'Ready to go bud?'
Toothless warbled his assent. He was eager to return, though for different reasons. Hiccup had never really recovered from the death of his mate and had been reckless. His recklessness had left him with a fake leg, and he had been teetering on the brink of a terrible abyss for a long time. Toothless knew he was the most feared dragon in the world so nothing would harm his rider while he still drew breath, but how do you protect your friend from their own mind?
Nuzzling Hiccup, he started to prance around causing the young man to give an exasperated sigh.
'C'mon Bud, stop messing around and let's go!'
Refusing to listen, Toothless instead pounced on the boy, and covered his face in saliva.
'Toothless! You know that doesn't wash out!'
Toothless didn't mind, Hiccup was smiling again and that was all that mattered. He too would like to get going, so he stood still while the rest of the gear was packed, and they shot off into the deep blue sky.
There could be no graves, not here. What little ground didn't freeze was needed for farming or grazing. For the famous and the powerful a crypt would be built, either hewn from the ground, or converted natural caves. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third had not been a famous hero. He had no crypt, and he had not had a pyre – what would have been the point? His disappearance had been noticed by few, and he had been mourned by fewer.
And yet, someone had. Here, on a rocky bluff overlooking the ocean, there was a small, simple monument. No more than an elaborate cairn, with a plaque of polished granite inscribed with his name. It wasn't much, but it was all they had. For Stoick, it was the last link to a family that he'd failed to protect. For Gobber, it was a shrine to an apprentice who had practically been a son. For those who had grown up with him, it was nothing more than a reminder of everything a Viking should not be.
The strain of losing both his wife and his son had almost broken the chief. For weeks he had seemed a hollow shell of a man, unable to function properly. Then a raid had come, and his grief and rage had been unleashed. There were few draconic survivors. A crusade of blood and death had begun that day. Hunting parties were sent out, sweeping Berk clean of dragons so that not even a single Terror remained.
Gobber had gone through Hiccup's room at the forge and with just a few tweaks there was a whole new arsenal of dragon killing equipment. There were giant crossbows, bola cannons, as well as faster, lighter catapults and trebuchets. He told no-one where the designs came from, and was silent when questioned about them. He didn't understand all of the designs, and knew that the village would never accept anything made by 'Hiccup the Useless', even though most of their 'prized' weapons had been made by the lad.