First, thank you all for sticking with my slow posts. I'll try to speed things up. Life has been a bit crazy lately...

I appreciate all the reviews, it helps me gauge how I'm doing.

A sincere thanks goes to HMP for pointing out the "stream of consciousness" technique of writing. It's really interesting, and I'd definitely like to try it since it links the reader to the character.

I tried to write using the stream of consciousness method just a couple times in this chapter to try it out. Let me know if I really screwed it up. I'll try to do that more in later chapters. It's actually a very good tool to suck the reader into the thoughts of the character. :-)

Listen, I just wanted to thank everyone who's tried to help me improve my writing. The suggestions are appreciated and I'm very grateful. I hope to someday write something original on my own, and the only way I can do that is to make sure I can please the reader. So... practice, practice, practice :-)

I realized one thing I'm doing wrong, and I'll try to fix that. I'm being very linear in my story telling. Everything is happening over a couple of days right now, and good stories usually take a longer timescale. I have a plot in mind, so I'm kind of trapped because I centered everything around Winterfyllith. I might not be able to incorporate a longer timeframe this time around, but I'm going to try to rework things a bit.

I also didn't describe the physical appearance of many of the characters well. For example, I never mentioned Gobber's pegged leg, or hooked arm. Things I should have set up early in the first couple chapters. Oh well... it's all a learning experience.

If I fall short on character descriptions, or lack good visual descriptions of the areas, let me know. I want you to see what I see in my head, but I think I'm still missing the mark.

Again, so sorry for the newbie problems. Thanks for sticking with me.

I lost my beta reader so the spelling and grammar might be crappy from now on... I'll do my best :-)

I'm rating this chapter "M" for offensive language.

LAST WARNING: Buckle up Buttercup... yeah... I got nothing for this chapter. Running out of buttercup sayings. Honestly, I never thought I'd get this far. I assumed I'd be laughed out of the fandom by now.

Chapter 10:

Stoick's face was twisted into a defiant scowl, his bushy eyebrows knitted together in a tangle of fury as he strut silently down the long road toward the village square. His balled hands swung like great opposing pendulums as jagged nails dug deeply into the sensitive flesh of his palms, leaving a pattern of blood filled half-moon wounds. His footsteps fell heavily, crunching the loose stone beneath his massive body now rigid with commanding authority. His mind, clouded and pensive, slowly drank in every word of his companion's incessant chatter, processing the information as he walked.

The Chief's stern face expressed little emotion as the smithy's words devolved into a constant stream of thoughts. Jumbled words spilled quickly from dry, chapped lips as Gobber painstaking summarized every detail concerning the fire at the forge - throwing in his personal opinions for good measure. The flash of a small eye-twitch in the Chief's strong face was the only indication his battle brother's story was heard. The opposing versions clashed in Stoick's subconscious as he strode toward the village square, his jaw clenching tight, teeth gnashing together as he wrestled internally to reconcile the reports.

After a long, drawn-in breath hissed through clenched teeth, Stoick threw up his hand, abruptly cutting-off the non-stop stream-of-consciousness spewed by his friend. "I want to see the forge." He exhaled breathlessly.

"You said Hiccup had been hurt. Explain. Now." The leader's voice darkened dangerously with each raspy word. Roughly grabbing Gobber's arm, Stoick quickly changed direction toward the edge of the village square, dragging the reluctant smithy along.

Two thin grey pillars of smoke from the smoldering forge were visible as twirling wisps of blackened color, rising in the distance. The tops of the grey, swirling columns were dissipated quickly by the strong easterly breeze that brushed past the trudging duo. Quickening his long stride, Stoick quickly pulled the smithy close to his side, half-leading, half-dragging the chattering man toward the partially burnt structure.

Pulling himself free from Stoick's grip, the blonde Viking rubbed the finger-shaped bruises he was sure now marked his forearm. Bristling with annoyance he fell into step aside his friend. "I'm coming, I'm coming, don't get your undies in a bunch..." A small, annoyed grunt made Gobber immediately regret his flippant remark. Stoick the Vast was never to be trifled with when dealing with issues concerning Hiccup.

Tugging slightly as he ran his hand down his long, braided mustache, Gobber picked up the story where he'd left off. "Well, it seems the lad got some nasty burns. Nothing major to worry about, mind you. I fixed him up, good as new." Gobber's casual tone did little to hide his concern for Hiccup, nor his annoyance at being being man-handled by the Chief.

"He looked in far worse shape at your house just now. Did he happen to mention who re-arranged his face for him? That was quite some impressive body work he had done too. Any idea who did that?" Gobber asked cautiously, throwing a side glance to the Chief who continued staring forward as they marched.

"No, Gobber, he didn't. Nor did I ask." Stoick said harshly. "We're Vikings. Getting into brawls is an occupational hazard. It's not something to be babied. You know that as well as I do." Stoick huffed, eyes giving only a fleeting glance toward his traveling companion.

"Yeah, but you have to admit, the lad was in pretty banged-up shape. Or didn't you care to notice..." Pausing briefly to mockingly finish," ... Oh mighty and fearless leader?" Bobbing his head from side-to-side as he spoke, his pitch raised.

Stoick stopped abruptly, rounding on his friend, body tensed as if preparing for a fierce battle. His feet suddenly rooted where he stood, almost becoming a part of the soft, muddied Earth. A strange mix of blood-boiling fury and guilt started pulsing through his veins. After the initial shock, he suddenly charged his crass, opinionated right-hand man, flailing his arms angrily and shouting, "Of course I noticed! What are you implying?"

Puzzled by his uncharacteristically emotional friend, Gobber raised an questioning eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest and quipped, almost amused, "Hit a nerve did I?" The curt remark produced a caustic glare from the chief as the two men stood motionless on the quiet road.

The silence was deafening. Their angry locked eyes stared unblinking, each daring the other to speak. The closeness of the heavy air weighed heavily on their tongues, coating their throats, forcing each to swallow hard. Muscles twitched as buzzing insects flitting about their sweat-drenched faces, the rapid beating of their small wings echoing in their ears like a battle cry.

Finally relenting, Gobber took pity on his befuddled friend. With slumping shoulders and rolling eyes, he huffed out an annoyed sigh. Deciding it was time to properly educate the Hooligan leader in the fine art of parenting, he barked annoyed, "Look..." Shifting his weight awkwardly onto one leg, hand on hip, he blurted, "... the lad thinks you don't much care for him... I'm just sayin'," shaking his head at the now very surprised chief.

Seeing further confusion in the Chief's face, Gobber face-palmed. Slowly dragging his gnarled hand downward in frustration, he exhaled loudly. "Oh, dear sweet Odin! I'm gonna have to spell this out for you, aren't I?" The large smithy huffed, exasperated.

Looking at the Chief disapprovingly from beneath furrowed brows, he quickly threw up his left hand, palm side up, fingers curled as if weighing a thought. "So ya got the lad here thinking he isn't nothing to you but a problem and a pain in the rear."

Raising his right hand in the same cupped fashion, he weighed his next thought equally. "Then you got you, you know, you ignoring a serious ass-kicking."

Exaggerating a tilt in his arms, Gobber jerked his hands up and down mimicking an unsteady beamscale until his left hand was far below his right. "Do ya get it now, old dense and clueless one?" the tone more accusatory than questioning.

Scanning Stoick's face for an inkling of understanding and coming up empty, he once again rolled his eyes before continuing in a softened voice. "Ya see... completely ignoring a serious ass-kicking doesn't go a long way in changing that belief. You know, the one that says you don't give a yak's ass."

Exhausted from his emotional battle with the hopelessly clueless, the blacksmith sighed heavily and layed both hands nobly upon Stoick's shoulders. "Stoick..." he said softly, waiting for the Chief's tired blue eyes to meet his. "... Did ya ever think the lad needs attention on occasion?" Scanning his friends face for understanding, he continued. "He's only a thirteen year old boy, and a scrawny one at that. He needs a father. He needs you." The Chief's eyes widened with understanding, but he remained silent, hiding all weakness.

A small, sad half-smile crossed the blonde Viking's face. "I'm a poor substitute." He offered softly.

"Although..." his eyebrows suddenly peaked, eyes and voice now playful with delight, "I'm a much better looking one than that sour-pussed, dragon-faced beast he has now... to be sure." A mocking smile breaking across his lips.

Brushing his friend's hands aside brusquely, Stoick turned, unable to face his friend. "I'm the Chief." Dropping his head he continued weakly, "There are certain expectations and obligations that go along with that position. Hiccup knows that." His voice was cold and dour.

Gobber's amusement evaporated instantly. Grabbing Stoick roughly by the shoulder he spun the large man, forcing him into a confrontation. Gobber's arms flailed as he spat annoyed, "No, he doesn't! All he knows is that his father ignores him."

Positioning himself only inches from the hulking Viking's face, Gobber almost pleaded. "You expect far too much from a little boy... Especially one without a Mum to pick up the slack when his bone-headed, asshat of a father fucks up." Stoick's eyes widened with anger.

Stepping backward a few steps, Gobber raised his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples soothingly, frustrated with his friend's lack of comprehension. "Listen..." his tone now calm and moderated, "I noticed some nasty bruises on the lad's arms when I was banding him up after the fire. These things are happening way to often, Stoick. You need to take notice. You need to do something before you lose him, like you did Val."

Stoick opened his mouth to vehemently protest, before closing it again in resignation, the cold hard look of his friend causing him to rethink his objections.

Satisfied his burly friend would remain mute, the Smithy continued dogmatically, ticking up fingers as he spoke. "He gets his ass whooped. Body burned. Goes missing for a month before having his scrawny ass dragged back to Berk half starved, all to prove to you he's Viking material, and you just turn a blind eye? Never a word of encouragement or praise. Only criticism." Gobber's anger rose as he energetically chastised the Hooligan leader.

Shaking his head, he questioned softly, "Are you trying to drive him away? Cause if you are, you're doing a bang-up job! And if you're not... well then..." He wagged a large finger at the chief, " clearly you're a bone-headed idiot! Nooooo questioning that." Stoick sighed but remained emotionless, his gaze slowly shifting to the ground like a scolded child, unable to meet Gobber's eyes. The mighty chief suddenly looked very small, his demeanor bordering on shame as his friend laid bare his parental shortcomings.

"You don't know what you're talking about... It's complicated." He said feebly, as if in explanation. "You're not the Chief. You don't have children. I wouldn't expect you to understand..." his voice trailing off weakly.

"Try me, oh large and hairy one..." Gobber pushed mockingly, a tinge of poorly veiled sarcasm in his tone. "You've never had trouble talking to me before. Why now?" His said irritated, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. "What... Yak got your tongue?"

"This isn't the time, Gobber." Stoick blustered, cutting his friend off as he threw his arms down by his sides in frustration. "I've got to reconcile the different reports about the fire."

"If what you mean by..." Gobber said calmly, pausing to make air-quotes with his chubby fingers, "... 'reconcile'... is actually throwing out the bullshit that snit of a brother of yours has been pitching and twistin', then I'm glad to help." Gobber crossed his arms and scrunched his face in a mock smile, while continuing to glare scathingly at the Chief.

"It wouldn't surprise me if that meathead, idiot brother of yours was sayin' the fire was all your boy's fault." Slightly turning his head aside, he frowned disapprovingly and growled. "The man has it in for the kid..."

Ostentatiously bowing in mock respect, he finished in a sickly sweet voice, "Or haven't you noticed... O' large and wise leader of the Hairy Hooligan tribe?"

Stoick slapped his face and grunted, dragging his hand slowly downward. Rolling his eyes, he exhaled, "And I thought Hiccup was sarcastic."

Desperately trying to suppress a smile, Gobber quipped, "Well, the lad gets it from me... I'm very proud to say. It's the one skill he excels at, by the way... I'm sure ya noticed." Smiling and shaking his head, Stoick began again walking toward the edge of the Village square, signaling with a head jerk for his friend to follow.

The two men silently entered the square, slowly picking their way through the growing crowd still busily preparing for the celebration. With curt head nods, or brief greetings, passers-by respectfully acknowledged the Chief, giving the two men a wide berth as they headed toward a small path at the far end.

Once on the outskirts of the square, Gobber shot his head back and forth, scanning the area. Grabbing the Chief's arm, he stopped him and locked eyes. "Listen, Stoick... we have far more important things to discuss than the fire," he said in a hushed whisper.

"Such as?" The Hooligan leader countered loudly and unemotionally, before starting to walk again, ignoring the warnings from the nervous smithy.

"Shhh..." hissed Gobber, waving his hands rapidly in an up-and-down motion, hushing his friend. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he reported in a harsh whisper, "Well, for one, that brother of yours has been spreading rumors. Bad ones..." The blonde Viking's eyes darted about, rechecking the vicinity for any stray villagers within earshot. "... All about how Hiccup is cursed, and if he's allowed to attend Winterfyllith, the spirits now peacefully asleep in their graves will become angry, rise, and bring a wrath only found in the depths of Hel to destroy the village."

He sarcastically finished in a high pitched tone, "Other than that, nothin' much..." Throwing a dismissive hand in the air, emphasizing the absurdity of his statement.

Stoick's brows suddenly knitted together. Stopping dead in his tracks, he jerked around and faced the shorter man. "That will never happen," he exhaled angrily, his eyes flashing with fury. "You know that as well as I do. It's pure rubbish. Who would believe such nonsense?" He boomed.

"Shhh..." Gobber hushed again, frantically waving his hands in the air. Grabbing his battle brother by the upper arm, he forcefully tugged him onward toward the forge. "Shut-it.." He urged, concerned.

Retaining his vice grip on the larger Viking's arm, Gobber whispered harshly into his ear, "Spitelout's managed to scare up quite a following of ignorant idiots." Again the smithy glanced about nervously as if expecting a sudden attack. Focusing back on Stoick, he whispered gruffly, "The talk going around is that you should be forced to ban Hiccup..." Gobber's grip unconsciously tightened as he growled, "Not just from the celebration, but from the village too."

Shaking his head disappointedly, Stoick mumbled, "I was afraid of this." His tone laced with an undercurrent of concern.

Halting, Gobber asked, "Wait... You knew?" A look of surprised shock flashed upon his leathered face. "... you knew, and you didn't tell me?" Stoick stopped a few paces ahead before turning to face his friend. His body slightly slumped from the heavy emotional weight of leadership. "Ok. Spill it. Now!" Gobber blurted demandingly.

Stoick let out an exasperated sigh, fixed his eyes on his friend, and spoke mechanically. "Spitelout came to see me earlier today. He was quite clear about how he felt about Hiccup and the festival." The cynical note was almost imperceptible, but not lost on his long-time friend.

"Aye... this is bad Stoick," the hairy smithy responded. "You know most of the village has it out for the lad anyway," he said stroking his braided beard thoughtfully. "We don't need some idiot causing trouble by riling them up even more."

"He's already twistin' what happened at the forge... gettin' people all worked up." Gobber began to pace nervously, "He's telling them that the fire was spat up straight from the bowls of Helheim as a warning. He's been telling them this is happening because of the curse of the runt."

Gobber rubbed the back of his neck with worry as he spoke. "I've never seen anyone who can lie like he does... it's practically a gift. And that snake of a son of his is pretty gifted in that area too."

The shorter man dropped his eyes, shaking his head in dismay before continuing, "I know for a fact, many are still loyal to you, even if they are less than thrilled with your son. But many aren't. This could spell big trouble. Like blood in the air for a dragon." Glancing up toward the Chief, Gobber realized Stoick's eyes reflected a great sadness. Something he'd never seen in his friend. Suddenly, something odd flashed across Stoick's face, an emotion Gobber couldn't quite read.

Clearing his throat, the Chief barked, "Let's go." All facial emotion now evaporated.

Walking side by side in silence, the two men finally reached the partially burnt forge. Stopping at the main entrance, Gobber busied himself with sorting damaged pieces of the structure into piles of usable material, while Stoick continued on, slowly circling the structure surveying the damage. Taking mental notes, the Hooligan Chief attempted to reconcile the two very different stories he'd been told using the physical evidence.

A glimmer in the soil caught Stoick's eye. Slowly kneeling, he brushed his hand through the gravely dirt and fine ash, gingerly moving aside the shreds of damp, damaged wood littering the ground looking for the initial cause of the blaze. With a disappointed exhale, he rubbed his hands together, brushing away the dirt and ash that clung to his palms. It was clear one person had been truthful.

Slowly rising, the Chief continued his inspections before finally joining his friend by the main door. Scowling, he exhaled in relief, "The fire wasn't caused by the fire in the pit. The location is wrong, and the fire burned far too hot initially." His head rose a bit as he swallowed with relief, "I conclude, negligence by Hiccup wasn't the cause."

"No shit. Isn't that what I've been trying to beat into your thick Viking skull for the last hour?" Gobber turned and spat annoyed, raising a finger and opening his mouth to say something before falling silent.

Stoick threw his companion a cross look before crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows, "Go ahead. Finish what you're thinking. Get it all out of your system."

Gobber gestured for Stoick to follow as he ambled to a nearby rock. Sitting, he placed his hands on his thighs for support and slouched, head bowed.

"Stoick, it's not my place to speak ill of your kin..." Gobber started off gently. "But Spitelout has had a terrible terror up his ass ever since Hiccup was born. And let me tell you, that beast has been biting the shit out of him this past year." He finished agitated.

"And that's not considered speaking ill of my kin!?" Stoick shot back growling, mouth wide open in disbelief as he shook his head in frustration.

"Now shut it and listen. This is for your own good, so stop interrupting you pig-headed boar." Gobber continued, before giving the Chief a cross look.

"Oh, and wipe that sour look off your puss." He scolded. "I'm telling you this stuff for your own good, ya damn idiot. Somebody's got to beat some sense into ya." The smithy exhaled annoyed. Looking up and tapping his chin with his index finger. "Now where was I..." he questioned himself before being abruptly cut off.

"If anyone else spoke to me like this, I'd have their head on a pike." Stoick threatened his longtime friend half-heartedly.

"I know, I know..." he waved his hands dismissively, "Now shut it and let me get this out already. You broke my train of thought again." Rolling is eyes, and scrunching his face, he searched for his last thought. "Ah..." he exhaled snapping his fingers, "... yeah..."

Suddenly a strange, grave look overtook Gobber's face. "I know extensive sea faring can be tough on a soul, but Spitelout hasn't been himself this past year." Sighing, the sitting Viking looked up, his eyes betraying his concern.

"He's even more restless and agitated now, after his return from his last trip. His behavior is affecting the tribe, Stoick. And not in a good way. You can't ignore the trouble brewing anymore. You'll have to act soon... kin or no."

Stoick's mouth opened and Gobber's hand shot quickly upward, his head cocking in annoyance as he silenced the budding protest from his agitated friend.

"And it's not just Spitelout, although he's the worst," Gobber huffed. "A few other Vikings you sent on long missions for food and trading have turned sour too. I think you expect too much from too few. Resentment is building. And the focus seems to be on you and the lad... well, mostly the lad."

"While I don't worry much about you..." the smithy said, wagging his calloused finger at the Chief. "... the wee lad is another story. If the state of his body today is any indication, then things have been getting much worse. It's affecting other families too." Gobber huffed, shifting his weight from one butt cheek to the other.

Grimacing when a sharp edged rock dug into no-man's land, he grunted, "Sending Kolson on those long missions was a mistake. How long has he been gone for now? Four months, maybe more?" Gobber looked down shaking his head. Looking up, he pointed his finger at Stoick, "Without a strong hand around, his son has turned into a little prick." With deep concern in his eyes, he dropped his hand and softly warned, "I can't stand the way that boy looks at Hiccup."

Shifting his body clumsily, he pushed himself forward and leaned toward the Chief, whispering harshly. "It's weird. It's not right. That boy's not right in the head. He's got a screw loose and he's dangerous... I'd bet my good leg on that."

"Even now, the Roduulfson and Finnbogason boys are stirring up trouble. I know it... The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. I see them hanging with Snotlout. I know they're up to no good."

Stoick started pacing as he began explaining, running his hand roughly over his face, "I don't have many options, Gobber. The village is small." The Chief swept his hand back toward the bustling village. "We need to explore, hunt, fish and trade to survive. I can't just magically create more hands to share in the burden. This isn't the mainland, we don't have their resources. Several unforeseen accidents have already decreased our food supplies for the winter. If we don't do something now, we won't last until the spring thaw."

"Aye..." Gobber sighed sympathetically. "I know..." Standing and feeling the rich ache in his muscles, he stretched and moved toward the Chief.

"I'm still suspicious of those accidents. Something smells rotten, and for once it's not you." He chuckled throwing a wink toward his longtime friend. "Seriously, though... " he exhaled thoughtfully, "I can't put my finger on it... but it's got my hackles up. Something's not right, I can feel it."

Stoick grinned, the concern which threaded his face now replaced by commanding authority. "Don't worry, my friend. As for the boys, we'll just deal with them as issues arise. I think your concern is misplaced, old friend." A large hand congenially slapped Gobber's back as the Chief smiled warmly at the disbelieving smithy.

"Maybe, Stoick... maybe. We'll see. But there was talk that Spitelout would go to the elders and demand an Einvigi. That's not misplaced concern. Do you know what would happen to Hiccup if that happened? I do!"

Stoick snapped his head and became rigid, "What! You know better than to listen to idle gossip. That will never happen! They'd have to send me to Helheim's gate first!"

"Well, in case you haven't been paying attention, Oh dim one, I think that's their overall plan... There are evil things afoot here, Stoick, or haven't you been listening."

Surreptitiously glancing left and right, and over both shoulders for good measure, Gobber leaned toward the chief, "Mark my words... You best be cautious."

Seeing the disbelieving look on the Chief's face, he quickly admonished in a harsh whisper, "If you don't care enough to look after yourself, at least keep a close eye on the lad."

"Don't' worry old friend," Stoick roughly grabbed the smithy's shoulder, reassuring him with a gentle tug. "I won't let anything happen to Hiccup. He's all that I have left." His voice trailed off softly and sadly.

Gobber opened his mouth to speak, but before he could continue, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, a pair of fourteen year old towheaded fraternal twins, came running toward the forge, each breathless. The male twin, Tuffnut, who was far less violent than his female counterpart, began speaking incoherently as he repeatedly sucked in air between each choppy word. The exaggerated bobbing of his head after each gasp produced a comical display of speak-and-grab, as he grappled with his horned helmet desperately trying to keep it from being thrown off his head.

"Shhh... She wants... lllll... like now... shhhh... she said... you come now..." The heavily breathing male choked out, before getting struck hard on the side of the head and knocked to the ground by his slightly smaller female counterpart.

Shooting her brother a scathing look, the blonde female who sported two long side braids which poked out oddly from under her Viking helmet, said breathily, "W-What... m-my complete blathering... b-brain-dead... i-idiot of a brother... m-means to s-say... i-is that the seer... t-told us... t-to find you... S-She needs ... n-needs a word with the you." Her head also bobbing with each gasp.

Steading her head, she looked directly at the Hooligan leader, her breath now coming in long, drawn-out gasps as she tried to slow the air escaping her in heavy pants. "She said, right now!" The urgency and subtle fear in her voice was odd. Stoick knew her to be strong and virtually unshakable, but he could tell the girl was spooked.

A sudden concern swept through the mighty chief causing him to shudder. Only once before had he been summoned by the seer with such urgency. That day burned in his memory like dragon's fire. It was the day Val died.