Author's Note:

Now then, to my Guest reviewer, you complain that I am not keeping in canon. How much Fanfiction actually does? For the record, I never had any intention in following canon for this story. I am following a narrative thread roughly derived from a piece of music I like by a composer I greatly admire.

As to why I felt compelled to write it this way, perhaps it's because I can get into dark, haunted, and depressing moods myself and I wanted to express such thoughts in my writing. Or perhaps it's because I have grown bored with writing fluffy little comic stories and want to try something at the other extreme.

I am writing things the way I want them. I believe I am still allowed to do that.

Chapter 4

The following morning Stoick rose early, according to his custom. He glanced at Hiccup's old room, momentarily wondering if he should wake the boy up, but then he remembered that the boy was dead. With a short sigh he made his way out the door.

It was a raw day. The ground was muddy from the previous day's rain and a low fog was wafting around the coastline. He sent an order to the watchmen to light the beacons and be on the lookout for possible wrecks, and then walked over to Mead Hall to see how the carpenters were progressing on its repairs.

"So far, sir, we've found nothing wrong with it," one carpenter announced.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir! Positive!"

Stoick frowned, wondering what could have made the noises if not the structure's instability. "Check it again, just to be certain."

"But we—yes sir."

Stoick nodded approvingly. He saw Astrid approaching him, looking like she wanted to talk. "Morning, Lass,"

"Good morning, Chief,"

"You're looking worried about something. What's on your mind? If it's the noises with Mead Hall, don't worry, we're getting them checked out."

From the moment Astrid had woken up she had wondered if she should tell Stoick that she knew the true cause of those sounds and every other strange thing that had happened on Berk in the past few days, but she guessed what would happen if she did. Either Stoick would assume she was joking and laugh or he would assume she was going crazy and, in the best case scenario, would have one of the Elders examine her. No, the only way Stoick was going to learn about Hiccup being a ghost would have to come from Hiccup himself. She had to wonder why Hiccup had not already revealed himself to Stoick, but that was not her problem to worry about.

But there was something else that she was wondering about, and in that case she felt there was no reason why she could not look into finding an answer. "Chief, I was wondering if I could look through some of Hiccup's journals."

Stoick's eyes narrowed. "And why are you wondering that?"

"I wish to confirm a few…a few things he told me when he…when he was alive," Stoick assumed the pauses in mid-sentence were simply brought on by her grief, when in fact they were brought on by her trying to tell the truth and lie at the same time.

Stoick shook his head. "Sorry, lass, but I don't see the need to go through his things. I don't even know where he keeps—kept—all his journals. Besides, we've got other things to worry about today than what Hiccup said." He turned away and went off to examine the food stores.

But Astrid was not one to give up, even when the Chief himself had ordered her to. She decided the Chief would have allowed this had he but known her true motives, so she decided to have a look anyway, in spite of his orders.

Still, she would have to be discreet about this, and because she knew that Hiccup had had a small work area in the forge, she decided to try there first, so she would not have to break into the Chief's house unless she had to.

Gobber was in, hard at work as usual. Astrid simply told him she was looking to examine some weapons and he soon became lost in his concentration and forgot about her. She slipped past a ragged curtain and into the small storage space Hiccup had taken over.

She had never actually been in here before. The walls were full of nail holes and showed signs that parchment had been hung there for long stretches of time, yet there was nothing hanging on them now. She saw three piles of parchment on the small desk and guessed Hiccup had been cleaning out his drawings before his death. Unsure of where to start she began glancing at his work.

The larger pile was almost entirely made up of weapon designs. Complex catapults, bola launchers, crossbows, and all sorts of intricate machines, the ones she had known to be more likely to destroy Berk than a dragon. The middle pile contained similar drawings, as well as other schematics and sketches, ranging from sword designs to charcoal sketches of people. The third and smallest pile had a few similar sketches, but it also had numerous sketches of dragons, including one species she was completely unfamiliar with. Unfortunately, Astrid was not the most literate Viking and could not make out the untidy scrawls in the corners of these drawings.

One thing that caught her attention was that Hiccup himself was not featured in any of the drawings. Even in the drawings of the teens on fire duty and in dragon training he was absent. Was it simply because he drew everything from a first person perspective, was it because he had trouble drawing himself, or was it because he felt he did not belong in these drawings, because he felt he did not belong with the others?

And there was something else that caught her attention. The night before Hiccup had mentioned his best friend, but in all of these drawings she did not see anybody whom she could imagine would be that person. It felt odd that Hiccup would not draw his best friend, of all people. And it still did not make sense. Hiccup had said his best friend was dead as well, but she knew of nobody who had died at the same time as he had, unless his best friend had gone on the failed expedition to find the Dragon's nest. But even that made no sense, because the only adult she would ever consider Hiccup's friend was Gobber, and Gobber was still very much alive.

She sighed in frustration and realized how sad this was. Here she was trying to figure out who Hiccup's best friend had been and kept drawing a blank. Whoever this person was, Hiccup had managed to keep it a secret from her, and possibly everyone. What on earth would have prompted a boy to keep such a thing to himself?

She pulled opened a drawer and felt she was on the right track at last, for she found a journal. The pages looked old and worn but it was all she could find so she would have to be satisfied for now.

As she picked it up she hesitated. Was this really the right thing to do? What if Hiccup found out that she was doing this? Never mind Hiccup, what if Gobber or the Chief found her? She would have to explain herself, and what answer could she give them? She looked around tensely and listened intently in case anyone was approaching. She suddenly had the sense that, right or wrong, this was not the place to search through one of Hiccup's journals. As carefully as she could she concealed the journal about her person and made her way to doorway. After making certain that Gobber was not looking in her direction, she slipped out of the forge and did not stop walking until she was back in her own room. Even then she kept an ear cocked for any odd sound and an eye focused on her closed door, and a part of her mind was racing to come up with a credible explanation for her behavior if she was disturbed.

Above all she dreaded the thought of Hiccup finding out about this. Perhaps it was because, as he had suggested the night before, she did not know what he was truly capable of or what could restrain him. There was also the possibility that, for all she knew, he was watching her at that very moment. The knowledge that he could conceal himself anywhere and at any time kept her alert and on the edge. The slightest sound and slightest movement was enough to make her pause and look about her, fully expecting to feel that unseen hand grip her throat again. She shuddered and felt a fear such as she had not felt since she was a child. He had said ghosts could not kill, but there was a lot that could be done to a body before the life it held was extinguished. And had he even been telling the truth about that?

With these dark thoughts running in her head she slowly opened the journal and started skimming through it. Much of it contained more sketches of people, objects, and weapons, but no dragons, she observed, except for one of a Monstrous Nightmare blasting a sheet of flame upon a house.

She flipped through the pages and at last found some genuine writing, not mere identification markers.

Some of the pages looked like attempts at poetry, so she looked through a handful.

"Sitting on my bed

Gazing out my window

The frame looks like prison bars

.

I do this a lot

Keeping out of the way

Watching blue skies change to stars

.

Thoughts run through my head

Hearing taunts from others

People with a hundred friends

.

And what have I got?

Just a fogged up window

Is this how happiness ends?"

Disconsolate and a bit disturbed, she moved on to another one, hoping it would be more cheerful. She did not get her wish, because the next one read:

"I can't do this anymore

And there's no point in pretending

There can't be an encore

The curtain is done descending

What's the point in going on?

We all know it is past

Everything that I once had is gone

Good things just never last

There's nothing to be gained now

No satisfaction to extract

We can't go on somehow

It's over and that is a fact

There's nothing left to do but say goodbye

Which is a thing I deplore

Go on and scream, throw a tantrum, and cry

I can't do this anymore"

She had to wonder if this was what Hiccup had really meant or if he was just writing. She could not imagine that all writers wrote from personal experience all the time. But if this was from personal experience, what did it mean? Was he talking about his life or something else? Maybe he was talking about fighting dragons or his blacksmithing skills. She scanned the page but did not find a date, so for all she knew this could have been written a month ago or five years ago. Given the pages felt a little crumpled and that the journal was used up, she guessed this was not the one he had been using immediately before he died. That one had probably been on his person when he had been taken. Still, this deduction did not help her narrow down when these poems might have been written.

She moved on and found a poem next to a large heap of writing. With difficulty, for the writing was smudged and hard to make out, she read:

"People pass by

Never caring

Never once sharing a little comfort or a friendly smile

Shouting at me with disgust and with spite

I don't know why

What have I done

To make ev'ry one hate me so much and treat me with such bile?

How can any of this be fair or right?

Much as I try

To be like them

They always condemn me and they scorn whatever I'm doing too

I often cry myself to sleep at night

If I should die

They would celebrate

If this is my fate, dying may be the only thing left to do

It might be the one way out of this plight

And she read this:

"I can't take this anymore. I can't. I could stand the teasing and the beatings and being ignored if I knew someone was looking out for me, but nobody is. Snotlout and the Twins tied me up a tree again, and my dad, when he finally found me the next morning, just said 'you've just gotta learn to be tough.' 'Gotta learn to be tough'? How am I supposed to be tough when it's three to one and they've thrown a bag over my head? I almost told him that but decided there was no point. He wouldn't listen. He never listens.

"I thought maybe if I was friends with Astrid they'd leave me alone, because they respect her, but she won't even look at me. I remember Snotlout once pushed me in a mud puddle, and nobody helped me up, even though she was standing nearby and saw everything. Of course, if I was friends with her, Snotlout would probably assume I was trying to steal her away from him and would increase the bullying.

"If I was friends with her…I'm realizing now that's another hopeless dream, as futile as my attempts to not stammer when she's around. She avoids me as if I'm diseased. So does everyone else, for that matter. Except for when they want to torment on me. Just this afternoon Mildew was talking about how weak children aren't worth keeping, and that it was good that my mother was gone so she can't be disappointed about me, like my father is. Gods, is this what every Vikings is like?

"And Fishlegs is just as evasive. I can't quite blame him because I know they'd target him if he showed me sympathy, but still…couldn't we stand and suffer together?

"Or maybe they're all right and Berk's better off without me. Maybe the entire world's better off without me. I'll bet if I die tonight nobody would notice.

"Useless, unwanted, helpless…

"What's the point? Couldn't I run away? Who cares what I do? What's it matter?"

And on the following page she read, scribbled all over the page:

"I want to die, just let me die,"

She shut the journal quickly. She could not bring herself to read any more.

Later that day Astrid went for a walk to try and clear her head of all the depressing thoughts that had been filling it ever since reading Hiccup's journal. Just reading about another person's misery had put her into a miserable mood, and she hoped that a walk and some exercise would cure her of it. It did not, because as she worked out she kept imagining Hiccup trying and failing to do the same exercises, like he used to.

She had kept an eye out, expecting to see Hiccup's ghost or some sign of it, but nothing happened during this time. She was almost starting to wonder if he had gone to another island when the tide was right. After what she had read, she would not have blamed it—him—for doing so.

She walked through the woods back to the village with her head down, and in doing so nearly walked into Tuffnut Thorsten.

"Whoa, Astrid, watch it!"

"Sorry, Tuff,"

"What's up with you? You look a little under the weather. Sick?"

"No just…Tuffnut, you know how Hiccup died, right?"

"Um…a dragon killed him, didn't it? Or is this a trick question?"

"It's not but…do you think there's a chance he might have let the dragon kill him?"

"You mean like a…suicide?" he asked, looking thoughtful.

"That's exactly what I mean."

Tuffnut shrugged. "It's possible, though I can't imagine why he'd do that."

Astrid raised her eyebrows. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." She could have accused Tuffnut of never being very sensitive or perceptive of Hiccup's feelings, but she knew Tuffnut could easily accuse her of the exact same thing. The two silently gazed at each other for a few moments.

"While we're on the subject of him, do you know who his best friend was?"

Tuffnut had to think about this for a moment. Hiccup's personal relationships were not something he was overly familiar with. "I'd assume it was Fishlegs or Gobber,"

"I'd say the same, but…" her voice trailed off. It was so frustrating, trying to figure out the ghost's riddle.

"But what?"

"Nothing,"

"Are you sure you're alright, Astrid?"

"I'm fine I'm just…trying to make sense of everything."

"You were never this interested in Hiccup while he was alive…" Tuffnut remarked.

"Nobody was." Astrid said bitterly. And to be honest, she thought Tuffnut looked very interested as well, though his tone implied careless indifference.

"So you think Hiccup's death was a suicide, do you?"

"I've heard a few things to suggest it," Astrid said carefully.

"Is this a secret? Am I forbidden to tell anyone?"

"No, it's not a secret, but…well, just be careful when the Chief is around."

"Oh don't worry," Tuffnut laughed. He left Astrid's side and went deeper into the woods to find his absent sister. "Hey Ruff! Guess what I just learned about Useless!"

With Mead Hall declared 'safe' again, the Berkians gathered in it for dinner that night. Stoick especially was eager to demonstrate that there was nothing to worry about. There had been no disturbances that day, and he had already made up his mind that whatever had caused them was over. His conclusion was Loki was messing around with them simply for the fun of it, trying to drive them into a mad frenzy over nothing, and most people were quite satisfied with the answer. So before eating, when they gave thanks to the Gods, Stoick made sure to compliment Loki on his little joke and to thank him for not drawing it out any further.

Astrid kept looking at the fire, expecting to see the face appear again. She checked every few minutes it seemed and each time she was disappointed.

Her odd behavior did not go unnoticed, and her mother especially was concerned about it. "Astrid, stop that,"

"I'm just looking at the fire!"

"Why?"

"Well, I like seeing the shapes the flames make," she said. It was a half baked excuse and it made her mother frown.

"Astrid, you've never cared about that kind of thing before. Are you feeling alright?"

She wanted to say 'no, because I've met the ghost of a troubled boy I knew and ignored, I can't understand how he became a ghost, and I keep expecting him to appear at any moment,' but she knew fully how her mother, and everyone else for that matter, would react to such a statement, so she simply said "I'm fine,"

"Well stop looking at the fire and eat your food." She turned to her husband and said softly, "Perhaps we should ask Gothi to have a look at her,"

"I was just thinking of that,"

Astrid heard them and forced herself to stop looking at the fireplace. If this kept up, people would start to get suspicious. They might start to question everything she did, and might even declare her crazy. That would mean ruin for her and her family. The best Viking of her generation mad, it would be scandalous! Even if she was not proven so, it would still be a stain she would carry forever.

She wondered if this was Hiccup's revenge. Was he intentionally trying to occupy her thoughts so much that she was considered crazy? She shook her head and stared at her plate of bread and fish, trying very hard not to think about Hiccup at all. And why should she? He was dead and his ghost had only appeared once. There was no reason to expect anything more. So she kept trying to reassure herself.

Unfortunately, she could not get him out of her mind because others near her were talking about him. The comment Tuffnut had made about Astrid never being interested in Hiccup until after he was dead was applicable to many others in the village. Evidently Astrid's suggestion about Hiccup's death being a suicide had been spread throughout the village and people were discussing the likelihood of it.

"No Viking commits suicide,"

"Hiccup wasn't exactly a Viking,"

"Well he was about to be!"

"I don't believe it."

"I can."

"Nah, I still say it's more likely a dragon just killed him. There was nothing psychological or dramatic about it."

"Nothing dramatic? A dragon killed him!"

"So?"

"Hah! Good point!"

Snotlout was talking with the Thorsten Twins. "I can't see why he'd kill himself," Tuffnut said, "he was the star of Dragon Training! He had everything!"

"But did he see it that way?" Ruffnut asked.

"Why wouldn't he?" Snotlout asked.

"Maybe he only gave up the fight when he realized it was a Night Fury," Tuffnut shrewdly suggested, "I mean, everyone knows nobody's ever survived a Night Fury attack. Once he realized it was a Night Fury, he might have resigned himself to the inevitable and let it finish him,"

"He'd have resigned himself to the inevitable if it had been a Terrible Terror!" Snotlout laughed.

"What was that?" Stoick asked sharply. "What did you say, Snotlout?"

Snotlout had to fight to not panic and say something foolish. "Oh…well, sir, we were just talking about Hiccup's death, because someone suggested it might have been intentional, sir,"

"Do you mean to say my son let a dragon kill him?" Stoick exclaimed, "Why on earth would he do that? Who told you? Where did you hear this from?"

"It's just something I heard, sir," Snotlout said sheepishly, "Everyone's been talking about it,"

Stoick looked around angrily at his villagers. "Oh everyone's been talking about it, have they? Then why am I the last one to hear about it?" Nobody dared answer him. "Who first suggested it?" Silence still endured. "All right then, if that's the way it's going to be, I'll make this clear to all of you. Hiccup did not kill himself and no son of mine would have let a dragon kill him. This rumor is nothing more and I want people to stop talking about it!"

Someone, sitting where Stoick could not see her, said "But Chief, what if—"

"Gobber, wasn't Hiccup getting to be a skilled Dragon Killer during training?"

"Well, he never actually killed anything—"

"That's because he wasn't supposed to then. The point is, he was a finally becoming a fighter at the time of his death, and everyone knows that fighters do not allow themselves to lose when their opponent is a dragon! He was killed by the dragon he was fighting, end of story!"

"But Chief, didn't you say that there was no sign of a struggle?" Fishlegs asked nervously.

"That just shows that the dragon didn't have the guts to fight fairly. It snuck up from behind like the coward dragons are and attacked him when his back was turned."

"I don't know," Snotlout muttered, loudly enough for those around him to hear, "I wouldn't be surprised if Useless couldn't take the pressure of being a Viking and let the dragon eat him."

"I agree," Tuffnut said.

"It's certainly possible," Ruffnut added. "But does it really matter? Either way, a stupid dragon killed him—"

A sound like a great clap of thunder boomed through the hall and the walls trembled. Everyone jumped with fright. All the torches and fires went out, plunging them into darkness.

Over the screams, an angry cry was heard. Nobody knew where it was coming from, for it filled the room like the very air, and it was such a furious voice that nobody recognized it. "THAT ISN'T TRUE AND AT LEAST ONE PERSON IN HERE KNOWS IT ISN'T! SO YOU THINK THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE BUILDING, DO YOU? THEN HERE, LET ME GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT!"

They heard the sound of wood splitting loudly and everyone looked up at the ceiling. The beams holding the roof up were breaking apart. People screamed and ran for the doors. The voice laughed hysterically as the roof caved in and the beams and tiles plunged into the building they had sheltered for so long.