Second story! Two stories in a span of 2 days! I'm must be really, really free... Which I'm actually not. Ah well, procrastination. Anyways thanks for dropping by. If you have read my first story, you can tell that my tone and writing style for his piece is quite different. More informal, more direct and narrative. I'm trying to compare different styles, so please do suggest improvements! There was too much ideas whizzing in my head for this, and the theme and focus of this piece is a little shaky. Apologies!
This story takes place at four major points of Hiccup's life. Pre-HTTYD, the span from Post-HTTYD to RTTE, just before HTTYD 2 and Post-HTTYD 2. These time periods are all indicated by the line breakers. Hope you guys like this, because I really liked reading this piece.
Stoick's Son
Hiccup had always heard these three words.
He's Stoick's son.
He had initially shrugged it off and walked away. A small smile on his lips, but bitterness heavy on his chest. On one hand, he was glad to be noticed. Be it for nearly destroying the forge, or simply having a painting done with Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, it never failed to bring him a sense of triumph. Afterall, he spent most of his time alone in Gobber's blacksmith shop or exploring the far corners of Wild Dragon Cliff. Or perhaps this status made him feel much better than his title of 'Village Runt'. It was hard to think that someone, even for the simplest reason, took note of the village runt.
But it hurt. No, strike that, his insecurities were already bad enough as it was. It chewed hard at his heart, gnawing away all his pride and sense of identity. Who am I? He had constantly asked himself. Who was he, apart from being the Chief's son. He was never Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, always simply the creation derived simply from the Chief's spur of pleasure for that moment. And he loathed it. He loathed it more than he loathed his name. Despite all his flaws and strengths, or as Gobber would represent by gesturing to all of him, he would always be known as Stoick's son.
Perhaps it was how moody teenagers of his age did it, but he whenever he felt rejected, he would shrink back once more to his little secret spot far from the village and continue sketching. Ironic, to us readers, for it the root as to why no one paid any attention to the little Viking, but he stuck with this routine. Most of the time, it ended with him cursing and crying at the cruel world.
And then our young Hiccup made his mark. Not only had he trained the world's most elusive dragon, defeated the tyrant that had been responsible for all the stolen livestock and survived plummeting through a dense cloud of flames, but he had united both worlds-that of man and flying reptiles. It was, as the storytellers of the village would say, the tale of becoming the Hero the Hard Way. Hiccup was pleased, strutting through the village he was once ostracized from.
He's Stoick's pride and joy! Really paid his debt back to his old man, eh?
The words hit him like a Catastrophic Quaken. After all these time, he was not a pride to himself, instead, to his father? What did the village think of him? Did they find him that incompetent that his heroic acts caught them by surprise? Was he, for the past five years, none but a 'debt'? Tears threatened from spilling over. No matter what he did, he would always be branded the term as 'Stoick's boy-o', but to him, it was simply a euphemism for 'Chief's Son'. He could raise the entire island up from the flooding oceans and the village would go, "He really is Stoick's son."
What am I? He found himself asking again. Village hero, because my father is one too? He knew, he was not his father. And he had never met his mother. But deep down, he knew he was more than just his father's son. But what, exactly what was he?
He wanted to be Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Not the village chief like his father. Well, maybe he needed to be the chief one day, but not his father. He wanted his identity back. 'Village runt' was more than fine to him now, for there was only one village runt. He wanted to be himself.
But the young boy refrained from voicing his opinions. At least now, people felt that he didn't let his father down and he was thankful for that. So he kept his mouth shut for the next five years.
He dreaded it to bits. He knew this day would come, so the moment his father opened his mouth, he saddled up on his Night Fury and sped off. Hiccup snuggled beside Toothless on the sea stack overlooking Itchy Armpit, a single tear trickling down his cheek. All he wanted to do, was, of course, map the world with his buddy. It wasn't practical, of course, and some might argue that Stoick's boy-o was living in the fantasy of his own. But he didn't care. He wasn't Chief. He couldn't be Chief.
It wasn't that he minded the duties and chores and sleepless nights of being crowned the Tribe Ruler, but he was afraid. Afraid that he couldn't live up to the expectations, lead the tribe to glory, take care of the people, like his father did. If he failed, how could he be Stoick's boy-o? He didn't like that term, but it was all he had. And of all the people, he didn't want to disappoint his overly hopeful father.
"What am I going to do, bud?" he sighed and leaned against his dragon. All the conflict between following his passion and living up to society's expectations swirled in his troubled mind. He bit his lip, swallowed his tears and decided to take a break. Taking out his trusty old notebook from inside his breastplate, he pushed his troubles and did what he-Hiccup Horrendous Hiccup III did best, mapping the world together with Toothless.
Hiccup laid in bed that night. Misery and sorrow aside, there was too much in his mind. Stoick was gone. He was no longer Stoick's boy-o. No longer his son. No longer his pride. He was the Chief.
He liked that term, Chief. He finally was something more. The one and only Chief of Berk. Imagine the titles-Hiccup Haddock the Third, Chief of Berk, Dragon Master. He liked that.
He turned tossed around for a while more. Everything had finally fallen into place. Apart from the loss that day. Thinking back on the words he said back at the ruins, no one but him was ever prouder of himself. He knew he didn't have to be his father. Nor his mother. All he had to do was try. Not try to be like Stoick, but try to be selfless and brave, in his own way. Being the chief did not define who he was, it did not mean he was not a dragon trainer or explorer. It simply meant that he had another responsibility, another honour to live up to. Finally, our young Viking had found the balance between who he was, and what he had to be.
He was Hiccup, the one and only Hiccup, the one with the soul of a dragon and heart of a Chief. He was meant for this. Finally, he could make both him and his father proud and pass down his very own legacy. For Stoick was not the son of the previous chief, he was Stoick the Vast. Just like who Hiccup was that day.
The Chief has come home.
For once, it wasn't 'The Chief's son has come home'.
But oh, how much he yearned to be Stoick's son once more.
Andddd... It's a wrap! Hope you guys like it and once again, please R&R! By the way, I do take requests-Just leave them in your review.