"...Okay, but I hit a night fury."

The young heir of Berk had believed that these words would be his saving grace, that they'd fix his entire life for him. He's always been the runt, the idiot, the useless non-viking viking. Killing a dragon is everything to his tribe — killing the most elusive one of all would surely make his father pay attention to him, right?

Alas, his father's response had shattered those hopes.

Raven's Point.

On days when Snotlout and the other Hooligans had been particularly nasty towards him, Hiccup had gone here to think, to sit on the edge with his legs hanging down and wonder if the several seconds of falling would be enough to make up for the expected pain of hitting the ground. Today, however, he did not come here to muse on his role (or lack thereof) in the village.

Today, he had a dragon to find.

He walks through the forest, muttering to himself angrily as his search for the downed dragon seems to be futile. "Some people lose their knife, or their mug..." Then, his voice gets louder as he comments bitterly on his own rotten luck, "but no, not me — I manage to lose an entire dragon!?" The normally docile and calm boy raises his hand and smacks a branch with his entire strength. The catharsis makes him feel a bit better, at least until the branch snaps back and smacks him in the face. He immediately releases a hiss of pain, holding a hand to his face, as he curses his own lack of foresight. Of course the branch would go back in its place; Hiccup "the Useless" is not strong enough to break a branch clean off of a tree.

Then, his thoughts stop as his eyes notice something up ahead.

He couldn't do it.

Why couldn't he do it?

Of course it would be just his luck for his strength to back down just as he finally, finally captured a dragon. And a night fury, no less! Gods, if he had brought its head to the village, everyone would apologize for how they acted. They would never tease him about being "Hiccup the Useless" ever again. He had the dragon. It was tied up in a bola, unable to get free. He had a knife, he could have so easily killed it and then taken some proof to his dad so that the tribe would believe him and could help drag the rest of the dragon's body back to the village...

And instead, he took the knife and cut the ropes. Classic, Hiccup. Classic. Shame that the dragon hadn't killed him at the spot, too. "Hiccup the Useless, the only person to get killed by a night fury because he released it on himself." His cousin would never let anyone forget. Berk would know about it for the next several hundred years. But, Hiccup survived — by fluke, by luck, or by misfortune. Now, everyone will just think that he made up the fact that he captured a night fury. He could have at least taken a few scales, or something: a proof that he shot it down. Then, he could have blamed the dragon's escape on the ropes being too loose, or too thin, or something.

Oh well — it's a lost opportunity now.

He doesn't listen. Why does he never listen? Hiccup knows he can't kill a dragon if it was tied up in front of him, just like his dad had suspected for most of his life, so why does dad want him to go to dragon training? It's pointless, it's useless, it's unnecessary, just like Hiccup himself is. But, as always, Stoick never listens to the boy and wants him to try, even if Hiccup is certain that they both know that Hiccup will end up only embarrassing himself and his family name even more. Is this a final cruelty, a way for Stoick to decide if Hiccup is worth anything? If Hiccup is worthy of becoming a chief in the future? If he's worthy of being called Stoick's son?

Hiccup already knows what the answers to those questions are, even if he doesn't like them.

Dragon training went about as well as he expected. Almost killed by a Gronckle lava blast on day one, then almost impaled by a Nadder's spikes on day two. The only reason he wasn't eliminated first is because Fishlegs turned tail and ran when faced with the Zippleback, getting automatically labeled more of a coward for running before even being attacked.

The evening after he got kicked out, he took to burying himself in work at the forge. It's the only place he feels safe in, although he feels as if at this rate even Gobber won't want him. Nonetheless, the two-limbed viking is one of the few people who has been nice to him, and Hiccup understands without bitterness if he used up all of the chances the smith gave him. With Gobber, at least Hiccup had been given those chances.

Hiccup sighs as he looks around. He has diagrams and sketches pinned to every available spot on the wall, with even more papers on the desk's surface and in its drawers. All failures, of course. None of his inventions ever worked properly or did anything good, and there's plenty of people on Berk who are more than willing to constantly remind him of that. As he sits at the desk, his hand holds the charcoal and sketches it absent-mindedly against the parchment, creating imperfect and meaningless lines, ones that lack solidity and confidence. He doesn't even know what he's drawing: could be a new invention, one of his actually successful peers, a tree...

"Been lookin' fer ye," a voice suddenly says from the doorway to the small room, knocking Hiccup out of his thoughts and causing the charcoal to fall from his hand. Of course, it's just the old smith — no one else would probably want to talk to Hiccup now, not after the debacle during dragon training. Hiccup normally doesn't mind conversing with Gobber, but he's really not in the mood for it today. Hiccup's lack of an answer speaks volumes to the old blacksmith, and the one-legged, one-armed man actually tries to squeeze into the small room behind the forge, where his apprentice currently is. After several attempts and almost getting stuck in the door, Gobber manages to force his way in, taking up at least half of the tiny room. He comments off-handedly with a grunt, "we need t' get ye a bigger room, or at leas' a bigger door."

"This one's fine, Gobber," Hiccup told the smith. No need to use more resources and energy on him, anyways.

"Aye, it is - fo' someone yer size. Yer father woul' knock th' entire roof o' th' forge down if 'e ever tried t' come in 'ere."

"He doesn't really have a reason to come in here." Hiccup knows this from experience. In his five years of being Gobber's apprentice, his dad had rarely came to visit him at the forge, much less came in to check on him in his room. The Chief preferred standing outside and yelling for his son to come out to greet him.

"Maybe 'e woul' if 'e could fit. They don' call 'im Stoick 'the Vast' fer no reason." If the Chief was around, Gobber probably wouldn't have made such a comment. But, Stoick is off looking for the dragons' nest, and the blacksmith's apprentice is more down than a sunken ship. Gobber has to do something.

Hiccup's respect for his mentor had only been raised by their recent conversations. It seems that Gobber still believes that the boy is not completely useless; given recent events, that's far more than Hiccup could ever ask for. In return, the boy took to working his butt off in the forge, working under the day's sun and the night's stars alike, in the warmth of sunlight and the glow of candlelight. He also asked Gobber for some more lessons. He's already proven that he can't fight dragons, so why not learn more of what he's actually good at? Gobber doesn't mind much, thankfully, and he doesn't question Hiccup's motives. Not openly, at least.

If Odin and Thor hate Hiccup, then it seems that Loki has a soft spot for the boy. Hiccup could not have planned it out better himself, and it took all of his willpower to not accidentally give his plans away when Gobber said he'll teach Hiccup how to create things outside the forge. Namely, ships.

"Yer doin' what!?"

And there went any semblance of a soft spot for the boy on Loki's part.

"Gobber, please, hear me out," Hiccup pleaded with the blacksmith. When Hiccup accidentally dropped his bag and caused all of its contents to spill onto the floor of the forge, Gobber had gotten down to help pick the items up: a map of the Archipelago, a list of supplies, a book "borrowed" from Gothi about common diseases, a sheet with notes on how to care for different types of wounds, a large but thin cloth that looks suspiciously like the sail of a small boat, et cetera. Gobber may not be the chief and he may be missing two limbs, but that doesn't make him an idiot. He recognizes the signs when he sees them, and he is not a happy camper. Hiccup has trouble distinguishing if the blacksmith's reaction is caused by anger or worry, although the voice in the back of his head constantly reminds him that the latter is incredibly unlikely.

"Alrigh' - start talkin' then, befo' ye make me old 'eart wear out wi' worry."

"...yer father'll kill me."

"You don't need to tell him anything, Gobber. I'm not asking you to. Just... say I was taken in a dragon raid, or something. Dragons need toothpicks, don't they?"

The unimpressed glare Hiccup gets from his mentor illustrates exactly how the blacksmith feels about Hiccup's reuse of the man's words from days before.

"'E'll do somethin' stupi' when 'e finds out. Ye're too young t' remember wha' 'e was like when 'e lost yer mother, bu' I remember too well, 'Iccup."

"He won't."

"Yer father cares fer ye more than ye think."

"Really? Then he has a funny way of showing it."

Gobber sighs, massaging his forehead with his one good hand. His apprentice has gone mad, insane, crazy. Then again, Gobber knows why. It's the same reason Valka and Stoick argued so many times. Whenever something goes wrong, dragons are always involved. Gobber knew from the moment he saw Hiccup that the boy would never kill dragons — he's too much like his mother. Gobber knew he made a promise to Stoick, that he wouldn't let the boy come to harm; Hiccup is the only thing Stoick has left of Valka. If being home on Berk is harming Hiccup so, then Gobber needs to help protect the boy, even if his methods are a bit unorthodox and require blatantly lying to the Chief. Hiccup needs proof that Stoick cares. Stoick needs a reminder that Hiccup is a boy and needs attention. Gobber needs to provide both.

"If ye ain' th' death o' me, then ye'll be th' reason I lose th' rest o' me limbs."