A wet hacking cough echoed in the small room. His dragon made a worried noise as he pressed his scaly muzzle into his hand. The hand began to scratch the nose gently, fingernails scraping against the ridges. His brown hair stuck to to his sweaty forehead and the breeze from the open window did nothing to ease his fever.

With hazy green eyes, he glanced out the window. Snow littered the ground and piled on top of the roofs on Berk. His first winter since the battle with the Red Death; his first winter since they put the prosthetic limb on him. The cold made his leg hurt. The cold metal sticking into his flesh caused it to throb with pain. Another hacking cough caused him to sit up and double over in pain, both from his chest and leg. Toothless cooed again and placed his claws on the covers.

"I'm alright, bud," Hiccup whispered raspily. He panted to catch his breathe before laying back down. This pain was unbearable, but the worst part of it was the fact that he couldn't seem to get warm. He shivered violently as another cold breeze wafted into his bedroom and pulled the blankets closer to his lithe body, struggling to get warm.

Toothless gave a growl and walked over to his bed of black rock. With a fiery growl, the dragon scorched the rock. The room blazed with heat and Hiccup moaned uncomfortably. The dragon tilted his head confused.

"No..it's fine, bud," Hiccup reassured, grinning at the dragon weakly. "Thanks." He licked his dry lips with his dry tongue and struggled to breathe. Why did he have to get so sick? Watery green eyes stared at the ceiling and began to count the grain in the wood...again.

A bang from downstairs startled him from his counting. He heard his father shush the intruder with an exasperated sigh and he heard the door shut firmly. Toothless let out an irratated growl before lowering his head back down. Hiccup sat up in the bed and tilted his head to the side.

"Stoick!," a voice thundered. There were sounds of grunting, groaning, and the all familiar sound of a peg leg hitting the wooden floor.

"Shhh, keep your voice down, Gobber!" the Viking chief whispered, even though Hiccup could clearly hear it from his bedroom. "He's sleepin'."

"Oh! Sorry," the blacksmith said. "The meetin's about ta start though. Council's gettin' a bit concerned. Barely into winter and the ice on the sea is already a frozen wasteland. Word is tha' Trader Johann won' be comin' because of how quickly the sea froze." A loud thud from downstairs that was quickly followed by a loud crash. "Oops."

Stoick sighed and from the sound, had pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is all this, Gobber?"

"Ah, so glad you asked," Gobber said, a bit too gleefully for Hiccup's taste. "These are ingredient for my Nana's famous stew. Perk Hiccup right up, tha' will!" More rustling came from downstairs. "'Cept for the fish, tha's obviously fer the dragon."

"Isn't that the same stew that destroyed your sense of taste years ago?" his father asked, his voice muffled as if he was covering his mouth with his hands. Hiccup began to worry. If his father didn't trust this, then neither should he.

"Oh, aye, but it came back...fer the most part." Hiccup gulped audibly. Whatever this stew was made of, it sounded dangerous.

The fire sparked downstairs as the two men quieted down. Hiccup heard his father stir the fire and clear his throat. His father inhaled deep as if he was about to tell Gobber something that had been weighing on his mind.

His father hesitated before clearing his throat again. "I'm worried, Gobber," he said, his voice low. Hiccup had to strain to hear him. "What if this is the same sickness that took my wife? What if...what if he starts seeing things that aren't...that aren't there."

A rustling sound came from downstairs. The young teen guessed that Gobber placed a hand on his father's shoulder.

"I know tha' yer worried, Stoick, but I'm sure he's fine," the blacksmith replied, his voice sounding like he was forcing himself to stay cheerful. It was clear that he had been thinking the same thing. Gobber let out a slight cough before continuing. "Besides, this is Hiccup tha' we're talkin' about. The boy who took down the Red Death. I doubt a little thin' like a cough'll keep tha' boy down. Stubborn as he is. Takes after his father."

Hiccup felt a pang in his chest. They were talking about his mom. Hiccup had been so little when she passed away and his father rarely talked about her. A another shiver ran down his spine though it wasn't caused by the fever. He had always assumed that his mother died from fighting dragons...did she really die of an illness? He had so few memories of her.

His father was talking again. "...not a normal viking though," he had said. The fire hissed and sparked as his father stirred it again. "Even when he was a boy, he was born small. What he did at Helheim's Gate was completely different. Hiccup will never be a strong Viking, his body is weak." His father sighed again. "And now he's got that blasted metal leg. You should have seen his leg last night, Gobber. The night air grew colder and he was tossing in his sleep. I thought it was just simple nightmares but when I took a look at his leg..." His father trailed away.

The burly blacksmith finished his sentence for him. "Startin' ta turn blue, was it?" he asked, his voice soft. It was unusual to hear the normally loud viking sound so somber. "He havin' trouble walkin?"

Stoick didn't say anything, but seemed to answer Gobber's question. The other viking let out a low whistle.

"The kiss of winter is a terrible thin'," Gobber said. "I almost lost more of my leg that one winter. You'll have to make sure that leg is wrapped properly. He'll lose it if ya don'." The wooden chair groaned as Gobber leaned back and shifted his weight. "The spirit of winter must be desperately lonely this year."

"Don't start that nonsense again, Gobber," his father warned with a serious voice. "This isn't the time for your stories. If we can't get Trader Johann here with herbs and medicine, Hiccup might not live through this winter." Gobber cried out in outrage, causing his father to shush him again.

Hiccup felt as if someone splashed cold water on him. 'Might not live through the winter?' His father...seriously believed that he was going to die. Despair washed over him. His father thought he was going to take the same route as his mother. He ran a cold hand over his face and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The metal limb touched down on the floor. Every movement from that leg sent another wave of agony through his body and it was followed by an irritating buzzing, numbing feeling that took his breath away.

'Small and weak.' His father's words buzzed in his ears, blocking out any other sound. He thought he had proved his father that he was every bit of a viking as Stoick was. He thought that he had quenched those fears and yet...no matter what he did, his father looked down on him.

Hiccup lifted his long white shirt and stared at the missing limb. The edges where the flesh touched the metal were starting to turn blue from the cold. He grit his teeth and stood up, wobbling. The pain was unbearable. The cold was agitating the wound a lot worse than it had during the summer. Still, with determination, he limped towards the stairs as quietly as he could. He peered through the doorway and down the stairs.

Gobber and Stoick's topic had changed and they were currently discussing food shortages and the threat of their livestock freezing out in their pens. ("Maybe Bucket and Mulch could use fleece to wrap the animals in." "No, that wouldn't work. We need the fleece to make clothing to warm us.") It was a boring topic and yet Hiccup understood that the importance of it.

Gobber scratched his chin absentmindedly, his brow furrowed with worry. "Ya can't keep him locked up in here all winter, Stoick," he said cautiously. The chief viking stilled suddenly.

"I don't know what you're imply-"

"Ya can't hide anythin' from me, Stoick," he said, rubbing his fingers aginst the stubble. "And ya can't keep him locked up. He's gotta dragon to take care of now."

Stoick interupted, "He'll tell someone else how to fly Toothless. He's in no condition to fly."

"No one but Hiccup can ride the Night Fury, Stoick," Gobber said, his voice rising. He waved an impatient hook towards the stairs. "And if ya keep him locked up in here, even though it's for his protection, he will never forgive ya."

Stoick's shoulders slumped and he leaned forward, stroking his beard. "I know! I know, Gobber. But it's a risk I'm willing to take." His fingers drummed against his beard. Hiccup swallowed the lump that was in his throat. Keep him locked up because of this...illness?

Gobber shook his head. "He won't see the same thin's yer wife did, Stoick," he said sympathetically. "C'mon, this is Hiccup we're talkin- about! He's too-" The blacksmith froze as the viking cheif rose up dramatically. He towered over Gobber, his nostrils flaring in a rage.

"You can't know that, Gobber," Stoick growled, his breathing shallow.

"Yes..I do."

"No. You. Don't." A thick finger jabbed in Gobber's chest. The chair let out a protesting squeak as Gobber tried to dodge the finger. "My boy...will not die the same way as Valhallarama did."

Hiccup felt the familiar lump in his throat again. His mother's name..it had been so long since his father uttered her name and it was because his father and Gobber were having an arguement about him. Pain blossomed in his chest and he doubled over, coughing harshly into his hand. His chest rumbled from the cough. The pain was starting to become unbearable.

Stoick pulled away from Gobber with a sheepish expression. He rubbed his hands together and averted his gaze. "Hiccup, uh...what are you doing out of bed? You should...uh..." His shoulders slumped and he turned his back on his son. "I should get to the meeting. Gobber, stay here with Hiccup."

Gobber looked like he was going to argue, but decided against it. He glanced at Hiccup before nodding. "Aye, Stoick." But the chief was already out the door, his horns from his helmet scraping against the wood.

It was awkward to say the least. Gobber had bent over to pick up the sack of items he had brought and Hiccup was standing on the stairs fuming. His father wouldn't even talk to him about his mother. He didn't even tell him how she died. She was his mother. Didn't he have the right to know? And now his father left again without even explaining anything.

Gobber cleared his throat. "Ya gonna stand there all night or are ya gonna warm up by the fire?" he asked, his voice soft with sympathy.

Hiccup desperately wanted to storm up the stairs. He wanted to lay on his bed. He wanted..he just wanted to do something other than sit in front of Gobber. His eyes glanced at the shelf by the door. They landed on the little dragon toy his mother had made for him. "How did she die?" he asked quietly.

Gobber hesitated briefly and picked up the poker. He stirred the fire and shook his head. "Ya dun wan' me ta answer tha', lad," he said.

Hiccup scoffed and shuffled towards the fire. He could feel Gobber's eyes on him. He limped painfully and sat down in front of the fire, staring at the blacksmith through the blazing flames. "Yes, I do! Why won't my father tell me about my mother? Or at least, tell me that she died from some sort of sickness." He tapped his chest with his thin fingers. "The same sickness that might be hurting me. I...I always assumed that Mom died from fighting the dragons or sailing out to Helheim's Gate and now..." He coughed violently again. His outburst had drained his energy. Sweat trickled down his spine and the side of his face.

"Yer mother was very much loved in the village and no one loved her more than Stoick." He reached into the sack and pulled out a small knife. After changing the hook for the knife, he took out some rather grotesque looking tubers. The conversation seemed to be over, but Hiccup wasn't going to hear it.

"She's my mother," Hiccup snapped, his voice going hoarse. "I deserve-"

"You deserve?!" Gobber shouted, shoving the knife towards Hiccup. The boy flinched and lifted his arm. "Ya think tha' this is the way ta get the answers ya want, lad?" The blacksmith's eyes misted over. His shoulders shook briefly before he shook his head. "Ya ever think tha' yer father hasn't told you about yer mother is because he can't, Hiccup?" He fiddled with the half peeled tuber and sighed. "Yer father isn't an emotional man. No one knows tha' better than you or me." With a steady arm, he began to peel the tuber again. The skin landed on the floor with a soft thud.

Hiccup lowered his arm and bit his bottom lip. "She's my mom, Gobber," he tried again, his voice pleading.

"And she was the love of his life," Gobber answered back. "I can't give ya the answers you need. Perhaps Stoick should have told you sooner, but when has he ever got the time? When yer father came back after being out at sea for months, he returned home to a dead wife and a heart-broken child. Even then, he had ta put all that behind him and run the village. He's the chief, Hiccup. He was runnin' a village tha' was bein' attacked on a daily basis. Between killin' dragons and keepin' you out of trouble, he never had the time and by that time, you had forgotten-" He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

Something stirred by the stairs and Hiccup glanced up. Toothless had been roused by the shouting. The black dragon sniffed the air cautiously before his yellow eyes spotted the sack. With a joyful cry, he pounced on top of it; only to find that the first fish he came across was a yellow spotted eel. The night fury let out a shriek of terror and ran behind Hiccup. He cowered behind the small boy and glared at Gobber with distrust.

Gobber let out a laugh. "No offense meant, Toothless," he assured, reaching into the sack with his flesh hand. "I got somethin' fer ya as well. The eel's for Hiccup." He pulled out a nice sized Atlantic cod and tossed it towards the dragon.

Teeth ripped into the fish in mid air. The dragon swallowed the fish whole. He gave the blacksmith an awkward smile. Gobber returned the smile and settled back into his task. Toothless nudged Hiccup and motioned towards the blacksmith. Hiccup dropped his shoulders in defeat.

"Ar..are we good, Gobber?" he asked, tapping his fingers against his knees.

The blacksmith hesitated before giving the boy a small grin. "Aye, lad. We're good."