A/N: First and foremost, I am flabbergasted at the response the maiden chapter conjured - I'm truly honored! As such, I would like to share my deepest gratitude to everyone who followed, favorited, or reviewed! It's a great motivator and drives me to keep writing so that you receive my best narrative efforts. I apologize for the copious amount of details and the meager remnants of dialogue in the first chapter, but I needed to elaborate on the characters' reflections before I delved into the first act's plot line. Accordingly, here is the introduction for that, with a moderate helping of Hiccup and Toothless shenanigans.
Disclaimer: I hereby acknowledge that the rights to everything for the How to Train Your Dragon universe continue to elude my grasp - ergo, all credit is given to whom it is due.
Chapter Two
"Exorbitant Expectations"
† • † • †
Winter. In more rational parts of the world, it endured no longer than twelve weeks and never escalated further than "moderately aggravating". These areas also benefitted in having all four of the seasons to cyclicly look forward to with zeal throughout the year: winters thawed into soggy springs; which scorched into sweltering summers; which decayed into crispy autumns; until the predictable circuit came full circle and froze back into blizzardous winters. Regrettably, this process of revolving weather patterns did not pervade into the intemperate climate of Berk and the hardy Vikings who dwelled there.
The island of Berk struggled for nine moons of the year trudging through various degrees of winter, from a light chill nipping one's nose to cataclysmic avalanches of snow that could give one frostbite on the spleen. The single saving grace from the bone-chilling storms of hazardous precipitation and panoramas of dormant forests snuck by as a vile imposter of summer, a brief three moon respite which momentarily invigorated the isle's voluminous wilderness into bloom.
For Hiccup, he despised winter and the frigidity that accompanied it, the vindications for his abhorrence of the snow saturated season starting in his youth and gradually expanding into the present. He hated the feeling of subzero desolation seeping through his pores and into his chattering bones, the very warmth within his body being stolen away. He hated the deterioration of life that stripped nature of its comforting serenity, leaving behind exposure of nakedness and vulnerability to the elements in its wake. He hated the isolaton that stemmed from the ice setting in the ocean and the powdery snowdrifts mounding like desert sand dunes, severing communication with Vikings beyond the horizon and right next door. Most significantly, Hiccup hated how the glacial numbness seared the nerves of his amputated left leg, a scalding cattle prod of ice burning beneath his flesh without any visible trace.
Unfortunately for the auburn-haired teenager, that time of year lurked on the outskirts of cognizance, winter's spindly pallid fingers caressing the Barbaric Archipelago in its entirety with stiff breezes and sporadic flurries. Devastating winter reared its hideous head and bared its vicious fangs on Berk's doorstep, the prospect of pouncing on the unsuspecting Hooligans at the first opportunity more than appetizing. Hiccup withstood the icy harshness of his home's climate for one lone gratification - dragonback flying across the aerial canvas, excavating the pillaring clouds with feats and maneuvers he once believed only the birds could accomplish.
Hiccup's mirth inundated when he soared in the skies over Berk astride his faithful Night Fury; there proved to be nothing else which elevated the boy's spirits quite like the brisk wind whipping his face and disheveling his mop of hair. His elated glow beamed particularly luminous one fateful morning as the flying ace duo rocketed in and out of the castles of cumulus clouds, the sea stacks jutting from the restless waters far below them, mere miniatures of their true glory. Hiccup emitted a resounding whoop following a perfectly executed tuck-and-roll, an aerobatic masterpiece that, one among many, came as second nature to the pair.
In a full year since the conciliation of Vikings and dragons, the chief's son eventually began to exude traits of delayed physical maturity. Well into his sixteenth year of age, Hiccup found himself in the middle of a growth spurt, sprouting shy of half a foot in height and packing a whopping thirty pounds onto his rangy frame. Of course, the majority of his newfound weight could be ascribed to the toned and thinly corded muscles in his arms and core which twisted and knotted into genesis from the extensive amount of time he spent flying with Toothless. The wind shear abused his pale face and painted a vermilion flush amidst his freckles as the shadow of stubble on his jawline tingled relentlessly from the chilly blasts. Hiccup scratched the underside of his dragon's ear plates, directing him to glide towards the gnarled silhouette of the lonely mountain which overlooked the village, a tapering skyscraper against the heavens.
"All right, bud!" Hiccup's shout penetrated through the roaring gale of the wind, "You think we can finally nail that double corkscrew?"
Toothless screeched a cry of assent, throwing his head forward with resolve for the undertaking as they neared the foot of the towering spire, the Mead Hall carved out majestically into its side. Upon reaching the bottom beautified with sparse rock formations and broken tree lines, Hiccup clicked their prosthetics into position three, collapsing the fake tail fin halfway and banking left around the mountain. Rising higher into the sky, the duo's turning sharpened as they rounded the barren contour guide of the land mass, close enough that Hiccup could stretch out his arm and drag his finger pads through the dirt if he desired.
The dirt petered off into a snowcapped peak before elongating into a pinnacle which the boy and his dragon circumnavigated with continuously shrinking circles, steadily accumulating speed during the ascent. Having mustered enough momentum for the finicky maneuver, they reached the apex of the peak, and Toothless cut away vertically into the air, maintaining the stomach-churning tight spin in likeness of a rotating top.
"Yeah! Come on, bud!" Hiccup cheered encouragingly to the dragon splitting the overhead sky, a fire-breathing onyx projectile slicing the stark morning brilliance, "Ready for the drop!"
At his command, Toothless fanned his wings out a fraction, allowing the gusts of wind to billow around him and stall their ascension towards the clouds. Reacting simultaneously, Hiccup switched their connected stirrup into position four, reclosing the tail fin and decelerating the corkscrew spiral until they lost all essential power and hung suspended in midair for an extended, gravity-absent second. The Night Fury let loose an exhilarated warble at the highest altitude of their climb and blasted a violet plasma bolt into Valhalla, marking the halfway point of the trick.
"Yahoo!" Hiccup chanted gleefully, feeling the pull of gravity begin to take effect and pull the pair of daredevil flyers back to Midgard.
Toothless flipped backwards, pelting downward with the snowy cap of the spire in his sights, taking care to sustain a perpendicular angle to the horizon. He deployed four of the eight flaps which encompassed his spearpoint head, immediately piercing the void silence with his infamous whistle. Hiccup crouched lower in the saddle by raising his backside and squinting his eyelids against the rushing air currents, rerouting his concentration from the first corkscrew to the second. They plummeted at breakneck speeds, the mountain below enlarging exponentially as they made their daring approach to the windswept peak.
Two hundred feet.
"Okay, bud, on my mark!" the boy reminded his friend, who expelled a smoky plume in reassurance to his rider, as he tensed every sinew and tendon in his wiry body, "Hold, Toothless, hold..."
One hundred feet.
The anticipation became suffocating while the duo dropped, the will to master this latest aerobatic spectacle unparalleled. The endorphins coursing through Hiccup sent his brain reeling with ecstasy into a high not even ingested dragon nip could produce - if the experiments conducted with the aromatic grass by a hilariously hallucinating Astrid could be trusted.
Fifty feet.
"NOW!" Hiccup bellowed, his indicative order uncannily powerful in his endeavor of being heard by Toothless.
In practiced unison, the boy swiftly shoved his metal ankle into position two as the dragon contorted his arched bat wings, the combined effort tilting the pair in reverse the smallest of margins. The nuance of change revealed to be enough, because rather than crashing headlong into the mountain's snow shelf, the team whisked by the pointed column, descending along its jagged vertical contour. Hiccup hurrahed at their success, leaning over slightly and watching the skewed landscape of the spire's mediocre shrubbery whip past, a goofy grin cracking his chapped lips; it would be smooth flying here until they made their final approach to the village several hundred feet ahead of them.
"Time for the grand finale!" Hiccup hollered, "Let's finish this off in style, bud!" Toothless crooned his energetic compliance and slitted his eyelids in indivisible focus on the denouement of their stunt.
The boy's tightening chest nurtured a bubble of excitement which began to expand, augmenting until it strained against the inside of his ribcage, threatening to burst from the tension. The stimulating adrenaline pumped through his veins in compensation, gushing scarlet rivers that hiked his motivation to unfathomable heights.
Three hundred feet.
Hiccup roared a personal battle cry which echoed off the mountainside, hurdling straight for certain death if the pair didn't pull out of the dive at precisely the right moment. The tiny dots of the village houses grew into discernible structures the farther they dive-bombed, unfazed by the speed which singlehandedly smashed all their previous records, unmatched by any of the other dragons.
Two hundred feet.
Toothless shivered from the unabashed felicity he exhibited as he braced his scaly figure for the impending conclusion to this maneuver. His rider dug his intact heel further into the Night Fury's right flank, the nonverbal signal to prepare for an exceedingly agile flight pattern. Hiccup clutched the saddle tighter, a storm of joy and anxiety coursing within him, raging a war for some form of equilibrium.
One hundred feet.
"Now, bud!" the boy yelled, "Corkscrew and snap roll!"
The giant double doors to the Mead Hall stood erect and august on their port side when Hiccup and Toothless initiated the second corkscrew. Being this close to the ground meant the spiral couldn't be prolonged, but allowed for any unapplied energy to accelerate the momentum of the tailspin. Hiccup plunged the stirrup into position one, full expansion, as Toothless spread his wings and ear flaps to their greatest extent, catching as much air resistance as possible before they barreled right through the roof of the grandest house in Berk, which happened to be the Haddock residence itself.
Thirty feet.
"Come on!" Hiccup implored aggressively, shrinking back in the saddle to help counterbalance the center of gravity and break free from the suicidal nosedive.
Suddenly and without warning, the duo reared backwards at the most optimum angle, zooming out of the perilous death drop and zipping less than ten feet over the chief's family lodging. Hiccup shouted in triumph after avoiding the protruding obstacle and soared dangerously close above the central plaza, where a single figure strode confidently through its heart in the direction of the entrance ramp to the docks.
"That's how it's done! That's how we do it, Toothless!" the boy cried out in unadulterated delight, causing the hulking man in the plaza to redirect his attention up to find the source of the early morning racket.
Hiccup did not need to scrutinize the identity of the man for he instantly recognized him from his size and carriage. Passing overhead, he glanced down to see his father, Chief Stoick, beard swaying as he wagged his head in agitated disapproval of his son's foolishness.
"HICCUP!" Stoick admonished in his thundering bass voice, feigning an aura of authority, considering his son practically lived in the vast expanse of the sky while he could do nothing about it on the limiting ground. This became one of those times when the chief sorely missed his indigo Thunderdrum, Thornado, and everything the two stout warriors used to accomplish together.
The chief's heir twisted in his seat to view his father vanish among the cluttered rooftops, offering a weak wave of acknowledgment to him as he disappeared. Hiccup knew he would be getting an earful later from him when he landed, and that became all the more reason to avoid touching down early. Toothless gurgled with ignorant happiness, beating his wings properly now to regain the altitude they sacrificed in pursuit of their performance; the boy and the dragon proved to be a force to be reckoned with, an unbeatable team of expert flyers.
It would be a dream come true for Hiccup if he discovered a way to permanently stay airborne, away from all the troubles and worries that Berk harbored beneath them. The swelling euphoria, the insatiable wanderlust, and the weightlessness of flying all only strengthened his resolve to cling to the last dilapidated threads of his dissipating freedom.
† • † • †
The sun hung at high noon by the time Hiccup yielded to the scolding voice nagging in the confines of his mind. He coaxed Toothless into a meandering landing cycle, eclipsing the Haddock house in progressively constricting doughnuts, before the pair skittered to a halt on the grassy knoll.
The boy made no move to dismount the dragon, procrastinating on the inevitable as he eyed the front door warily. He shouldn't be this nervous; the afternoon still sang with youth, and his father typically didn't return home from his chiefing duties until the coolness of dusk sank in.
That recurring voice whispered its infinitesimal worries about today - the rash paranoia stemming from the eeriness. It caused the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end as a phantom chill rippled down his spine. He rubbed the miniscule bumps prickling along his forearms, praying he could dispell the strange vibes of uneasiness gripping his subconscious. Toothless peered behind him at his stationary rider, patiently questioning his indecision and concerned with his lack of movement.
"Sorry, bud," Hiccup breathed, inclining forward and scratching the underside of the dragon's jaw, "I guess I'm just a little apprehensive."
Toothless crooned apologetically at his boy's detachment, seeking to cheer him up in any way within his draconic power. Hiccup offered the dragon an appreciative smile before slipping out of the saddle, hastily unbuckling the tack and tail and lugging the load to the entrance of his house. He nearly spun around and leapt back onto Toothless, a frantic supplication to escape what might or might not be on the other side of the door.
Squaring his shoulders, Hiccup readjusted his grip on the Night Fury's riding gear and pushed the door open, the metal hinges squealing and as he cringed from interrupting the relative peace, tentatively poking his head through the crack. He swiftly scanned the front room with prying, alert eyes, temporarily immobile at the entrance.
Nothing. The emptiness of the house deafened his eardrums in its silent guard.
Hiccup exhaled the breath he didn't realize he held in, relief washing over him like warm water on laugardagur. He crept across the threshold with the dragon tack in tow, heading for the far corner of the room where he stored most of Toothless' necessities. The dragon himself ambled after the preoccupied boy, hoping to weasel a midday snack out of him.
Fishing out a small basket of fresh cod from one of the kitchen cupboards, Hiccup set it down in front of the hungry dragon and massaged his smooth neck while the reptile tore through the food.
"Somebody would assume I starved you from the way you're scarfing that down your gullet," Hiccup laughed, amused by his dragon's famished dramatics. Toothless huffed into the woven container as his singular recognition of hearing his rider mock him, much too distracted by the delectable morsels of cod. The waves of anxiety that lapped on Hiccup's conscience retreated to the ocean of blissful ignorance in his meditative observation of his best friend.
Who is he kidding? Toothless surpassed the status of best friend several moons ago; the two strengthened their camaraderie into inextricable soulmates, two puzzle pieces who fit each other without err.
The dragon slurped up the final fish and cocked his snout towards Hiccup, but when the boy leaned down to retrieve the temporary tray, Toothless spared him a gummy grin before lathering the unsuspecting boy's face with a viscid lick and bounding away.
"Ugh-! Toothless!" Hiccup reprehended in an undignified squeak, annoyed that half his face dripped with sticky Night Fury saliva. The slobber beaded down along elastic strands of spit to his shoulder and chest, undisturbed as the boy dealt Toothless a futile frown which read, 'This isn't over.'
Ignoring the invisible daggers being thrown from Hiccup's caustic eyes, Toothless coiled up at one corner of the hearth, decided in dozing for a few minutes in the meantime. He distinctively heard something along the lines of, "...knows this doesn't wash out..." being muttered from the boy when he stomped up the stairs to his room.
"...ungrateful lizard..." continued the mumbling; the dragon snorted indignantly at the comparison between he and a tiny amphibian - he's a reptile, a dragon, not some common garden newt slithering on its belly.
The front door bashed open as the giant frame of Chief Stoick filled the maw, a burlap sack slung over his shoulder and a barrel tucked underneath the other armpit. The resounding crash from the man's entrance caused the grumbling and scuffling that trickled down from the loft to cease instantaneously.
Stoick the Vast, leader of the Hairy Hooligan tribe, dwarfed his citizens at an exhausting six feet and nine inches, cashing in at three hundred meaty pounds of raw Viking power. The majority of his facial features disappeared behind the plaited mask of his illustrious auburn beard, adorned with many braids and ties to keep the clumps in order. He clad himself in an overlarge forest green tunic which tapered off into rhomboidal leatherwork, olive striped trousers, an elegant bear fur cloak that draped across his broad shoulders and affixed to his front by two plate-sized, engraved iron clasps, studded forearm braces, and a thick leather sash wrapped around his stalky girth with a bronze medallion emblazoned with a ferocious dragon. His prominent figure topped off with a bi-horned helmet which resided on the crown of his head, his daily reminder of his long-lost wife, Valka. Stoick's jade pupils quintessentially sparkled in merriment on most days, however the creases that lined his face became the tell-tale sign of the absence of any complacent mood.
Hiccup's father stepped inside completely, kicking the ajar door shut with his heel as he inventoried the interior state of his cabin with a critical eye, assuming his son would be waiting for him. His austere gaze landed on the napping Night Fury, failing to stir in his slumber from the obnoxious clamor that Stoick wrought. The presence of the dragon led to his logical summation that Hiccup should be nearby - theoretically in his loft if those scratching noises provided any indication, the chief pondered.
"Hiccup?" Stoick shattered the quiet atmosphere, the hush concealing that another person skulked upstairs with bated breath and trepidation, "Son? You home?"
The stillness lingered for another moment longer until the steady click-thump of Hiccup's footsteps announced his descent from his elevated lair, the stairs thudding ominously. The boy emerged at the bottom, uncertainty flitting across his face while unconsciously biting his lower lip out of habit.
"Dad?" he echoed, trying to discern the nominal amount of emotion embedded in his father's abundant wrinkles.
"Son," Stoick restarted, "We need to talk."
He reigned in his sonorous voice to maintain a controlled intensity, voiding all possible clues Hiccup could use to calculate whether he should stay for an imminent lecture or cower in consternation in his room.
"Sure...um, what about?" pried Hiccup innocently, following Stoick's movements with a timid stare as the larger man flung the burlap sack on his armchair near the hearth and stacked the hefty barrel on the rising pile which occupied the side of the room. He then shuffled to the dining table, plopping down in his throne of a chair that faced the fire pit and front entrance. With a wave of his hand, Stoick beckoned his son to claim his spot opposite of him.
"So, Dad," Hiccup broke the tangible tension nervously as he perched on the edge of his seat, intact foot tapping periodically, "What did you need to talk to me for...?"
The chief expired audibly once he buried his drooping head in his hands, before peaking them in front of his twitching nose in a flawless imitation of a desperate prayer to the gods.
"Hiccup...I saw you, this morning, goofing off over the village and trying to make me heirless doing one of your...suicidal stunts," Stoick chose his words carefully; considering how loquacious he could be in his speeches to a congregation of his fellow tribesmen, the difficulty in talking to his son never ceased to plague him.
The boy, in turn, huffed his resentment to the topic, a recurring discussion he preferred to leave neglected. Here he goes again.
"It's not goofing off!" Hiccup reiterated forcefully for what felt like the thousandth time, "It's training, and I've said before that it's pivotal for our defenses-"
"Whatever it is, there is a place and a time for it," Stoick cut him off in a collected interruption, pressing his palms into the table's surface, "And that does not include shrieking around and nearly wrecking the village when you are supposed to be accompanying me down to the docks to welcome the ambassador from the Meathead tribe."
Hiccup's eyes expanded at the reminder of what he unintentionally blew off, mumbling sheepishly, "That was today...?"
"Aye, Hiccup, and I have no doubts you conveniently forgot about this as well?" Stoick sternly posed the statement as a rhetorical query, irritation skirting his gravelly tone.
"It's not like I meant to-"
"That's not the point!"
"Then enlighten me, because the gods know you're emphatic about your points," Hiccup challenged sardonically, settling deeper into his chair and folding his arms defensively.
"You know why you must participate in welcoming visiting tribes!" Stoick snapped, his impatience with his son's flippancy brewing in a brimming pool of redundancy with the situation, "How many times do I have to tell you, it's one of the simplest and most basic responsibilities to learn in becoming a successful chief."
"Last time I checked, you still held that exemplary title, Dad-"
"You are the chief-in-waiting!" Stoick growled over Hiccup's dry remark, "You are my successor! I'm putting in every ounce of effort to teach you - to prepare you - for when you take my place as Berk's chief - Berk's leader!" He slammed a balled fist onto the rickety table for emphasis as he finished, "Doesn't this mean anything to you?!"
The charged stalemate stretched between them as Hiccup stalled in responding, avoiding his father's expectant glare and instead focusing on the clenched hand starting to turn a vibrant shade of violet around the blanching knuckles.
"Dad, you know how I feel about being the future chief," the boy hedged, no more contrite in his apology for his subsequent declaration, "I honestly don't think I'll ever be ready..."
Okay, so that may be a half-truth; Hiccup truly believed he would never be prepared to take up his birthright of chief, but not because of his less than stellar self-esteem, nor from timidity with heralding the taxing job - he just did not want to be chief.
At all. Ever.
"Hiccup, why are you doing...this?" rumbled Stoick fiercely, his robust jaw grating his teeth within the tangles of his beard, "Why are you rebuking your destiny?!"
"It's not my fault I'm your son!" Hiccup proclaimed with a gesture to himself, a scathing remark that earned a suppressed flinch from the chief, "And if it is my destiny, then how come it feels less like a path of fate where I choose which direction I want to go and more like a chore list of your expectations that you've dictated for me?!"
His father pointed a stubby finger at him, elbow crammed into a sagging plank of the table's surface, "Your destiny has nothing to do with what I expect from you as my son - and that list of expectations has always contained precisely one thing: obedience!"
"You can't change who I am, Dad!" Hiccup shouted in imprudence before he realized he would reopen frangibly mended wounds, "Remember? All those years you tried, back when I was, in your words, 'the worst Viking Berk had ever seen'!"
Stoick pounded the flat of his palm onto the abused table top and promptly rose to his feet, causing the chair to screech in protest across the wooden floor. Hiccup remained frozen as his father rounded the dividing furniture and stopped to stand beside the hearth, his expansive back facing Hiccup in his solemn vigil of the flickering light. His vast shadow engulfed Hiccup in darkness, and the boy didn't know he could ever feel so insignificantly tiny in the presence of his father. Drumming his fingers on his crossed arms, Stoick inhaled several deep breaths in a vain attempt to restrain his temper. His negotiative voice sounded strained when he addressed Hiccup again, the effort of getting his obstinate son to understand his position clearly taking its toll on his self-control.
"You're the pride of Berk, son, and I couldn't be prouder."
His father's blunt statement astounded Hiccup in its unwonted clarity - straight and to the point. However, that development didn't dismiss what he foresaw Stoick adding to the compliment, having recognized the dour tone from previous disagreements about the boy himself.
Lo and behold, the chief plowed on.
"...but you need to take my instructions seriously, because it does not matter whether you think you may be ready to replace me or not..." Stoick turned around gruffly to lay a poignant look on Hiccup as he concluded, "...because in time you will have to."
The boy saw his chance to push his own agenda, which coincidentally would push the envelope on his father's tenuous patience, "Okay, fine, I get it. But like you just said, it would be in time. I can't imagine you'll be keeling over any time soon-"
"Hiccup!" warned Stoick, unlocking his arms and flanking them on each hip, "Don't start. You are my only begotten son, and that means you are the last in the line of Haddocks - there are no others."
"But Snotlout-"
"Snotlout is a Jorgenson!" the chief yanked his helmet off in fractured exasperation and raised his voice, effectively drowning out Hiccup, "Just like Spitelout before him! They may be our relatives, but they're from Val - from your mother's side. And like your uncle would do anything for Snotlout, so will I for you, Hiccup."
Hiccup should feel touched by his father's sentiments for him, but his promise sounded oddly similar to a harbinger guiding the conversation along - as if his father planned to travel this path in their dispute on purpose, leading Hiccup to some unknown point...or deal-breaker.
Hesitantly, the boy also relinquished his seat, stepping forward to lessen the distance between them, "Dad...what do you mean by that, exactly?"
"My point before was that you are my only child, and thus only you can carry on the prestigious Haddock name into future generations," Stoick repeated, shoving his helmet back on and drawing his shoulders back to assume a resolute stance, "Therefore, I have decided you will be wedded by the harvest before your eighteenth winter."
Hiccup stared agape, the fingers fiddling with the drawstrings on his tunic going slack; but Stoick dropped one last startling proclamation on his son.
"And you will be betrothed by your seventeenth name-day."
Hiccup's jaw flapped wordlessly, an outpouring of emotions surging through him overridden by his momentary state of shock. He eventually worked his tongue into action, flourishing his arms around in unchecked anger, "W-What?! Betrothed? Wedded?! Dad, you can't do this to me!"
"I am your father and I will do what I believe is best for my son!" Stoick rocked the room with his explosive bark.
"So I don't get a say in this, at all?!" yelled Hiccup, gesticulating furiously at nothing in particular, "I'm even less ready to be married than to be chief!"
"And being with a woman will help you to oblige by your responsibilities!" Stoick reasoned harshly, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced before the hearth.
"Oh, right, because there is a sprawling line of girls who are dying to be my wife!" Hiccup threw an arm wide in the direction of the rest of the village.
"Well, if you do not sign a contract with a girl's parents by your seventeenth name-day, I will be forced to arrange one for you!" Stoick bellowed, his patience long since evaporated, "Be grateful I'm giving you a chance to choose someone! My father sure as Hel didn't bestow that privilege upon me!"
"Your father also told you to bang your head against a rock," Hiccup retorted under his breath, the sarcasm intended to further provoke his irate father.
Mission accomplished.
"HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK!" the chief roared, crossing the room to overshadow his uncooperative child, his temper finally snapping and escalating unhindered, "YOU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD AND YOU WILL NOT DISREGARD THE SEVERITY OF THE CONSEQUENCES IF YOU BLOW THIS OFF LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE I HAVE DONE FOR YOU! NOW HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?!"
The boy's mouth shrunk to a grim line as he vehemently glared up at his father, wishing that for once he might be strong enough to throw a decent punch.
"Crystal," Hiccup spat bitterly, turning heel and storming up the staircase to vent in his loft.
Stoick's hardened gaze trailed after his son's departing figure until the click-thump of his steps faded into nothing. He inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, and exhaled an exhausted sigh. That discussion didn't go nearly as well as he intended when he contemplated the matter on the docks that morning.
One of the major points he wanted Hiccup to appreciate never left the tip of his tongue, even though it became pivotal in establishing his nonarbitrary decision. The chief retained an earnest desire for his boy to find love, to fall in love with a girl without being forced to learn how after marriage; a scenario that rarely ever transpired within their Viking culture. He didn't give false testimony in saying he would do what he felt would be in Hiccup's best interests - but neither did he want to back Hiccup into a corner, with no avenue of escape. Stoick realized he played his cards wrong, and may have spoiled any chance for redemption with his boy; regardless, he reaffirmed himself in his judgment call.
Stoick acknowledged that no one took him for a fool; he noticed his son harbored a crush on the Hofferson girl. Who could blame him for his hopeful ambitions? All idiosyncrasies aside, at least the boy dreamed big.
Nonetheless, the inherent problem rested in the girl's parents, Halvard and Ragnfrid, because although they respected and admired the chief, the same could not be said for his son. Hal and Ragna persisted in being two of the few Vikings left in Berk who still alloted Hiccup a grudge, even after he ended the three hundred year war with the dragons and brought an era of peace to the island. Their heckling words stung Stoick's pride in his son each time the pair scoffed at the boy, but he couldn't justify himself to confront them and alter their callous opinion of him.
If Hiccup proved to be firm in his affections enough to seek Astrid's hand from her parents, Stoick surmised they could possibly be persuaded - for a high enough price. The chief became aware many years ago that the Hofferson clan couldn't boast any outstanding wealth, and they endured the Viking way of life as a poor family in the lower class. If his son specified a contract adequately affluent - and reminded them he is the heir to the chieftainship - Hal and Ragna might be amenable to betrothing their only daughter to him; a favorable outcome.
Scrunching up his eyes, Stoick rubbed them with a finger and thumb and pinched the bridge of his nose. Guilt gnawed at his floundering conscience, but he already dealt the damage, and he needed to return to the village square and resume the tour with the ambassador, who graciously permitted the inopportune hiatus for the chief to hassle with his son.
He huffed shallowly as he massaged the wrinkles on his aging face, until he collapsed his hands away and met with an unsettling sight before him.
Toothless crouched at the base of the staircase, digging a reproachful look into Stoick with his narrowed chartreuse eyes, growling softly. Evidently, the dragon became none too pleased with how Stoick browbeat his son, and made certain to impart his disgruntlement with the large man.
"Don't give me that," Stoick reprimanded the irritated Night Fury, hands resting on his hips as he stayed his ground, "I know he gets his stubbornness from you."
The dragon demonstrated his offense to the accusation, tossing his head towards the chief in retaliation, 'Hardly. That's all your doing.'
Stoick grumbled an offhand curse before gesturing a hand to the loft, "Aye, go and see how he's holding up. Don't let him do anything stupid...or crazy." He couldn't rid the feeling that the dragon's penetrating gaze scrutinized every aspect of his intellect, judging him based on his shortcomings as a father and overlooking his titular virtues.
With a flare of his nostrils and a snort of disapproval, Toothless darted up and out of sight into Hiccup's room, where irregular stomping could be heard.
Stoick shook his head, muttering as the dragon scuttled after his compromised rider, "Condescending beast."
† • † • †
The disheartened son of the chief seethed in his upstairs room, clacking and clomping alternatingly from one wall to the other. Hiccup wrung his quaking hands together, popping the individual knuckles in a cathartic release that mimicked squeezing a stress ball. Emerald fire crackled in his downcast eyes, the will to scream aloud becoming more unbearable by the second to bite back.
This is completely unfair! Hiccup's mind raged, thoughts racing in overdrive, the potential for dragon smoke to fume from his ears a growing plausibility as the boy brooded.
Who does he think he is? Oh, yes, he believes he's his father - well he could've fooled him! Come on, marriage?! The notion became increasingly asinine as Hiccup paced, the mismatched thumping of his footsteps a comforting lullaby in his frenzied state.
There only lived one girl who Hiccup would ever dare to dream of marrying - and she happened to be the most daunting one to ask if he did. She walked in starlight in a faraway time, golden braid gleaming under the moon; now, she continued to perpetuate that stunning display of loveliness, but rather than the idolized valkyrie that distinguished her as faultless, she became his best friend who possessed her own drawbacks and imperfections.
Astrid Hofferson.
Hiccup understood Astrid's resolve in leading a single life, the shieldmaiden's path to greatness. Not even Snotlout could woo her to fall into the arms of a man - or boy - for the bar of respect she set for herself proved to be unshakeable. But the sad truth that the boy admitted to himself flashed like a lit brazier in the darkness of night: he would never love anyone as intricately as he loved Astrid.
His reverent fervor for the blonde beauty he initially put on a pedestal either simmered into a natural fondness, or bloomed into a passionate love. Hiccup's love for Toothless could not satisfy his yearning of social interactions alone, because they grew into platonic soulmates - not romantic lovers. Astrid filled that yawning void for the boy, although the affections he felt remained unrequited.
Gods, his father made everything so difficult! Hiccup ruminated spitefully. Pausing by the foot of his bed, the conflicted boy wheeled his boot back and propelled it into the innocuous bedpost, a kick of blind fury.
And a kick of blind foresight, as a jolt of excruciating pain streaked up from his stubbed toe to his seizing thigh. Hiccup cried out, grasping the tip of his boot with his right hand while balancing on his spring-loaded prosthetic, his plight aggravated with clumsiness once he registered the predicament commencing below. Hiccup teetered to the left, bouncing up and down to keep his swaying body from toppling. The precariousness of the situation exacerbated as the boy hopped more erratically in his unavailing attempts to not fall flat on his face.
Ironically, he overcorrected too far forward and collided with the floor - flat on his face. He didn't surrender his throbbing toe from his clutches throughout the comical dance, and pinched it harder as he lay sprawled on the floorboards, his rear projecting up into the air like the glorious mountain top he and Toothless orbited that morning.
The flustered boy half-screamed, half-gurgled into the wood, his despair muffled by the distressful position he landed in.
Hiccup screaming with his face crushed in the flooring and his ass bearing semblance to a galleon's splendid main mast, became the fortuitous sight which greeted Toothless when he emerged at the head of the staircase. The dragon blinked at the peculiarity of his boy, having trouble piecing together what the exact purpose of him caterwauling like one of those puny annoying dragons with the buggy eyeballs could achieve.
A devious idea hatched inside the mischievous Night Fury's imagination, a chance to exact his revenge for Hiccup's earlier ridicule. With the stealth of a...well, Night Fury, Toothless slunk around the up-ended boy to his flattened rock slab that functioned as his bed. He curled up clockwise, then arched his elevated tail until it dangled flush against the boy's posterior salute. The dragon whipped his muscular tail back and spanked Hiccup's rear before immediately slamming it down in front of himself, fanning the good tail fin up to cover his face.
The unexpected sting from the abrasive contact wrenched another yelp from the boy's lips. He flung around onto his side, both hands gripping his sore backside protectively and drove a petrified scowl unashamedly at the perpetrator, who found it demanding to preserve his façade of false repose.
"Toothless!" the offended boy chastised the Night Fury, "What in the nine realms prompted that?" Toothless crumpled his tail fin down to reveal a dilated pupil peeking through the mass of dragon, until he straightened it again to hide his face once more. Hiccup could swear he caught a snigger reverberate from the provocative dragon.
Grumbling to himself, Hiccup exercised caution in regaining his feet - foot - and tested out how much of his weight his injured toe could support. It seemed fine, not broken, but definitely would be sore for a couple of days. He wheeled away and began to march over to his bed - a mistake on his part.
As soon as the boy turned his back to the dragon, Toothless stole another glimpse at Hiccup around his scaly shield, and resolved to toy with him a little longer. Before Hiccup could take two steps, the dragon repositioned his tail behind the boy and smacked him one last time, for good measure. The impact sent his rider stumbling, and he would have banged into the side of his bed if not for his acute reflexes and lanky arms, outstretched in the nick of time.
Bent over double with hands thrust out onto the cot, Hiccup cursed in a winded cough and heaved as he swiveled his head to glower at the belligerent dragon anew. Toothless dropped his sleeping act by that time, blatantly staring at his boy with a smug expression.
"So, it's going to be like that, hm?" Hiccup threw down the gauntlet, standing and dusting off his palms on his vest.
Toothless craned his neck aloft, barking a series of four throaty croaks in quick succession - his rough imitation of human laughter.
"Gee, bud, I'm feeling the love," Hiccup deadpanned, the pessimistic attitude lost to the dragon in his moment of verbal identification.
At Hiccup's mention of the word "love", the playful Night Fury gathered up a mouthful of his flammable gas, before puckering his lips as effectually as he could and spewing the contents into the chilly, stagnant air. His head traced an invisible path from the center, leftward and back, then the center, rightward and back. Although the sketch hung unrefined in the gap between the two, Hiccup could not resist a grin at what he beheld - a crudely drawn generic heart. The boy passed through the wispy gas as he knelt before his best friend, whose salmon tongue lolled out of his mouth.
"Aw, Toothless," simpered Hiccup, resting a delicate hand on each of the dragon's cheeks and mushing his face farcically, "I love you, too."
Hiccup received another bout of dragon slobber in appreciation, but this time the boy chuckled heartily at the affection.
"Yeah, yeah, you overgrown puppy," he teased, snagging the Night Fury beneath his chin with a learned scratch. The carefree joy wilted in recollection of his argument with his father, causing his ministrations to falter as he moaned softly.
"What am I going to do, bud?" Hiccup inquired of the dragon, for once seeking a genuine solution to his problem, instead of the habitual makeshift plans he became accustomed to devising. Hiccup hugged Toothless' thick neck and spouted in hysterics, "Dad wants me to get married! Married! And better yet, he expects me to be promised by the day I turn seventeen - wait..."
The russet pile of hair leaned back as Hiccup stared into the rafters, his mouth working soundlessly while he calculated some dates and numbers in his head. As a seasoned inventor, mental mathematics came naturally to the boy, and he never made an error in his operations.
"Three moons," Hiccup whispered to himself before reverting his attention to Toothless and restating a little louder, "I have to be engaged within three moons, Toothless." He forcibly swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to quell the amplified anxiety that reappeared with a vengeance. The dragon warbled in commiseration for his boy, not quite understanding what made him so afflicted, but always willing to do anything for Hiccup to be happy.
The teenager speculated his options, and summarily blamed his father for cornering him. Stoick left him with no alternatives except for the longshot - or running away, however he could never do that to his father, no matter how fastidious he became. Hiccup slapped his thighs in defeat as he addressed his dragon, a nervous chatter pleading for comfort.
"If I ask Astrid to marry me..." his voice wavered until he breathed out, "...do you think I have a shot?"
The term "marry" meant absolutely nothing to Toothless, but he could perceive from Hiccup's askance and searching expression that the boy needed reassurance. The dragon closed his eyes and responded with one, firm nod. Hiccup smiled congenially and rubbed Toothless' nose, which coaxed his eyes to flutter open.
"Thanks, buddy," he murmured gratefully, his heart exploding with adoration for the onyx bastion, "You always know how to make me feel better, even about myself."
Hiccup rose and retreated to recline on his bed to contrive in peace, but upon sitting on his still hurting rear, jumped up with a shout. His hands wound their way underneath him again, massaging the assuredly maroon cheeks.
"I'm going to be incapable of sitting for a week because of you," Hiccup chided Toothless, shooting him a condemnatory glance. The dragon chirped sympathetically and then offered a smirk which glinted from his rows of impeccable teeth.
"Oh, great. Dragon pity."
† • † • †
A/N: Again, thank you all for reading this hippopotamus of a story. I hope I conveyed the Haddock argument as authentically as possible, Stoick's inciting reactions in particular. This installment should clear up some questions about the overall arranged marriage plot - although I still have the ace (or aces) up my sleeve. Next chapter will include some Hiccup/Gobber bonding and a dose of Hiccstrid fluff! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear it in a review. Diskonnekt out.