Ten: Plans.

Somehow, Ryder managed to sneak in without Dagur noting his absence-probably because he was exulting in his victory and crowing over his brothers. Slipping over the wall and landing agilely in the small yard, he hunkered down and vanished to the head, emerging relieved and heading for breakfast (beans and dried yak) still yawning...

...as a small but very strong hand grabbed his wrist and he yelped as she dug her very hard fingers into the barely-scabbed cuts from the dragon's teeth. And then he spun round, pulling her back against his body and wrenching the hand behind her back, his other hand across her mouth as he dragged her into the shadows, behind the bins of fish for the dragons and vats of dragon blood and dragon dung. Astrid struggled angrily and bit his hand hard, drawing blood.

"Ow!" he grunted through his teeth. "Hey, Milady Astrid-you grabbed me, remember?"

"Get off me!" Astrid muttered through his hand. Staring up at him, her face was still angry and with a sigh, he pulled his hand away, inspecting the bite mark with a grimace.

"So what do you want?" Ryder asked shortly, feeling her pull against his grasp. He kept her still, still mistrusting her motives.

"I...I need your help," she admitted in a reluctant tone.

"Sounds like it," he replied bitingly, moving his hand warily. "You really gotta work on your approach, Milady. Grabbing someone and biting them really doesn't encourage them to help you!"

"I don't have much time!" she said impatiently.

"And I don't think Dagur would be happy to see me talking to you," he reminded her. "In fact, I'm pretty certain he'd kick my ass-if he didn't shoot it off entirely!" She craned her neck as she squirmed to meet his gaze.

"And he'll do worse if he learns you were talking to his precious dragon!" she told him bluntly. Instantly, his hand snapped up, hard under her throat and pulled her head right up, painfully forcing her head back.

"I could break your neck to prevent you talking," he told her softly, his voice suddenly very cold. She took a couple of panicked breaths, feeling him leaning very close to her. He topped her by half a head, his lean shape far stronger than he looked and she felt acutely vulnerable. And she was kicking herself for forgetting he was just as cruel and vicious as Dagur. How could she have forgotten it? How could she have been so stupid?

"Go ahead!" she said harshly, her voice thick with hatred. "It's all your kind every do-threaten and destroy. You killed my father. You'll condemn my brother to death and you'll kill me. Why should you be any different?" He quietly spun her to face him, the grip on her throat tight. His green eyes were cold as he inspected her pale face, reading hatred, despair and resignation in her clear blue gaze. His green gaze swept over the smooth, faintly-freckled skin and the soft lips, then pressed a hard kiss onto her mouth, feeling her stiffen and remain as stone under his determined touch. Finally, unsatisfied, he lifted his head.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I didn't have anything to do with your father's murder," he murmured softly, staring into her furious gaze. "What do you need my help with?" He opened his hand and released her. She spat in his face.

"Nothing!" she hissed but he grabbed her wrist none too gently and jerked her back to face him.

"Look, I may be a stone-hearted killer, Milady, but I can tell you're desperate," he said calmly. "And you really don't have anyone else do you? Astonishing, really-I'd have thought your winning personality would have 'em queuing round the block..." She pulled against his grasp and he tilted his head. "And I guess it's Gustav who's in trouble, hmm?" She wrenched her hand free.

"Snotlout has him!" she spat and shoved the letter into his face. He scanned the words thoughtfully and his brows dipped.

"So what do you want me to do?" he asked her softly. Her bright eyes were still angry and bitter.

"Rescue him!" she said, the tone a soft plea.

"And what's in it for me?" he murmured in her ear, leaning very close to her. And he saw it then, the weary resignation, the utter defeat flash through her eyes as her shoulders slumped slightly.

"What-whatever you want," she sighed softly, looking away from his piercing emerald gaze as his hand gently stroked her neck. A pang of shame ran through him, reading the offer and knowing that accepting it would be almost as bad as what was done to his wife: coerced, cornered and broken, Astrid had no other option. But he hadn't since Heather...and though he freely acknowledged he was a bad man, he wasn't that evil.

"Astrid-an act not freely given is worthless," he breathed in her ear, removing his hand. "Can I just say you owe me a favour?" Her blue gaze flicked up in shock, expecting him to be as boorish as the rest. His lopsided smirk was suddenly less menacing. "I will try...but I'll need to wait until later. Storming in there in broad daylight will get us both killed." She nodded and pulled back away from him, her poise restored. She lifted her chin.

"Thank you," she said roughly, backing away. He tipped his hat.

"Hey, anything for a lady," he murmured as she smoothed her skirts and swung away, marching away from him and out across the yard, golden braid swinging as she moved. "Especially one with your warm and charming personality," he sighed, running his hand through his hair and readjusting his hat, then emerging as well...

...unaware of a pair of eyes watching him follow Astrid out...and making a note for future reference...

oOo

"A TRUCE?" Alvin read, almost choking on his porridge. Bente insisted that he eat a healthy breakfast, arguing it had served Scots for centuries. So he suffered the sloppy mush every morning, secretly longing for bacon, eggs and bread instead. The man who had delivered the letter from Dagur on a silver tray looked embarrassed.

"Um...yeah?" he suggested. Alvin grabbed his coffee and downed the lot then refilled the cup and downed another one. He peered at the words but they were unchanged.

"So why now? Why is Dagur asking for a truce? What doesn't he want us to know?" he murmured.

"Hmmph!" Bente said, bustling in and lifting the letter, her dark eyes flicking over the words. "You men-always seeing conspiracies. And where there aren't any, you make them up. Never happy unless you're in conflict. Maybe this is for the best-an accord where both our houses can work together for mutual profit!" Alvin peered at his wife: he didn't trust Dagur and his Berserkers at all but the chance to recoup and press his advantage...and maybe outflank the enemy...was enticing...

"Yes, dear," he growled. She flicked a gaze at him.

"And get that lazy son of yours up!" she snapped. "He's coming as well!"

oOo

The Night Fury was wheeled in a couple of hours before noon and Ryder carefully watched as Eret smirked and handed the dragon over to an exultant Dagur. Eyes narrowing, Ryder watched the big man and scanned his men, hanging around close to the Trappers and hearing a voice that made his skin crawl...a voice that echoed from that day...

"...Lars Forsberg...he's still with the Grimborns..."

His eyes narrowed as he saw a stout, balding shape, recalling the man's voice and narrow-set blue eyes, recalling him grabbing Heather... He blinked and turned away. He knew the hatred was bright in his green eyes and that could betray his intentions...and scupper his plans. He turned away and slunk away to see Hookfang...and then Kjetil grabbed him.

"Where're you goin'?" he growled. "You got work ter do!" Ryder frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"Cleaning out those Gronckle cages!" he smirked. "We've got visitors and Dagur wants the whole place spotless..."

"What-he's taking the visitors to see the floor of the Gronckle cage? Boy, that's what I call a tour!" he commented, his eyes narrowing.

"No-but you'll be seeing it if you don't stop smart-mouthing me, Red, and get those cages spotless!" Kjetil sneered. "Now git!" With a baleful stare, Ryder grabbed a bucket and shovel and set to cleaning the cages of luminous green dragon dung. It was smelly and mindless work but at least it afforded him an alibi and chance to run through his plan. But as he was dropping another load in the silo, he heard Dagur and Savage talking and shrank back into the space behind the silo.

"What is the meaning of this?" Savage asked his older brother. "I mean...I am sure you have a perfectly reasonable plan, brother...I just don't see why we have to invite those accursed Outlaws into our compound..." Dagur gave a little giggle and draped a condescending arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Is it possible, old fellow, that you will ever be able to figure things out for yourself?" he asked mockingly. Savage just gave a dumb look, wondering if his brother would shoot him. It had happened before...usually for Dagur's amusement. "Sometime, those soldiers will be reported missing...and they may well be tracked here. And what will they find when they look in Berk?" Savage frowned. "Nothing. The Berserkers and Outcasts will be quiet as church mice-nothing to see at all. So no one will connect those dead soldiers and us...and my Night Fury..."

"So this is a ruse?" Savage asked, his brow furrowed. Dagur rolled his eyes.

"Yes," he sighed, staring at his confused-looking brother. "Are you sure I'm not adopted?"

Ryder gave a small smile as he emerged once the two had moved away. He quietly finished his job and then slid out of the compound, walking calmly to the hostel and finding Gobber in the forge, still concerned about the boy. With a cocky smile, he leaned against the doorframe and watched as Gobber hammered a knife almost flat.

"Interesting technique, old man," Ryder commented and Gobber's head snapped up, his protective brass mask flipped up to eye the stranger.

"What're yer after now?" he growled.

"Hey-I didn't kill those men," Ryder reminded him. "And I have a plan to keep Dagur on edge..."

"Yer made me not tell mae best friend," Gobber grumbled accusingly. Ryder sighed.

"And that would be a great way to get him killed," he pointed out. "No offence, but he's got no back-up, no authority and no sense of danger..."

"He's a great man," Gobber said stubbornly. "He's just lost everything he held dear-his wife, his son, his brother and now his nephew..." Ryder paused then did a double-take.

"Snotlout? He's Stoick's nephew?" he asked in shock. "Gods, that family must have yak dung for brains if they produced that narcissistic, lazy, stupid..."

"Stoick's baby son was taken twenty years ago...presumed dead and his wife was killed outright," Gobber said in a low voice. "Dinnae be so hard, laddie. That man has suffered as well." Ryder jerked himself upright and shrugged. He gestured to the flattened knife. "Not sure if I'd trust my knife to you to sharpen, though!" Gobber rolled his eyes.

"So ye think yer can do better?" he snarked. Ryder grinned.

"Maybe some day I'll show you," he said cockily. "Now, can you have the twins ready with two empty coffins at sunset?" Gobber frowned, shocked.

"What are ye plannin', laddie?" he asked suspiciously. Ryder winked.

"I'm gonna get you the money I owe, annoy Dagur and keep the Outcasts and Berserkers at each others throats," he grinned. "Oh, and I'm rescuing Gustav as well..."

oOo

It was an hour after sunset when the cart stacked with two empty coffins rolled into the valley that was still strewn with dead soldiers. Ryder had driven but Gobber and the twins had insisted on coming with him and he was unsurprised to find the soldiers just left where they fell, though he heard gasps around him.

"Dude! This is like...awesome!" Tuffnut commented.

"Wow...so many men needing burying...!" Ruffnut added, her keen eye sweeping over the slumped shapes...but they fell silent as they saw the nature of the injuries. "Damn...they didn't stand a chance," she added quietly as Ryder leapt down, his eyes locked on the corpses.

"But we're only taking two of these men," he said. The twins stared at him in shock.

"Er...why?" Tuff asked. Ryder peered at the men, pausing to hunker down by two familiar shapes, Quietly, he pressed Trond's eyes closed and then did the same for Ove. He bowed his head for a second before standing again and walking up and down the corpses, until he picked out two with no major head wounds, then he lifted them in turn and dumped them in the open coffins.

'Because we only need two," he said simply. They all stared at him. "I'm not paying for twenty-some funerals and I need two reasonably healthy looking corpses to make my plan work." They stared at him as he scrambled up, grabbed the reigns and urged the two weary Gronckles forward.

"But..."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't bury them," he sighed heavily, heading towards the cemetery, "but I need these men now." The twins frowned and the ride was quiet until their cart rattled into the cemetery and Ryder leapt down, grabbing the first corpse. He cast around and found a suitable gravestone, then manhandled the dead man to apparently sit, slumped against it. Wordlessly, he rested the second man to also 'sit' against the other side of the gravestone.

"What're ye doing, laddie?" Gobber asked him suspiciously as Ryder wrestled the soldiers' guns from their holsters and placed them in their stiff, cold hands.

"Hmm...the dead have helped me out before," he admitted as the twins shared a confused glance in the gloomy cemetery. "They don't complain, they can be made to look alive even when they're not and lastly..." He paused with a grin.

"What?" Gobber asked.

"Well, lastly-if you shoot them, it doesn't matter 'cause they're already dead!" Ryder smirked. Gobber shook his head.

"I don't like it," he grumbled. "The dead belong with the dead. I mean, I'm alive and I want to stay with the living, when I'm dead, I'll want to remain with the dead and I'd be very unhappy if someone took me from the dead and forced me to remain with the living!"

"Dude-you won't know!" Tuff pointed out, eyeing the slumped corpses. In the moonlight, he was starting to see Ryder's point. They looked remarkably like two slumped and wounded men...

"Oh, I'd know!" Gobber added darkly. "Also-I don't like you putting them there! The owner of that headstone is the only person in the accursed town who ever died of pneumonia!" Ruff snorted with laughter as Ryder backed away...to bump into another, very well-tended headstone. He spun automatically...and read the words...

VALKA HADDOCK -BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

"Taken too soon and always missed."

Murdered protecting her son.

HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK III

Aged 1 year.

Kidnapped, presumed lost.

The dates were twenty years earlier and the stone, though weathered, was beautifully clean, the little grave neat and fresh flowers lying precisely before the little monument. He realised it was the grave of the Sheriff's family and the reality of the tragedy hit him for a second, the careful attention to the beautiful plot speaking of a man who visited his family every day...

...and a pang of shame hit him then. He had gone back and buried Heather as soon as he had been able to ride, digging the grave with his own hands, fashioning a simple cross from the tools he could salvage from their burnt-out home and sitting for hours by the sad little grave which he had planted with the small patch of edelweiss that she had bought from a passing trader a month after they first moved in. Finally he had got up, had Red cremate the remains of the attacker he had killed to save Ryder and left, never to look back or return. She was all alone...

...but he didn't need to visit her grave to remember her or what was done: he carried the pain and the memories with him every single day...

"Okay...you guys can go back to the valley and bury those soldiers tomorrow," he sighed to Gobber's surprise, "but you still can't say anything to your Sheriff!"

"Hey, he thinks we're crazy so why would he care what we're up to anyway?" Ruff commented.

"And those guys don't deserve to be eaten by wild coyotes and Terrible Terrors," Tuff added. Ryder scrambled back onto the cart and grabbed the reins again.

"Just do me a favour, okay?" he asked as they looked at him expectantly. "When I get Gustav back, don't let him out if your sight until this is over!"

"And when we know this is over?" Gobber asked him warily. The stranger gave a grim smile.

"When I'm the last man standing!" he said.