Disclaimer: I do not own "How to Train Your Dragon."

Author's Note: Greetings, readers! Lately I've been feeling the need to write this and so, here it is! This will be a short story that will consist of about five chapters. If all goes well, I should have a new chapter up each day.

Part One:

So Many Years

Some problems are easy, while others, formidable. But the most frustrating and most difficult ones to solve are those that are unknown—for there is no worse enemy than the unknown.

They had been on the sea for a little over a week, sailing in a makeshift boat to an island that has never before seen dragons. Their primary goal: To show them of their ways and bring them into their lives.

It was a fairly large ship—though not large enough to avoid the feeling of the persistent bobbing of the rocking vessel as the waves turned it.

Hiccup lay on his small cushion of a bed, small pillow of feathers supporting his back as he read a small book of sailing. Betraying boredom, he groaned and tossed the book on the wooden floor. It echoed in the small crowded quarter. The room had no purpose as far as he was concerned—the ceiling was too low, the walls were too close together, and the small excuse for a window offered no relief from the unbearable heat that mustered between him and his dragon. Speaking of which, barely fit, and took up the remaining space, only providing him the space on his bed to lie down on. And he had to endure this for two more weeks.

Sweat began to ball up on his forehead; it was at night that the space got hot, a climax of all the gathered heat from the day. He stared at the ceiling, "Bud, if this ends up taking more than two weeks, I want you to kill me." The dragon turned his head at the remark, confused as to why his rider would want to be harmed.

The frail wooden door in front of him slammed open and an ugly lump of a man lurched in it, arms cradling a stack of weapons up to his eyeballs.

"Geez, Gobber, you don't need to break down my door," He said, gripping his chest from the startle.

The tower of weapons clanked as he adjusted his arms for a better view. "So it's sass for our elders today, eh? Well, your mother's looking for you." He stopped a moment and let out a breath, "Great Odin's beard, it's hot in here! Why don't you open a window, lad?"

"It is open," He replied flatly.

He huffed, "Well I don't envy you! And I certainly don't envy your dragon! Poor thing must be on the verge of death!" He noted the way the dragon laid; fatigued, tongue flopped out onto the floor. "Why don't you have him stay with the other dragons?"

"Because he wants to be with me, and why are we sailing to this island with the dragons on top where everyone can see them? I thought the whole point of this was to be subtle."

"We are!" he said joyfully, "By not flying in we're appearing to them as less of a threat."

"Yeah,'cause we'll all be dead by time we get there." He muttered.

"Now don't be glum, boy!"

He thought it funny, Gobber's words. How could one remain positive when cramped on a tiny boat for weeks? The old man must have endured much through his life.

In a motion he leaped from his bed, landed by the door. "C'mon, bud, let's follow Gobber."

The dragon stood, rolled the tongue back into his mouth and followed.

They walked down a narrow hallway, doors thrown evenly about. There was one at the end that led to the deck, then one next to it. That was his mother's.

As they walked, Hiccup heard Gobber humming a tune.

'Oh, the Deadly Nadder

Tastes great on a platter,

And is better served by a jury!

But if death you desire

And heart of pure fire,

Then try the head of a Night Fury!'

Hiccup, who was baffled by the song, sent him a look, "What was that?"

"Ah, it was an old tune Stoick and I used to sing… good times." Nostalgia was written all over his features.

"Y'know if my mother heard you sing that, she'd have your remaining limbs cut off and decorate the great hall with 'em."

He stopped and shook his leg, "It'd make for poor decorations, if you ask me."

Hiccup smiled at his good-natured attitude. He knew that it was the reason he like Gobber ever since he was small. He was a friend for life.

Their laughter continued down the length of the hall, eventually reaching the door that led to his mother's quarters. He knocked lightly on the thin wood, then looked at the teetering man in a smirk, "See? That's how you knock on a door."

His head moved from behind the pile, "Again, the sass continues!"

Hiccup rolled his eyes at him, though he had to laugh at the sight—a talking pile of weapons was lecturing him.

At that moment a voice came from within the door, "Come in," it called, sounding agitated.

Hiccup let his head droop back in dread; when his mother was in this mood, all beware!

Gobber noticed the tone as well, shifting his pile to weakly pat him on the back, "Good luck, lad! You're gonna need it!"

He turned to face him, "You're not staying?"

"Is there reason to stay?"

Hiccup sent him a look.

Even though he could not see it, Gobber could feel the expression on his face, "Lad, I've dealt with fierce dragons; lost my limbs to them, but never, have I faced anything as frightening as that woman when she's angry. It's probably the most effective thing she could throw again an enemy." He then paused in thought, "And maybe also her cooking!" He shuttered at the memories that floated his mind.

It was true, little frightened the lout. So hearing such words come from this man whom he admired for his Gallantry, reminded him of her fury. Even though he thought the man was exaggerating slightly.

"I've just got a wee question for her, then I'll be off! And I'll be able to drop this gods-awful load!" he adjusted his arms yet again.

Hiccup sighed, noticing that his mother had not responded to him being still out in the hall. Just… great!

It wasn't until the dragon touched his hand and he recoiled, that he remembered Toothless was with them.

Gobber laughed at him, "Scare ya, did he?"

"Forgot he was here," He said, petting the dragon's apologetic head. He had not meant to scare his friend, only to cheer him up. And now Gobber was picking on him because of it.

"It's okay, bud, it's not your fault." He assured. It's not? Well you seemed to have jumped when I touched your hand.

Their connection was severed by the impatient Viking, "Lad, you goin' in, this pile's not gettin' lighter?"

"Yeah." He nodded, then in a push of the thin wood, the door gently slid open.

The room was small, like his, and had a small bed in its likeness. Across from it, Valka sat at a small desk which was harnessed into the wall, candles burning in the specific metal holders at its ends.

Her brow set heavily on an array of scattered papers, an erratic hand clutching a tree-twig utensil as its charcoal patterns pressed deep into the pages as she wrote.

Gobber stood just in the doorway as he spoke, "Good evenin'. You're son's here, and I'm ready to deliver the weapons. Where do ya want them?"

She kept her gaze firm on the papers, "In the storage room at the end of the hall." She said detached.

Hiccup could hear the man slump in a deadpan. He had to walk all the way back down the hall!

He hid a sigh and thanked her, staggering around as he took off.

They were alone now.

A sudden apprehension came over him as he scratched the back of his head. What should he say? How should he approach this situation? Maybe I can lighten up the atmosphere?

He glanced back at Toothless's curious head as he began, "So… mom… where's Cloudjumper?"

Still not pulling her gaze, she said, "Don't be naïve, son, a dragon his size would not fit in here."

Guess that's not going to work. "Oh…" he trailed off not wanting to continue. Her silence was not that of patience, but of focus. He knew that if he said nothing she would most likely forget his presence. Knowing that the longer he waited, the worse it would be, he forced the question, "So you wanted to see me?" he asked with a hint of caution in his tone.

"I wanted to make sure you're ready for this." She said.

He detected the stiff, almost rehearsed tone and remembered that this was his mother he was talking to. He pushed aside his fear and asked, "Mom, are you all right?"

She sighed. It was a sigh that sounded as if it had been bottled up for years. Finally standing, her attention was directed to the small window. Resting her hand on the wall next to it, she looked out, watching the pillars of moonlight descend from the clouds onto patches of ocean.

"Hiccup," she began. Her voice bore the weight of something he could tell he did not want to hear. "How are you so fearless?"

Her question caught him off guard, "What do you mean?"

She shook her head, "Nothing, it's—just my mind talking."

Her response was off; he heard the effort behind it. What's there to fear about this island? He thought. He had never seen his mother like this and it honestly scared him.

He cleared his throat, "Mom, don't worry about this place we're going to. We've got our dragons, and we're not afraid to use them! Right, bud?" The Night Fury turned his head at the question. He too was concerned with how his mother was behaving. It wasn't like her; she usually was excited to show people the love and compassion of dragons. This—this was not her.

He couldn't see her sad smile out the window, but when she turned around to face him, he saw the sleep-deprived tiredness in her eyes.

She stood looking at him for a moment, as if trying to build up the strength to ask something. Finally, she began, "Do you miss your father?"

The unexpected question smacked him hard, whipping his eyebrows up. He blinked, "Yes." He said, "Of course I miss him! Why do you ask?" What does my father have to do with any of this?

She shrugged, "I just feel sorrow for you. He raised you, was there for you when you needed him most!"

He turned his head, thought: Has she lost her mind? "Mom, don't worry, I have you and I have Toothless." He patted the cooing dragon's head. "Sure I miss him, but as long as I've got you two, I'll be happy!"

At that moment an uninvited memory of his father entered his mind. It was a memory he had not experienced since his father was still alive. He was sitting atop Toothless when he felt his father's hand grasp his, the weight of love in his eyes as the words came, "I'm proud to call you my son."

He smiled at the memory, for once seeing how great a man he was and how he too, had problems.

She studied his face, asked, "What're you thinking about?" She already knew the answer.

He slowly looked up at her, "Him." He said acceptingly.

She smiled warmly and nodded, "That's good to know."

Toothless seemed to know too, giving his soft, tender face a lick. Normally he would have wiped it off, but he felt the sincerity behind it, knew that it wasn't a playful gesture, but a sympathetic one.

A loud clinkering crash sounded from down the hall, grabbing their attentions. A storm of shouting and cussing ensued. Hiccup couldn't help but laugh at it along with his mother.

"Gobber." They both said.

"I'd better go help him!" Hiccup said.

She nodded, "Good idea."

She watched as her son quickly whirled around and ran out of the room, Toothless following from the hallway. She smiled softly as she walked to her bed side. She reached under the bed and pulled out a small sewn child's toy. She hugged it tightly as her eyes began to quivered, a tear sliding out. Hiccup has such a happy soul! How can I tell him that I'm dying?