the misery. "The best."

Cass grunted. She surveyed the room again. Though her face was shadowed by the hood, Hiccup could still make out her curled sneer. "Why are we meeting here?" Right to the point, of course.

Taking another sip and feigning approval of the taste, Hiccup watched her fingers tap the wood impatiently. After a loud gulp, he reached for his plate of chicken. Cass's fingers snapped forward to grab his wrist. "Your hi-" She caught herself in the public setting. "Just- tell me what we're doing here."

Hiccup sent her another smile, albeit a far more lopsided one. "My associate enjoys meeting places of the more informal variety."

"A criminal," Cass groaned under her breath.

She relinquished her hold on his arm, and Hiccup grabbed the chicken leg, bit into it, and pointed the leg at her. Through a full mouth, he retorted, "Hey, I'm a criminal, based on how many crimes you seem to think I commit on a regular basis."

"Don't remind me."

A person taller and broader than them both slammed down onto the bench beside Hiccup, making him and Cass jump.

Flynn Rider winked at them. "Evening. Is this seat empty?"

Just enough light shone on the bottom half of Cass's face for her gaping mouth to be fully visible. "Flynn Rider? That's your associate? That bastard thief?"

"The one and only," Flynn said, wiggling his fingers at her.

Hiccup shrugged. "I guess your reputation precedes you," he said. "Cass, have you met this gentleman before?"

"Gentleman isn't a title he deserves," Cass spat out through gritted teeth. "I've seen his work and his wanted posters."

"Oh, right, I saw one of your posters too." Hiccup surveyed Flynn. "Though I have to say, the nose doesn't match."

Flynn groaned. "Ugh, tell me about it." He pointed at Cass. "Hey. Beautiful woman who's clearly part of the royal guard due to your standard issue boots. Tell your resident sketch artist to find a new job. He's single-handedly ruining the guard's reputation on the streets."

Cass huffed. A shuffling sound beneath the table told Hiccup that she was trying to tuck her boots into the folds of her long cloak. Hiccup didn't bother hiding a smile. "And that's why I called you both here."

"Boots?" Flynn said, winking again at Cass.

"Wanted posters?" Cass snarled, glaring at Flynn. Hiccup did not have to see her glare. He could feel its sheer power and venom in the air.

"Sneaking around undetected." Hiccup took another long sip of his drink, and the sound of approaching footsteps indicated he'd timed his pause perfectly.

"Here's your mead," Mulch chirped, pressing the mug into the table in front of Cass. She immediately wrapped her fingers around it and took a sip, while Mulch nodded at Flynn and asked, "Will you be needing one as well, good man?"

Cass began to sputter. Flynn turned his beam of charm onto Mulch. "I'm afraid my stomach is rather sensitive tonight, friend. Though it does pain me to refuse your offer! Your mead's reputation is well-known!"

Hiccup nodded and offered his thanks to Mulch. He waited til the man had moved to another table before allowing a chuckle. "How's the mead, Cass?"

Cass wheezed, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Clicking his tongue, Flynn said, "I could have told you not to drink the mead here. Too much of a gamble, even for me. What were you thinking?" He ignored Cass's newly intensified glare to turn his attention back to Hiccup. "Not that I have any issue sneaking around undetected, but I am going to need specifics in order to name my price."

Hiccup slid his hand into a pouch on his belt to withdraw and slide to Flynn a smaller pouch that jingled with obvious contents. "Speaking of price, I think that's a small part of what I owe you."

"Small indeed." Flynn pocketed it anyway. "And I seem to remember you promising me something specific, kid. Wonder where that could be."

I'm wondering that too, Hiccup thought, but he had enough control of his face to smother a grimace before it could hope to surface. Where was the crown? He'd last seen Astrid's mother with it, and no doubt she would have sold it quickly to both acquire currency and avoid unwanted attention she would have amassed by keeping it on her person. To Flynn, he waved his hands and said, "All in good time, all in good time. I just thought you might be interested in making that payment a bit larger."

Having recovered from the mead, Cass hissed, "Sneaking around where?"

"Dragon trapper's camp."

Nice, two dropped jaws.

He took their silence as an opportunity to sink his teeth into the chicken leg again. Of course, as soon as he began to chew, the interrogation began.

"Seriously?"

"Are you insane?"

"-Not sure that's my line of expertise, kid-"

"-You're insane-"

"-I mean, I'm flattered that you think so highly of my abilities, don't get me wrong-"

"-Did a dragon eat your brain? Is that why you're like this-"

Hiccup lifted a hand, which didn't immediately stop the flood of protests but at least slowed them. "Okay, first of all, don't gesture to all of me. And second of all, this is not even my craziest plan."

Cass guffawed, only slightly hysterical. "What were your crazier ideas, then? Do I even want to know?"

"No," he assured her.

"How many of them involved you getting stabbed, other than the one you only recently bothered to tell me?"

Flynn gasped and grinned. "You got stabbed?"

Hiccup nodded even as he wagged a finger at her. "Hey, for the record, as soon as I woke up from my coma-"

"You were in a coma?"

"Not now, Flynn- I told my dad and Corran as soon as I woke up, and you were definitely eavesdropping, Cass, don't deny that! Not my fault that you forgot!" She glared, but Hiccup matched her glare this time.

"For the first and what I suspect to be the last time, I have to agree with our gorgeous guard," Flynn said, waving a hand at Cass, who looked like for a moment she considered biting at it from pure anger. "Heavily armed beefcakes with a ton of dragons, traps, and legal immunity does not sound like my idea of a party."

Cass said nothing, but Hiccup knew she echoed Flynn's sentiments.

"You told me you were suspicious of the trappers," Hiccup said to Cass, palms up on on the table. "You didn't think the royals were taking their lack of registration seriously - and I did check with Fishlegs. We have no records of this particular group's registration and planned travel path. Don't you think that's worth checking out further?"

"Yes, but not if it means going behind their backs!" Her voice started strong but dropped into a hush as she yet again remembered their surroundings.

With a shrug, Hiccup retorted, "Everything I do is behind their backs nowadays. If they choose not to turn around, that's their problem, not mine."

"Nice phrasing," Flynn said, nodding to Hiccup.

Cass stared Hiccup down. "Why do you care?"

Scoffing, Hiccup retorted, "Can't I be concerned about the safety and future of this country?"

"It would be a new development for you."

"Yikes," Flynn interjected.

"I always cared."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"Just because I didn't do things the way you thought I should didn't mean I couldn't care less." Maybe your disdain made me feel inadequate. Maybe that's why I never tried. He kept the latter part silent, though it seemed to have been balancing on the tip of his tongue for months now. Perhaps even years.

They let the silence rest between them - or at least Hiccup and Cass did. Flynn didn't take long before he resorted to absentminded whistling. The shadow of her hood obscured what Hiccup imagined must be increasing twitches of her eye.

"Whatever you're doing," Cass finally said, "you'll have to do it without me." She cast a glare at Flynn, who wiggled his fingers at her again. She huffed. "I won't circumvent their majesties' orders."

Flynn pouted. "You're no fun."

Cass's hands curled into fists. "And I think the good of the country's not the only reason you want to infiltrate a trapper's camp. Am I wrong?"

She was right. Hiccup said nothing, trusting the silence to speak for him.

"I see." Cass pushed herself to her feet. "I would say good luck, but-"

"We won't need it, yes, of course," Flynn interjected, stretching his arms above his head. It seemed his every move was calculated to imply carelessness.

"-But I don't think that will help nearly enough for you to succeed," finished Cass as she stepped back over the bench and, after a final long pause, headed for the doors.

Saying nothing, Hiccup watched her leave. He suspected Cass already knew exactly why Hiccup wanted to get into that camp. While, yes, he definitely wanted to find out why the trappers in Briars had shown up without proper registration - by no means a difficult process to complete - Hiccup also finally had enough people to begin what he'd been dreaming of doing for years now. He wanted to break some dragons out of cages. It was finally a possibility.

Flynn reached over to clap Hiccup on the shoulder. "Explain what you want, and I'll make the plan," he said, voice so light it seemed to carry a breeze.

Hiccup redirected all his attention to Flynn. "You're joining me?"

"What can I say? Your clear loyalty and passion for your country inspired me."

"And the extra coins?"

"Obviously!" He winked. Hiccup offered what he hoped wasn't a wobbly smile in return. Plucking the small golden bread roll off Hiccup's platter, Flynn began chowing down. "Thanks for the food, by the way. Now, before we start, you've got to tell me all about this coma and stabbing business. I just love a good story!"

Author's Notes:

Hello again. I moved to a new town. I got a new job. Happy and sad and bittersweet moments all mixed in there too.

Let me know if this chapter made any sense at all. Sometimes it's hard to tell. I strive for good dialogue, pacing, characterization... and yet at the end of the day none of it ever seems to be good enough. That's not me fishing for compliments, just a bit of nonsense musings on writing.

Thank you for all the really kind comments so far. I'm terrible at replies, but I do read and treasure each one, truly.