Chapter Text
The house of Stoick the Vast, chief of the Berkians, is oppressively silent. From the open attic window, the sounds of a far-off party are just barely audible, a group of Norsemen loudly celebrating. None of them notice that the target of their jubilation isn’t present.
This is nothing new to Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, who has spent his entire life excluded from every festival and party, even if this time they technically invited him. There’s no reason for him to celebrate; he’s too busy packing everything he considers essential into a satchel. Basic survival gear, such as a fire striker, fur cloak, and small knife, are packed first, followed by the few sentimental items he’s kept over the years – his journal1, charcoals, and a dragon figurine carved by his mother. He needs to pack lightly, considering he has to carry everything through the thick forests of Berk. It pains him to leave so much behind – it had hurt to see all the tools he’d had to skip over, when he rushed through the forge earlier to grab all his drawings – but he silently consoles himself. He can remake everything he has to abandon here. What’s far more important is that he escapes the village before anyone notices his absence and comes to find him.
Composing himself, he chances one last look around his bedroom of fifteen years. It’s a mess, as always, and for once he feels an urge to clean, for his father’s last impression of him to be somebody with at least one positive trait besides dragon killer. He holds back, however, knowing that Toothless needs him (and he, in return, needs Toothless) more than any belated praise from his father. After a final moment of hesitation, a pause in which he briefly considers the other choices he could make here, the possible futures he’s escaping alongside Berk, he slips out of the window and into the empty streets below.
Despite the desolation of the roads, he still sneaks about, using the limited stealth he’s honed from years of avoiding bullies and his father. The wide gaps between each building and the non-existent vegetation impedes his efforts greatly, but by remaining in the void-like shadows created by the barely visible moon, he manages to slip past the few drunken warriors who populate the streets. Invisible as always, he comments bitterly to himself, as another of his people passes him without a second thought. The sounds of the nearby celebration are starting to blur as the Norsemen become even more intoxicated, and so he hurries, determined to escape the village before his father calls it a night.
The moment he crosses the unmarked threshold between human civilization and the wilderness, he can truly breathe again. The thing that has been slowly tightening its grip around his heart, at least since he freed Toothless, has finally let go, and the relief he feels is almost palpable. There’s a moment of hesitation, when he stares back at the village, at what was supposed to be his home. He truly tries to conjure up any remorse or longing for everything that he is leaving behind him. There’s nothing. He only feels hope—for the first time, perhaps—and the total relief of being truly free.
With a grin, he turns, sprinting off into the woods.
In the forest, there’s almost a path from where he’s trodden through the vegetation so many times, tracing the same route from the edge of the village to the cove. He doesn’t even need to slow his pace to avoid tripping now. Every root and fallen log is mapped into his heart, and skipping over or avoiding them is instinctual. For a month, he has spent his nights here, following the same secret path twice a day. After dragon ‘training’ or his day’s work in the forge, he would rush straight here and spend the night out in the woods with his best friend. With his only friend, perhaps.
He carries on through the thick forest, uncaring of the noise of his heavy footfalls and breaking branches. The heady drug of freedom fuels him onwards, despite his heavy satchel. Plus, even if someone from the village heard, how are they to stop him? Within minutes he’ll be by Toothless’ side, never to be separated or forced apart again, and nightfuries have their reputation for a good reason. Briefly he considers quieting his steps, of avoiding any chance of detection. True, they wouldn’t be able to stop him, and anyone that tried would end up with hearing loss or, at best, slightly singed. However, such an exit would make his status as a traitor known to all, and something within him, the child that is still desperate for approval, cries out at the possibility of his father knowing, of his father discovering just how truly not-a-Viking his only son, his heir, is. Hiccup shudders at that thought, an almost-growl fighting to escape his throat. He does not owe his father pride, or comfort. The jaded side of him almost croons at the sadness of his child-self, and revels in the thought of his father’s ultimate disappointment. For a moment he considers landing before the great hall and showing the village just how ironic their celebration is, to show them that their new dragon killer isn’t one of them, and never was.
Hiccup snorts, but ignores the strange mess of emotions fighting within him, instead focusing on making it through the forest before his legs give out from the exertion. Finally, he makes it to the crevice entrance into the cove, and after some awkward manoeuvring around the shield that is still stuck there, he reaches his best friend. Toothless bounds towards him, knowing something exciting is happening from Hiccup’s large grin.
“It’s time, bud.” He laughs, unable to contain his excitement as he discards his bag to hug the dragon tightly. “We’re finally leaving this place.” In agreement, Toothless warbles, pushing his head underneath the human to scoop him onto the dragon’s back. “Wait, wait, hold on- Toothless!” Hiccup exclaims, sliding off the dragon’s back, much to Toothless’ dismay. “I need to check the flight gear!”
Toothless huffs, but ultimately accepts the reasoning, staying still while his friend checks over the various cables and parts that allow him to fly. Once Hiccup is satisfied that the prosthetic will survive a possibly months-long flight, he mounts the saddle and secures his feet in the stirrups.
Hiccup can’t help but spare one more glance back at the village. Do they know he’s missing already? Is his father in the great hall, boasting about his dragon-fighting son, only to discover that said son had vanished? Will anyone even care? Will anyone look for him, or will they just shrug, get Astrid to kill the Nightmare instead-
Shit. The nightmare. The realisation of his mistake hits him with full force. Toothless croons at him, concerned that his friend has frozen up so suddenly, but Hiccup doesn’t hear him over the volume of his thoughts, over the rushing of blood in his ears. They’ll kill the nightmare. I could have freed them on my way here, but it’s probably-
“Toothless,” He starts, afraid of what he’s about to say next. “We need to go back.”