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How to Court a Dragon Prince, Chapter Six

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There was no help for it; like it or not, I was traveling into Scots territory. Jason had ensured that I wouldn't become enslaved and passed from chief to chief for dragon knowledge. Instead, the Scots would cut me down the minute war brewed across the ocean. It was an ideal solution.

My friends reacted in their typical ways: Snotlout promised that he would cure Thuggory of his acrophobia with Hookfang's help, Astrid withdrew and punched the island's dead trees, the twins took five minutes to process that I was leaving before returning to their punching games, and Fishlegs shook with nervousness.

"I've heard that the Scots have four clans, and they united to drive off the raiding Vikings," he whispered, plate jiggling with chicken. "They're under the rule of a strict queen whose hair flows to the ground; she makes all the decisions. If you get her to favor you, then she'll protect you."

We were getting food from one of the tents; I took only a slice of smoked fish. When the fever had vanished, it had taken my appetite with it. Dad would look at my paltry helpings and pile on more bread and haddock; I'd usually feed them to Toothless unless he growled. Then I'd have to eat. Wouldn't be a problem in Dunbroch, I wagered; the Scots would be doing their best to starve me. 

Toothless was following now, not letting me out of sight. I was able to walk without him, but his gaze turned hard when strangers approached. He had actually forced me to wear the dragon teeth gloves all the time, dragging them onto my lap each morning. He coiled around me and Fishlegs as we conversed in low tones. Thornado stalked the island with grouchy stomps; the hooded Vikings had tied heavy stones around his middle and tossed him in the ocean. Fortunately Thunderdrums were water dragons, but neither Dad or Thornado had appreciate the freezing currents or chafing ropes. 

"How do I earn a queen's favor?" I whispered back. Norbert brooded in a corner, watching us. A smoldering torch flickered beside him. 

"Do whatever she tells you, unless it's immoral. Then you should desert. I've heard that the Scots have as many brains among them as the Vikings, so you can impress her with your intellect and wisdom."

I shrugged. "If I'm lucky."

"Hiccup, you saw peace at a time when most of us were thinking war," Fishlegs said. "That has to count for something."

"Some peace." I nudged my plate towards Norbert. "Dragons aren't the same as people; they may have a history, but they don't do things for manipulative purposes. They don't tackle you in the dead of night and pin you to the ground. . ." I trailed off as Norbert's gaze hardened. "Sorry, Fishlegs. I get what you're trying to say: don't sell myself short with the Scots. But I can't appear dangerous either."

"Promote yourself as a peacemaker," he said. "Show them the nonviolent things dragons do, like keep you company on the stormy nights or licking your toes. At worst they'll see you as an idealist and try to make you cynical. Or they'll laugh."

I considered.

"You've been laughed at before, Hiccup, and that hasn't stopped you. This time it may save your life."



Only two unpleasant incidents aroused from being able to walk: having to identify my attackers and confronting one of them on our long-ship. At least with the identification Jason let me view them from a distance while they were shackled in a makeshift fortress. It was evening, so they were settling down.

"The one with two fingers was with Alvin," I whispered. "Name's Slaughter. He tried to grab me and caught hold of these gloves." I indicated the dragon teeth surrounding my wrists. 

"Noted," Jason said. "He was the one giving the men orders, so he was in charge. That muddles any accusation we may have against Norbert, for neither Slaughter nor his companion will say who hired them." 

"What about the others?"

"They can't talk. Tongues were cut out." Jason indicated with pulling fingers. "Common among slaves ordered to do dirty work, so they can't betray their masters, or cheeky ones. Probably the first thing they would have done to you if they had gotten you off the island."

"But that doesn't make sense- I heard them talking that night, and they need me to tell them how to train dragons-"

"It's amazing what one can communicate without words, and the slaves who could speak ripped their tongues to shreds," Jason said darkly. "It's what they're brainwashed to do if captured. I would give details of the procedure, but you seem to have enough nightmares to fret over."

We stared at the shackled me. I could only muster pity for the silent ones, chewing at their dry lips. I had let Slaughter go, hadn't I, when Alvin had gone down? And he still chose to attack and impress a Slavemark on my skin. Given his mutinous expression, he wanted to try it again.

"Can you recognize the other overseer?"

I stared into the man's indifferent eyes. Fear stole over me: a long arm wrapped around my middle, another clamped over my nose and mouth, flames falling and air getting squeezed out. He had been wearing a bandanna then, but his malicious eyes hadn't been covered.

"Also Alvin's man," I said shortly. "Good at knocking people out slowly and painfully."

Jason didn't press the matter. We walked away. Toothless hissed at the fortress before following us. A numb, cold feeling swept over me.

"Hiccup, I know I caused you necessary pain, but in Dunbroch I want you to do something for me," Jason said. 

"Will it involve snake venom?" I asked bitterly. He laughed.

"No, but it's just as poisonous. Hamish wanted to broker peace with the Scots and Vikings; he thought that together the two kingdoms could create more than destroy."

"Do we deserve that peace?" I indicated at the shack shrinking in the distance. "What kind of people are we that attack our own children, cut the tongues of cheeky slaves and use them as pawns?"

"Speaking as a slave who was once a child, you're people," Jason said. "And when I say you're like Hamish, you're able to inspire the right kind of action instead of these malevolent ones."

"Only on a dragon."

Toothless purred in agreement.

"At least try to finish Hamish's work," Jason said. "It's what he would have wanted. Make a genuine effort to broker peace."

We stared at sinking horizon. Even though I didn't know it, in a day's time Slaughter and his companion would escape and stow away on our ships. In a month's time I'd be on another ship, praying that I could suck up to a foreign tyrant and desert with Toothless if I couldn't. 

"I'll do my best," I said. "But no promises. People aren't trustworthy like dragons."

Toothless nestled his head between my palms. He didn't have to speak to promise that he would help me try, or help me escape if things went wrong. I let his cool scales calm me down. 
When circumstances beyond Hiccup's control force him to vacate Berk, he has to adapt his peace-making ways and Viking manners to the enemy Scottish kingdom of Dunbroch. Dunbroch offers protection from dishonorable Vikings like Alvin the Treacherous, but Hiccup does not feel safe fencing with the king or negotiating with the new Clan Council. Sooner or later, the Scots will learn of dragon-riding's warlike potential, and Alvin will return for Hiccup's knowledge. Unless this Dragon Trainer can finish his ancestor's political work and deal with a trickster god, he'll become a pawn caught between two hostile enemies. Royalty has never been more dangerous.

Hiccup for the first time lets cynicism cloud his idealistic attitude, but Fishlegs and Jason assure him that he can avoid getting killed in Scot territory. After all, the Scots can't be scarier than the Outcasts that he has to identify.

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MahJeevas's avatar
Hmmm, this is getting interesting at every chapter I read! :)