To Be Loved the Way You Love Me

Life on Berk turns upside down when a sixteen year old boy traveling with a dark past, a world of hurt, and a Night Fury washes up on its shores. The love-starved boy will only tell people one thing about his past: His name is Hiccup. But where did he live before? And why doesn't he trust anyone?

Chapter 35: Unspoken Words

A/N: I'm sorry. It's dumb. I'm sorry. Stoick is gambling a lot here, but he's doing it for Berk, mostly. He's also doing it a teeny tiny bit for Hiccup, because, c'mon. He still cares about the kid, Outcast or not. You can't just build a relationship like Hiccup and Stoick and just suddenly stop caring about each other.

I wasn't really sure what to do, so I just kind of stood there for a second in the middle of the grunts and groans from the different tribes as they fought for their freedom and Stoick spiritedly pitched rocks at the Outcasts until he could get his sword back.

Resourceful, I'll admit, I thought to myself, watching Helga, who was already bound, use her forehead and swing it as hard as she could against a passing Outcast. She hit him in the chin and he fell, groaning. She leaned down, in an attempt to continue what she had started, I guess.

Toothless was looking around for a few Outcasts who weren't already being dealt with – and he found them. He charged off in pursuit.

I noticed Gobber pilfering swords and other weapons off the Outcasts and he grinned proudly when they didn't notice a thing.

I ducked as a hammer came flying out of nowhere, and then shot up again, my eyes scanning the area for Toothless to make sure he was okay.

I clung to the simple task and I wove my way in and out of the battle, ducking when it seemed necessary and at times, dropping to my knees and crawling. It was at a moment when I was crawling on my hands and knees through a forest of fast-moving legs that I became aware somebody was behind me. At first, I thought it was just my unfortunate habit of thinking somebody's watching me all the time, so I originally planned to ignore it, but the feeling kept growing stronger and stronger.

I finally looked away, back behind me, to see Stoick breathing hard and crawling up behind Outcasts and decking them with rocks from behind. He had his sword in his hand as well, the sword that I had made for him – Gobber must've managed to steal it back from the Outcasts.

He stood on his feet for a second, pulling one man's helmet tight around him, temporarily blinding him and, still clinging to the helmet with one hand, he brought the hilt of his sword down firmly on the man's head.

When the man passed out on the grass, Stoick shoved his sword deep into the man's back. When he withdrew it, I saw the blade was stained bright red with the Outcast's blood.

Stoick had spotted me also and he dropped to his knees and mouthed something to me; I wasn't close enough to hear what it was.

I was about to tell him that, with all due respect and all, it really wasn't the time to be saying anything, especially not anything too long-winded, before I heard him yelling something different. "DUCK!" he yelled and I instinctively obeyed.

I felt something come so close it actually stirred up a wind that ruffled my hair slightly before passing harmlessly by.

Stoick didn't duck – he reached out and miraculously caught the weapon spinning end to end and gleaming in the late winter sunlight.

As he held it up and carelessly wiped a bit of blood off the edge of the blade, I realized it was an axe.

If he hadn't warned me, I would have had that blade sticking out of my head right now.

The thought made me wonder why he'd told me to duck and then I wondered if I was thinking too hard about these things. His command was probably as instinctive as my obedience.

I shook myself and scanned the fight again, struggling to remember the last task I had set myself before remembering: Toothless.

I lifted my head and looked around for him, hoping desperately to see his dark scaly face and piercing green eyes somewhere in the fighting crowd, but there was nothing.

What I did see was welcome news: the Outcasts appeared to be losing. At least, that's what it looked like before I was suddenly jerked up by the front of my vest and Alvin's hot breath was on my ear, filling my nose. He dragged me across the snow, across the dead and brown grass, muttering to himself, sounding close to deranged.

I wanted to say something, maybe something to piss him off or distract him enough to let him go, but before I could do that, Stoick had looked through the crowd and locked eyes with me. His gray eyes went wide with horror as they traveled slowly from me to Alvin.

Almost instinctively, it seemed, he reached up and tossed the axe he still gripped in one hand.

It went spinning through the crowd of fighters, and everybody who saw it coming ducked. It shouldn't have done anything, it shouldn't have reached us – Stoick hadn't thrown it hard enough for it to help anyone.

But, by some miracle, it hit Alvin, hard, in the metal helmet. The sound of wood on metal was almost painful to hear.

I gritted my teeth as I listened to the sound, before Alvin gave a pained grunt and slowly leaned down. I caught the glint of the axe from the sunlight. He inspected it closely for a second. The fighting had stopped now that everybody saw what Alvin had come for. I saw Toothless being held back by Gobber in the crowd.

"Oh, ho," he said, and he seemed, strangely, satisfied, unlike two seconds before. It was as if he'd wanted somebody to challenge him, was afraid that nobody would challenge him. "So…" he gave the axe a careless flick and everybody ducked.

It landed, with a heavy thump, on the grass beside Stoick, who picked it up again and twirled it a little around his hand, waiting for Alvin's decree.

"I guess I was wrong," Alvin shrugged his thick shoulders. "I assumed a fight wasn't what you wanted, Stoick."

"I'm more like you than I would have thought, Alvin," Stoick retorted coldly and I sensed a dark and bloody history between the two Viking chieftains – I could tell by the stiff set of Stoick's jaw that he'd come across Alvin once before.

I waited for Alvin's next move.

"Very well." Alvin smiled smoothly and easily. "I suppose if a fight is what you want, then a fight is what you'll get."

"Pleasure," Stoick replied grimly, his dominant hand tight on the hilt of his sword, his non-dominant one even tighter on the axe.

Alvin's smile widened and, as it did, I thought I caught a hint of malice in it and I knew something was very, very wrong. I knew by his glittering, dark brown eyes that he planned some form of treachery of the lowest kind.

I opened my mouth to shout a warning to Stoick, but before I could, Alvin had grunted to Savage, who stood at his side, "Take him."

The world was a dizzying blur as Savage spun me around in his arms and, next second, a knife was at my throat.

I couldn't really breathe, much less warn Stoick about anything Alvin might be planning.

Savage must've heard my wheezing gasps, because his grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly, restricting my breathing even more and making it painful to swallow.

I thought I knew what that was about. Alvin had taught me when I was much, much younger that if you could hear your victim breathing while your hands were pressed against his throat, your grip wasn't tight enough.

I struggled to draw breath as everybody else watched Stoick and Alvin transfixed.

The two chieftains stood eye-to-eye, silently daring each other to come nearer. They must've agreed to fight each other, because Stoick drew his sword with a swish. "My conditions," he began icily, "are that you leave the people of Berk forever alone and in peace if I succeed. And that includes Hiccup." His gray eyes flashed.

Alvin's nasty smile widened; maybe he sensed something more in what Stoick had said, but I dared not hope. "Reasonable ideas," he said quietly, stroking his beard thoughtfully with his fingers. "Although, I admit, I'm surprised by you, Stoick. Do you include this boy in your village, even after branding him a traitor?" he gestured casually to me.

There was a pause.

Stoick's eyes flicked over to me, Savage clutching a chunk of my hair painfully, knife at my throat. I swallowed uncomfortably.

I thought I saw something warm in Stoick's eyes, unlike the affection he'd been displaying for these past few months; it was pity.

Normally, I would hate it when somebody pitied me, but his felt understanding, not irritating or condescending.

Then he broke eye contact with me and turned back to Alvin. "My conditions are my conditions, regardless of whether he is a Viking of Berk or not."

Alvin smiled mockingly. "Of course." He drew his own sword, a rusty, blackened weapon. "Now, if I succeed," he began, eyes glittering with menace, "Berk becomes my conquer."

Stoick's face was tight. He nodded wordlessly.

"As," Alvin grinned, "is Hiccup."

He didn't need to say that, if Stoick lost, the sword fight would end in death for him, but then, he didn't need to.

The circles under Stoick's eyes seemed to deepen slightly. He nodded again.

He tightened his grip on his sword. A thousand unspoken words passed between the two chieftains.

And then Alvin swung his sword.