Welcome to my collection of oneshots based on random words picked out of nowhere by my friend and collaborator GuySuperDuper. I hope you enjoy the ride, and any reviews are much appreciated!

Imagine

Imagination is one of the things that makes us undeniably human, one of those traits that can both fill us with joy and creativity and move us to utter despair. We use it to escape the real world with all its problems, and move instead into a one where the terrible things witnessed in one's lifetime have never occurred.

It can also be used to sugar coat a memory, to make something better than it really was. If you're grieving, suddenly all the bad memories you have of that person fade into oblivion and the joyful ones are magnified; you remember them fondly, but it's not real. Imagination can twist and misshape memories and turn them into nothing more than happy fantasies.

Lying here, staring at the sky full of white, I wish that were the case for me right now.

I wish my mind would let me shape my memories into something better, something less painful, but it won't let me. The scars I bear are too raw and not yet healed.

I sigh. "Why did it have to be this way?" I ask the mottled sky above me. The clouds twist before my vision, forming the shape of my father. I glance away, looking in the direction of Berk and visualising the monument to him. The memories fill my mind and I'm forced to watch through the moments over and over again. It's similar to after the battle with the Red Death, when tortured glimpses of my final moments before being engulfed by the flames randomly haunted me. They're terrifying, and they're so vivid it's like I'm living the memories again.

The memories that are stabbing at my mind right now are the ones pre- Red Death. The memories before I was an accepted member of the tribe. I can't think of anything but my father the way he was when I was a hiccup: how he looked at me with a glare both pitying and disdainful; how he disowned me in an ultimate show of shame; when he talked down to me like I was inferior to him and unworthy of becoming chief. The joyful smile, the grateful face after I saved the village, they're not at the forefront of my mind.

As I stare at the clouds, and at my father's expressionless white face in the sky, the snapshots of the moments on the beach and my own anguished cries overwhelm me, until I turn away and bury my face in the mossy ground of the outcrop. I make a fist and pound at the ground, yelling into the greenery as I beat out my emotions. After a while my yells fade away into a silent screaming, my mouth contorted and my fists still weakly hitting the moss. I'm not even sure of my emotions anymore; they just whirl around and erupt from within me randomly and without cause.

I let my muscles slacken and I fold into the ground, all of my anger gone. I'm spent after the last few days, what with all that's happened, and I just want to be alone and think of my father and let the painful memories turn into happy reverie.

The numb silence is broken by a roar, and I reluctantly submit to its call and roll over. It sounds like Toothless; and I'm right- a few seconds later he comes bursting through the clouds, quite out of control, and heading for a crash landing right next to me. This thought of being crushed by a huge dragon finally galvanizes me into action, and I scramble to avoid the tumble of midnight wings and leathery protrusions. Toothless touches down with a rumbling thud, the precarious rock formation trembling, and rolls into a whimpering ball of embarrassment.

I dash a hand across my eyes to make sure there's nothing there before saying teasingly, "Hi, Toothless," knowing full well that he can't fly well with the tail I modified to let him fly on his own. I think it's because I can't make the tail fully operated by him (he wouldn't let me), so it's just stuck open and he can't turn and control his descents as well as he normally can. "I think you still need to work on that landing."

He looks at me, wide- eyed and curious, before bounding towards me enthusiastically. In the split second it takes for me to realise what's about to happen, Toothless has already covered the distance between us; I barely take a single step before I'm sent sprawling by a playful swipe of his paw. He looms over me, the dark and imposing silhouette mostly ruined by the dilated pupils and Toothless smile, before snaking his tongue from his mouth and attacking me with his saliva. My flying suit is covered in the viscous slime, and my hair is nicely gelled and smells of fish. When he's done, I roll on the mossy ground to try and remove some of the gunk before stumbling to my feet and wiping at my suit, sending globs of spit flying in all directions.

"You never get tired of that, do you?" I ask, and he warbles gleefully in reply. He looks at me as if to say that's what you get for insulting my flying, and I nod placatingly. "I guess I kinda deserved it. Here, let me," I say, moving towards the saddle.

Toothless looks across at me as I unlock the tailfin and slide onto his back. He continues to stare curiously at my face, and I guess that there's still some remnant of my angry outburst on my face. "I'm fine. Stop worrying."

It's a good thing we've both grown; I'm beginning to feel larger and larger in comparison to everything else, and I'm no longer the streamlined wisp of a boy I was five years ago. It's been a pain, too, growing. I've had to make endless adjustments to both our prosthetics over the years to make them grow with us. Sometimes I wish I could have a leg that would grow with me again, and that Toothless could fly on his own again, but then I think of how it all happened and I remember that there are things in life far more important than a leg or a tailfin.

Glancing up at the sky, I notice that the clouds have split and scattered with Toothless' passing. The image of Stoick is distorted and shattered.

I wish that my own memories were as easy to distort as the clouds. "Ready to go back to Berk, bud?" I ask. Toothless glances up at me with an air of assent. He starts in an easy lope to the rock edge, his razor claws tearing the fragile vines snaking over the edge and sending them tumbling the great distance into the sea below. He pauses at the precipice, and I watch the vines fall in slow motion before silently splashing into the water. I feel like I should be terrified, but all I can feel is this exhilaration and the anticipation of a breathless flight. The colossal drop doesn't worry me in the slightest anymore; I've got wings now.

I'm still watching the frothing sea below me when the blue suddenly whips through my vision and the air forces my eyes shut and whips my hair madly about my features. Without warning I am flying, and the sun bursts through the scattered clouds and heats my suit with its warm glow. I tilt my covered head up to the sun and bask in its life- giving light, and I don't know what else could make me happier; I love flying. The blasting wind prevents conversation and chills my hands, and I can't count how many times I've been soaked by a sudden rainstorm in the middle of a long journey, but all those downsides fade into insignificance when I consider the thrill of soaring through the clouds and going where no Viking has ever gone before

I push open the tailfin and urge Toothless upwards, yelling with glee as he effortlessly powers into the clouds. His beating wings churn the clouds up into a fluffy frenzy, sending wisps flying everywhere and destroying the things which can capture so many imaginations and send people soaring into a new world; that is, until the wind snatches the clouds from their view and whisks them away to catch the eye of some other creature.

We pull above the clouds into the endless blue yonder and Toothless drops a little to hover at the top fringes of the white masses, beating the perceived cloud faces and identities into new shapes. I imagine the face of my father, ghostly white, staring down at me from the heavens, and realise how apt that depiction of him is now.

I yell randomly, "Get those clouds, Toothless!" and he looks at me in slight confusion but still attacks the harmless clouds anyway, beating his wings furiously to drive them away and even blasting a few with vicious fireballs for their cowardly retreat.

"Yeah!" I yell, and Toothless warbles happily. "We got 'em, bud."

I don't even know why it feels so good to kill the clouds like that. I guess it's just my way of visualizing how I want my memories to just be blown away by an errant gust of wind.

Toothless hovers in the now- empty patch of sky for a few moments before pulling up and gliding to the patch of clouds he chased off. We soar higher on an updraft, then I crouch down low to Toothless' neck, then his wings fold and we plummet down through the white and into view of those below. The cloud passes us with a whoosh of moist air, catching on the leading edges of Toothless' wings as we flash by. Bursting through, I can see the vista of Berk and the wide ocean spreading far and wide; the earth curves gracefully away as we plummet even more quickly and the image blurs. My whoops are whipped away by the wind almost as soon as they leave my mouth, and Toothless waits until the last second to spread his wings and swoop upwards once more, tail sending up a spray of rainbow droplets as we pass.

We still travel at a breakneck speed up to the Isle, shooting up and around the houses to come to a sudden stop and land atop the hill leading up to my house and the Great Hall. It's still strange for me to think of the chief's house as mine, because I don't really feel worthy. I'm still a kid at heart, and I've never wanted to have to stay in the village and help out with their everyday and banal arguments. I knew I would have to step into my father' shoes one day, but I actually wanted to live a little before I was grounded. There's been a little time between chiefs, since the village is so intent on rebuilding itself there isn't much to argue about besides wood rations; and anyway, everyone's been a bit kinder to me since my new status wasn't exactly a planned one. I'm relishing my freedom while it lasts.

We stand, graceful living statues, surveying our people as they bustle busily hither and thither carrying planks and other building materials. This is one of the first times that I actually feel like the chief of Berk, standing atop this hilltop and looking placidly across the village and out to sea. I feel like this is where I belong. All the exploring has been amazing, and I've discovered things no other Viking would ever have had we not befriended the dragons. I even found my mother, and she's right here with me, helping me to become the chief my father would have wanted me to be.

My father. The only thing that's wrong with this image. It shouldn't be me standing here as chief of the village. I should be standing here alongside my father, learning the ways of chiefing and not just being thrown into the deep end with nobody to mentor me.

I glance over at Toothless, who is looking curiously at the huge statue of my father currently being carved into the rock at the top of the Great Hall. I wonder absently how I will be celebrated after I die, but the thought passes after a moment. I intend to live far longer yet.

Instead of commenting on the statue, I ask, "Do you remember what you did, bud?"

He makes to shake his head softly, then stops and inclines his head fractionally./

"You... do... remember?"

He looks away from me, ashamed, as I remind him of the thing that he's obviously been trying to forget. I walk up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. His green eyes flicker upward to meet mine, just as green, and they hold this sadness which is untenable to me. It's strange to think that just a few years ago Toothless would have gladly blasted my father into a bloody pulp- indeed, the image of him looming above my father with the flammable gases building up in his mouth ready for a spark is still just as vivid in my mind as it was in reality; now, he's responsible for all that's happened and it's destroying him.

I just wish he would let me in to help him.

"You want to go flying?" Another slight inclination of the head. I slip my feet into the well- worn stirrups and push open the tailfin, still well- oiled and in perfect condition despite five years of daily abuse. It flutters in the slight breeze that springs up as Toothless spreads his wings and then whips madly as he launches us skyward.

I think he's happy about flying because this way he doesn't have to show me any emotion. His face is turned steadfastly to the wind, and he doesn't look round to make that familiar silent conversation that he usually does.

Toothless flies so fast that I barely have any breath with which to speak to him before we plummet in a dizzying vertical drop; I see the ground level rush by and panic, until I realise he's brought us to a perfect halt centimetres above the smooth basin of the Cove. His claws touch gently down onto the mossy earth, carefully avoiding his drawing which still remains after so many harsh winters, and I slide off his back and adjust my prosthetic accordingly.

"You can't just keep shutting me out like this, bud," I tell him. "I don't know how much you remember, but I didn't mean what I said back then."

My father, the one object of solidity and steadfastness which had stood for every one of my years and never wavered, had shown his true love for me in his one ultimate sacrifice. I saw the huge shape of my father, cruelly struck down by my best friend so that I might live to defeat Drago.

I hear his laugh, his cruel, piercing laugh, and the thin thread of reason which has been tying me to sanity suddenly snaps and I lash out senselessly- "Get away! Get away from him! Leave, now! Go!"

Toothless looks affronted, the alpha's control over him dissipated and his pupils the normal dilated and kind shape. He turns uncertainly to go, then moves once again towards the shape of my father.

"No! Don't touch him!" I forcibly shove at his snout; he can't come near me or my father.

"Hiccup," my mother says, and I turn to see the silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Astrid runs up, and I can't keep up my own Stoick facade anymore and I just collapse onto his broad chest and begin to sob, chest heaving as his never will again. I feel an arm slipping around my shoulders and gently pulling me into an embrace; I baulk and grab at my father's muscular arm instead, fighting against the attempted comfort. His skin is already turning cool from the harsh breeze that has sprung up, and it no longer feels like my father, but I can't let go. I can't let anyone else touch me- or him.

Toothless is still hovering nearby, eyes wide in wonder and evidently holding back. Suddenly Drago surges past me and snatches at his harness; sliding onto his back, he roughly forces open the tailfin and slaps Toothless to get him airborne. Eventually, Toothless has to give in and take to the sky; Drago's aiming his dagger at me.

I just sit there, paralyzed, and let Drago take Toothless.

I blink and open my eyes to see the dark shape of my best friend silhouetted against the high cliffs of the Cove. He's back now, and that's all that matters.

I understand that now; I just need to convince Toothless.

He's looking at me with a gaze that seems almost pitying.

"I don't want your pity," I tell him, and his eyes take on that same look as they did on the beach. I instantly feel stabs of guilt, and try desperately to talk myself out of it. "Look, Stoick… well, you know. I was just acting without thinking. He was just lying there and you were the first thing I could blame and I lashed out. You're not to blame. I know that… thing… was controlling you, that Drago's monster made you do it, but back then all I could see were your pitiless and cruel eyes and it was suddenly all your fault. I don't know where your parents are, but I hope they didn't leave you as a kid then just as you get reunited the other one goes and sacrificed himself for you. Gods, what a messed up family I have. We can never stay together, and the moment we're whole again something happens to tear us apart. The first time it was Cloudjumper taking Valka, and now this."

Toothless nudges me with his nose as if to say, I know, and I become curious. "I wish you could tell me where your parents were. Maybe then we could go find them and I could see more Night Furies." At this, Toothless looks down at the ground and begins to draw small circles in the dirt. It takes me mere moments to realise what he's doing.

"They're…?" I don't even have to finish the sentence before he nods once, stoically, and turns his gaze back up to me. His bleak appearance has disappeared, to be replaced by strength and defiance.

I wish I could look like that. I wish I could just stand up to my father's death like Toothless does. I wish I could be braver, stronger, better. There are so many things Toothless is that I'm not.

I've wished to fit in, to be a better Viking, innumerably many times. But I don't think I've ever wished for something more, than wanting to be able to be strong for my father. He's always been my role model, and I've always disappointed myself and him because I could never live up to be half of what he was.

My father was a great man; no Berkian would deny the fact. He was everything a chief should have been- strong, decisive, sympathetic. I wouldn't call myself strong, even after five years of daily dragon riding and the occasional hard- fought victory in a dragon race; I think I'm decisive but my decisions are never right, and right now I know all too well how my bad decisions can affect those around me in the worst way possible; and I don't know everyone in the village well enough to be able to sympathise with all of them. Even though I've been accepted for five years, there's still the sixteen that I was shunned and I had next to no valuable interactions with any villagers at all. I've got a lot of catching up to do before I can socialise like my father.

To be honest, I don't think I'm ever going to get rid of my awkward social ineptitude. I'm not sure how well that bodes for my future filled with social interaction. Just another way I can't be like my father, I suppose.

It strikes me how different my father and I are. I'm my mother's son, and I think the lack of resemblance to him is what made him disown me somewhat. The only way I redeemed myself was by befriending Toothless and saving the village. Before then, he was always such an awful father. I'd walk by him with my head hanging low, wallowing in the knowledge that I could never be anything but a disappointment to him. He would shout at me and call me a fool and curse the gods whenever I erred (which was every single day- he would find fault in everything I did), asking them why he had been burdened with me. I went to sleep every night in the hope that maybe tomorrow would draw the first word of praise for me from my father's lips.

Just thinking of the way he treated me feels so wrong, but I don't know if I can deny those thoughts because they are the memories that have been attributed to my father for three quarters of my lifetime. I can't pretend my father didn't hate me just because he's dead.

Maybe I should remember Stoick the way he deserves to be remembered. As my father. As my dad. Exactly the way he was, faults and all.

Before, I never believed I could even come close to the chief my father was. I always thought my father was going to pass on the title of chief to another relation whom he felt was more Viking- like. Now, I feel I have a little more of a fighting chance. Not much, but I think there's a little faith within me somewhere.

Evidently he knows what I'm thinking, because at this point Toothless pushes his snout under my hand and I rub it obediently. "Yeah, bud, thanks for the help. We both know I'd still be the village outcast if it weren't for you. Stop rubbing it in!" I add, mock seriously, when he stands back a little and raises his head regally. He looks down at me, disdainful, and I can't help but laugh at his suddenly pompous stance. "You know I won't bow down to you."

Toothless' head lowers for a fraction of a second and his eyes look disappointed for a moment before he regains his composure. "Wait there a second," I say, looking around for some materials. I set off across the Cove until I reach the sheer stone cliffs that once held Toothless like a natural prison, where I hack at the vines dangling down with my dagger. A few short strands fall to the ground and I collect them, settling down on the ground. My nimble fingers twist them into a thick braid, tying them in a loose circular shape. I then jump to my feet and pick some wild flowers sprouting by the lake shore, entwining them with the braid and sending them snaking out and around in all directions.

When it looks suitably dressed, I take it back over to Toothless, who has slumped down to the ground. "That's not the stature of a king!" I scold him gently, and Toothless' ears instantly prick and he straightens up once more. I slip my foot into the stirrup and easily hoist myself up to deposit the crown of vines and flowers on Toothless' head.

After I've placed it, I jump back down where Toothless is looking at me with the same aloof expression as before. This time the crown of flowers makes him look so harmless, and is so at odds with his posture and expression, that I fall into hysterics. It's only made worse when Toothless crosses his eyes trying to figure out what's on his head and I collapse onto the ground, breathless. When he gives up looking and shakes it unceremoniously off, the makeshift crown landing with a thud on the packed earth before him, he grunts in dissatisfaction, his way of telling me that I should have done better.

Honestly, is my best never enough for some people?

He then strides boldly over to my shaking- shouldered form and nudges me with his nose. I'm too breathless from laughing to form any sort of coherent reply, so I just sit there, mute, still trying to arrest my hysterical silent laughter.

After a few moments of pushing me gently with his snout Toothless bores of the endeavour, and goes to pick up the crown in his gums. He carries it gently over, eyes wide, and deposits it gently on my head.

Suddenly the laughter disappears and I'm sitting, perfectly still, on the shore of the lake. I hold back the urge to try and look at the crown upon my head, the crown meant for Toothless. Toothless looks at me and nods, then inclines his head a little. I rise from my seated position, instinctively knowing what to do, kneeling on the hard dirt with one knee. Toothless just relaxes onto all fours, but he moves forward and rests his head gently on both of my shoulders in turn. Moving back, he nods gently once more, his dilated pupils meeting mine; and there's a smile in those eyes.

Chief.

A/N: Thanks to GuySuperDuper not only for giving me the first word that came into his head when I asked, but also for letting me bounce this story off him many, many times until it was perfect. Stay tuned for the next instalment, entitled Echo!