Shatterpoint - Chapter Two

Hiccup felt miserable. It was cold, his hands were still bloody, and he had nicked himself when he peeled a bit of the bark from the branches to tie them together. All of that did not make it easier to drag his makeshift pack frame through woods up and down every hill and damn… was it heavy. Not that he had expected otherwise; the head of the Nightfury was as big and heavy as his torso, if not more so.

At least he had been on a forest path for that past half an hour, which was flat and broad enough to drag logs out of the forest to the sawmill to produce planks and building material. He was able now to make some headway and he was not troubled anymore if he would reach the village before dusk. That would have been nightmarish.

He still could not really grasp what had happened just a few hours ago slightly past midday. Not only had it turned out that he had actually hit the dragon, but he had also finished it. A Nightfury head was on his rack. A Nightfury head. Hiccup could now more than ever understand why nobody had believed his tale. It would have been a grand story to spin for more seasoned men and women. Nobody else had done it before except him now. Everything would change now, of that Hiccup was sure.

Stoick, his father, would finally see that he was of use. That he was not unable past anything that was work in the forge. Even the villagers might excuse his past clumsiness and the damages he had caused in his valiant attempts to proof himself though they had felt more often than not. They had to recognize him now. He was just as much of a viking as they were.

Maybe even Astrid would notice him.

"There you are Hiccup", the loud and commanding voice of Spitelout greeted Hiccup at the entrance to the lower part of the village just a minute of the square with the forge right next to it.

"Gobber gave you two hours off work, and you vanish for seven. There was work to do and not just for you. What was so important in the woods, that you…", Spitelouts face went slack, and a bewildered look entered his face as he had walked past Hiccup to inspect what the boy had dragged from the forest.

"That's a Nightfuries head, thought that was rather important."

All Spitelout did was look at him, blink and turn his view back onto his load.

"Don't take the piss out of me boy…"

"What would you consider it to be then?", Hiccup threw back slightly annoyed as the strain of the day began to show.

"…"

"Yeah, had that stage too before I realized what it was. Was way more alive back then though." And that did it. Spitelout snapped out of his stupor and looked Hiccup back in his face.

"You wanna make me believe, that you, Hiccup, the slenderest of fishbones and clumsiest of trolls took out that… whatever that is?"

"Nightfury, sir."

"I repeat boy, do not take the piss out of me!"

"I am NOT! I shot it down during the night of the last raid. Afterall, it happened exactly as I told everybody."

"Do not start yelling at me there boy."

"But it happened like that."

And as the situation grew more intense and smidge louder with every sentenced exchanged the other villagers became interested in what was happening. So in front of a group which had taken the courage to walk up to them now that the smith of the village had heard that his apprentice had returned from the forest, started to form a half circle in front of Hiccup.

"What'cha doin' screaming here at my apprentice Spitelout? He is late, but not scream-worthy late?"

"I wasn't screaming, I was yealling! And you would be yelling, too. Just look at what the boy dares to present here!"

And on that note the collective view of the now rather small grape of villagers, that was slowly starting to grow, came upon what was placed on the rack behind Hiccup. And immediately the whispering started.

"Is that…?"

"No, it can't be."

*blink blink* "By Odin's beard…"

The situation was starting to fully grip Hiccup now. Couldn't they see? And damn was this rack with the head starting to get heavy.

"Hiccup?", Gobber asked, not looking at him. Still focused on the nightfury's head behind him. "Please, explain yah'self."

"That's a head of a nightfury. The one that I shot down with my bolas-thrower during the last raid. Just as I told everybody. It went down a bit behind Ravenpoint."

Gobber just looked at him baffled and slightly astonished.

"So, you cut off the head of the dead dragon?", threw his uncle Spitelout in from the side.

"It wasn't dead. Thought so at first though."

"Yah cut off da head from a living dragon?! Hiccup that co…", Gobber began to start raising his voice.

"I know, I know! Really, it kicked me after I cut its throat. The ropes of the bolas held tight though.", Hiccup hastily explained.

Silence entered the square. Which was only interrupted, when new villagers came to the scene and wanted to know what all the squabbling was about. It was a lot to take in.

"I don' even know what your father is gonna say about that one lad.", Gobber said after a short moment of contemplation.

"He's a goddamn Viking! That is what he will say. His son killed what was never even seen before and has terrorized us already in our grandfathers' times!", cut in the determined voice of Spitelout. "He will be damn proud. I know that I would be."

That might have just been the nicest thing that Spitelout had ever said to Hiccup since he had been a child and not a total disappointment. Not that they talked that often. The looks were generally telling enough. Hope and pride bloomed in Hiccups chest just as his arms slowly started to give out. The work in the smith might have done enough to build some muscle and enabled him to drag the rack this far, but his limit was now reached.

With a clatter the rack hit the ground.

"Let me take that for you Hiccup", the broad frame of Fishlegs Ingermann said from beside Hiccup having been previously gone unnoticed.

"Aye let him Hiccup. Come ova here, I believe you gotta tell your father what you did and there is no time like the present."

Gobbers big arm wrapped around Hiccups shoulders, and they started the way towards the upper part of the village with the retinue of Vikings growing by the minute.

Stoick was a busy man, and a busy man was regularly also stressed. Such was – is – the life of a chieftain of a viking tribe in one of the most desolate regions known to man. If it was not his own tribe that needed to be cared for there were always the neighboring tribes to count for making a ruckus for what were the limited resources of the region. Plunder Runs were not really worth the risk, if someone had been there before you after all.

And if that was not what would weigh on Stoicks mind there were still the pests.

Living from what the sea gave you and the sparse plots of arable land on Berk was not made easier by regularly arriving raids of hordes of dragons who took everything that they could into their claws and wasn't bolted to the ground.

But today it was nothing of that. No today it was what was on his mind every second day of the week. Just two days ago Hiccup had sabotaged, unwillingly at that, the valiant efforts of the tribe to minimize the damage of the latest raid. He loved his son, but two left feet coupled with the burning passion to prove his use usually ended in the Hooligans missing a bunch off cattle or in the easier to bear cases just a few nerves.

And as reliable as the return of the flood was that Hiccup had done it today. What should have been a well-deserved rest, forging hundreds of flawless nails and other required steel-parts qualified you for that, he had gone off again. Gobber alone in the forge with loads of still unfinished work.

He did not know what to do with the boy. He did not understand him. Always running off to do Gods knows what. Eight years ago, it had been the search for trolls, but in later years he turned his efforts to more potentially damaging projects. The bolas-thrower being just the latest of his contraptions to partake in the defense of the tribe. Projects that unfortunately, but regularly only seemed to be good for some collateral damage in the village.

That not being enough for the matter, there were always those outrageous claims of his. Stoick had not raised a liar, but the claim of his after the latest raid to have shot down a nightfury had cut off Stoicks patience then and there for the day. It was the drop in the bucket that made the bucket spill over.

Stoick loved Hiccup, but the disappointment he felt in that moment was not something he could contain within himself. The hurt look on his sons face had spoken of how severe he must had looked. He would try to make amends with him soon, but for the moment Hiccup needed to understand that this continued behavior would not be further tolerated.

At least that was Stoicks decision, before Hiccup had run off again. He had wanted to open up to Hiccup the possibility of him participating in the next round of dragon training as a reward for continued good behavior. Something that Hiccup always had anticipated. Something that Stoick always held off on as he did not want to endanger him but coupled with the situation at hand and the boy growing older it was time.

Stoick was at an impasse. He did not know what to do.

Noise outside his house snapped Stoick from his thoughts. Chieftains never rest and like all things in life, Stoick would take it head on.

As Stoick put his feet past the threshold of his house he could see what was causing the ruckus. Mentally he slapped his hands before his eyes as he basically saw what might just be the whole village gathered behind his brother Spitelout and his friend Gobber. And just between the two was the rather narrow form of his son. The place in front of the house was packed to the brim and not a single spec of earth was visible.

What did he do again?

This was the greatest gathering his son most likely was the cause of in his still short life and Stoick dreaded what all his people were here for. There attention seemed to be solely directed towards his with a few switching toward him as they approached the residence of their current and future chief.

If Hiccup did not fuck up too badly at that.

Interestingly enough there were not many disgruntled faces in the crowd. Or non at all? Stoicks interest was spiked and with that he rose to speak.

"Brother, what is the meaning of this? Last I recall that we had spoken of everything necessary after the raid in the great hall."

"Something unprecedented has accrued, something that should best be explained by your son."

Stoick look locked onto his son's face. It did seem a tad ashamed, but not in a way that could be described in what would normally be accompanied by a downtrodden demeanor. His look was averted, and one hand grabbed the wrist of the other arm – was that blood on both of his sleeves and wrists? Stoick made his way down the small hill down to the square towards his son. Worry showed on his face.

"What happened Hiccup? What did you do?", commanded Stoicks voice clearly heard all over the square with the last bit being spoken quitter. Slightly accusing in tone.

"Accusations ar' not wha' we need now, and I believe they won't be needed.", Gobber interfered, before Hiccup could answer his father.

"It is alright Gobber. I tell him.", Hiccup spoke in Gobbers direction. Next, in his father's direction and barely audible.

"I shot down, kil- a ni-ry and brought -ad back to -ve it."

"Hiccup, please, speak clearly. I won't ask again."

Hiccup visible straightened and determination entered his gaze. Something that was rarely seen and reinforced the importance of what Hiccup said next, more clearly and understandable to everyone gathered.

"I shot down and killed a nightfury, father. I brought its head back to prove it."

"I told you I have no time for …."

"Stoick! Stop it. I understan' were yah are coming from, but take a look at this, before!", and with that Gobber pointed to Fishlegs, who had stood slightly behind Gobber, to walk towards the front. Stoicks looked towards the boy in confusion. As the young Ingermann moved forward and slightly turned towards the sight it became apparent that the boy was dragging a rack behind him. But that was not what made Stoicks eyes fly wide open as he gave a somewhat undignified impression of a gaping fish.

There on the back of the makeshift rack lay a black head, but not just any head. It was the smoothly scaled pitch-black head of what could only be something Stoick could a imagine a nightfury head would look like.

"I did not lie, father.", said the quite voice of his son from his side after a moment. "I shot one down."

Disbelief filled Stoicks mind. His son's contraption had shot down what many Vikings believed to be a myth. Something that was of the gods to know about. But there it was for all to see. Undeniable prove that Hiccup had done what he had claimed. Stoick drew back from his inspection he had given the head and turned towards his son.

"You shot down a nightfury and cut off its head for all to see?", Stoick asked. His voice carrying over the whispering crowd. The whispering fell away to complete silence, only the questioning: "As if.", of Snotlout was to hear for a moment

"I did, father."

Disbelief vanished and was replaced by pride as Stoick surged forward and grabbed his son in an all-enveloping hug, that only a bear could attempt to imitate. Hiccups form was still and ramrod straight in his fathers' arms. It took him a moment to meld into his fathers embrace. And beyond that the villagers started to voice their curiosity and disbelief. As the voices grew louder Stoick broke the embrace and packed Hiccup, who was positively glowing now, under his left arm and indicated Gobber and Spitelout to take the nightfury's head and lift it up for everyone to see.

The moment both adult Vikings had walked up the small hill a bit and lifted the dragons head above their, Stoick grabbed Hiccup and lifted him up to sit on top of his incredibly broad shoulder and his voice boomed over the square:

"Look at this my fellow Hooligans, my tribesmen, the head of a nightfury. I couldn't believe it, just like you. But here it is now, the undeniable proof that my son Hiccup has done what he has claimed. He shot down and killed a Nightfury!"

What was whispers of disbelief beforehand turned into rambunctious cheering at the presentation of the dragon's head. A myth had been slain.

For other men it would have been an impossible deed, but Stoicks voice branded over the roaring crowd:

"Tonight, we will feast! The nightfury has been slain. Tonight, we honor my son, Hiccup. The man who shot the terrible darkness down not just at any time of day, but during the night!"

AN: I felt motivated by the numerous views to directly continue the story. Especially after my brother brought it to my attention how many new and unique perspectives this new path opens up currently unexplored by fanfictions. Dragon raids, the red death, Drago and Valka become so much more of an interesting matter.

As the last time. Please leave a review! I would be delighted to hear, if my writing is up to par and if my content spikes your interest.