I have to confess. Most of what happens in this chapter just... happened. I planned very little of it, and I've been tipsy through most of the progress (or... well, I've been drinking, but it takes quite a lot to get me drunk...) And afterwards I realize that all I've written makes perfect sense and builds to the point I aim for without much of my conscious involvement. So even though it's short, I hope you enjoy it :D

Decisions

Outside the inn at the heart of Berk the sky was crying frozen tears and the wind was howling. Common late October weather. Normally the bar at the inn would be filled with drunken laugher, loud bets and cheers, but tonight was different. Flynn already had a feeling people were getting nervous around the village. He'd heard all the rumours from his costumers as well as the three men he'd invited in two nights ago, but he'd underestimated how badly the pre-dragon-age folks would take the disappearance of Jackson Overland.

It reopened old wounds it seemed. Wounds that run deep. Thorston ran around like headless chicken every time he lost sight of his daughter or she forgot to tell him where she was going. Old Stoick moved around the village a lot more, offering support in the form of a strong figure and a reminder of what his son had once said; "We need to keep calm and think first in the face of a crisis."

There were whispers of admiration and several quiet cheers for Stoick at the inn. Flynn heard it was because there were people who had lost less than Stoick and were too devastated to live on.

If he had to be honest, at least to himself, Flynn too admired the chief. Especially when he'd caught the man stagger and look to the sky with an expression as if he was about to fall apart, but then squared his shoulders and regained the confidence and pride in his gait.

"You never liked that boy."

The quiet words were laced with cold bitterness and came from none other than Elsa Arendelle, obviously here to collect her father. She wasn't even looking at Flynn, just glaring at the dimly lit dining area and its subdued mood.

"Quite the contrary, most fair one, I always thought Jackson was a breath of fresh air," Flynn said, putting as much timbre in his voice as he could, knowing how much of a turn-on it was for the prim woman. Even now he could see how the hairs on her neck lifted.

The man left with another round of beer to deliver to a group of both men and women whispering vividly. They were questioning an order Stoick had given earlier that day. The order not to bother the toymaker. Not question the Overland elder.

Flynn smiled as charmingly as he could at the people and handed them their drinks before heading back to the bar where Elsa still stood.

"Can I get you something?"

"No," the woman said, still refusing to look at Flynn. Not that it was much of a loss for the man; Elsa was more work than she was worth. Like right now when she was doing her ice queen act as if Flynn was supposed to feel bad about something. He'd seen it was highly effective on other suitors though.

"Where is he?"

That had Flynn look up. Elsa still wasn't looking at him and her words were quiet but the accusation clear.

So she wanted to play that game, huh?

"I light a candle each night hoping he's safe and sound," Flynn whispered with sincerity.

"You know where he is."

Flynn walked around the bar and stood over Elsa, leaning in so she could see his face was free from any humour. "If I did, I would take a horse and go fetch him." He stood back, a smirk on his face under a gaze that was even colder than Elsa's. "Now, I believe your father's had one too many."

The woman glared at him, glanced at the restaurant and the innkeeper who still stood in front of her, a subtle show of power.

The woman reluctantly submitted and walked around Flynn.

The innkeeper watched her. He'd told her the naked truth she didn't want. His words and the truth of it would keep his image safe no matter what public accusations Elsa might throw at him. She really couldn't swallow the fact she wasn't the only woman in his life, or that all the other women knew about it.

Still, she had made Flynn wonder. He was probably the only one who had gone to talk to North and actually gotten some sort of answer, no matter how incoherent.

Everyone was terrified of the forest in the north east direction.

"That's where the dragons headed," an elderly man had said.

To be feared was to be respected, and there were few things that gave Pitch Black pleasure quite like seeing fear spread like a disease. The Overland son was gone, which was a shame really, but the toymaker was back and rumours said the old man was going insane after going into the woods of the north east. The Thorston daughter was the one who took care of the animals these days, worrying her father when she took too long.

Pitch walked down the main street, head held high, and enjoyed how people who had once shoved and ridiculed him were now stepping aside, eyes downcast as Pitch passed them.

There were only two people who wouldn't, and one of them was just up ahead.

The old chief looked straight into Pitch's eyes, superiority shining through like light from a candle.

"Taking a stroll, Black?"

"Oh, you know. I sensed the atmosphere and came looking for the one who died," the gravedigger spoke smoothly.

"Nobody has died," Stoick stated calmly.

Pitch waited for the elder to say something more, but he just stood there, looking somewhat expectant. When Pitch finally realized why that was, he had to fight down a wave of hateful rage.

"I see, then I have no business within the village," he said between his teeth and stepped aside, letting the chief through. Everybody else did that willingly. Everybody else sought and found comfort in Stoick the Vast, and they showed him respect Pitch thought the man had never deserved.

Chief. That's what they were bowing down to, not the man. But Stoick was getting old. Pitch would dig his grave one day, and that day these people wouldn't have anyone they viewed as a leader. Except for Flynn Rider. Rider was a strong candidate for leadership, and despite his love for mischief and drama and his mean streak that had gotten two men unjustly killed in the past, people would turn and bow their heads to Flynn would he ever step up that game.

It turned Pitch's stomach to think about it.

Three days had past. Three days where Jack hadn't side hide or hair of the dragon and nobody would answer where he was or what had happened to him. So Jack was taking refuge in the library where Fishlegs often kept him company. What Gobber had once said about him being a walking encyclopaedia had not been an understatement. The book could talk forever if you opened the right topic and Jack marvelled at some of the things he was told.

Fishlegs told him about dragons; their classes and states and hierarchy. Something about a beehive mind with a queen that controls the workers and an alpha that takes care of and protects everyone. Jack wasn't too sure if he really understood anything by the end of the day.

Fishlegs also talked at length about flowers. Jack had tried to listen to that, not having forgotten about the blue rose in the west wing, but the book lost him about two flowers in, and any rose he mentioned was lost in context. Jack didn't dare asking either in case Fishlegs would clam up and stop talking.

Tooth Fairy, the dresser in his room, talked to him in the mornings and evenings and Ida seemed to have opened up, greeting him with a smile every time he entered the kitchen for food. Tuffnut too appeared to be getting used to his presence and his own relationship to Jack as a cup the teen was drinking from. Jack still carefully checked each and every one of the forks and knives and spoons he was given to use to eat to make sure none of them would talk to or look at him.

Gobber was the same as before, a little stand-offish but talked when he was talked to, cracking the odd macabre joke about his fellow objects that Jack tried not to laugh at.

It should be enough. Jack did truly feel more and more at ease with the people of the castle, even if he still startled when someone talked to him that he hadn't realized was there. It should be enough for the empty loneliness to go away.

But the dragon wasn't there.

And there were others. The armours around the hallways were looking at him, hands falling from the knob to the hilts of their weapons. There were bouts of tense silences in places where Jack guessed objects were hiding from him. The Bunny vase Jack hadn't seen since he brought Hiccup back when he got wounded by the bear. Astrid the candlestick was quiet most of the time, standing around in the kitchen or sitting room, and every time Jack tried to talk to her, he received this long, icy stare before she answered.

Jack missed the dragon.

It was madness, but on the evening of the third day of not seeing the master Jack had to admit it. At least to himself. Hiccup was different from everyone else. Jack found himself drawn to him ever since he'd saved Jack from the bear… no, that was a lie. Ever since Jack realized Hiccup was the only "living" creature in the castle, his heart had reached out for the beast. Jack wasn't sure if this was a healthy reaction, but he sure as hell knew that the living conditions of the inhabitants of this castle and the situation they were in was ten times worse.

Looking up from the book Jack had placed on his lap, fully intending to read only for his thoughts to distract him, the teen realized Tooth was looking curiously at him.

Oh right. They'd been in the middle of a conversation.

"Hey, Tooth. What do you… do during the day?" Jack asked.

"I'm a dresser. I stand here," she said slowly.

Her eyes had gone sad, even though she still appeared to be smiling.

"Why don't you… go out? You know? To hang with the others?"

The dresser looked away, staring at the opposite wall without seeing it. "A lot of terrible things have befallen us since we came here. I heard you've been to the west wing? I've been told that's where Master keeps the remains of those of us who have died."

Cold filled Jack's core, fearing where this was going.

"Some broke themselves, unable to accept this fate. But others…" a tear rolled down the wood, "others were protecting Master until there was nothing but splinters left."

The cold was now ice, a horrible realization coming to the forefront of Jack's mind. "The people who have come before me," he whispered. "They've tried to kill Hiccup."

It wasn't a question, and Tooth didn't pretend it was. She just closed her eyes and settled against the wall.

"My daughter was brave. She protected Master. I didn't know who to hate, so I locked myself up in this room."

The human stared at the cover of the book on his legs. It was the one with the frightening goat monster hovering above a couple of children. A guardian of childhood, Hiccup had said. An angel that looked a lot more like a demon. The irony was painful. Jack knew that if he were to read this book, he'd find people drawing the same conclusion he'd first done with the dragon; that this was a monster out to hurt him.

And that would turn the humans into monsters instead.

"Hey Tooth. What would happen if we manage to break the curse. Everyone who have died…"

"They are dead," Tooth said firmly. "Don't even pretend it's possible to save them now. People don't come back from the dead, and that's better than thinking they will and blame the curse and then curse Master when that doesn't happen."

Jack swallowed. He didn't understand, not really, but Tooth sounded sure of herself. The teen supposed that when you've watched people die enough times and cried enough tears over the fact that they were gone, you'd come up with ways to live with it, excuses that made accepting it a little easier to bear.

"Does all of you really care that much about Hiccup?"

Tooth was quiet for a minute. The only hint that she was even considering to answer was that she'd opened her eyes again.

"His curse is worse than ours," she said at length. "We'll die, but he must always live."

Why did this curse have to get worse the more Jack learned about it?! He threw himself back on the bed and rubbed his hands roughly over his face, groaning all the while. He couldn't take it anymore! This place was so full of grief and pain and blast the curse to hell! Jack had to do something. He had to do something! Anything would be better than sitting here being useless to break the curse.

"We should have a party!"

"Huh?"

Jack sat up and looked firmly at the flabbergasted dresser. "All of us should leave our troubles by the door and have just one night of fun! Dancing and singing and eating!"

"I… don't eat," Tooth said.

"You know what I mean!" Jack cried and threw his hands in the air. "In the morning, I'll go find Master Dragon and drag his sorry tail and everyone else to… there has to be a room for parties in here somewhere!"

Tooth was blinking owlishly with eyes that were so wide Jack could see all of her iris.

"There… might be?" she said, but it sounded like a question and she was shrugging at the same time.

"Perfect! Then I'm going to sleep. See you in the morning."

Sitting in his house, every lantern and candle and the fireplace lit, North sat at his table. He was waiting. Waiting for the door to open and Jack to come inside, smirk in place and the story of how he cleverly killed the dragon and escaped ready to be told.

How long had it been? Why had this even happened?

For his inner eye North saw the shadow of the dragon come at him in the short-lived light of the lightning. He saw gleaming white teeth and a roar and several cries filled the air as the entire hallway suddenly came to life. Again he felt the monster ram into him and push him down into the floor, roaring a mix of thunder and a shrill whistle.

What was that devil doing with Jack right now?

It didn't matter how many layers of clothing North wore, his insides were still ice as he thought of his son trapped in that cold tower with nothing to do but wait and wonder.

Firm knockings startled the old toymaker from his train of thought. At first he thought it might be Jack, but he wouldn't knock.

"North! This is Stoick. Please open the door."

The chief. The toymaker slowly stood and walked over to the door, opening it without a second thought.

The chief stepped inside sideways, his broad shoulders too wide for most doorways in Berk. His blue green eyes were kind but firm as they looked at North.

"How long will it take you to pick yourself up?"

The words cut into North. This was Stoick, the person who had also lost his wife and son. But there was a difference; Stoick's loved ones were dead and gone. North's wife and daughter lived in Burgess and Jack…

"I know it hurts," Stoick said when the other man failed to answer. "I know how much it takes to rise above the grief. But let me tell you this; every single one you have lost will cry tears of blood if they saw you now."

"He's holding Jack captive!" North cried. "Jack traded his life for mine and now he's sitting in that cold cell!"

"LISTEN TO ME!"

Stoick's booming voice filled the room and North was startled out of himself. Suddenly he was in his own home with the chief the only one there.

"Either you bury yourself and die in your grief!" Stoick went on harshly, then his face softened slightly. "Or you take your pain and live with it like the rest of us. My son isn't dead either. He disappeared, but that doesn't mean he's dead. I need to be here the day he returns. What do you want Jack to find when he comes home?"

North stared at the chief of this village. This place Jack had hated. Stoick was someone who had also been a single parent. He'd probably faced the same problems and hardships and joys.

North backed away, sat at his table and started crying.

Stoick appeared to ignore him as he headed further into the house. He found the kitchen and opened the pantry. There wasn't much there, but the old chief was still man enough to cook up something decent and placed it before the weeping man by the table.

"I'm not going to tell you to eat, North," Stoick said. "You're a grown man; you make your own decisions. But I don't want to tell Jack about your demise when he comes home."

Then he walked out of the house and closed the door behind him.

North's mind was still clear. He just needed to cry out the stress. Jack deserved better. The boy was probably sitting in that tower, waiting.

And North would come for him.

Whatever kind of food the chief had made, North ate it all and all of a sudden he realized how hungry he was. He needed more. He needed the strength it provided. Because North was going back down that road and find the castle and bring his son home.

May I ask for your opinion, dear reader? I had originally planned for this to not be a explict romance story. but all things considered, I don't really mind that outcome either. I still would like to ask if you want this to end with a scene between Hiccup and Jack as a couple, or just a pair of very special friends?
Either way, I hope you enjoy the story.
All my love/Mjus