The fire is warm, thinks Hiccup, placing his hands on the floor and scooting closer. A blazing heat, seeping in through his skin and wrapping comfortably around his bones, like a blanket shielding him from the fierce cold outside. He finds himself fascinated by the way the flames move, dancing and changing and moving like nothing he had ever seen. It doesn't occur to the three year old that such a pretty thing could come from the jaws of a dragon, with intentions as fierce as the heat.
He reaches out a small, toddler hand to the flames, scrawny little fingers so unlike the meaty sausages of the rest of the village's little ones, practically bouncing with glee at the mystery of the orange heat.
"Ya better get those fingers away from th' fire there, wee lad," comments Gobber the Belch, instinctively reaching out a hook to his best friend's son. Hiccup pulls his hand back like lightning, the thought of doing anything wrong not even a possibility in the young one's mind, looking at Gobber with those big forest green eyes. A toothy grin shifts awkwardly into place on Gobber's face at the sight of the ankle biter, barely taller than a bucket yet already cleverer than half the adults of the village. "Ya mother dun' want to be getting back to a child on fire, now, does she?"
"Mommy!" little Hiccup giggles, clasping a hand to his gushing face as he rocks back and forth on his rump to the mere mention of Valhallarama. Almost as quickly as it starts, the smile falls from his face and he edges towards Gobber, shuffling along the dusty floorboards. "When will Mommy be back?" he asks curiously, staring up at him.
Gobber chuckles and bends down, hauling the boy up onto his lap. "Why, ye parents are getting back tonight, young Hiccup!"
"Tonight?" Hiccup's eyes immediately light up, a gap-filled smile raising the freckles on his cheeks.
"Aye, t'night. And the rest of the village too."
"I miss Mommy," Hiccup says, pushing out each word like a child does, still getting the hang of talking. Gobber's about to reply, before, without warning, Hiccup reaches out a hand and tugs sharply on Gobber's beard, face scrunched together in a kind of concentration. The reaction he gets (a mighty 'HOLY MOTHER OF –') brings the smile back to his face and he starts clapping and giggling, unable to control the merry laughter he gets from Gobber's mighty outburst.
"Now, laddy, we don't go tugging on beards! You'll have one yerself one day," Gobber scolds, pointing a rough, calloused finger at Hiccup's nose. Hiccup momentarily stops and stares wide eyed at the finger, before it's too much and he starts laughing again, grabbing both of Gobber's braids and pulling on them each in turn, knocking off Gobber's helmet in the process.
It hurts but that doesn't stop Gobber from joining in and laughing too, great hearty chortles, that shake Hiccup up and down, which only makes the toddler laugh even more. Then Gobber starts tickling his sides, (only with one hand), saying, "Who's gun' get you? Who's gun' get you? A NIGHT FURY!" causing Hiccup to begin howling with laughter, wriggling and squirming until he almost falls off Gobber's lap.
The moment is pulled to an abrupt stop when the door slams open, the whistling winds free to pour into the once warm house, carrying the rain and sea spray with them. The fireplace in the centre of the room dims and the flames flicker, and the cold that the house has done so well to prevent getting in is free to roam. A figure stands at the doorway, silhouetted against the night sky, a great block of a masculine figure with what appears to be the hide of a bear on his back.
Hiccup freezes mid tug, and Gobber's tickling is halted too. The figure closes the door behind them, the haunting songs of the wind cut off, and begins to slowly make his way across the floor. As he comes into the weak light of the fire, he reveals himself to be Stoick the Vast, Chief of the Hairy Hooligan tribe, O hear his name and tremble, and none other than Hiccup's father. Hiccup, rather than exclaiming 'Daddy!' and prying himself out of Gobber's reach, watches Stoick's heavy footsteps as he quietly pads across the floor, dumping his cloak in a corner of the room, and turning to face them. His clothes drip rhythmically onto the floor, as does his hair and beard. Plip... plop... Plip... plop...
Gobber gently places Hiccup back on the floor, pulling himself to his feet so that he could look at Stoick. His eyes were red, like his cheeks and hair, bloodshot, and... lost. Gobber had never seen his friend look like this before. He clasps Stoick's hand, with a firm grasp, and he swears Stoick had never held on as tight. It is as if he had nothing to hold onto anymore, nothing, no-one holding up. Without any words spoken, Gobber knows exactly what has happened. The unspeakable.
Young Hiccup watches from the floor, his small head flicking from man to man in that bewilderment known only to youngsters. He hears nothing, understands nothing, just grasps the heels of his feet and watches the men murmur to each other.
"Ya can leave now," says Stoick, and his voice is barely audible to his son. He doesn't know what it is, but Hiccup can sense that something is wrong. Gobber nods, lingers for a second, before clapping Stoick on the back and sliding away as swiftly as he could.
Hiccup, at a mere three years of age, says nothing. There was nothing to say. He simply follows Stoick's movements with moss green eyes, curiously, as his huge father lowers himself into his chair, hangs his head in his hands, and doesn't move again.
A few moments pass, and young Hiccup can't take it any longer. With all the strength he can muster, he pushes himself on to his feet and waddles over to his father. He stumbles on the final step, falling against Stoick's knees, but before he can cry a large hand is placed firmly on his back and he stops. Hiccup wraps his arms around Stoick's calf, ignoring the dampness, soaking up the salty scent of his clothing, wide eyed and sad and he doesn't know why.
Stoick wraps his hands around Hiccup's body, pulls him up onto his lap, and holds him close. His son doesn't look upset, face betraying no emotions, but tears are falling down his face because Stoick is sad and that makes him sad. Stoick can't stand making his own child feel this way.
A small hand is placed on his cheek. Stoick's skin is cold, and Hiccup can feel the tears between his fingers. "D-daddy?" Hiccup whimpers.
"Y-yes, son?" he manages to choke out. He finds himself counting the freckles on his son's face, the golden streaks in his auburn hair.
"Where's Mommy?"
Years could have passed, millenniums, a thousand ages. Searching his son's eyes, Stoick can't bring himself to say anything. Nothing at all, no words of comfort for his own son because he can't.
"Hiccup," he begins, a sentence opener between them for many years to come.
"Your mother's name is - is Valhallarama. Y-you know why?"
"Because she is pretty and safe and home, like Valhalla," Hiccup recites.
"Y-yeah," Stoick nods, bringing up his hands to cup Hiccup's cheeks. "A- and, that's where she belongs, okay, son?"
Hiccup does nothing. He looks at Stoick, looks at him hard and long and Stoick is begging him to say something because he needs to say something. The unwritten emotion splayed across Hiccup's face is enough to send his world tumbling down. His voice, his weak, childlike voice sends everything Stoick ever knew away and he hates it.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"Will we ever see her again?"
Stoick pulls Hiccup closer, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face into his beard. Because he doesn't want him to see the tears streaking down his face.
"I don't think so, Hiccup. I don't think so."
Maybe it's because he doesn't want to see Hiccup's tears. He can hear his sobs, feel his shoulders shaking, but seeing the tears spill from his eyes will make him break, because the one thing about Hiccup, was that he had his mother's eyes.