Twenty-Five.

Below the soaring dragons, Gobber walked up to Stoick. He wasn't alone and he was looking troubled.

"We need to talk," the blacksmith said grimly. The Chief turned to see his friend and saw him holding Hiccup's journal. For so many years of bullying and isolation, Hiccup had no friends and the only place he could confide his fears, worries and thoughts was the inanimate book. He handed it to Stoick and opened it at the point they had marked with a scrap of leather. "Astrid found this when she was reading his journal as he slept," he said unselfconsciously. Stoick read the runes, his brow dipping as he scanned the words:

It's all my fault. Dad is dying and it is all my fault.

I shouldn't have done it. I should have stayed in the forge like I'm ordered to do, but I saw Gustav sneak out and get cornered by three Nadders. They were going to kill him-and he's only a young kid. Only Olaf Hofferson was near and I know he can't run. So I grabbed a sword and charged them. I was praying my Dad wouldn't find out-I don't want to shame him any more-especially when they scattered. I shouted at Gustav to run and he did-but then they had me. I tried to keep them back. I thought I was going to die and to be honest, it actually would probably be for the best.

I mean, Gustav is loved by his family and has two sisters and a baby brother to look after. My Dad hates me, my Mum is dead, Snotlout and the others beat me up every single day and the village treats me like dirt. Only Gobber shows any kindness. If I just died, then everything would be okay. My Dad could move on, maybe marry again and have the son he's always wanted, not the disappointing runt he always calls me.

But Dad came. He always comes. He attacked them with such power, such ferocity, I was so proud to be his son. But they caught him off guard and he was hit by loads of spines. There was blood everywhere and they got away as he fell. He had saved my life-but at the cost of his own.

Why? Why when he despises me so much? He's the Chief-he should let me go. He has much more important things to worry about than me.

I was screaming and crawling to him. I wanted him to know, to apologise, to hug him to let him know I am his son and I love him. But they held me back and screamed at me. It was ALL my fault. I shouldn't be out.

No one would listen.

And then Spitelout and Snotlout started to beat me. I mean really beat me. Every blow was utter torment. My vision went red, my ribs were broken, every part of my body was pounded into the ground and still they kept hitting me. I knew they were going to kill me. I just cried for my Dad, struggled to get to him while I could. I didn't want him to die without him feeling my touch one last time. I didn't want to die without saying goodbye. Saying sorry.

But they just kept hitting me.

Until Gobber came and shouted for them to stop. I was the Heir-I couldn't be slain while Dad was so sick.

Funny. It's the only time that being the Heir has spared me one moment of pain. But instead, it condemned me to worse. I wanted to die-and they made me live. They took Dad to Gothi. But they left me lying on the dirt, bleeding and pleading to see him. And even when I managed to crawl to Gothi's, when I begged and pleaded, they wouldn't let me see him. Even when I collapsed from concussion and bloodless and broken bones, they kept me away from him.

He must hate me so much now. He must think I am disobedient and didn't even care when he almost died for me. No one listened. No one helped me. They all hate me too.

I don't know what I'll do if he dies. I suspect Spitelout will kill me anyway. But if he lives…I dare not even consider what Dad will do to me, what he will think of me. I guess he'll exile me but he may just kill me.

It would be a relief. Because the only time I did anything my Dad might be proud of, it almost cost us both our lives and he will never know. He'll be told what other people think happened and I will be shunned and destroyed by it. I hope he kills me because ultimately, it will be a relief.

Stoick blinked back tears. He had no clue, no inkling how desperate, his cold his son's life had been. And how little the boy wanted to live under such appalling conditions. But worse, the tale of that night was so different to what he-and everyone else-knew that he almost felt lightheaded. If this was true, the boy had been so dreadfully wronged he couldn't see any way that his village and he could ever put things right. He looked up at the two people standing by Gobber: Olaf Hofferson and Gustav Larsson.

"Is it true?" he asked. Olaf Hofferson nodded.

"And you didn't speak up?" Stoick was suddenly angry.

"Spitelout and his son were murdering the boy. I am nobody-not a warrior, not an Elder, not rich. Who is going to listen to my opinion over the Jorgensons? I tried to shout for him but the rest were baying for his blood. Believe me, it's pretty horrific to see an entire village crying for a grown man and powerful boy to beat a scrawny undersized lad to death! No one would listen!" The Chief stared then sadly shook his head, grasping the man's shoulder and absolved him of blame. He knew his brother and his nephew too well. Then he leaned down to face the small boy. Gustav was three or four years younger than Hiccup-a small, sturdy lad with bright eyes, dark hair and a penchant for mischief.

"Were you out during that raid where I was injured?" he asked the lad. Gustav stared up, not intimidated by the huge Chief. He nodded.

"I wanted to see the dragons," he admitted. "Too spiky!" was his overconfident verdict.

"Why didn't you admit you were out?" the Chief asked him. "My son saved your life. He…"

"He didn't really save it, did he?" the boy said suddenly. "He had to be rescued by you anyway and everyone says he's Useless so how could he have saved my life?" Stoick winced.

"Who came and drove the dragons away so that you could escape with your life?" the Chief asked him sternly. Gustav's eyes widened at the angry tone. He sighed.

"Hiccup," he admitted.

"And saying that could have saved him so much pain and unhappiness," Stoick sighed. Gustav looked up.

"Why?" he asked bluntly. "Everyone hated him anyway. You hated him. So why should I be made into an outcast by speaking up for him?" Stock groaned.

"Out of the mouths of babes…" Gobber murmured. "You have to take the lead in this, Stoick. You have to tell the truth. You have to right some of the wrongs that have been done to your son. And some people will resist because they don't want a runt to be accepted or because they have done pretty well out of pushing Hiccup aside." The Chief stared at him. "If you want to make things up to him, of course."

"You know I do," Stoick sighed. "But it may take some organising." Gobber stared at him.

"There's one other thing you may want to consider," he mentioned. "We haven't celebrated the end of the war…or the end of dragon training…" Stoick rolled his eyes.

"This year's class was cancelled…" he argued. Gobber winked.

"I would say…postponed," he argued. "The final exam was for the leading student to kill his first dragon in front of the village, wasn't it?" Stoick stared at his friend and then blinked. He turned to Olaf Hofferson.

"Not a word to anyone-including your daughter-and I will ensure that you are given the rewards you deserve for what you have done today," he said genuinely. "And you, young master Larsson-if one word of this gets out, I will feed you to Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare. Clear?" Gustav gulped.

"Yessir!" he said and ran off. Stoick turned to Gobber.

"Call a meeting of the Elders!" he ordered. "And see that Olaf Hofferson is invited. We need to sort this out, once and for all!"