Note ~ I have changed the story rating because the more I thought about it the more I realized that I may add in some naughtiness and violence, but none of it will be graphic. A "T" rating is probably going to end up being more accurate. Well, without further ado! Chapter Four!
"Hey buddy, hey. Hey, it's okay. You're alright." Hiccup crooned soothingly to his dragon and glanced up briefly as Astrid and Gobber appeared silhouetted in the doorway.
"Toothless alright there now, Hiccup?" Gobber asked, his broad features askew with worry.
"I turned Aazure around the second I heard him…" Astrid said, the concern plain on her pretty face. Toothless had rested his head on Hiccup's knee, his great green eyes half closed and his ear flaps flopped despondently back. His shaking had stopped, but his normal alert expression was absent. Hiccup stroked the broad head in a familiar and involuntary motion, his gaze following Warfly, the biggest and eldest male Terror in Gobber's pack of twelve. The rust and berry red little dragon with his twisted horns and quick, needle sharp claws approached Toothless, dragging a large smelt across the floor. Blinking his pale golden eyes, he chirruped loudly as he deposited the morsel of a fish at the Night Fury's paws, then scuttle-glided back to his perch on Gobber's meaty shoulder. The big man chucked the Tiny Terror affectionately under the chin, his eyes still focused on his most beloved former apprentice and the heroic black dragon who, together, had transformed the village of Berk.
Toothless gathered his legs beneath him to stand and Hiccup rose with him, one hand remaining on the dragon's withers, and watched as his scaly companion swallowed Warfly's proffered smelt. The proud Night Fury looked quietly around at the three familiar human faces, then slipped like a shadow from the forge room. As soon as the dragon was out the door, Hiccup's tall frame folded onto a short stool and he let his forehead drop into his hands. After a moment of silence, Astrid moved to stand by his side, but said nothing. Pressing Hiccup for an answer now would only make it harder to get a coherent sentence out of him. While still far from the model Viking warrior, one thing about Hiccup that was undeniably Viking was his stubbornness. Even if he wasn't bullheaded in the traditional Berkish way, with Hiccup things were always: try, try again. And again. And again. Until the problem was solved or he got a new gadget just right. But try and pry an answer out of Hiccup when he wasn't prepared to speak and he'd stutter and stammer his way to Valhalla and back.
"I don't know what to do…" he murmured into his hands, which had pushed his long forelock out into spikes from the sides of his palms. "I don't even know what that problem is!" he exclaimed, looking up wildly at Astrid and Gobber. "You both remember how it used to be…he never used to wake up this often, never used to spook and shy. It's never been so bad – ever!"
He did not need to explain: everyone in the room knew what Hiccup was talking about. Shortly after coming to live permanently in the village, the Vikings of Berk had noticed that once or twice a year perhaps, and never more often than that, the heroic Toothless seemed to suffer from violent nightmares. Over the years, however, the problem had grown steadily worse. The Night Fury had begun to wake flailing and shrieking first monthly, then weekly. Now and for the past year, the black dragon with a reputation for a heart of gold and nerves of steel had been known to spook at things as common as thunder and lightning, large ocean waves and even other dragons who startled him. The week before Yule, Stealthwyrm (Ruff and Tuff's Zippleback) had fallen asleep deep in a snowdrift and had sneezed himself awake just as Toothless passed by. Startled, the Night Fury had whipped about and unleashed one of his hellish purple firebombs on the unsuspecting Stealthwyrm. The arrogant Zippleback had sulked until New Year's (double the heads and you get double the ego) until Toothless had, dragging his tail in a much ashamed manner, presented the other dragon with a pair of venison haunches as a token of apology. Sleeping potions, petitions to the gods and numerous sheep sacrifices had been no help in restoring peace to the Night Fury's apparently troubled mind. Dragons slept very little: a few hours before dawn and a few before dusk with catnaps scattered throughout the day, but Toothless was barely sleeping at all.
"I don't know what to do – there's just nothing left to try…..you don't know how he looks at me!" Hiccup had his hands knit up in his hair again and his voice was tortured. He sounded on the verge of tears and neither Astrid nor Gobber could think less of him for it. The dragon had saved his life and he had saved the dragon's. Together the pair had taken down a tyrant, reclaimed an ancestral island that had been lost generations ago in a raid to the rival town of Ivar. They had helped build Berk as it was today, with the fierce Vikings living alongside their equally fierce dragon companions. Toothless was more than simply a valuable partner and despite the fact that he and Hiccup would never speak in words, he was without a doubt the young Viking man's best friend.
"He hasn't looked at me that way since…since…" he shook his head and his shoulders slumped tiredly. Astrid couldn't remember seeing him this helpless since before he had battled the Green Death and won, eight years ago. She found she couldn't stand it and a spark of loathing flared up for whatever amorphous thing was making Toothless so miserable.
"Gods, he just looked so terrified! So hopeless....I haven't seen him like that since the day I shot him out of the sky…it kills me to see him that way!" he trailed off miserably and Astrid gave his arm a comforting squeeze. Hiccup reached up without raising his head and touched her hand softly before standing.
"Go on ahead, Astrid. Don't you worry about me. I'm a big, bad Viking. I can take care of myself." He shot her a lopsided grin that didn't quite manage to press the apprehension from his eyes. Knowing he needed time to himself, Astrid made the occasion a rare one and didn't resist. As Aazure winged away, Hiccup patted Gobber on the shoulder, remembering to scratch the little Warfly under the chin.
"Thanks…for being here, I mean." He told the big man earnestly and couldn't help but chuckle a little as the burly smith made an excuse for his un-Viking moment of sentimentality, then warned him to take care so he wouldn't have to bail the Dragonmaster's scrawny behind out of trouble like he used to have to all the time and stumped off on a limp twice as bad as Hiccup's own. Heaving a sigh, the young Viking ran his hands through his shaggy hair and from the doorway of the smithy looked out towards the ocean. He already knew what he would see: his beloved dragon standing at the edge of the sharp drop down to the churning waters, gazing desperately Northward, the look of a lost soul on his reptilian face and in his sorrowful green eyes.