Chapter Text
The time had come. It was time for Hiccup to finally become a man. Years of being the worst viking to have graced Berk, he had finally proved himself. Now he was worthy of being heir, the future chief of their quaint and cold village—of being his father's son.
Still, what would have made him jump around in glee just a few months ago, only filled him with dread. Standing behind the gates that separated him from the arena itself, he could only feel what the familiar sense of doom. Pure, sheer, and utter doom.
His heart was pounding so hard, he half-believed that it would burst out of his chest. He hoped his heart would burst out of his chest. Then he could avoid this. Because this surely wouldn't end well.
"Hiccup," He jumped a whole feet into the air before twisting around, his spiraling thoughts interrupted by an unusually gentle voice. Astrid was standing behind him, arms hanging tensely at her sides. She wore a grim expression, lips tight and eyebrows furrowed. "Will you be alright?"
The question gave Hiccup pause. Would he?
"Yeah, yeah," Hiccup said, silently cursing the noticeable waver in his voice. By Odin, why couldn't he be more assuring? "I'll be okay. Maybe."
Hiccup couldn't help but wince at Astrid's unimpressed stare. But he couldn't run away now. He was in too deep. He had no choice but to go into the arena, and face the Monstrous Nightmare. But he wouldn't do what they'd want him to do. He wouldn't stick a knife into its neck, cut its wings off with an axe, nor bash its face with a hammer. No, Hiccup could never do that. Not anymore. Not after Toothless.
"Dad's gonna kill me after this." Hiccup groaned pityingly, hiding his face away in his hands.
Astrid could do nothing but pat his shoulder with a somber look.
﹏𓊝﹏
Standing face to face with the Monstrous Nightmare, Hiccup realized that this was so much different from the night raids. Instead of terrifying glimpses of the beast surrounded by raging fire, Hiccup could see the deep red of its scales, the warm puff of its breath gently swaying his hair. The dragon was still terrifying, oh absolutely. Yet it was so much clearer now, despite the gray fog surrounding the island. Beautiful day to kill a dragon, huh?
But still, Hiccup forced himself to be brave. He had to do this. He could either muck it up like he always did, ending his own life to the claws of the Monstrous Nightmare, and then the dragon's to the furious vikings surrounding them.
Or he could change everything. If he did this right, he could show them—prove to them that there were something akin to a soul in those great big eyes.
Because looking into the Monstrous Nightmare's eyes, Hiccup couldn't see the ugly beast that the other vikings claimed they saw. No, what he saw was an incredibly intelligent creature—hurt, angry and afraid, bearing his teeth only in an attempt to defend himself.
And so, despite his father's angry shouts and the shocked looks of the vikings watching from the arena, Hiccup brought his hand towards the dragon's snout and turned his head away, hoping that he could prove that there were more to dragons than being brutal killing machines. He could show them that maybe, maybe, humans had been wrong all along. Maybe they weren't just mindless beasts.
He felt a warm pressure on his hand. Smiling gently, Hiccup couldn't help but sigh from relief. Little did he know, he had just changed his entire fate.
Fragile silence washed over them, the crowd watching with bated breath—afraid that a single noise or a movement, no matter how quiet, would end the dragon's stupor. Even from the back of the stands they could hear the mighty breathing of the monstrous beast.
Then chaos broke.
"END THE FIGHT!" The chief bellowed, already standing up and grabbing at the trustworthy axe by his side. "END THE FIGHT NOW!"
The crowd scattered to make way for their chief, fearing his rage would be redirected at them if they didn't move fast enough. The Monstrous Nightmare, startled terribly by the sudden shout, lifted his front leg and stretched out his wings. He screeched ear-piercingly as he set himself on fire in an effort to appear as a threat. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for Hiccup, it worked.
While his father tried to find a way to get into the arena, the mob started to yell and shout, only further aggravating the dragon, who stomped his front legs up and down. Hiccup watched everything in horror, paralyzed, his feet frozen to the ground. When his ears picked up a faint whistling, only then could he move his head towards the sound. And the closer and louder it grew, the more the familiarity of the ringing dawned on him. Oh gods.
He wasn't the only one who recognized the call. Heads flew up as they frantically searched in the air for the beast no Berkian had ever seen. No Berkian until a few months ago.
BOOM! The purple blast exploded the barricade that separated the humans from the dragons, and a massive black mass flashed by them and in to the arena. He curled himself around the teenager, who looked impossibly small and breakable inside the Night Fury's clutches. He roared fiercely at the Monstrous Night and the humans watching them. The other dragon's roar paled in comparison to the night-scaled beast.
In the 'Book of Dragons' there was one important rule pertaining Night Furies. If you see a Night Fury, run away and hide and pray it doesn't find you.
But they were vikings. And vikings don't just run away and hide.
The mob rushed in to the arena, breaking through the barrier. If a dragon could do it, so could they. Some came rushing in trough the hole the Night Fury had created. Now everyone was surrounding them—Hiccup and the two dragons. They hade no way to escape now. No way of escaping their fate.
The mob grabbed whatever weapon they could find and started hurling themselves on the Monstrous Nightmare. They grabbed at his horns, threw bolas around his wings while the dragon screeched in both rage—and pain, as whatever sharp object lying around was quickly jammed into his hide.
The Monstrous Nightmare was strong. But not strong enough. He could only handle so many viking coming from all sides, and there were too many. With a final howl, the beast succumbed to its injuries.
From inside Toothless's protective wings, Hiccup made an anguished noise. Looking at all the destruction, the smoke, and all the blood splattered across the ground, Hiccup couldn't help but shake fervently and spiral. This was all his fault, this was all his fault, THIS WAS ALL HIS—
Above him, Toothless was fighting tooth and nail to keep himself and Hiccup alive. Shooting plasma blast and clawing at the viking who dared to come to close. It didn't matter that there was a piercing burn at his hind leg, from which suspiciously looked like a dagger was sticking out of. It didn't matter that the humans where banging their metal shields with their metal weapons, making his ears feel like exploding. None of it mattered.
As long as he and Hiccup got out of there alive.
For there was something the Monstrous Nightmare didn't have that Toothless had. A motivation that far exceeded the biological instinct to survive.
Toothless had Hiccup. The little hatchling who had stolen the skies from him, and then built him a new one. With his strange contraption made of thin metal rods and tough leather, Hiccup had given Toothless back the ability to fly—with just a small price to pay; the boy flying with him.
A price he had come to willingly pay and cherish.
The hatchling had saved his life all those months ago. Now Toothless would do the same. Just so that they could be free among the clouds, once again.
But the vikings were relentless. Their stubbornness blinded them from standing down, and really thinking of the best way to handle this. Thinking wasn't exactly their forte.
But with his father, who had already landed a couple of blows, got trapped under the Night Fury, Hiccup snapped out of his frozen state. This had gone too far. It had gone to far long ago, but with his fathers life on the line, Hiccup felt a protective energy flare through his core. That was his dad! He couldn't let Toothless kill him.
The scream crawled out of him, big and explosive:
"TOOTHLESS, STOP!"
For a brief second, Hiccup feared he wouldn't. Toothless's eyes stayed slitted, and his plasma blast was still aimed and ready to fire. His dad was going to die now, right in front of him.
But then Toothless softened. He turned around and tilted his head, his pupils wide and confused. He had listened to Hiccup.
That gave the mob the perfect opportunity to pounce. Vikings surrounded him from all corners, grabbing at whatever they could get a hold of, and subduing the Night Fury. Still it struggled against the restraints, worried that his hatchling would be hurt by the very same pack who had raised him.
They muzzled him. Bound him with ropes, keeping his wings tucked achingly at his sides. Then they pushed him down, leaving him no escape from the hell that would await him. No matter how loud or desperate the boy screamed, begging them to not hurt Toothless, there was nothing he could do. The last Night Fury alive, finally captured.
﹏𓊝﹏
The cells were a makeshift prison of sorts, meant for traitors and criminals, such as the treacherous friend who had been forgotten long ago. The boy in Stoick's arms was so starkly different from that man. He did not look like a criminal, nor a traitor. He was just a boy, too small and fragile for his age. He did not look like a traitor at all.
That didn't mean he wasn't one.
Stoick hauled Hiccup by the arm before shoving him inside the cell. He had left all the gentleness of a father back at the comfort of their home. He wasn't a father right now.
Now, he was a chief.
Odin, where did I go wrong. Did he not push him enough? Make him go to dragon training far too late? Coddled him too much?
Fail to fill him with righteous hatred for the very beasts who had taken Valka—his own mother—from them?
Waves of what only sounded like excuses stumbled out of the boy's mouth. 'Please's, I'm 'sorry's, an 'Oh gods, it's all a mess'. His eyes darted frantically around, tears forming when he took in where they were. He stared back at his towering father, afraid of what was to come. Stoick had never hurt him before.
Despite his massive stature and his usually angry demeanor, he had never put a hand meant for harm on Hiccup, believing himself above such discipline. His dad had always tried to protect him, even if he ended up grabbing his wrist to tightly or made his shoulders ache.
But Hiccup had gone to far. Crossed a line he was never meant to cross. He had gone and frolicked with dragons, treating them as friends—creatures to be protected. All the villages teachings, all the death and destruction, all of it was for naught. That poor, stupid, foolish boy had been tricking them all this time. Betrayal, that is what he did.
A chief could not forgive such an act.
"How could you do such a thing?!", Stoick shouted, sharp rage coating his voice. "You've what? Mingling with dragons? Made them your friends?"
"I know Dad, and- and you're right, I should've told you sooner, but Toothless won't hurt you!"
"Toothless? You named that foul beast?!"
"He is not a beast, Dad, he- he's intelligent and kind, and-"
"Kind!?" Stoick whirled around to face him. "Dragons, Hiccup, are not kind! They're dangerous, not innocent little yaklings you can cuddle!" The red of his beard couldn't hold a candle to the red of his face, swollen with anger.
"And yet, you've gone and fraternized with them, despite everything they've done! You care more about that Night Fury's safety than the people it almost killed. People you almost got killed!"
Stoick paced, back and forth, barely being able to look at the boy. Hiccup half-thought that his pacing would score permanent marks on the floor. Back and forth Stoick paced, unable to look at him for more than a second.
"He was just defending us! They were trying to kill him!"
"He and his friends have killed hundreds of us-"
"And we've killed thousands of them! They're not raiding us because they have to, they're raiding us because they don't have a choice! There's, like, this massive dragon on their island, and it's nothing like we've ever seen before-"
"Their island?" Stoick stopped, turning to Hiccup and lifting him clean of the ground by the shoulders. He pressed his face close to Hiccup's, so close the boy could feel his father's maddened breathing. "So you've been to the nest?
Oh gods. Hiccup needed to shut up. Quickly—before he'd say something he'd regret. Unfortunately, one thing Hiccup was never able to do, ever since he started talking, was knowing when to shut up.
"I- Nest? Did I say nest?"
"How did you find it!?" Stoick hollered right into Hiccup's face, making the latter wince at the stray spittle flying at him.
Gently, Hiccup took hold of the distressing hands that was seizing his shoulder, hoping in vain that he could somehow calm Stoick, if only a little bit. "No- Not me, Dad. Toothless. Only a dragon can find the nest."
Stoick's grip grew loose. His face slackened. Realization dawned in both father and son, the latter realizing what a grave mistake he had just made—and the former realizing he had finally found the right key—no, the weapon—to finally end the war. For good.
He put Hiccup down, slowly and gently, as if in a trance. He turned away from him, his only son, and went for the door.
"No..." Hiccup whispered, more to the darkness of the cell than to his father. Then again, much louder: "NO!"
"You can't!" Hiccup followed after Stoick, desperate for him to see reason. "It's not what you think! She's big—bigger than any dragon you've ever seen."
Stoick was an unrelenting force. He moved onward, ignoring his child's begging.
"I promise, you can't win this one!"
Hiccup grasped his old man's arm.
"Dad, please!"
Still his father didn't look back. When was the last time he looked back?
"For once in your life, will you just please listen to me!?"
In a swoosh and a harsh thud, Hiccup was laying on the ground. Confused and disoriented, Hiccup look up at the dangerous chief towering over him.
Always towering, never on the same level.
"You've thrown your lot in with them. You're no viking."
The chief's voice was low and breathy, yet its coldness able to rival Niflheim itself.
"You're not my son."
With just a few words, their bond shattered. Scattered, with no amount of thick rope and sticky tree sap to repair it to the way it once was. There was no father and son anymore.
Just a chief and the boy who betrayed them. Betrayed him.
Swiftly, Stoick the vast turned around once again. He grabbed hold of the cell door, opened it wide enough for him to pass trough. Then slammed it shut so harshly it bounced back, leaving the boy in the darkness—save for a faint line of light from the faint daylight.
Hiccup had nothing now.
No village. No friends. No Toothless. No—
Hiccup crumbled down on the filthy cell floor, his heart and spirit breaking along with him.
Outside, Stoick's anger drained, his face twisting to that of shock. What did he just say?
Still, he forced his face into the right image of stoicism—the very ideal he had been named after—and yelled out an order. He was chief. And a chief always protects his own.
﹏𓊝﹏
They came for him at dusk.
At first, Hiccup thought it was his father, hoping to make amends. A needy, childish hope that he would turn back to the kind and caring father he was when Hiccup was younger. When Stoick would immediately apologize if he thought he had been too harsh on his little son. When everything was so much easier.
But Stoick was not his father anymore. He had no claim on him anymore.
Then he thought it was Gobber, who always knew how to cheer him up. Who always let him stay in late at the forge ever since he was 7, until the sun had long come and gone and he would shoo him off, lest both he and Hiccup get yelled at by his father. Only then did Gobber not want him.
Or maybe it was Astrid! Strong, brave Astrid who always knew how to be a perfect viking. She'd know what to do! She had seen what he saw. She had understood. Maybe she had come to yell at him, to pick his bearings and order him to figure out something crazy to do to fix this whole mess.
But no. Hiccup had never been that lucky. His luck ran out long ago, after shooting down Toothless. It was time for him to pay for his sins. A repayment he would have no choice but to pay.
The cell door flew open, revealing about two dozens bloodlusting vikings, the most violent and brutal dragon killers of their tribes. Some young, some old. They were the ones who hated dragons the most, always agreeing to go search for the nest, scorned by the death of their wives, children, and other loved ones. They outright despised them. Including anyone who had anything to do with them.
With his eyes brimming red, Hiccup could not see—much less comprehend—anything. It all happened so fast.
There were hands everywhere. Clutching his arms, tugging at his hair, and dragging him across the floor. Hiccup couldn't help the surprised shout that came out of him. Pain exploded everywhere as he was brutally dragged out of the cell.
The sun was on its way down, lowering itself in the west at a seemingly breakneck pace. The days had only gotten shorter the closer winter came. The fog plaguing their island was still present.
The village watched as the small boy, too small for a viking, was dragged through the gravel, a hand covering his attempt to scream for help. His face was tear-streaked and puffy. It was a horrifying sight, and yet, they did not look away. Yet, they did not do anything.
The mob was too angry. Too violent. They would not intervene, fearing that the boy's fate would include them for trying to save him.
Because they knew what was going to happen to that boy. Every grown viking knew, and with that knowledge, hid their children behind their skirts and tunics. They didn't deserve to see such brutality at their young age. Even the reasonable vikings had a limit.
And so, the mob forcefully pulled Hiccup through the town, forcing him deep into the forest. They would not be disturbed there. They would do the ritual, finally freeing Berk of their curse that had tormented them for 15 years.
Because there, deep in the forest, a witch's stake awaited him.
﹏𓊝﹏
Stoick lifted heavy crates full of provisions into the longship, hoping that there would be enough to feed all the vikings. They would need all the energy they could get before the big battle. The longboats was already full to the brim with handheld-weapons of every kind; maces, axes, swords—and bigger contraptions; catapults, bolas, everything that could aid them in defeating the red death.
But it was not the weapons that made the main longboat dip deeper into the water more than it usually did.
On the biggest longboat they had, a Night Fury, once a renowned and vicious legend, had been reduced to a pitiful creature. Its limbs was bound to a wooden platform, leaving it no wiggle room. A thick wooden muzzle sat tightly around its snout. It could not use its wings, nor its claws. The Night Fury was rendered defenseless.
The other vikings stayed far away from it, fearing its wrath if it somehow broke free. But Stoick was not afraid. He had faced stronger and more powerful foes. He would not shy away from the Night Fury.
"Lead us home, devil." Stoick held his axe in front of the beast's blazing green eyes. Eyes so green, it reminded him of…
Stoick expected the dragon to glare at him, slit his eyes like all the other dragons did whenever a human got to close, make whatever snarl or growl it could in its confines.
The hellion did no such thing. Instead, it turned its big great head towards the village, and let out what sounded like a distressed and wrathful call towards the forest.
Bewildered, Stoick turned to follow its gaze. The village seemed perfectly normal. Except for the tense atmosphere, and there being more villagers outside than there usually was at this time of day. But it had been a strange and disastrous day. Of course they would like to gossip.
Still, the Night Fury screeched, piercing the ears of the all the unfortunate vikings close enough. It thrashed against its restraints, attempting to lift its paws to claw at the chain.
"Get him down!" Stoick ordered, before heading fist-first towards the dragon, intent to subdue it. Vikings piled on the longship, attempting to help their chief, but the beast remained resilient. More and more viking came to help, but no amount of vikings could get the dragon under control.
"I don' get it!" Gobber shouted, voice barely audible over the Night Fury's screams. "Why'd the beastie start hollering?"
"I don't know, Gobber!" Stoick pressed down on the dragons head, but found he had not moved it even an inch. Had his comment really made it that furious? "We just need to- Agh! Get it to calm down!"
The chains groaned against the force, deep claw marks having already ravaged the wooden platform. Somehow the Night Fury was growing even stronger, no matter how many vikings attempted to overpower him.
"CHIEF!" A panicked voice broke through the crowd. Clutching her knees, Astrid stood at the top of the docks whilst inhaling lungfuls of air. When she looked up, Stoick could see the pure fear in her eyes.
"Chief!" She cried out again.
"Not now, lass!" Stoick replied, feeling his muscles start to spasm. "We're busy-"
"It's Hiccup!"
That made Stoick let go of the Night Fury, who took advantage of the lessened pressure and broke through the wooden muzzle.
Several vikings yelped, looking at their chief as if he had lost his wits. Stoick paid them—nor the Night Fury any mind.
What had that boy done now?
"They took him to the forest!"
At that, Stoick frowned, unsettled.
Why would they-
All color drained from Stoick's face. Thor, this couldn't be happening.
A memory unfolded itself inside of Stoick's head.
An old ritual that had not been performed in ages. Not since his grandfather rule, when they had caught a young girl conversing with the dead. Or that's what his grandfather had told him. Then told not to go to that part of the forest.
The memory swirled around in Stoick's head, only mortifying him exponentially. They had dragged her, kicking and screaming, deep into the forest. There, they branded her a witch.
Which could only mean-
CRUSH!
﹏𓊝﹏
Hiccup sobbed into the open air, head hung low, unable to cover his face as his hands had been bound to a post. It was old and rusted, but it still stood strong. It held Hiccup up just fine. He was kneeling on the damp forest floor, bleeding from everywhere. His arms, knees, neck, and head bore all sorts of marks and scrapes. He swore he had seen one of them hold a tuft of his bloody hair.
"You must understand, witch," Old Mildew drawled, circling him like a vulture. "We are only protecting the good people of our village"
"I am not a witch." Hiccup's voice sounded hoarse, broken after wailing for so long.
It was dark now. Despite so much time exploring Berk, Hiccup did not recognize this part of the forest. He had never gone this deep.
A spray of minuscule stones were thrown at Hiccup, making him turn away, unable to get those tiny specks out of his eyes and mouth.
"QUIET!" Barked a man, his offending hand still open and raised.
Mildew continued. "For 15 years, you have terrorized Berk, destroying our beautiful island with your curse!" The old man stopped in front of Hiccup, pulling the hairs rooted to the front of his head to face him, making him cry out and sob all the more louder.
"Well not anymore, witch. For tonight, we shall banish you far away from Berk, back to Niflheim where you belong!"
The mob whooped and cheered as Mildew—who was now smirking gleefully—raised his voice.
"Get the knife! We'll start by cutting of the witch's left index finger. Lest he start using his magic, pointing cures at us and our loved ones!"
A series of AYE's followed, as one of the burly viking went off to find the knife. Still pulling his hair, Mildew strained Hiccup's neck more, making him moan in anguish. A distinct metal taste bubbled at the back of his throat. Gods, was that blood he was tasting?
"You won't be enjoying this." Mildew chuckled, dropping Hiccup's head lazily.
The torture felt like it lasted forever. And then, the knife pulled went away. The pain did not.
The newly separated finger dropped gently into the ground. Shakily, Hiccup couldn't stop himself from looking up. His curiosity had always made him want to find and learn about thing, even if he would regret it. And so, he looked.
It was far from clean cut. No, it was jagged, meant to be painful. Hiccup hand was an earthquake, trembling violently and banging against the post, only further aggravating the fresh injury.
Blood. So much blood. Blood everywhere.
Hiccup cried out, or what should have been a cry, as his voice was nothing but shrill and low. The sight had only intensified the pain.
For such a inhumane sight, the vikings certainly were cheery. They clapped each others back as they saw the finger laying uselessly on the ground, some even joking about touching it.
"Silence." Mildew quieted the crowd. He had turned around—his back to Hiccup—to face the mob. "Next, we shall cut out his tongue, so he'll be unable to enchant us! Then we shall carve out his eyes, unless we want him to find us if he ever gets reborn. And then, for the finale…"
Mildew's grin twisted upwards, yet somehow so remarkably cruel. "We shall-"
"Burn the witch! Burn the witch! BURN THE WITCH!" Their volume grew louder as their excitement did. Hiccup could only weep. When would this torture end?
He wanted his dad—Where was his dad-
A whistling sound flew through the air, but unable to reach the ears of the mob. They were quite busy, cheering the lucky fellow who would get the honor of cutting of the witch's tongue.
But Hiccup, he heard.
﹏𓊝﹏
The demon had escaped its confines. It was now running up the town, swerving expertly through shop-corners, yet barreling through stands.
Faster and faster he went, until he was but a vague black mass tearing his way through Berk's forest.
Toothless sniffed the air as he half-ran, half-flew, tailing the faint scent of distress and agony. He could not lose the scent. Because losing that meant losing Hiccup. Forever.
Branches, bushes, twigs whipped at Toothless's hide. He almost crashed through a tree, only managing to avoid it with his finely honed reflexes. Either way, that wouldn't stop him. Nothing could stop him.
He only got faster when the scent became stronger. He was getting closer now. He knew, by the way he could taste the blood in the air, mingled with his human's smell.
Night Furies were vengeful beings. They did not easily forgive, nor forget. All of them would perish. Toothless would make sure of that.
He had finally reached the deep parts of the forest, where the bloody smell grew tenfold. The closer he got, the clearer he could hear the chants. Rough and loud voices cheered merrily, but under all that noise, Toothless caught the painful sobs.
It only served to fuel Toothless's fury.
Faster and faster, Toothless went; never losing speed, until—
There.
Toothless did not hold back. With a strong and well timed jumped, Toothless angled his claws towards the leader.
﹏𓊝﹏
Stoick was too late.
When he arrived (he had tracked the Night Fury by its paw-prints), there were bodies everywhere. Guts were scattered across the dirt, some even got on the trees and were now swaying delicately, as if mocking the scene.
Over 20 vikings, both young and old, lay dead. Some had their legs ripped from them, others were missing their arms. One didn't even have a head, neck gushing out blood, seemingly never-ending. It was like nothing Stoick had ever seen before.
He somehow registered one of the bodies belonging to Old Mildew. His whole upper body was torn up into shreds, as if his assailant spent more time specifically on him.
But it was not Mildew that Stoick came here for.
In the middle of it all, was a boy, bleeding from head to toe. His eyes were colored red, snot running down his noise. He was bleeding heavily from his left hand.
Bile crawled its way up Stoick's throat, but something in him made him swallow it back down. He couldn't weak now.
Around his son, was the Night Fury, whose tail curled around the teenager. He looked impossibly small in there. The dragon was also covered in blood, though most of it, Stoick would wager, was not from itself.
"CHIEF!" A man in his late thirties, who had somehow survived, crawled his way towards Stoick. Both of his legs were missing, probably bitten off judging by the uneven cut. Still, the man was alive, and was looking to his chief. Finally, he could be saved.
"HEL-" The plasma blast cut him off. Where there was once half a body, there was now a blazing fire. More blood splattered. So much blood.
The devil's eyes were slitted, the thinnest Stoick had ever seen on a dragon. Smoke slithered out of its mouth, the aftermath of its infamous fire.
Then its pupils focused in on him. Stoick's blood turned cold. That was not the look of a animal who would stand down and forgive. No, that glint in its eyes were that of a creature who had no forgiveness left to give.
The Night Fury opened his maw, fire building in his very core, and ready to aim. Stoick should have run. He should have hidden. If you see a Night Fury, run away and hide and pray it doesn't find you.
By the gods, he should have listened. He really should have listened.
As the Night Fury was about to let go, a hand clasped his snout."
No." A small voice broke through the crackling of the fires.
Hiccup, still on his knees, held his left hand in front of the dragon, blocking his way of fire. The Night Fury's pupils wavered for a moment, but remained slitted. Stoick heard a low rumble come out of it, glaring at the boy in warning.
"Please don't."
It looked towards Stoick, then back at his hatchling. For a second, Hiccup thought he wouldn't listen. Just like his—
Toothless softened. His vast shoulder, still tense, let down a bit. The fire died in his throat. He had listened to him. Hiccup rested his head against his bud's neck.
He was so, so tired.
That gave Stoick the opportunity to really notice the hurt they had brought upon his boy. How far had they been able to take it? How could he have let this happen? Looking closer at Hiccup's left hand, his fears were confirmed.
Between his thumb and middle finger, there was a space that was not originally there. He could vaguely see the ridged flesh sticking out, the wound still bleeding.
Great Odin. Mighty Thor. Where had he been when this happened?
Stoick knew. So did Hiccup, along with the Night Fury. Instead of protecting him from the angry mob, he was to focused on the dragons. He should've seen this coming. The village had long hated dragons and anything concerning them. Stoick was a fool for thinking he was the only one.
And now he was looking at the consequences. Limbs, fires, guts, destruction. And among the destruction laid a boy and his dragon.
A boy Stoick said wasn't his son anymore. What had he done.
Said boy was simply staring at him now. There was only hurt in his eyes. Hurt and betrayal, etched into his brow, his smile long torn. It would not grow back for a long time. And those beady green eyes.
The only physical trait his son had inherited from him. The eyes Valka said she'd always love. What would she think now? Sweet, kind Valka?
Now those eyes were glaring at him with hurt and betrayal. And fury. Gritting his teeth, Hiccup climbed swiftly—with what little strength he had left. It was a miracle he could even stand—on to Toothless's back. The exertion made him let out a final cry of pain, before his voice gave out.
Only when Stoick realized what the boy was doing, was he finally able to move.
"HICCUP!" Stoick bellowed, already grieving the idea of losing his boy forever.
But the boy and the dragon was already gone. They flew into the night sky, and disappeared behind the clouds.
There they would be unreachable. Even from Stoick the Vast.
﹏𓊝﹏
Numbness was all Stoick felt as he looked at the smoke.
His memory slipped away from him. He did not remember Gobber and the other villagers reaching him, gasping at the horror that laid before them. He did not remember helping with gathering all the body parts, and then putting them all in the pyre. There were simply too many, they would not be able to identify which ones belonged to who.
Still, he did not say anything. After a moment of silence, without any word from their chief, Gobber took the lead and began the funeral write.
Stoick watched on in silence, only paying attention to the smoke dancing faintly before disappearing into the sky. Just like Hiccup.
The sun was already greeting them from the east, peaking shyly out of the horizon. The fog had let up.
He gained consciousness when he felt a warm hand on his back. Gobber stood beside him, looking sorrowfully at him.
He didn't need to be told what happened. He saw the destruction and the missing boy and Night Fury. He already knew.
And so, he escorted his friend to his house, the one standing at the top of the hill. The chief's house. Now belonging only to him.
Inside the house, Gobber made sure Stoick was seated firmly on his chair, started the fireplace, and began cooking a meal. It had been such a long day. They could wait with fixing things until the morrow. For now, his friend needed nourishment and rest.
He made sure Stoick ate every last bite, and made sure to only serve him water. When they were finished with their meal, they simply sat in silence.
Stoick was as stoic as ever, but his eyes were missing the glint of life. They looked so lost now. Gobber had seen carcasses livelier than his friend. It was not an unfamiliar look. He had seen that very same look all those years ago. It still haunted him. Stoick's eyes were so empty.
For once in his life, Gobber didn't know what to say. What could he say? First his wife gets taken by dragons, and now his son too?
"Go home." Stoick's gruff voice startled Gobber. He had not spoken since before sundown.
Gobber looked like he wanted to protest, disliking the idea of letting his friend by himself. But Stoick insisted.
"Just go, Gobber."
Gobber could not disagree more. But the firm look Stoick gave him killed any protest that was dripping at the tip of his tongue. And so he went, unable to argue with the chief.
Finally alone, Stoick simply watched the fire. He didn't have anything better to do. There were no more thump thump thump of his son's feet when he paced around his rooms, nor could he listen to the familiar drumming of his son's pen against his desk.
Those sounds were proof that Hiccup was there in their home, safe and sound. There Stoick knew he would be protected from dragons. He had learned his lesson long ago. No dragon would be able to break into their house anymore.
But it was all for naught. His son was gone now. He'd never be able to hear those sounds again.
Stoick realized that he had turned his head towards Hiccup's room unintentionally.
When was the last time he had gone up there? How much had the room changed from the chaotic kid Hiccup once was to the teenager he had become? What didn't he know about his son?
And so he made his way up the stairs. The stairs were built to fit him, in fact the whole house was made to accommodate him. It forced Hiccup to climb them, unless he wanted to risk falling off.
In his grief Stoick thought: 'He would never climb these stairs ever again.'
At the top of the stairs, Stoick immediately spotted stack of papers across Hiccup's desk. From where he was standing, he was unable to see what it was that had Hiccup making new charcoal pencils everyday. With that, he moved forward, passing the unmade bed—never again would he sleep there—before stopping at the old and worn desk. The one from Trader Johan, that Hiccup had begged him to get for his 10th birthday.
Never again would he write on here.
He scanned the papers, looking for anything that would reveal Hiccup's thoughts. What he found were sketches of a dragon. Not just any dragon, the Night Fury. Over and over again. Some had the dragon smiling, some with it frowning. In some drawing the dragon rested lazily, while in other sketches the dragon had his wings flared. Some sketches had a tail, some didn't.
It was then he caught a glimpse of green fabric at the corner of the desk, buried under heaps of used paper.
It was a green Deadly Nadder Valka had made when she was pregnant, that somehow manage to get four feet instead of two. Stoick thought Hiccup had lost it long ago, but here it was, nestled in the corner of the desk, close to the boy's bed.
If it wasn't for the mess on the desk, it would be one of the first things Hiccup would see in the morning.
Slowly with the little Nadder in his hands, Stoick moved away from the desk and sank down on Hiccup's bed. It gave a creak against the sudden weight, but held steady. Deeming it safe, Stoick looked at the papers that carried som many of Hiccup's thoughts. They seemed to know more about him than his own father.
When was the last time he talked, actually talked, to Hiccup? They were only near each other when they were eating their day- and nightmeal, and even then did they barely talk. Only awkward greetings and rushed goodbyes.
Their only time spent in comfort was when one of Stoick's braids fell out and he needed them redone. Hiccup would grab a chair, pull it close and start brushing out his braid. Then he would carefully braid his beard, a feat which took about half an hour. After finishing off the last braid, Hiccup would pat his beard, as if appreciating his own work, and muttered a quiet "There you go, Dad."
Stoick wasn't ashamed that there were times he had purposefully fought roughly—just so that his braids would fall out quicker. Just to be near Hiccup for once.
And still, he didn't attempt to talk to him. He didn't listen. And look at where that left him.
He was sitting on the boy's bed when it really hit Stoick. He had lost his one and only child. His precious Hiccup.