Untold

Chapter 7 - Forgiven

Summary: Chapter 39 from Stoick's POV.

A/N: So named because I could just hear 'Forgiven' by Within Temptation playing in the background. What do you guys think? :D

Also, I'm thinking I might just do away with this whole story and keep the content for a TBLTWYLM thing from Stoick's POV. Just...the entire story. From Stoick's POV. What do you think? Well, I could, but then I'd have to write *hiss* action! Also seeing as chapter one was my very first venture into Stoick's mind, I don't know how good I'd be at it and how in-character I would keep him.

The house had been quiet for weeks. I wasn't even afraid of waking Hiccup anymore, because it was clear he was sleeping like the dead.

I flung open the door and walked inside, my eyes meeting an odd scene: Hiccup was sprawled out in front of Toothless on the floor, one hand weakly massaging his leg. He was glaring at Toothless, the other arm trying madly to push against the dragon. Hiccup saw me and a kind of gasp ripped its way out of his mouth.

He tried to stand, but he only ended up staggering backward, whimpering at the pain in his leg. I crossed the room easily in two strides, putting one hand on his chest, helped along by Toothless. I threw the dragon a grateful look. He hadn't exactly been my biggest fan since everything that had gone down with Hiccup, but ever since I had very calmly told him I had no wish to harm Hiccup, and proved it to him by many long nights at Hiccup's bedside, he had been milder.

"Easy, son." I turned my attention to the injured boy on the bed. I smoothed down his hair with one hand, using the other to gently coax him back on the bed. "You've been through a lot and you need rest."

"Uh..." he groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering sleepily. I had to admire his stubbornness - he wasn't going down without a fight. As horrible as I knew it was, to be smiling while he was pained and confused, a sort of proud smile flashed across my face.

"Shh, shh." I coaxed gently. "Go back to sleep."

"No!" Every movement must've been hard; he moved slowly and tiredly as he ripped off the blanket and threw it off his legs. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, frantically trying to push himself up. His hands were shaking with the effort it took to support his weight and I put a hand over his tiny, trembling one. He wasn't completely in his head, I reminded myself. I just needed to be gentle.

"Easy." I repeated quietly.

"Uh-uh." He shook his head, but allowed me to lay him back down on the bed.

"Hiccup, you're alright." I whispered. Wrong. He'd lost half a leg. How could he ever be okay?

He muttered something barely audible and I had to ask him to repeat himself.

"Toothless." He lifted pleading green eyes to me. "Will you look after him? Please?"

"We have been," I assured him. "What, you think just because you've been asleep for a few days means we're gonna let him starve?"

"Days?" He looked so forlorn, I instantly regretted telling him. "Then..." he mumbled; his eyebrows drew together ad he absently studied the bed, tracing a finger over the top. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why...?" He couldn't seem to find the words. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and he was breathing heavily.

There was a long silence, so long I assumed he had fallen asleep. His head was bent down, I couldn't see his face, but it made sense; he had been fighting to stay awake ever since he opened his eyes.

"Hiccup..." I began, sure my voice was going to break. I reached out a shaking hand for Hiccup's. He stared at my hand, glanced up at Toothless and then let me take his hand.

"Hiccup-" I tried again, but he pulled his hand away before I could finish. Of course.'I let my hand drop. He didn't trust me. Who would, after the kind of hell I had put him through?

I felt my heart squeeze. I wanted him to trust me. I needed him to know I was sorry. "Hiccup," I whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Oh." He stared at his feet. There was a second of silence, and then he spoke again, in a shaking voice. "W-why?"

"For..." I couldn't' look him in the eye when I replied; how could I have hurt this boy, this innocent little child? "For...what I said...what I did..."

"No," he interrupted before I could finish, although I had nothing to say. "I mean, why? Why are you sorry for everything?"

"Because...because I almost killed you," I said, and this time I looked him right in the eye. His expression told me I was despicable and I was. I deserved to feel that way. "I almost lost you. I almost lost my son." My words came out so quietly, I was sire he hadn't heard.

I slowly, tentatively reached out, wrapping him in a hug. All I wanted to do was hold him, be near to him, take all his pain away. "I hope you can forgive me, son." I whispered.

He pushed against me, staring me down with suspicion in his gaze. "Why? Why do you keep saying that? You call me son. I'm not your son."

"But you are." I told him quietly. I waited for him to nod and say, ah, yes, yes of course. But his response was one that made me want to laugh and say, oh, never mind, just a dream.

"You said I wasn't."

The guilt rushed through me, threatening to crush me under its weight. "I'm sorry."

"You branded me," he whispered; his breathing was becoming shallow and quick, and I wondered worriedly whether he was having a panic attack.

"You branded me a traitor and you told me I wasn't your son." He didn't sound hurt; just angry and guarded. Had I surprised him at all with my actions, or had he been expecting this from day one?

"Will you please just tell me why you're acting like nothing's changed?" The panic attack breathing was growing louder as he neared the end of his sentence, looking up at me and awaiting my reply.

"It has." I nodded, resting a hand on his cheek. I tried not to be hurt when he drew away. "And I am so sorry with what I put you through." The apology was going to be easiest; I truly was sorry, but I wasn't sure how much to tell him anymore. Gobber had insisted I owed him an explanation, at the very least, and I couldn't argue with that. "But you are my son."

"No, I'm not," he insisted, conviction clear in his voice. "Alvin-

I put a finger on his lips. I understood why he wanted to speak, but I had to say this.

"Told me that you are mine."

"What?" He demanded drowsily, brow knitting.

"My son." I said again. "He called you your boy. And before that, he said you were my son. Later, he made a few vague hints that he was telling the truth, but you wouldn't have heard that. You were unconscious then."

"I was?" By the way his eyes widened, you would've thought I had just shared a national secret with him. His eyes narrowed again, brow knitting, lips pinching. I recognized it as the face he made when he was thinking.

As the film of memory passed over his eyes for a brief moment, I found myself wondering if he would remember anything from the battle...or after.

I hesitated. I had never been speechless before, I had never not known what to say. Funny how only he was able to render me this way.

He came back to earth suddenly, his narrowed green eyes going back to their familiar almond shape. "But, I mean, I still have to leave."

"Why?" The word slipped out before I could remind myself that he didn't have to explain anything to me.

"I'm an Outcast." He said. "You don't want an Outcast on your shores do you?"

Technically, he was a Hooligan and I thought about telling him as much before I realized he still looked a little confused, a little wrong-footed. It wasn't the best idea to bombard him with facts so soon after he had woken. He needed rest.

"You're the exception," I decided instead, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Only because I'm your son." His face lost the confused look, transforming suddenly to something like bitterness. "And, for that matter, I don't care that I'm your blood son." He shrugged my hand off his shoulder.

I let my hand drop back into my lap. That stung. A lot.

"Just because I am, it makes it okay for me to stay on Berk?" His hands were clenched into fists, his teeth gritted. "What about if you found out one of the other Outcasts was your blood son? That would make it okay for them, too?" He stared me down, waiting for my answer.

His fierceness was so surprising that it took me a second to remember exactly what I had been going to say to him. "It's not about blood, Hiccup," I explained gently. "It was about you. You offered to give up your whole life for the sake of Berk."

The memory of him standing in front of Alvin, bravely insulting the man, never betraying a hint of fear in his face, sent a flash of pride running through me. I smiled a little, not even sure what I wanted him to say.

"Yeah," he mumbled, but it was clear from his quiet tone that I had embarrassed him. "But that's just because...Berk..." I could see the tips of his ears turning red. "...That's got nothing to do with..."

"Blood or not," I interrupted gently, knowing he was about to offer me several thousand protests. "I love you."

I hesitated this time before pulling him into my arms, prepared to feel him struggling, prepared to release him at a moment's notice.

He didn't hug me back, but he didn't pull away, either. "I...r-really?" The confusion mixed with pain and what sounded like hope hit me hard. It sounded as though nobody had ever told him they loved him.

When he realized what he'd said, he tried again. "I mean, um...cool, nice-" as if he didn't know what to say back.

"Yes." I interrupted quietly.

He fell silent in my arms.