Chapter Text
When Stoick awakes, it is with a distinct sense that something is wrong.
He’s not lying on his bed or propped up in his chair by the hearth, and when he opens his eyes, it’s not to the sight of his house’s ceiling – instead, there is cold stone and high wooden rafters, and confused muttering all around.
Stoick is lying on the floor of the Great Hall, and so, when he sits up and looks around, seems to be everyone else.
The entirety of Berk is here, awaking on the Hall floor, and the confused muttering is swiftly turning into shouts of fear. Gobber, Mulch and Spitelout are pushing at the doors, and Stoick swiftly crosses the Hall to aid them, but to no avail – they won’t budge.
“Chief!”
“Chief, what’s going on?”
“What do we do?”
Stoick raises his hands placatingly as his people call to him, although he has no more of an idea than any of them what is going on. “Calm down, calm down, everyone! We’ll sort this out, there’s nothing to fear!”
The shouting quietens to uneasy muttering, families and friends gathering in groups. Stoick does a quick sweep to check that, yes, the entire village is here, miraculously transported to the Hall – although, Stoick notes, without any weapons. Astrid stands with her parents, her axe missing for the first time in what is probably years.
“What in Odin’s name is going on here?” Gobber mutters.
Stoick frowns, shoves fruitlessly again at the doors. Then, without reason or warning, the light of the torches and the great hearth die down until Stoick can only just pick out the faces of his people, and the glow that had been emanating from them coalesces on one of the walls, the rough stone bricks shifting and smoothing to form a blank surface on which lies that unnatural square of light.
From all around comes an echoing, whispered voice: “Sit. Watch. Listen. Learn.”
Some people curse. Some pray. Stoick grabs Gobber’s arm, and thinks he may melt with relief when Gothi bangs her staff on the floor for attention and waves him over to where she stands by the hearth.
Vikings crowd in when she starts scribbling in the ash there with her staff, but obediently move out of the way at Gobber’s shoving, since he’s the only one who can read the Elder’s messages.
Gobber squints at the ash. “She says we should do as the valve – Ack! – voice, do as the voice says.” He rubs the top of his head and glares at Gothi. “You know, your scribbling ain’t what it used to be, old woman.”
Gothi hefts her staff threateningly and Gobber hurriedly backtracks. “But your swing, strong as ever!”
People start muttering again, and Stoick frowns harder. “Are you sure, Gothi? I don’t know how all of us came to be here, but I think we need to find a way to get out, not sit with this – illusion.”
Gothi makes a face at him as though he’s a misbehaving child and draws more symbols in the ash.
“Uh – ‘Fate has spoken, we must listen.’” Gobber reads out. Gothi nods decisively, and goes and sits herself down at one of the tables.
Well, then. While Stoick himself isn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of listening to this strange voice of the gods, he isn’t stupid enough not to listen to Gothi. He squares his shoulders and looks out upon the sea of confused faces that make up his people.
“Listen, everyone!” He calls. “I do not know what has brought us here, but Gothi has called it the voice of Fate, and she has never before led us astray. Perhaps the gods have chosen to deliver us with wisdom. In any case, we will do as the voice tells us to – take a seat with your families and your friends, and we will heed what is brought to us by this firelight. Take heart, for we are together!”
A short cheer goes up, and the Berkians all gather at the tables. Stoick sits with Gothi, Gobber, Spitelout, Bucket and Mulch at one table, Astrid and the other teens next to them, their parents hovering nearby.
The light on the wall shifts, moves, takes on colour and shape in increasing clarity until it settles, finally, on an image of Berk. Murmurs raise up in recognition of their island from this strange ocean perspective, even as it zooms inwards, but all goes silent at the sound of a voice:
“This is Berk.”
All the air rushes out of Stoick’s lungs, because even six years on, even after everything, he knows that voice –
“Hiccup.” Gobber breathes, eyes blown wide.
Hiccup (V.O): “It’s twelve days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It’s located solidly in the Meridian of Misery. My village.”
The village itself comes into focus on the wall, still from a distance, but there – but not quite as it is now. Stoick can recognise a house that has burned down, a door that has changed colour, a well that has dried up.
Hiccup’s voice – his boy who, until yesterday, he’d thought dead, has mourned for the past six years – continues.
Hiccup (V.O): “In a word, sturdy. It’s been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets.”
On a hill, a sheep bleats.
Hiccup (V.O): “The only problems are the pests.”
The sheep is snatched off of the hillside by long, wicked talons.
Several people let loose undignified shrieks, and Stoick sees Not-So-Silent Sven clutch his helmet mournfully to his chest.
Hiccup (V.O): You see, most places have mice, or mosquitos. We have –
A door slams shut in the face of a dragon’s fire, flames licking around it. The image on the wall pans down –
Hiccup: “Dragons.”
And there he is. Stoick becomes vaguely aware that he is clutching at Gobber’s arm again, quite hard, in fact, and that he’s stopped breathing – but there is his son, the greatest joy of his life, just the same as he remembers him – small, skinny, awkward, dark hair that never lay flat and wide green eyes, face sprayed with freckles.
There are gasps all around the room, and both Spitelout and Snotlout are making the same pained sort of expression, but Stoick can’t pay any of them any mind.
That is his son. Alive, on Berk, six years ago.
Maybe this strange vision meant to show them what had happened to him. Stoick isn’t quite sure whether or not he wants to see.
Hiccup opens the door, hissing at the hot metal, and tears out into the chaos of the street. His voice continues as he runs.
Hiccup (V.O): “Most people would leave. Not us. We’re Vikings – we have stubbornness issues.”
All around, buildings are on fire, and almost every Berkian he passes is in combat with a dragon.
Hiccup (V.O): “My name’s Hiccup. Great name, I know. But it’s not the worst. Parents believe that a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanours wouldn’t do that.”
Stoick frowns. He’d named Hiccup what he had because of the legacy behind it, a way of securing that small, wailing infant into his family, never to be cast aside as runts were supposed to be. He didn’t ever mean it as a slight or insult.
Ack appears, falling in front of Hiccup with a raised axe and a yell.
Ack: “AARRGGHHHH! Mornin’!”
A few tables away, Ack ducks his head sheepishly as his friends laugh and clap him on the back.
People begin to notice Hiccup as he keeps sprinting down the street, yelling for him to get back inside.
Hiccup: “Yeah, I know, I just-”
He’s cut off when a large hand grabs him by the back of his shirt and hoists him off of the ground.
Stoick winces.
Stoick: “What are you doing out – what is he doing out again? Get back inside!”
He tosses Hiccup in the direction of the forge and turns back to the fight, uncaring.
Hiccup (V.O): “That’s Stoick the Vast, Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby, he popped a dragon’s head clean off its shoulders.”
Stoick throws a wooden cart at a dragon, knocking it out of the air.
Hiccup (V.O): “Do I believe it? Yes I do.”
Hiccup’s voice has taken on a tone of awe, and Stoicks image on the wall stands tall and heroic, but he can’t feel any pride after the scene of him shoving Hiccup aside, unknowing of how little time with him he had left. Sure, it was for the boy’s own safety, small and clumsy as he was, but still.
Stoick: “What have we got?”
Starkard: “Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks – oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare.”
Stoick: “Any Nightfuries?”
Starkard: “None so far.”
A burning ember lands on Stoick’s shoulder, and he brushes it off without a care.
Stoick: “Good.”
Again, Stoick ought to have been proud of his past self, calm in the face of danger, looking every bit the Chief he tried to be. But all he can feel was a vague sense of dread – he remembers this particular raid, and knows he isn’t the only one who also remembers that there was, in fact, a Nightfury in attendance.
Hiccup darts into the forge, tying a leather apron around his waist. Gobber looks over at him amusedly.
Gobber: “Ah, nice of you to join the party! I thought you’d been carried off!”
The words of the past were said with humour, but Stoick can’t laugh now. Gobber’s face is drawn, his true hand clenched on the table.
Hiccup, with some struggle, hefts a hammer from a workbench to the wall.
Hiccup: “What, who, me? Nah, come on, I’m way too muscular for their tastes. They wouldn’t know what to do with all…”
He gestures to himself and flexes an arm.
Hiccup: “…this.”
Gobber: “Well, they need toothpicks, don’t they?”
Hiccup (V.O): “The meathead with an attitude and interchangeable hands is Gobber. I’ve been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well – little-er.”
The scene cuts to Stoick on one of the watch-towers.
Stoick: “We move to the lower defences. We’ll counter-attack with the catapults.”
A dragon swoops down and sets a building on fire.
Hiccup (V.O): “See? Old village, lots and lots of new houses.”
A shout – “Fire!”
Astrid: “Alright, let’s go!”
Hiccup (V.O): “And that’s the fire brigade – Berk’s cool kids. They get to be out in the action. There’s Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut – but they’d be nothing without their captain.”
The teens in question make offended faces at the wall, but Stoick is fairly certain they all know where this is going.
Astrid clambers up to one of the water ducts that run across the street and swings down from it, pulling the stream of water to douse the burning building.
Hiccup (V.O): “The shining star of our generation, amazing without even trying – the one who smokes them all.”
Hiccup’s past voice has taken on a decidedly lovesick, dreamy tone, and Stoick could have sworn he could see Astrid blush a little as the wall shows an impressive image of her walking away from an explosion of flames behind her.
Hiccup (V.O): “Astrid.”
The hall erupts into good-natured laughter. Ruffnut wolf-whistles loudly, and Astrid punches her on the arm.
Hiccup is leaning through the forge’s service window as his peers pass by, sparing him jeering looks or nothing at all.
Hiccup, though, looks in awe of them.
The teens stop laughing.
Hiccup (V.O): “Oh, their job is so much cooler than mine.”
“Oi!” Gobber protests.
Hiccup leans further out of the window, but Gobber’s hook catches in the back of his shirt and lifts him back into the shop.
Hiccup: “Oh, come on, let me out? Please? I need to make my mark!”
Gobber: “Oh you’ve made plenty of marks – all in the wrong places.”
Stoick winces at the recollection of the trail of destruction that Hiccup had always seemed to leave behind, and even more so at the recollection of how he’d handled each incident – safe to say, not well. Had that been what caused Hiccup to disappear in the middle of the night? But why when he’d been doing so well in training, when he was finally shaping up to be the future chief that Stoick had always known him to be?
Did he leave of his own accord, or was he taken?
Hiccup: “Please, just two minutes! I’ll kill a dragon, my life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date!”
More laughter, and sympathetic aww-ing from the various parents present in the room. Oh, the entertainment and plight of handling a child’s crushes – although, Stoick can’t actually remember Hiccup ever coming to him for advice or complaints.
Gobber: “You can’t lift a hammer, you can’t swing an axe – you can’t even throw one of these!”
He holds out a bola, which is snatched through the window by a Viking and used to bring down a dragon.
Hiccup uncovers a wooden machine that is tucked away in the back of the forge.
Hiccup: “Okay, yes, but this will do it for me. It’s fully automated, and-”
He pats the machine, and a bola comes spinning out of one barrel, narrowly missing the crowd of Vikings at the window, and another flies out of the other barrel, hitting a Viking in the head.
The Viking in question cries out in admonition. “That hurt!”
Hiccup smiles weakly.
Hiccup: “-uh, double-barrelled.”
Gobber: “See, now, this right here is what I’m talking about.”
Hiccup does something with the levers and gears at the back of the machine.
Hiccup: “Mild calibration issue-”
Gobber yet again picks him up and drops him away from the machine.
Gobber: “Don't you – no – Hiccup. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all... this.”
He waves a hand at Hiccup.
Hiccup blinks at him. “But you just pointed to all of me.”
Gobber: “Yes, that’s it! Stop being all of you.”
Stoick winces, expecting to see hurt on his son’s face, but on the wall, he just frowns in a distinctly unimpressed manner.
Hiccup: “Ohhhh…”
Gobber: “Ohhhh, yes.”
Hiccup points accusingly at Gobber. “You, sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw… Viking-ness contained? There will be consequences!”
Snotlout and Tuffnut in particular erupt into snorting laughter, as do many of the adults, and Gobber himself grins with a shake of his head. Stoick has to admit, it’s amusing to watch his tiny son bluster and bluff like this.
Gobber: “I’ll take my chances.”
He drops a sword into Hiccup’s arms.
Gobber: “Sword. Sharpen. Now.”
Hiccup begrudgingly sets the sword on the whetstone and starts sharpening it, but his eyes are out onto the fight.
Hiccup (V.O): “One day, I’ll get out there, because killing a dragon is everything around here.”
The wall’s illusion pans out to show rampaging dragons across the village, as Hiccup lists them off:
Hiccup (V.O): “A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed. Gronckles are tough – taking down one of those would definitely get me some friends. Zipplebacks, exotic; two heads, twice the status.”
Stoick stands on one of the catapult towers, giving out orders and directing their fire. A net takes down a Nadder, and then a set of enormous claws hooks over the edge of the tower.
Hiccup (V.O): “And then there’s the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the toughest Vikings go after those. You see, they have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.”
The Nightmare emerges, and, as if on cue, bursts into flame. Stoick simply grabs a hammer and begins to beat it back.
A few short cheers go up amongst the Berkians for the heroics of their Chief, but all Stoick wants to see is Hiccup again.
Back to Hiccup, who is still sharpening the sword, until he pauses and looks out of the window with a frown.
Hiccup (V.O): “But the ultimate prize is the dragon that no-one’s ever seen. We call it the-”
A tell-tale whistle shrieks through the air, and one of the Vikings manning the catapult yells:
“NIGHTFURY! GET DOWN!”
Stoick: “JUMP!”
Purple light streaks through the night in the split second after Stoick and the others leap off of the catapult and tears it apart in an explosion of violet flame.
People flinch, yell, scream, and Stoick himself reaches for an axe or hammer that isn’t there. The wall shows a flash of black stealing across the flames for only a moment before it is gone, and even that bare glimpse is more of a sight than most men ever get of a Nightfury.
Hiccup (V.O): “This thing never steals food, never shows itself… and never misses. No-one had ever killed a Nightfury.”
His face, framed in the smithy window, turns determined.
Hiccup (V.O): “That’s why I’m going to be the first.”
Gobber, in the background, is hurriedly switching his hammer-hand for an axe one.
Gobber: “Man the fort, Hiccup. They need me out there. Stay – put. Here. You know what I mean.”
And he charges off into the fray. Hiccup grins.
“Gobber.” Stoick chides. The blacksmith at least has the decency to look a little sheepish.
“Yeah, that one was on me.”
Hiccup runs out into the street, wheeling his bola launcher, keeping his eyes on the night sky. Berkians call after him:
“Where are you going?”
“Get back inside!”
Hiccup throws a grin over his shoulder.
Hiccup: “Yeah, I know, I’ll be right back!”
Stoick sighs heavily.
Stoick throws a net over three Nadders, who were terrorising a small group of sheep.
Stoick: “Mind yourselves, the devils still have some juice in them!”
Hiccup wheels his launcher up onto an empty clifftop, grass swaying in the breeze, the sounds of battle far behind him. He pulls on strings and levers until the machine unfolds fully, revealing a sight, loaded bolas, and handles to shoot. Hiccup peers through the sight, up into the empty blackness of the sky.
Hiccup: “Come on, gimme something to shoot at, gimme something to shoot at…”
Then, a shadow is cast over the stars, only there for a moment, and only noticeable because of Hiccup’s noticing it first. It shoots a ball of purple plasma with that signature high-pitched shriek, and Hiccup pulls the handles of his machine – the bolas go flying out, and Hiccup hits the grass behind him, pushing himself up frantically – there is a cry, and that black shape crashes down into the woods just off Raven Point.
The entire hall gasp as one.
Gobber gapes. “Good mother of Odin-”
“Oh, I hit it.” Hiccup says, quietly and a little surprised.
Oh, gods. Oh, gods –
“Okay, but I hit a Nightfury.”
Hiccup had been telling the truth. Of course, of course he had been telling the truth.
The teens are all gaping, Astrid’s hand clapped over her mouth, Snotlout’s jaw dropped to the table, the twins shaking each other and Fishlegs blinking hard.
The Hall is dead silent. Stoick can’t breathe.
Hiccup’s surprise turns to an ear-splitting grin as he shoots up from the ground.
Hiccup: “Oh, it hit it! Yes! I hit it! Did anybody see that?”
A Monstrous Nightmare climbs over the ledge of the cliff, crushing Hiccup’s machine beneath its claws.
Hiccup’s face falls. “Except for you.” He remarks drily.
Stoick hears himself laugh, whether from shock or fear he doesn’t quite know.
Hiccup is now a small silhouette, sprinting across a clifftop with the Nightmare chasing swiftly after him, screaming his head off. Stoick, who is grappling the Nadders, turns, and starts running.
Stoick: “Do not let them escape!”
Spitelout huffs. “Right.”
Hiccup ducks behind a pole as flames burst from around it. He looks tentatively around it, and the Nightmare reaches for him, before being beaten back by Stoick. He punches it, and it tries to breathe fire, but simply coughs up smoke and a few drops of flaming liquid.
Stoick: “You’re all out.”
He beats the dragon back, punching it in the snout until it flees with an enraged scream. Stoick turns to Hiccup. The pole behind him collapses, the torch atop it tumbling into the village.
Vikings all around the room wince and hiss, the memory of Hiccup’s chaotic nature dredged up once more.
Hiccup (V.O): “Oh, and there’s one more thing you need to know…”
Hiccup stands in the middle of the destruction, wincing. “Sorry…Dad.”
The torch continues to roll down the hill, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and sets alight the net that Spitelout was keeping the Nadders under – they flee into the dawn, cawing victory.
Hiccup: “Okay, but I hit a Nightfury.”
Yes, you did, Stoick thinks numbly. But nobody had believed him.
Stoick seizes Hiccup by the collar and drags him towards their house as he rambles, trying, in vain, to explain himself.
Hiccup: “It's not like the last few times, Dad! I mean, I really actually hit it! You guys were busy and I had a very clear shot. It went down, just off Raven Point. Let's get a search party out there, before it-”
Stoick rounds on him.
Stoick: “Stop! Just… stop. Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter is almost here, and I have an entire village to feed!”
Hiccup looks over at the gathering crowd. “Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don’t you think?”
People gasp in mock offense and chuckle at their past selves’ shuffling, but Stoick only finds himself desperately wishing that he could take these words back. Would it have been any different, had he known how little time he had left with his son?
Stoick: “This isn’t a joke, Hiccup! Why can’t you follow the simplest orders?”
Hiccup: “I can’t stop myself! I see a dragon, and I just have to kill it, you know? It’s who I am, Dad.”
But then – that doesn’t feel right. Stoick frowns, and sees Gobber do the same, at this image of his tiny son, who cried when he tried to take him hunting for rabbits and had spent over a month caring for a baby bird with a broken wing, claim to be destined to be a killer of dragons. Of course, he had ended up being right, his proficiency in the ring had proven that, but still…
Stoick sighs. “You are many things, Hiccup, but a dragon-killer is not one of them. Get back to the house.” He turns to Gobber. “Make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up.”
Gobber gives him a light thwack and leads him away. They pass by the teens, who are leaning against their fire-fighting equipment.
Tuffnut: “Quite the performance.”
Snotlout: “I’ve never seen anyone mess up that badly.”
Hiccup keeps his head hung low. “Thank you, thank you. I was trying, so…”
Tuffnut and Snotlout have sunk low in their seats, shamefaced. Gobber shakes his head.
“Poor kid.”
Stoick frowns for what feels like the millionth time this night. Was this a common occurrence, then, Hiccup being carelessly mocked by his peers at every turn? Surely not; surely Stoick would have noticed.
Wouldn’t he?
Hiccup turns to Gobber as the approach the house.
Hiccup: “I really did hit one.”
Gobber: “Sure, Hiccup.”
Hiccup: “He doesn’t listen.”
Gobber: “Well, it runs in the family.”
Oh. They’re talking about him.
Hiccup ploughs on. “And when he does, it’s always with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich.” His voice turns into an imitation of Stoick’s. “Excuse me, barmaid, I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring! I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone!”
Oh – oh, Hiccup.
Stoick’s heart aches at the sight of his boy on the wall, his shoulders dropping in defeat. Sure, maybe, he’d never been as strong or heroic as Stoick had hoped – never been like Snotlout or Astrid – but none of that really mattered. Hiccup was kind, intelligent, had breezed through all his reading and language and diplomacy lessons like it was nothing, and Stoick had been sure that, at least in that regard, he was going to be the best chief Berk had ever seen. And besides, even if he wasn’t, that was his son. His stubbornness, according to Gobber, proved that.
More than anything else, he took after his mother. Nothing wrong with that.
Gobber: “Now, you’re looking at this all wrong – it’s not so much what you look like, it’s what’s inside that he can’t stand!”
“Gobber!” Stoick yells, shocked.
Gobber flinches. “I was trying to help!”
“How in the name of all the gods is that helpful?”
Hiccup blinks at him, then his face changes to one exuding sarcasm. “Thank you, for summing that up.”
Gobber: “Look, the point is – stop trying to be something you’re not.”
“See!” Gobber points out, “Helpful.”
Hiccup turns to enter the house with a world-weary sigh.
Hiccup: “I just wanna be one of you guys.”
He shuts the door behind him.
The image moves outwards, just enough to show Gobber leaving the front of the house, and as he does so, Hiccup running out of the back door towards the forest.
Stoick blinks. “He’s grounded.”