Untold

Chapter 10 - Afraid

Summary: It hit me, then, that people weren't naturally afraid of that.

A/N: Ok. This chapter is dedicated to RazzlePazzleDooDot for her 1. amazing drawings for TBLTWYLM and other fics, 2. for her complete inability to see the flaws in my stories no matter what and 3. just because this was one of her favorite chapters of the story and I thought she might like a little gift :)

"So, that was some temperature in the forge today, huh?" chuckled Gobber lightly.

"I thought for sure winter had come," Hiccup replied with a light laugh of his own.

"No, not yet, lad," Gobber told him, shaking his head. "But it will. Soon. It always starts like this." he looked out the window with a little sigh. "Which means you'll have to get a move on."

My friend's words suddenly made me realize that Hiccup wasn't going to be here forever – just until he finished his riding vest. He'd become such a part of daily life on Berk, such a natural part of the forge, that it was almost impossible to tell myself that, once upon a time, there had been a Berk without a Hiccup.

The idea seemed strange to me now, but I knew I would get used to it.

"What?" Hiccup sounded surprised.

"You don't ever want to leave Berk in winter," Gobber told him, a twinkle of amusement in his gaze. "You're pretty much guaranteed frostbite." he caught my eye and I nodded in agreement.

"'Course," Gobber added, "you're pretty much guaranteed frostbite anywhere on this island during winter." he shrugged.

I watched Hiccup closely, thinking maybe he'd give a sign that he wanted to stay, or maybe he'd request to stay until spring…

I tried to banish the thoughts; he wasn't staying until spring, or even Snoggletog. He was leaving soon, very soon. I wasn't ever going to see him again after this. But couldn't I enjoy the fantasy that he would be here forever, even if I only got to for a little while?

Hiccup grinned, taking a bite of bread. "I'll be sure to get the vest finished before the next snowfall."

"If the first snowfall comes before the vest gets finished, you'll stay here, of course?" I put in, making sure to make it a question and not a declaration; it sounded so silly, but I didn't want him to know I wanted him to stay.

"Oh…uh…um, I guess?" he raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "Unless I want to freeze to death, and that's definitely not on my to-do list."

I smiled slightly at his joke, and Gobber chuckled.

I reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, to get and hold his attention. It seemed that sometimes, when I tried my hardest to show him kindness, he regarded the whole thing as one big joke.

When he saw my hand coming, everything seemed to slow down for a couple seconds. His expression transformed suddenly from one of amusement to fear. There was no other word for it; it wasn't terror, or panic, it was just fear, plain and simple.

He dropped his fork, and it clattered loudly against his plate. He flinched back, like he expected a strike, dropping his face. His bangs fell in front of his eyes, shielding his expression from view, but I knew that, under the hair, he was still scared of me.

I looked down at my hand, hovering in midair, inches from his shoulder. When had I ever given him reason to be afraid of me? When had any adult, ever, given him reason to fear? Had they? I looked up at him, waiting for his response.

He didn't say any words; he lifted his head slightly, peeking up at me fearfully, clearly still waiting for the blow. The rush of pity I felt for him in that moment surprised me; pity and something else, something I couldn't quite define. Did I want to define it, even?

"Hiccup?" I whispered softly. Everything about me was soft in that moment. I was so used to being a stern chief of Berk that I had forgotten that there were still things out there that made me soft – and frightened children had always, always been one of them. "Is there anything wrong?"

Of course there is, you idiot! I chastised myself.

Hiccup shook his head, but he wouldn't look me in the eye; one hand was resting on the table and when I looked down at it, I saw it was shaking.

He shook his head again – I don't think he was even aware of how badly he was trembling.

I wanted to say something to break the silence, because I was sure he wouldn't; how had he gone from laughing and joking two minutes earlier to this quiet, submissive boy in front of me? He was actually shrinking down in his seat, trying to appear smaller, trying to make it easier for me to strike him if I wanted. If that was what he expected, of course, and that appeared to be it.

"You flinched," I told him quietly, although I was sure he knew this already.

He shook his head again, but I caught sight of him through his shifting bangs and I saw his lips were shaking almost as badly as his hands.

I wanted to press it; I let so much go with him, even when I knew he was lying. Even when I knew it, I let it slide. I didn't want to let this slide. I never wanted him to be afraid of me. I wanted to make it plain that he had nothing to fear from me. I was never going to lay a hand on the boy in front of me. I would sooner die.

The realization should've confused me, the fact that I was willing to die for a boy I hardly knew. And yet, I knew it was true. The emotion that I couldn't define, the one that came along with the pity – it had been affection. Love. Protectiveness. The need to protect. The desire to protect him, the desire to defend him.

Gobber's chair scraping back pulled me out of my reverie. Looking up, I saw he had pushed his chair back all the way from the table and was standing up to leave. "I'll just examine your lovely carving collection, Stoick," he told me, but when he passed by, his expression said clearly what he meant: I think he wants to be alone with you.

I waited a few minutes after Gobber had left, sitting there before reaching out a hand for Hiccup, to touch him, to comfort him, let him know I would never hurt him. And then I realized that that was what had upset him so much in the first place. I dropped my hand, letting it hit the table softly. It was a better idea to leave a touch out of the occasion on this one.

"Hiccup…" I began, unsure how to proceed. How exactly do you ask somebody a question like this? I hesitated, wondering if he was going to say something. When it became clear he wasn't, I decided to take the reins again. "You acted like you thought I was going to hit you."

Hiccup looked up at me again, careful, tentative. Afraid.

It hit me then, that people weren't naturally afraid of that. They didn't flinch back from people on a regular basis. Hiccup had been taught to be afraid of that. I felt pity rushing through me again and again, the need to protect, the need to defend. And if that need to defend, if this sudden need to fight for him…if it didn't mean rushing out onto the battlefield with sword and shield, if it instead meant sitting here in the quietness and assuring him I would never hurt him…if that's what fighting for him meant, too…then I was willing to do that, too.

"Uh…well…it's nothing, sir." His voice was quiet, soft…afraid. Again. "I mean, we are Vikings, after all, right?" His tone was shaking, his voice unsteady. I wondered worriedly if he was going to cry; I was useless at helping people when it came to that.

"Yes." I told him. "But the Peaceables don't practice violence, do they? That's what earned them their name, Peaceables, isn't it?"

Hiccup's gaze faltered; he had been looking at a point around my face, never quite meeting my eye and now it was back on the table. His hands had stopped shaking, but his voice was still unsteady. "Yes, sir."

"Then…" I began, but Hiccup's shaking voice interrupted mine.

"The Peaceable tribe was all about peace," he whispered, "but there were some people in there who weren't so peaceful. I got into fights with them sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I asked, before I could stop myself. "You must be very used to being hit."

What I could see of his face flushed a bright red. "It wasn't always kids my age," he mumbled in a barely audible voice. "Sometimes, it was…" he took a pause before his next words and I sensed the words were an effort. "Adults, sir."

Again, the need to protect, but this time, it came with a sudden understanding of what the phrase "seeing red" meant. The desire to hurt everybody who had ever hurt him was surprising. "Adults?" I spat, nearly shaking with rage.

"What's wrong with that?" he whispered, hardly daring to look up at me.

I hesitated before answering; didn't he understand that people must always, always keep their hands off children? Had he been taught differently? I waited a long minute before answering. It was during one of his fearful glances up at me that I spoke again. I caught his gaze and whispered, "Oh, Hiccup. So much."