Connor poked at his oatmeal without eating much. As much as he hated to admit it, his stomach churned. This was it. He'd face Fenrir today, to decide the fate of his tribe. The thought weighed on him.

Dad gave him a pat on the shoulder, as though he guessed what Connor was feeling. The rest seemed oblivious. Amanda was eating, her face set. Every werewolf in the world could be howling for their blood and likely her expression would barely change. He admired that about her most times, but every so often he wished she would show some weakness. It would make him feel better about his own doubts.

Valeria, Robbie and Brianna were talking in one corner. They seemed happy, but then again that how it was for them. The stress of the council, the face downs and challenges, were for the alphas, or so Connor had been told. Beta and omega wolves would have their own meetings, parties, on the edge of the things. It had always been that way, and always would be. The alphas would sort out the dominance, the conflict. The others would form quiet bonds behind their back, to soften said conflict. It was a system that had kept the tribes from destroying each other for centuries.

Before long the heralds were blowing the horn for the first introductory meeting of the assembled tribes. As they stepped out of the pavilion, Aaron on one side and Arthur on the other, Connor was glad of the two older men's help and support.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the Skollsen's representative had fallen into step behind them. He was glad of that, too. They had hoped for more, Skinwalkers, Ritters, maybe even the Holt's of Southern Canada, but even one tribe solidly with them was better than nothing.

Fenrir was already there, perched on his throne, looking every bit like the king he claimed to be. The remains of the Loki's pack were mixed in with his own. Deana, Loki's alpha mate, glared across the field at him, as though he'd killed Loki himself. Amanda glared right back at her. The rest of that pack looked like a broken lot. Stanley looked nervous, not meeting their eyes. Leah sat close to Lukas, who Connor recognized from last summer when he served as the contact person for the Sons of Garm to the Leidulf councils, inviting them to this council.

Fenrir had the Fleischers on his right and the Grimweir to his left. The Fleischers were the hosts and by far the most numerous tribe in attendance. Seeing them all arrayed on Fenrir's side made it look like he already had an army on his side.

We have many more wolves at home, Connor reminded himself. But did they have this many? And how many would they lose if they had to fight all the Fleischers?

The Grimweir, on Fenrir's left, were an interesting lot. They dressed mostly in black dress pants, white shirts and black jackets. The packs they had sent were all older men, dour and unhappy, looking more like the man from American Gothic than a werewolf.

Beyond the Grimweir, on the left side of the circle sat three packs of Negelman. They were a far southern tribe, they'd come in wolf form and wore cast off jeans, T-shirts and overalls. Most were barefoot and they looked the part of the southern rednecks all too well. The Jaeger contingent, next to them, were well dressed and clean cut. Their territory in Arizona included Vegas and they'd made good use of that fact, running clubs in the city of lights. They were easily the richest tribe of wolves in the country.

The Takala of Montana were sitting next to them, with the Ritters next. A smattering of Eastern tribes had sent observers and they sat beside the Grimweir. There was a smattering of people Connor didn't know, Western Tribes wondering if they would see a similar council in a few years, one brown skinned man that Connor had been told was from South America, a representative of shape shifter groups from that region that had little to do with North American wolves.

The location and proximity of all these tribes was telling. They were close enough to Fenrir to make it look like they already supported his claim, far enough they could later deny this. For Connor the impression was that their tiny contingent stood alone, unsupported as they found seats directly opposite of Fenrir. He raised an eyebrow at Connor as he sat.

The only saving grace of the seating arrangement was that the Holt and Wendigo, the two Canadian groups, both came in late and found seats well back, clearly showing they were not supporting either side yet.

Lukas rose and spoke at the beginning of the council. "Here is Fenrir, Wolf King of North America," he said. "Who has come to treat with him?"

Anger flared in Connor. Before anyone else could speak, Connor leaped to his feet. "I am Connor Leidulf. Sent by the Leidulf tribe to meet this wolf Fenrir, and to see why he would claim the title king, and what treaty he would offer us."

There was ripple through the crowd.

"The Eastern tribes have already acknowledged Fenrir's leadership," a voice said.

"North America is bigger than the east coast," The Skollsen representative said.

"I am wondering why the Leidulf choose to send a man who murdered my kinsman," the Fleischer representative said, looking at Connor.

"Indeed, I might ask the same thing," Fenrir added.

Arthur rose and answered. "As to that, the answer is simple." He turned to the Fleischer man and said. "You renounced kinship to Erik years ago and have no right to claim such now. As to your brother," he rounded on Fenrir. "He was killed by the bear that he hunted, and the two died by each others hands. If you would hold the bear's kin and friends responsible, they will likely return the favor, holding you responsible for your brother's many killings."

Haltir moved forward, leaning on his crutch. "Are we our brother's keeper, then?"

"Exactly my point," Arthur said. "To suggest such a thing only serves to extend a blood feud beyond the point of usefulness. Let us set aside what happened in the past and search for a mutual understanding."

That initial exchange proved to be the highlight of the morning. The rest of the representatives announced themselves.

"My brother," Fenrir said when the introductions were done, "is something of a traditionalist and wouldn't allow this thing to proceed without a proper invocation." There was a warmth that Connor hadn't expected in Fenrir's voice when he spoke of Haltir. The strange emphasis on thing would have gone over Connor's head if not for Amanda, Jay and the saga literature they'd made him read, thing meant a formal gathering in old Norse.

Indeed Haltir made his way to the center of the circle, paused to collect himself and began to sing in a strong clear voice. The words were old Norse, a Skaldic poem in deep low tones with a strong cadence to it.

Afterwards Fenrir thanked his brother for the blessing and spoke for sometime. He suggested, half-jokingly, that he must justify his title to the Leidulf tribe. He spoke a long time about the benefits of cooperation among the tribes, while being very vague about how exactly such cooperation would be accomplished or what they would do with it.

The Fleischer representative spoke next, indicating that his tribe saw a lot of potential in this agreement and were ready now. It was left to Connor, mostly, to question what exactly they were all agreeing too.

"A treaty naming Fenrir King of all wolf tribes west of the Appalachian mountains, of course," the Fleischer man snapped.

"He didn't call any tribes west of the Rockies," a voice called out.

"West of the Appalachian range and East of the Rockies," the Fleischer man corrected, irritation in his voice.

"And treaty's generally have more details then one title," Connor added.

"And that is what we are here to work out," Fenrir growled.

"So tell us what you are offering," Connor said.

Fenrir stared at him, hard. Connor met the gaze. Seeing he wasn't going to get instant submission, he broke off and addressed Lukas, "Fine, lay out the treaty."

Lukas had notes and they began to discuss the treaty in earnest after that.

When they broke for lunch, Dad said, "Be careful my son."

Arthur, on the other hand, said, "good job. Don't let him claim anything he's not earned. Establish your own space, quick and hard."

On their way back to the pavilion, the Holt man gave him a nod and knew Arthur was right, he'd scored a point with his outburst.