Chapter Text
Prologue: The Father
Gobber had ruined the soup again.
Hiccup made a face at the bowl in front of him. It had less the texture of a rich soup and leaned more to the likeness of curdled yak milk. Chunks of what might be vegetables and mutton looked unappealing inside the bowl, and bubbles popped at the surface as if something at the bottom of the soup-not-soup was still breathing. Unfortunately, Hiccup wasn’t fast enough to hide his disgust when Gobber turned around from the cauldron holding his creation.
He sighed, and guilt pooled inside the young Hooligan. “Sorry lad, I swear I put the right ingredients in there. I just don’t know how it got ruined, turned my back for one second and then this happened!” He gestured to the soup with a scowl. “Ah, it must be them trolls. First my left socks, now my mutton soup too.”
Hiccup chuckled weakly. “It’s alright, Gobber. I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”
A loud growl erupted from his stomach in protest and Gobber raised his brow at him. Hiccup could feel the heat spread across his face and to the tips of his ears. “M-maybe just a little hungry then.”
“I’m sure there’s still some bread and cheese in the larder, I’ll grab you a plate. Boil some water for me, will ya?” Gobber hobbled to the storeroom.
Hiccup watched the village blacksmith disappear to the kitchen area before sliding carefully off his seat, still too small to reach the floor with his feet when sitting. Or rather, the chair was fit for more… Viking-sized individuals. But it was fine, Hiccup sometimes pretended that he was living in a giant’s home, and he was the normal-sized one. He threw the bowls of... soup to the pot of scraps to be fed to the boars, putting the empty bowls in the washbasin. He then grabbed a clean cauldron and filled it with water from the barrel. He strained his arms to lug it to the hook to boil over the fire, panting from exertion but proud, nonetheless, at his accomplishment, the water barely spilt.
He stroked the flames with a rod of iron until it rose to lick at the bottom of the kettle. Satisfied with his work, Hiccup made to sit on his seat just as Gobber returned. He grinned and held above his head a plate of half a loaf of bread and dried yak strips. On his hook hung a cloth that carried half a wheel of cheese.
“Aye, there we go!” He placed the food on the table, and the cheese with a thunk .
Hiccup could tell just by looking at the innocent-looking loaf that it wasn’t as soft and fresh as it looked. He knocked on the bread, wincing at the sting in his knuckles as it made an impact with the tough-as-iron bread.
“Oh, not to worry, lad!” said Gobber after noticing his concern. “That’s what the hot water is for.”
He lifted the kettle with his hook and poured it into a tankard. “Just dunk a piece and let the water soften it. Does the trick!”
Hiccup tried, he really tried to keep the disgust from his face, but Gobber still caught it. He sighed and Hiccup looked at him guiltily again. An apology was at the tip of his tongue, but a heavy hand ruffled his hair.
“There now, you know how it is in the winter. Can’t be too sure when it might end, so best to keep rationing,” reasoned Gobber.
“Sorry,” Hiccup muttered anyway.
He knew, of course, he knew how it worked. His father drilled it to him since he was little. Hiccup wasn’t ignorant of the struggles the village faced during winter. If they weren’t fighting against dragons, then they were fighting the cold.
The beasts’ last raid before winter had delivered a blow to their storage of food. Rations were small and the winter was proving to be a long one. Not to mention the traders never dared to brave the seas during the harsh cold season. Hiccup knew many of the villagers surely didn’t have the luxury of eating with cheese or meat for their meals during the winter due to the rationing. It was one of the privileges of being the chief’s son, and it was something that didn’t sit well with him.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Gobber sat down with the chair groaning under his weight and began to eat, urging Hiccup to do the same. Dipping the bread in hot water didn’t make it any less bland, though it was better to eat it soggy than lose a few teeth to rock-hard bread.
Gobber, not letting even eating stop him from making idle chatter, spoke, “So, how’s your little project coming along, eh? Don’t think I don’t hear you tinkering about upstairs.”
Ah, that project. The project that may or may not have been made using the scrap from the smithy Gobber so obsessively hoarded, and the one he had no permission to use. That project.
Hiccup coughed a short “fine” before quickly changing the subject. “So, when’s Dad gonna come home?”
The blacksmith eyed him but chose to shrug off his quick reply. “Oh, either later tonight or tomorrow morning. Depends if they don’t find any trouble on the way back.”
The small Hooligan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment and he stared at his plate glumly. A meaty finger flicked under his chin, making him look up at Gobber, who sported a small smile beneath his long, braided moustache.
“Don’t worry, Hiccup. Your Da’s tougher than any Viking I know! A little snow can hardly keep him from coming back to you, I promise you that,” said Gobber. “No need to worry.”
His little speech did its job to lift Hiccup’s spirits up and they returned to their meal. Gobber picked up their plates and dumped them in the washing basin, not making a move to wash them as he walked to Hiccup, who hopped off his seat.
“Can I stay up till Dad gets back?” Hiccup looked up at Gobber.
“Oh no, lad. No can do with that! Little Vikings need their shut-eye or your Da would have my head.” Gobber picked him up with ease with just a sweep of his arm, his hook carrying a candle as they ascended the stairs. Hiccup pouted the whole way up to his room, hoping that it would change his mind, but Gobber pointedly avoided looking at him and whistled a tune as he made the climb to his room.
“But what if he comes home and I won’t see him?” Hiccup tried to reason as he was placed on his bed. “What if I sleep forever?”
“Ah, no. You’ll see him tomorrow, don’t you worry.” Gobber tucked the blanket of furs over him, making sure he’ll be warm through the night. He tucked Hiccup’s favourite toy, a poorly stitched and over-stuffed Nadder, beside his head. “How about a story?”
Hiccup perked up, then he hesitated. “Not a scary one?” Gobber was a great storyteller, though he mostly told scary stories. He knew that other kids liked them, but tales of the dragon-man Lycanwing and the treasure hoarding, undead draugr had given him nightmares for weeks. Hiccup was more fascinated by tales like the heroic story of Sigurd the dragon-slayer and the stories of the warriors of the tribe.
“Alright, just one,” said Gobber. He began to think. “Let’s see, have I ever told you the story of your great grand-uncle, Hiccup Haddock the Second?”
Hiccup perked at the mention of his namesake and shook his head, shifting to get himself comfortable. His attentive eyes were glued to Gobber expectantly.
“No? Well, that will be the story for tonight!” Gobber cleared his throat. “As you might have already guessed, Hiccup Haddock the Second was the perfect portrait of a runt, skinny as a twig and quite a plain-looking lad. But his story was far from what his appearance led you to believe.
They said that as a babe he was taken from his cradle and raised by dragons until he was rescued by the tribe when he was a boy. When he was returned to his tribe, he was dragon-like in his behaviour, eating raw fish, growling and scratching at those who came near him. Stories say that he could understand dragons. But, over time the tribe had nurtured and taught him the way of the Vikings.”
Hiccup gasped. “Dragons can talk?”
“Ehh, well, I never heard a peep from the beast. But they say that dragons whispered lies in his ears and urged him to do unspeakable things! The sort of things that only monstrous things such as they could commit. But, Hiccup the Second was a Viking through and through.
Using his knowledge, he rallied his newfound tribe and plotted to be rid of the dragons, eventually giving us Vikings the greater advantage in this war. He was considered a hero amongst the tribe, one of Berk’s greatest leaders. Even my many great grandfather, Bork the Bold, waxed poetic about him.” Gobber ended his tale with a nod.
Hiccup’s face was the picture of starry-eyed awe as he looked at Gobber. The questions spilt from his mouth and he sat up in his excitement. The hooked Viking chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, no, no time for questions now. It’s bedtime. If I answer, then you’ll never stop.”
The little boy pouted as he was tucked back into his bed.
“Sleep now, Hiccup. Your Da will be here when you wake up.”
Hiccup closed his eyes and before he was pulled to slumber, he wished hard for his dreams to be filled with the heroic tale of his namesake. It seemed like he had only blinked and when he opened his eyes, he found himself awake in the darkness of his room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking around for Gobber and wiping the drool from his cheek. Hiccup found no sign of the burly blacksmith and instead saw a dim light on the stairway from the room below.
The young boy slid down his bed, tucking his toy underneath his arm, shivering as the late-night chill assaulted him now that he was away from the warmth of his blankets. But despite the cold and wearing only his long tunic, Hiccup made his way downstairs.
The ground floor was warmer and was dimly lit by the fireplace. It was hard not to take notice of the large figure of his father, who sat on the stool near the fire, his bulk almost blocking the whole fireplace. His fur cloak was still draped on his shoulders and he still wore the clothes that Hiccup last saw him in.
His feet were soft and silent as he went down the stairs, a smile of excitement growing on his lips. But his smile wavered, and his footsteps slowed to a stop as he heard his father sniff and let out a shuddering breath. His previous excitement vanished as he finally read the air that enshrouded his father. It felt like he shouldn’t intrude, and he felt a bit rattled seeing his father, the strong and mighty chief of the tribe- the epitome of s Viking warrior, crying.
The firelight made his tears stand out like crystals on his weary and wrinkled face.
Hiccup retreated back to his room, but a creaky step gave away his presence and he froze as his father tensed and whipped around to face him. Two pairs of green eyes stared wide-eyed at each other. Stoick was the first to recover.
“Hiccup, son,” his dad said after clearing his throat, turning to the fire to quickly wipe his eyes before turning back to Hiccup. “You should be asleep,” he tried for a stern tone, but Hiccup could hear his exhaustion.
The young boy darted his eyes from his feet to his father’s face guiltily. “I woke up and saw the light, and I wanted to see you,” he confessed.
His confession visibly softened the Hooligan chief, and he smiled at his son. Stoick raised his giant hand and curled his fingers to usher Hiccup. “Alright. Come here.”
Hiccup beamed, and in his rush to be in his father’s arms, he left his toy on the steps. His father easily swept him off his feet, sitting him on his knee, but Hiccup turned and embraced him, arms around his thick neck and legs trying its best to encircle his wide chest. His father’s chuckle shook the clinging boy, and soon his burly arms hugged him with more ease than Hiccup’s attempt did.
“I missed you,” Hiccup said against his beard. He burrowed closer in his embrace, the combined warmth of his father’s arms and fire chased away the cold.
Hiccup felt his father’s arms tighten around him, not painfully, but enough to feel the pressure, and kiss the top of his head. “I missed you too.” His voice cracked a bit at the end of it.
It was only a minute or so of silence, comfortable as it may be, but Hiccup’s burning curiosity compelled him to ask, “Why were you crying?” He had lifted his head to look at his father.
Stoick sighed and ran a hand through Hiccup’s hair. “Just, a lot of things on my mind, son.”
“What kind of things?” He wondered what things made dads cry like that? Perhaps…
“Oh, well, chief things for one.” Stoick gave a tired smile.
“Is it because I don’t have a mom anymore?” Hiccup quickly interjected before his father could change the topic. “Do you want me to go find one?”
He was earnest in his offer. Maybe a mom would make his dad happy and he won’t cry anymore, maybe a mom would make them nice dinners and his dad can stay home more. But his father chuckled and shook his head.
“But I don’t want another one,” he said. “Your mother was the only woman for me.”
Hiccup furrowed his brows at that. Seeing as his son didn’t understand his answer, Stoick sighed fondly and pulled him close again, his forehead rubbing against his small son’s temple.
“She was the love of my life, your mother. And though she’s gone her love,” he patted his chest and Hiccup’s, “is always in here. Just like my love is with her.”
“But what if you need it back?” Hiccup pressed. Is that why his dad was crying? Because mom took his love with her to Valhalla?
Stoick smiled fondly. “Love doesn’t work like that, son. With love comes loss, but it’s worth it because there’s no greater gift than love.”
The chief could see the scepticism in his son's face and he rubbed his back, making him look up.
“But… if she took all your love with her. What about me? Do you have enough for me?”
He looked so concerned and confused that Stoick couldn’t help but chuckle, melting at such an innocent question. It humbled him to know how much his son valued his love despite his time and attention being hoarded by his chiefly duties.
“Of course! You hold the biggest space in my heart, did you know?” He whispered as if it were a secret.
Stoick was rewarded with a bright smile from his only son.
“Me too,” Hiccup whispered back. Then his smile faltered for a second as he thought about his father’s words. “But what about the other space?” Ever the inquisitive one.
His father turned a bit more sombre at his question, and Hiccup straightened in attention. Stoick stared at the fire for a moment, then heaved a sigh before looking back at Hiccup.
“A chief’s duty is to his people,” he began. “Always remember that, son. There is no chief, no tribe without its people. The people of Berk hold a place in my heart too, but not as special as you. Understand?”
Hiccup smiled shyly. “Okay, dad.”
“Good lad.” Stoick nodded, patting his back. “Now, how about we get you back to bed? It’s late, and growing Vikings need their sleep.”
“And dads too,” Hiccup added, noticing the deep purple smudges underneath his eyes.
His father seemed to be arguing with himself, ready to refuse– his expressive face was a far cry from the stony and stern figure that he usually saw from his dad– but he eventually let out a soft smile and nodded. “And dads too,” he echoed.
Together, both father and son climbed up the stairs to their rooms, leaving the glowing embers in the fireplace to die out from the chill of Berk’s evening.