Hey y'all,

Many thanks to a special reviewer for pointing out a kinda important typo in the last chapter! Here we go!

That was the day Hiccup dyed... his hair. They used a lye-based dye, as customary of Vikings, in the hope of turning him into a proper, fair-haired Heir. Unfortunately, they misread the box sold to them by GreenWal the Pharmacist and didn't buy enough-so his hair was oddly layered-and on top of that, for once, THE BOX DID NOT SAY HONEY-MIST AUBURN.

Yeah, jk. Hiccup's dead. :D

But alright, alright-I won't be so mean as to leave it like that all week.

Besides, it's almost done! The month I warned for the daily update is almost complete! This chapter, an epilogue, and this story is done!

Now don't worry, my lovelies-this is not the total end. I had everything related to this world put onto one big word file, labeled 'Quarter' (because Hiccup's One-Quarter god and that's how I saved the story when I wrote down the first plot bunny five years ago; I haven't been writing that long, I abandoned it for quite some time, actually).

Anyway, the end of SG I've got planned sticks at page 352 of 513 on the Word Document. The rest kinda needs more writing and revising than these chapters did, though, and I'm considering adding Gift of the Night Fury and/or Legend of the Bone Knapper before I do the series and/or an original plotline.

See the amount of and/ors up there? I've got a lot of planning to do, and that's not gonna happen one day at a time. But I can give you completion on this story, until then!

PLEASE NOTE PLEASE NOTE PLEASE NOTE!

I had to revamp the set up of the story. The Interlude was removed and placed within this chapter, because it fit better, and little bits and pieces were added. Just in case you realize 'hey. I've read this before. Is Tibki reusing text?' No. I'm re-placing it.

Anyway, hope you like it, lovelies!

DISCLAIMED.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

He'd been breathing raggedly the night before, but it wasn't until morning that Toothless had woken Stoick with paws on his chest and a terrified look in his eye.

(After nearly two weeks in the same house, Stoick was actually starting to see emotion in the dragon, and the thought made his head ache.)

But regardless of headaches, he'd shot up, checked on Hiccup, and then roused Gerdy from her bed an hour before sunrise.

The fever had returned with a vengeance. Color rose in his cheeks and the rest of him turned pale and clammy. His thin chest struggled for hours, every breath exhausting him. But he was stubborn, and those lungs kept pumping.

The Healers did what they could, potions and spells and everything. Astrid and the others dropped by at noon to work more on the hole, but their visit turned into a quiet, shocked one when Stoick silently let them upstairs and showed them what was happening.

Gothi dropped by—she hadn't been in that house since Val's death—and sat by her grandson for a few hours. Spitelout, even though after two weeks he was still a bit in shock about Hiccup of all people being the whole grandson of Thor, took over the chiefing duties for the day—he wasn't bright, but he was fair enough to take the yoke off his brother's laden shoulders for one day.

When storm clouds started brewing on the horizon, and harsh winds started tearing through the village, Stoick had flashbacks to a night sixteen years ago, and had moved quickly back up to his son's side.

Toothless, the entire day, laid with his head by Hiccup's, breathing into his ear. When he could, he took slow breaths, and the motions of their chests matched perfectly, as Hiccup's lungs took their cues from Toothless's.

When Sól set on what had been a fair day, if suddenly strangely threatened with rain, the clouds crossed the entire sky and the world darkened.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and Hiccup's chest finally just… stopped.

Silence.

A blast of lightning hit the center of Berk, and an unholy, hopeless and black howl cut through the village like an icy blade to the heart.

AAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…

The entire tribe froze at the sound. In the forge, Gobber closed his eyes, because it was coming from the Chief's house. The last time they'd heard the mourning cry was at the funeral, and then, there'd been two.

AAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…

The dragon-training class, hearing it from their spots in their various homes through the village, shot their heads up, paling. Because they knew the voices that made the sound, but there was only one pitch now.

AAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…

Stoick was kneeling by the bed, eyes dripping and shut, not able to look at the silent and still body of his son on the planks in front of him. His boy. Gone, and he'd never even gotten to talk with him again—he'd never truly woken up after the battle.

The battle Stoick had started.

Valka had asked him, her dying request, to keep Hiccup safe. He had done, by refusing to leave him in the woods like any other hiccup, by keeping him from dragon training as long as possible, by padding those walls even if it kept light out, but now…

I've failed you, Val. I did this…

AAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…

Toothless, his heart aching and bleeding inside of his chest, lowered his head from his mourning call. He wished he could cry tears like squishes could, because the howl didn't seem like enough for the thin cousin who'd given him flight, who'd given him life and happiness.

He knew squishes thought dragons were cold-blooded, but he'd never felt that way before now. Without thin hands on his scales, a crooked smile in front of his eyes, that light sarcasm in his ears or that gentle warmth in his veins, his whole body felt frozen.

Being warm meant being safe, to a dragon, because of their inner fire. Now, Toothless felt cold, because his little flame was gone.

The devastation and loss settled into his limbs where Hiccup's warmth had laid so recently.

…and then it replaced itself with fiery determination.

This was not it.

Dragons believed in balances. They believed that the gods kept them. That they kept the world tied together and stopped it from falling apart—and Toothless believed that Hiccup had been his balance from the start. They were both small, intelligent next to their peers, but while he was lauded and feared, Hiccup was ridiculed and ignored. Where Toothless's bolts and claws could destroy, Hiccup's hands could create. Toothless controlled the right side of his tailfin, and Hiccup managed the left.

Their lives were in balance. Hiccup had spared Toothless's life that first day, and Toothless had returned the favor. Hiccup had saved him from starvation, Toothless had kept him from drowning. Hiccup's plan had sped them away from the parasite's jaws, and Toothless's wings had saved (most of) him from the flames.

But the Squish had done it once more—because he gave him flight.

He knew what squishes said about downed dragons, because it was true. Toothless would have been dead without Hiccup, even if he'd fed him forever in that cove—being unable to fly for too long would have eventually killed Toothless's spirit, which would've quickly killed him, too. By jumping onto his tail that day, and his back later, the boy kept him alive by letting them both soar. By helping him fly, Hiccup saved him from certain death. He'd given him life itself.

Toothless had not saved Hiccup for that, not yet. They were still in imbalance.

The gods fixed imbalances. And their sire, high above, was rumbling enough that maybe… maybe… he, and Toothless's own dam, would agree to help right it.

There were arms… lithe and narrow, but warm and gentle. I didn't… I didn't recognize them… but I did. Somehow.

"He's so small…" The voice was familiar in the same way the arms were—accented like my Dad's, gently cradling my ears like the arms were cradling my sides.

It was extraordinarily comfortable, but something—something was missing. Something was wrong. I had to get up.

"Oh no, hush, my little one… hush, Hiccup, you're safe…"

Where was Toothless? Was he okay? The last thing I remembered was—was the crash, I just… Where was my cousin?

There was a boom of laughter, echoing like thunder. "Hah! Look, brother!" This voice was rich, and sounded like sunshine and life-giving summer storms. "Takes after his gods-father, doesn't he? First thing he thinks about—where's my bloodbrother? Haha! Do not worry, child—your Toothless is hale."

I tried to squint my eyes open, but hissed as a blinding light tore into them. Best not try that again. But I couldn't hear my cousin—I think?—so how would they know? But unable to really move, my limbs felt so heavy, I had to take their word for it. Luckily, they didn't sound too untrustworthy.

"Oh, don't think so much of me, you great fool," a silkier tone added. Cultured, mature—but hinted with sly mischief, like a smirk hidden behind a polite hand. If this one had assured me about Toothless, I'd've sat up anyway. "Look, he's seeking to wake, now that he has been told to sleep—tell me that's not more of your stubborn idiosyncrasy."

A great sigh, like a bear had wondered why the world had dealt him the cards it had. "Brother…"

"Oh, my apologies. Six-syllable words too complex for you, old friend?"

"Loki."

A much lighter, more flippant sigh. I wondered what was going on.

When the mourning cries suddenly ceased, Stoick opened his grieving eyes.

The Night Fury was looking down at Hiccup, eyes big and pupils blown wide. He could see devastation in those eyes—

—but then suddenly, it wasn't there anymore.

The dragon looked up to the grey, roiling sky through that dam#ed hole. Stoick had no warning before the beast grabbed Hiccup's shirt in his mouth and launched the pair of them out of the house through it.

For a moment, Stoick was left gaping, suddenly alone in the room.

And then the anger hit.

"BRING MY BOY BACK, YOU BLACK DEVIL!" he roared, rushing down the stairs and picking up his well-worn battleaxe.

Jostling his precious cargo as little as possible, Toothless glided as best he could to the highest point he knew of in the Squish Nest—just outside that cave they had carved into the mountain.

Here, the air was clearest of the sea spray below. Here, they were as close to Thor's kingdom and as far from Njördr's unwelcoming (to Hiccup) realm as possible.

Here, was where he'd make his appeal.

With the storm starting to blow fiercely in every direction, with fat drops of water falling from the skies, Toothless spread his massive wings and released a huge, long, impossibly loud and broken ROAR into the heavens, into the cloud he knew held his makers.

The wind buffeted him—he didn't care, even with it tearing at his wings, he steeled himself and kept them spread, railing fiercely against the fate that the gods had thrown upon thin shoulders. The water fell into his eyes, his mouth, but he never stopped. His lungs ran out of air, so he fired shots of plasma instead, every last one exploding in the cloud like a lightning bolt watched in reverse.

Toothless roared, because there was a cooling body underneath him—protected from the cold, the wet, the wind—that wasn't supposed to be so still.

Toothless roared, because a little flame had been extinguished who had been the last one to deserve to go.

Toothless roared, because he'd miss his Squish.

(And his Squish, more importantly, would miss him.)

The sound of a furious battle cry was finally what made Toothless stop his lament and plea into the heavens. Halfway between where he stood and the little Squish nest he'd come from was his Squish's father, holding up an axe and looking terrifying in the pouring grey rain.

"THAT'S MY SON, YOU BLACK BEAST OF HEL!"

More was said, but almost as soon as the words entered my ears, I forgot them.

"That would be my doing, little Ásmegir," the cultured voice said softly. "My daughter has only grudgingly allowed you from her grasp in the first place, and no man is ever allowed remember their time in the Otherwords, when returned to Midgard. No man can be allowed hear the words of the Æsir, and truly remember them. You should listen to that Cousin of yours more often—great Gifts we have, but there must always be a balance in the world of mortals. Even we must watch our actions. The hand of Asgard would tip the scales too far in Midgard—we must always act indirectly."

"Even when we watch over our kin and kind," the deeper voice rumbled.

A thin, sure hand weaved through my hair. "And never forget—you might not be my blood, but you are my kind, little hiccup." The hand grew more halting as it drew near my mouth—I winced as it brushed my lips, the holes placed every centimeter. I tried to draw away, and sank further into the gentle hold of those arms. "And even if I must toe the line, even if my actions will have to be spread over years, I protect my kind."

"As do I."

The first voice—more… feminine? Softer and more comforting than the others—spoke again. "Oh my boy. So much will change for you, from now on…"

"He has what he needs. A strong heart, to show compassion."

"A quick mind, to fix what has been wronged."

"And the love of family. His own Special Gifts."

Something behind my heart buzzed lightly and then settled, as if comforted by the words I could no longer remember. I tried to twist where I was held, but my body didn't seem to want to move.

(Toothless would later wonder if it was grief or madness driving Stoick up the hill. As of that moment, he didn't much care, even as the swinging axe was brought closer and closer to his own neck.)

"Please," Toothless wailed, looking to the rolling heavens, ignoring the large squish like he wasn't even there. He didn't matter—only Hiccup did. "Don't take my brother away, not like this, not this fast. Thor, Hel, please. Give us a chance."

The sky rumbled, and then charged, the smell of burning air filling his nostrils. Toothless's eyes widened, his mouth open in a gape of surprise.

The bolt that shot its way down was thick and more brilliantly blue than any so far.

It hit Toothless's open mouth exactly.

"The world will always take, young Hiccup," the deep voice warned, more serious than before. Somehow, though it had been black the entire time apart from my singular attempt to open my eyes, I could tell I was about to fall unconscious again. My limbs became numb and I felt oblivion opening up in the darkness in front of me. "It will try to leave you crippled, unable to walk forward in life."

"It will cripple you in more than one way today," the lighter added quietly. I tipped forward into nothingness, caught in slow motion.

"But the funny thing about the world," the woman finished softly, her voice fading with every moment, "is that it likes to give back too."

When another hand passed through my hair, I smelled burning air, just before my mind closed off completely.

"There's a balance in that, my little one. My brave, brave son."

The buzz of lightning emptied into him. It filled him instantly, tingling and zapping and quick like Hiccup's heat never was. It was… warm, but not nearly the same way Hiccup was warm; Hiccup was warm like a fire that wouldn't burn pouring through his veins, contentment and companionship—this was warm like bright sun on his scales on a the perfect summer day for running and flying, quick and happy and energetic. This was fast and all encompassing—it made his skin, underneath the tough scales, shudder and shiver, all the way along his spine and down every square inch of his wings.

Muscles spasmed and Toothless felt himself jolt and jerk—it hit his mind and eyes, and he felt the lids shutter open and closed, too fast for him to see anything but glimpses of light and the dark world around him. It didn't hurt, though.

And maybe… maybe that was because the lightning coursing through his system wasn't… meant to hurt.

When it stopped, he felt the energy—it had to be energy, in its purest form, because he couldn't imagine the buzzing belonging to anything else—settle in the back of his throat, right above where the gas for his bolts came from. There it curled like he would himself in a sunny spot, buzzing and ready and eager to be used.

Use it well.

It was in unison—a deep voice in pride, and a rasping voice in warning. The duo was one he'd only heard once before in his lifetime, who had given him the name Nott's Prince the very moment he had been created, out of lightning and the traces of the death of a demi-goddess who'd died bringing her boy into Midgard.

Who Hiccup would call his parents—who dragons would call his sire and dam, who he'd called his makers—who everyone between would simply call Thor and Hel.

Toothless bowed in respect at those who had created him, but only for a moment—because just as quickly as he'd been given the Gift, he received the knowledge of what it was…

…and what exactly it could be used for.

Without hesitation, Toothless reared back and let the energy gather into his mouth like gas before a blast. It swirled like a ball, catching at his teeth when it could, before he spit it straight down—

—into Hiccup's heart.

Toothless did miss. A little. Unused to the power just given to him, and still panicking at the sight of the still and silent Squish body underneath, he'd called up far too much—to compare, he created a constant stream of a blast like he used for beds instead of the single, precise shot he'd once used to bring down stone-slingers—catapults, Hiccup had called them.

As a result, edges of the bolt of lightning he'd just thrown scattered to the side and hit the ground in a circle around them.

(There would be a scorch mark for just a few hours; by the time Sól rose once more, there'd be grass and flowers growing out of nonexistent cracks in the rock in a perfect circle, and they'd stay there for generations.)

When Toothless couldn't send anymore of that energy Hiccup's way, he pulled back.

—and leapt away as a shining iron blade nearly took his head off his shoulders.

My eyes opened to black, stormy skies and a nightmare, playing out right above my head.

"GET AWAY FROM MY SON!" Stoick roared, hefting his axe high once more.

Toothless scrambled away as he swung it again, barely moving in time. Had his tailfin not already been lost to fate, it would've been damaged irreparably by the axe that chinged off the rock where it had once been.

The Night Fury fell back again, his claws slipping on the damp and wet rock underfoot and sending him sprawling. He fell, his back and wings flat against the walls of the carved cave, underneath the towering squish in front of him.

Stoick raised his axe high for the last swing. "This is for Hiccup, you dam# devil," he growled.

"Dad, don't!"

Nothing could've made him freeze faster.

Stoick and Toothless both turned, Toothless's eyes growing huge and Stoick's axe dropping to the ground, inches from pitchy scales.

Hiccup was on his knees, one hand on the ground and the other outstretched to the horrific scene in front of him. His eyes were open, and his chest was heaving with exertion and, more importantly, air.

It actually worked!

"Hiccup… y-ye're alive!"

Hiccup's supporting arm trembled and he collapsed. Toothless yowled and scrambled onto his feet, leaping to reach the fallen boy the same time Stoick did.

His father picked him up, his son's body mostly limp, but this time there was also the tension of slow movement in a few of the limbs. Hiccup raised a hand and dropped it heavily onto Stoick's chest.

"Don't," he mumbled, and Stoick had to turn his ear close in order to hear the soft, tired voice. "Don't… hurt our aerie… Dad…"

Toothless growled, though it came out more like a whimper. "Hiccup, you scared the life out of me, if you ever do that again—"

"…What?" Despite his obvious exhaustion, a smile touched Hiccup's face. His eyes couldn't stay open, and they shut like two drawbridges cut loose. "…you'll …lick me 'gain?"

Toothless snorted, a small but radiant joy expanding through his entire body at the simple snark he was so happy to hear again. "No," he said, though he flipped the boy's hair up with his tongue anyway. "I'll make you eat more of that nasty fish."

Hiccup hummed, obviously most of the way into dreamland. "Wha'ever ya say… Arr…ogant Dragon."

Never had a more beautiful phrase been spoken. Toothless crooned and put his nose to Hiccup's forehead. "Right back at you, you stupid, stupid Squish."

Toothless pulled back once he felt his cousin fall into a feverless sleep, and looked up at Stoick, whose tears were mixing with the rain.

"You saved him," the large squish said. "I-I don't know how, but you saved him, again—thank you. Toothless."

Toothless trilled and butted his head against Stoick's hand, urging him to get back inside before Hiccup got cold.

Above them all, lightning crossed the expanse of clouds, brilliant blue, and, content, the storm started to leave Berk.

Soooo now we know Hiccup's real Gifts-any sequel, drabble set, rendering of the rest of the canon, will explore Hiccup finding out these things for himself, because as stated, he don't remember anything he was told.

And because, well. The gods like an adventure, remember? ;)

Epilogue on the way, and then... well. I guess our own adventure is over.

Hope you liked it. :)

PEACE,

~Tibki