How to Train Your Dragon was based off a book series by Cressida Cowell, featuring a smaller Hiccup who taught himself to speak to dragons. This AU places book Hiccup in the movie universe, where his father intimidates him for being a competent chief. Set during the events of "Talking to Dragons," from Stoick the Vast's point of view.

Stoick the Vast was dead. His barrow, a large mound of treasure, lay on the Berkian cliff nearest to the village. His loyal people had thought to include his favorite swords and axes, treasure salvaged from Hamish I's hoard, and his finest wood carvings. The dragons had left signs of their gratitude as well, especially Stoick's Thunderdrum Thornado. The blue dragon had gathered the riding gear that he and the chief had shared, so that it could be polished and placed with Stoick's weapons.

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, Stoick the Vast's only living son, and now the chief at twenty-two, knelt in front of the mound as Thornado bowed for his late rider. He was not a large Viking, and not a proper one with his skinny arms and legs, but he was tall, and he wore the chief's mantle with pride. His hair was red, and his skin was a light tan. The somberness in his eyes would have stifled any chuckles from the babbling brook in the woods, though it didn't stop the laughs from little green dragon that hung from the top of his head. Hiccup would pet the Terrible Terror absentmindedly, answer its questions. His eyes remained on the mound, picturing the cold body inside that had once been his father.

Soon he'd have to go back to his house, to his mother's rusty attempts at making civil conversation. Valhallarama of the White Arms had traveled away from Berk for most of her adult life, and she had returned because her husband and chief had died. She would be leaving once Hiccup was settled with his new position, just like she always left.

The next day, Hiccup would have to be his father, would have to oversee the village and take charge for the people who lived there. People who had once questioned his leadership for being a runt and teaching himself to speak Dragonese, the winged reptiles' language. For the first time, Hiccup would have too much to do during the day, come home late and cranky, and pull himself into bed to repeat the routine for weeks on end. He was not looking forward to that moment of having a list of chores and having to check each item off.

Hiccup had never wished more to be a child again, even if he had been less chief-like as the village runt.

Ten years ago:

"Dad."

The voice was barely a whisper, like salt brushing against a window in contrast to the loud voices that had just filled the hall. Stoick heard it, nevertheless, and turned. He blinked as his son walked in, nervously, hesitantly, dropping scrolls of parchment.

They didn't talk often. Usually Stoick had dragon raids and chiefing duties to worry about, exhausted by the end of the day and barely crawling into bed. Hiccup spent half the day in the smithy and the other half in the woods. He always went to the smithy when a dragon raid happened, never leaving and manning the fort when they needed Gobber.

"Son." Stoick's voice shook. "What can I do for you?"

He regretted the words almost as soon as they came out. It was his boy, for Thor's sake, not a villager with a complaint for the day.

"The n-nest. You're going." Hiccup still stammered a bit, but he was talking slowly, to be understood.

"They'll finish us off otherwise," Stoick said. "We've saved most of the sheep from last night, but man cannot live on mutton alone. We need our food supplies for the winter, so that we can survive while the dragons are gone."

"You'll b-be gone." Hiccup's soft voice held no accusation, but Stoick winced anyway. He kept forgetting that Hiccup wrote long letters to Val, who was off searching for the nest as well, on her own, that Hiccup always searched for his father after the raids, breathing more easily to see the chief standing among saved sheep.

"I'll be back. Probably." Stoick's voice held false confidence. "I've gone on raids before."

"You need help. Let me come." He strode quickly, unrolled the many scrolls onto the table. They were maps, various maps of the Archipelago.

"Where did you get those?"

"Trader Johann. And Mom." Hiccup held a magnetized rock, letting it point north. "Old Wrinkly taught me. I c-c-can n-n-navigate. C-cross off un-m-marked territory. Find a direct route-"

Stoick should have been jumping for joy that Hiccup was taking action, showing interest in the voyage, not being a nuisance and trying to prove himself. Instead, fear stole over him, perhaps because Hiccup had started to smile as he talked softly, with more confidence. His stammer vanished as he spoke.

"Fog is fog, but rocks remain the same. We can at least narrow down the amount of islands."

There was a flippancy to Hiccup's tone, as if he didn't realize the danger of finding an enemy's home base. Perhaps he didn't, and that realization made Stoick panic. He remembered an earlier time, a more tragic one-

An Outcast knife plunging through Val's belly, over and over again. The dead babe buried, burned in a pyre at sea. Stoick's vigil by his wife's bedside, the relief when Gothi and Old Wrinkly said she would live, could have another child.

Stoick stared in horror as Hiccup went on about trade currents and doldrum danger, as if Hiccup had already signed himself onboard the fleet.

"Mark my words, Stoick the Vast, if you ever have children, I will find them, and I will make you wish they were never born, they will be screaming for the quick release of death. Word of a Treacherous."

"Are you insane?" Stoick bellowed at Hiccup, cutting him off. "This is not a fishing trip; the dragons will defend their home with fire and claws!"

Hiccup stopped, mouth open. He looked as though he had been slapped.

"But, but Dad-"

"It's all right if the dragons kill one or two men, but they'll spot you as an easy target. They'll just see you as another morsel to carry off, and then what will I do if you're gone? You can't find another heir in an instant!"

Stoick's sweeping hand crashed into the magnetized rock. It flew to the floor and shattered. They came back together, at odd angles. The sound stopped Stoick's rage. He paused to stare at the pieces, to realize what he had just said.

Vikings didn't apologize, and Stoick the Vast was unfortunately a Viking of habit. He knew that it was hard to find magnetized rock, and this one had been hewn into a proper needle. More than that, Hiccup had actually provided a reasonable idea, needing a navigator.

Hiccup had backed away as his father shouted, face wide with fear. He had kept trying to butt in, to politely interrupt and inform his father that he wasn't going to be a nuisance. Now he had gone completely quiet, was staring at his father, and at the black shards.

"S-s-sorry, Dad."

He turned and left, too quickly for Stoick's liking, because Stoick would have liked time to compose a civil order, a response that wouldn't make him feel like the bad guy. Hiccup didn't cry on the way out, the way a dramatic teenage girl would, but his tiny shoulders were slumped and he hung his head low.

Stoick had gone to Gobber immediately, to ask for advice. Gobber had tried his best to be helpful while repairing Stoick's shield:"He obviously wants to serve the village, so let me teach him to fight dragons. That way, when he's older, he can prove himself on a search for the nest and show off those Old Wrinkly-taught skills."

"Val's father was daft in the head," Stoick said, though he hadn't know his father-in-law well and may as well have been lying. "Old Wrinkly got seasick if he even LOOKED at a boat. He couldn't have taught Hiccup to navigate."

"Boars have been known to dance in the middle of the night."

"What?"

"On the north of Berk when no one is watching or judging them, the boars head out into the woods, stand on their hooves, and show off their skill with the Midgard Rumble."

Stoick stared at his friend.

"It's the same with Hiccup. You won't know how skilled he is until you test him, know what he's capable of."

Stoick had listened to Gobber, waited for Hiccup to return to their house at the end of the day. Then he had told Hiccup about Dragon Training. Hiccup, still looking frightened and close to tears, had nodded and accepted his father's heavy axe, had promised to do his best in training. The fright hadn't left his eyes.

Stoick, even in his later days when Hiccup grew confident, would regret those harsh words he had bestowed upon his son. It had been the last time in months that Hiccup had spoken to Stoick without stammering, before Hiccup had faced the queen and liberated every dragon in the Archipelago. If only he had seen his boy growing up, trying so hard not to be a nuisance . . .

They hadn't found the nest, sailing through Helheim's Gate. That hadn't surprised Stoick; they had been lucky enough to return to Berk with a few burnt, hollowed remains of ships. The dragons were vicious, but they also knew how to conceal their home. He had to admire their tenacity.

We could have used a navigator, a tiny voice reminded Stoick the Vast. He ignored it when Gobber told Stoick of Hiccup's progress in dragon training, of how the boy was outshining Astrid Hofferson.

"He doesn't exactly strike them in the head with hammers, but he's studying them, reading up on each beast the night before facing it in class the next day. He outran the Gronckle, nearly knifed the Nadder, drenched the Zippleback, and has tamed the Terrible Terror. Most of the beasts seem to respect him now, and they don't even bother to fight when they see him."

Stoick was amazed, and felt proud of letting Gobber train his son. This was the exact kind of behavior he was hoping for. He said as much that evening, when he found Hiccup in the back of the smithy, writing furiously. Hiccup straightened up abruptly and slapped a hand over his book.

"Dad, y-you're alive!" he exclaimed, looking frightened and relieved at the same time. Stoick noted the circles under Hiccup's eyes, the way his fingers were trembling. The green tunic and vest seemed to hang off him, like his son had lost much weight.

"Gobber told me about Dragon Training," he said, and Hiccup seemed to pale.

"He- he did?"

"He told me you were top of the class, that you were intimidating every dragon that you came across. Odin's beard, it was tough, but you've come through! I always knew you had some proper Viking in you!"

Hiccup didn't look as if the news pleased him, but he only grunted as Stoick slapped his back with affection. He doubled over, straightening up to receive the present that Stoick had brought: a helmet made from Val's breastplate.

"Been keeping it, since she left. I got the other one." Stoick tapped his helmet, with a nervous smile. "Matching set. Keeps her close."

Hiccup looked a little put off, but then he tried to smile as well, knowing her father had good intentions.

"Did, did y-you-?"

"She was nowhere near Helheim's Gate," Stoick told him, soberly. "It was for the best, probably. The dragons wiped out our fleet. Wherever she is, she's safe."

Hiccup stopped trying to smile. He pulled on the helmet, which fell down over his eyes. His hands went under the rim, so that he could see his father.

"Th-thanks, Dad."

Silence had erupted between them, and Stoick really was exhausted, so he made an excuse about going to bed. Hiccup nodded, tucked the book he was using into his vest pocket, and walked with his father. Several times Hiccup opened his mouth, only then to not say a word. Stoick talked about the journey, but his words were empty.

Stoick would replay that night afterward, and he and Hiccup would talk about it, during stormy nights. He should have seen the signs, that Hiccup wanted to tell him something badly but was still frightened, was worried of what his father would think of him. It didn't matter that the knowledge that had erupted had been Hiccup's responsibility; as the chief, and Hiccup's father, Stoick the Vast had to know everything that was going on and about on Berk.

Astrid would end up exposing Hiccup's secret the next day, after he had won the right to kill the Monstrous Nightmare. She hadn't meant to cause real harm, or perhaps she didn't think that even a runt like Hiccup would try to protect a dragon, but her actions had led to him running away into the woods, carrying an injured Terrible Terror.

Gobber had delivered the bad news, Hiccup's book, and a shaken Astrid. Stoick had been celebrating with Spitelout when the smith came and told them that Hiccup had vanished, with the smallest dragon from the cages. Astrid had told the chief her side of the story, as Gobber handed Stoick the book. He had organized a search party, planning to shake some sense into his son when they found him. Only a complete idiot would run into the woods before dark with a sprained ankle.

Apparently Hiccup was an idiot, however, because they called for him over and over, crawling into every cave they could fine. Bird calls and echoes of the chief's voice answered back, bouncing against the trees. As he headed deeper into the woods, Stoick felt himself becoming loud and angry, frustrated that his son was causing so much trouble after winning a great honor. Every faint rustle, every pair of eyes that peered through the trees could have been him.

When the search party had shown up with nothing that evening, and neither Stoick nor his men could make sense of the island's maps, he had opened Hiccup's book and pored through it while drinking mead. Perhaps a glimpse into his son's mind would tell him where Hiccup was, where he was hiding. If his son was hiding, instead of lying unconscious in a clearing as dragon prey; Stoick tried not to consider that possibility.

The book, a gift from Val, contained notes on Dragonese, the winged beasts' native tongue, how they could use it to make the dragons flee Berk. Stoick would flip through the book with amazement, seeing the rough notes. They were incomplete, of course, because Hiccup had only been in training for a couple of months, but they were informative. He had been using his brains far more than brawn, seeing the dragons as individuals who thought in battle.

Stoick was angry with little Miss Hofferson, for taking out her jealousy on Hiccup rather than complaining to the chief, but he was angrier with himself. Hiccup had discovered a way to communicate with the dragons and hadn't told anyone, not even Gobber. Stoick should have known, gods damn his bearded stupidity.

Two days passed in this fashion: search parties going out from dawn to dusk, villagers praying that the runt would die with the beasts in the woods, and Stoick praying at the village shrine every day. He begged the gods to spare his son from wild dragons out there, that he wouldn't ever raise his voice at Hiccup again or destroy his tools, even by accident, if only his son would come back. He had even gone to Gothi, to ask for a reading. The Village Elder reassured him by scratching images into the dirt; her drawings communicated that his son was alive, if injured, and would return to the village when he wanted.

Hiccup hadn't disappointed; he returned with the small dragon, albeit pale and feverish, limping on a broken ankle. Stoick thanked the gods that Gobber had found him first, had stopped the chief from going in and talking his son's ear off. Gobber had talked sense and patience into Stoick, reminding him that Hiccup was not in a healthy state to explain anything at the moment with a broken ankle and a fever.

Another week of Hiccup's fever breaking, a spell that seemed just as bad as the three days Hiccup had gone missing. Sweat made his forehead slick, and he would sink into delirium at regular intervals. At times he'd be talking to thin air, addressing the space beside his bed as Old Wrinkly, or he'd blather nonsense. When he was cohesive, which was rare, he'd talk better to Gobber than to Stoick, always eying his father with fright. Stoick valued Gobber's presence, because Hiccup trusted the smithy not to hate him.

The delirious episodes were the worst. Hiccup would be despondent in those moments, which he had never been, even after Stoick had yelled at him in the mead hall, and he'd always be on the verge of tears. Yet they told Stoick more than the few moments of silent clarity. He would wipe his son's forehead with a cool cloth and talk as if he were Old Wrinkly.

"He h-hates me, Grandpa, he hates me! I chose a dragon over him, and I had no choice! The way he looks at me, always wanting me to be larger and braver-"

"That's not true," Stoick would say, quiet but shaken. "He just wants to protect you. Because you're all that remains of his family."

"He w-w-won't want to protect me now." Hiccup's eyes were closed, shut against the heat that his face was exuding, and possibly fighting unViking-like tears. "I c-c-came back, l-like you t-told me to. Then what? W-w-what'll he do to Toothless?"

Toothless.Stoick let the name sit on his tongue. Toothless must be the Terrible Terror that Hiccup fought to protect, the reason Hiccup had run off. The other dragons in their cages had teeth, and they had remained put while the Terror had gone with Hiccup into the woods.

"He won't do a thing, except listen to you," he answered. Stoick meant every word of that. Hiccup had technically not committed treason, just done a bunk and inconvenienced the village and Terrible Terrors were not a threat to the village.

Hiccup relaxed against his father's hand. Stoick willed every drop of heat to leave his son's body and enter his, to ease every bit of discomfort. Yes, it was Hiccup's fault for not getting treatment earlier, but Stoick could not bear to see his son in so much pain.

When the fever broke, and Gobber ascertained that Hiccup's foot would not need an amputation, Stoick took gentle steps to gain his son's trust. He made a strong effort to not raise his voice, kept his temper, and heaped lots of patience. It was hard, because he had to fend off the curious villagers' question: when would Hiccup kill the Monstrous Nightmare? Why had one little dragon meant so much to him?

With several days of coaxing, Hiccup revealed the whole story, how he had started hanging out at the dragon cages before and after training, had cracked the code for Dragonese thanks to his years of observing them during raids. It had happened as he had drenched the Zippleback, that he realized that he had understood the dragons talking. Hiccup had then made conversation, to learn more about them. It had been a military strategy, but soon the beasts realized he wasn't a threat, and that he really didn't want to hurt them. They opened up to him, especially the Terror. If it was a ploy to get one human on their side, it had worked.

Toothless loved hearing jokes from the village, and despite himself Hiccup's heart had melted. He and the green Terror would have long conversations, filling the cold nights with warm humor. He had been Hiccup's first friend, since Old Wrinkly had vanished into the woods one day and never returned. Hiccup wouldn't say what had happened to Old Wrinkly, though the thought made his face darken.

Stoick listened, pondered and asked why Hiccup had told no one.

"There, there w-w-wasn't. Enough. Proof. I, I-"

His voice faltered. He looked down.

"Were you scared? That someone was going to yell at you again? Like me?"

Hiccup nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Hiccup, you weren't doing anything dangerous," Stoick said. "Or illegal."

His son looked doubtful, poking a finger through a hole in the blanket.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper earlier. That day, in the mead hall, I was scared of losing you. You see, before you were born-"

He paused. Hiccup waited, resting a hand against his cast.

"It's not just that you're small and less Viking-like. I know that you're strong, and smart. If you weren't, you wouldn't have angered Astrid so much, or been able to hide from us for days."

Hiccup tried to smile, but these comments hurt him. He clenched part of the blanket, and his uninjured leg twitched.

"What I'm trying to say is, I don't want anything to happen to you," Stoick said. "And I keep forgetting that you're growing up, that things will always happen to you. I was scared, and I got angry because I thought I was protecting you. When I wasn't."

"You were," Hiccup whispered. He looked discomfited that his father was being vulnerable in this moment.

"No, I wasn't. I was shooting down a sensible idea, with more force than necessary. I made a mistake."

"Dad. You don't. Make mistakes. You're, th-the chief."

That was it. Stoick knew how Hiccup was feeling now; he had treated his father with the same reverence, and the autumn apples didn't fall far from the tree. It wasn't until Stoick had become chief that he realized that his father had improvised greatly while running the village, albeit improvising within the limits of Viking tradition.

"I DO make mistakes," Stoick said. "You just don't see them, because I try to learn from them. But I'm not perfect, Hiccup. No adult is, unless he's a god. And you've read the stories; even the gods are fallible at times. If a supreme being with infinite power has his flaws, then why should a human chief claim to be perfect?"

Hiccup looked surprised. He had not thought of the concept of perfection in relation to the myths. Stoick went on.

"If I were a perfect chief, my wife wouldn't be off questing, and I'd know how to reach her when our son has suffered a nasty accident. The village wouldn't suffer food loss from the dragons raids if I knew JUST the right way to get rid of the beasts, and I wouldn't have let you run off like that if I had known what you were thinking, what could have helped."

Stoick had never sounded so vulnerable before; he could tell that Hiccup didn't like this. Nevertheless, Hiccup listened, and let his father hold him.

"I'm sorry, son. For not trying to know you better. For putting you in the same Dragon Training class as Astrid Hofferson."

He could Hiccup's small cry of pain as the hug jolted his broken ankle. Stoick winced and shifted his arms, so that the weight wasn't on Hiccup's legs at all. Only then did his son hug him back.

"I'm. Sorry. Too."

After that, things improved. Hiccup was calmer. He still stammered, or spoke slowly to avoid stammering, but he stopped looking frightened every time he saw his father come into the room, relaxed a little more each day even as his ankle took precious time to heal. Stoick reassured Hiccup that they wouldn't hurt Toothless, and even brought the beast to the smithy.

Still, Stoick fretted. Stoick knew that Astrid was visiting Hiccup frequently, to make amends, and the chief had accepted her apologies. Hiccup hadn't, not yet. The rest of the village still hadn't adjusted to this change, the thought of being able to negotiate with dragons instead of fighting them all the time.

Hiccup wasn't sure if the dragons were willing to listen because Gobber had been feeding them regularly, or if the thrall that they spoke of, a hypnotic croon from a dragon queen, compelled the wild beasts to raid Viking settlements for food. Hiccup, to prove his theory that the wild dragons were compelled to steal food, tamed the Monstrous Nightmare instead of killing it, and then spoke to the wild dragons that came during raids. Stoick and Hiccup learned that it was hard to tell someone to not ride a dragon when both your feet were on the ground and the other person was riding, and Hiccup reveled in this freedom. He even had the gall to land on a Night Fury's back, when the unholy offspring of lightning and death had attacked during a raid, and tamed it with only a few kind words. At least, that's how the Berk Vikings would afterward describe that encounter; Hiccup maintained that the Night Fury remained wild but would work with the boy who freed him.

Despite the worry that Stoick felt, Hiccup changed when he rode dragons. He smiled more often, stood taller. In time, when they talked, Hiccup stopped stammering. He grew into the role of Dragon Whisperer, learned to outwit men and dragon queens much larger than he was, and found lost things that not even the best treasure hunters of the day had located. Most importantly, he wasn't afraid of his father anymore; he offered polite criticism of how the village was run while showing no disrespect and often entered danger if others needed his assistance. He gently encouraged Stoick to obtain a dragon of his own, to make the village chores more efficient, and taught him basic Dragonese with which to communicate with belligerent Thunderdrums. When the Outcasts invaded Berk, wanting a dragon conqueror, Hiccup gave himself up and demonstrated his ability to plan a counterattack on the fly. Stoick had nearly suffered a heart attack when Bucket and Mulch had told him that the Outcasts had taken Hiccup, but he understood why his son had done so.

They didn't always make the right decisions. As Stoick had said, even the gods were prone to mistakes. But at least they were willing to face the consequences, and learn from their errors, father and son. They had seen each other as human beings, imperfect and well-intentioned.

Present:

Hiccup woke from his stupor of memories, still scratching Toothless. Thornado also woke from a doze, and nudged Hiccup.

"I know," he whispered, eyes fixed on the mound. Tears pricked his eyes, so he made an effort to hold them back.

His father had only softened after his missing son had returned to the village, feverish and lamed. Hiccup had afterward joked to Toothless that perhaps he ought to have gotten in danger more often, so that Stoick the Vast wouldn't have taken him for granted. Toothless hadn't found it funny despite loving other jokes, and neither had Windwalker, the Night Fury that Hiccup had tamed.

Knowing his father wasn't perfect had changed things, but not like the way things had changed after realizing that Astrid had flaws. Hiccup couldn't quite explain it, though when he became an old man he would understand: a perfect chief does not need to change. A "perfect chief" is by definition unchangeable, and always in the right while running the village. Thus, when an imperfect child brought forth a new, untested idea, said chief would not want to put the effort into experimenting with that idea, to explore new horizons and risk failure.

Whereas a man who knows that he has flaws, and still has to run a village, would accept change and the risks that new ideas brought. Like the ideas that Hiccup had introduced, and more that would enter Berk because he was in charge now. Like his father, he had to make the most of it, or run Berk to the ground the way some of his unscrupulous ancestors had.

It occurred to Hiccup that he may have realized his father's flaws earlier if Stoick the Vast had been a blustering idiot chief. Then Hiccup could have saved years of confidence-building, and impressed everyone on Berk with his wits. But then, Berk probably wouldn't have survived the dragon raids. There were tradeoffs.

Hiccup got up. He approached the bawn, and pressed his fingers to one grassy side.

"Goodbye, Dad," he said. "I'll be back soon. Stay dry and wealthy in there."

Then, with those words said, he asked Thornado for a lift, and the Thunderdrum had complied. Toothless draped himself around Hiccup's shoulder, like a colorful green scarf for the first winter snows.

As Hiccup and the dragons left the barrow, he thought about the choices he would face. He would not complain about that burden, however; his father hadn't, not that much. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock knew his village, and he knew his father's people well. They had accepted an heir who could talk to dragons, just as his father had accepted him.

Just like Hiccup had accepted himself. No chief was perfect, he knew that now, and he would not even manage half the things his father had accomplished in a day, from christenings to boat repairs. But he would learn from his mistakes, wherever they took him, tomorrow and each day afterward.