Ch. 3

First favorite for this story goes to Darth Erebus. Same for review. Glad you like the story pal. I hope to bring many more laughs in the life of this odd piece of work. Fair warning, this was posted via phone, so if there's mistakes, gobbilygook, or other such nonsense, that is why.

Stoick was many things. Strong, determined, a chief, a viking. And right now he was stressed. More so than usual. See, being a chief is stressful. Watching over the tribe, making sure the cooks make food for the builders, the builders make houses for the hunters, who bring food for the cooks. One of many intricate trades that make the village whole, and that's just the basics. The surface level of things, there's far more to it than that, and if someone is a chief and isn't stressed, they weren't a good chief. Stoick is stressed for a different reason.

Not more than a few moments ago he witnessed his last gift from his wife being snatched away by the very thing that took her. There were so many things he wished he could have done in that moment, but all of them had a very high risk of killing his son at the same time. So he did nothing. Just as it was ten years ago, he could do nothing but watch as his family was taken from him. Many emotions flashed through his mind at that moment. Grief, despair, defeat, but then, rage. An unbridled fury that could level mountains. A wrath that-

"I know that look, Stoick." A familiar voice interrupted his mental breakdown. "There's nothin we can do." He turned his steeled gaze into his long time friend. Gobber raised his hands, rather, a hand and… a spoon? To anyone else, they never would have noticed the slight twitch in Stoick's eyes. Gobber looked to his interchangeable hand then back to Stoick. "What? I just got done eatin."

"I don't have time for this, Gobber." Stoick huffed, then turned around and headed for the great hall. He stopped his march when a hand reached his shoulder. He turned to face his friend once again, a nearly imperceptible growl escaping him.

"Listen, Stoick, I get that you want to save im, but ya need to think about this. We jus' got back from a raid, and no ship has ever out paced a dragon." At his continued glaring, Gobber simply heaved a sigh. "Just take a moment ta cool down. Think it over. Whatever you decide, I'm with ya." Stoick glared at him for just a bit longer, before grunting and resuming his march to the great hall.

"And another thing," his friend started in a hushed manner. "continued in a hushed voice. " is it me, it did that dragon speak."

At that, Stoick stopped and stood ramrod straight. He slowly, as if a door bring opened the first time in centuries, turned to face Gobber. or did that dragon speak?"

Stoick halted his march so abruptly, Gobber almost ran into him. He slowly turned to face said viking and heavily enunciated his next few words. "Dragons. Don't. Talk." Que marching.

"Right, how silly of me. Musta had too much ta drink." He remained silent the rest of the walk towards the great hall and once they arrived Stoick wasted no time in throwing open the doors and walking in. Only to abruptly halt once more. "Ah." He managed to delay him just enough for his reasoning to return, it seemed.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Vikings were huddled in small groups, grief and pain ever present in their eyes, reminiscing tales of their recently fallen comrades. Some groups were simply too drunk to move. Others were quietly talking amongst themselves. It was strange, seeing the great hall suffer with such silence. It was enough to cool Stoick's rage. He let out a sigh that only Gobber could hear, then silently left the great hall.

They made it a few steps outside when Stoick faced his long time friend. "What do I do, Gobber?" It was a painful whisper. It was hard to watch such a powerful man sound broken.

"Pray, Stoick. Nothin else you can do but pray he finds himself in Valhalla." He patted Stoick's arm in the most comforting manner he could, then made towards the forge. He could already see a group starting to form before it.

Stoick silently watched the man hobble his way down to one of the most important buildings this village held. He took in a deep breath then stomped his way towards the docks. He needs to take note of their recent hauls and to help determine whether or not they have enough food to survive the upcoming winter. He had a feeling they were going to get hit with another raid before the ice set in. Accursed devils.

Chiefing that day had been easy. Chiefing during the first few days returning from a search had always been easy. Grief slows people down, but the pain sharpened them for when the next raid would hit. The dragons made the mistake to attack right after a search. None of them returned, and none of them made that same mistake again.

It was pleasing to find out that they had more than enough food to survive the winter, even with the potential raid looming over them. They had a surprisingly large number of sheep, compared to the usual few that is, so mutton was something they could fall back to if nothing else. None of the villagers were homeless and they had freshly sharpened weapons. All in all, a good day to be a chief. Were it not drowned by grief.

Tears were silently leaking down his face, and thankfully he was in his own home (with night having fallen quite some time ago), as he stared silently at the small, flickering fire slowly burning at the logs in its little home. He failed as a husband, and he failed as a father. Both times taken from him by a dragon. Both times he stood and watched helplessly.

Was this his punishment? For ignoring his son so often? For never being the father he should have? He was a chief... but… Hiccup was his son. His son that he put the village before at every turn. Gods, what he would do to earn a second chance. To hold his child once more. He released a shaky breath, and slowly stood up. Composing himself to his usual stoic manner, he proceeded to throw one more log into the fire and close the small gate in front of it. He needed his rest for the coming day, if he was to send his son off properly.

The next day had been slow, but relatively easy. Almost as if the villagers collectively got together to make his life a little bit easier. Unusual and unbelievable, but he wasn't about to complain. With most of the preparations set, all that remained was to gather his people and get the helmet he's been working on for when his son would have finally become one of them.

He did not take his time making his way to his home, though, he didn't hurry either. He simply walked to his house at his usual pace. It was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that he so desperately missed his son so soon. He could already see his son standing in front of his house with that goofy, strained, and very unviking like smile on his face. He decided, at that moment, to stop and clear his head. He was the chief, he couldn't be seeing things right now. Thus, he closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, shook his head for good measure then opened them once more.

He was under the impression that that would fix the problem. "Uh… hi… dad." It did not. In fact, he could even hear the apparition talking. Odd. He'd need to visit Gothi after the funeral. He continued on without further pause, but just as he was about to reach his door, the apparition reached out and touched him. "Dad?" What he felt at that moment would be akin to the world being split asunder. There was no denying that feeling. There was no denying what stood beside him. Who stood beside him.

He slowly turned to face his once thought deceased son and barely managed to keep his voice from cracking as he dumbly stated, "You're alive."

His son, in ever the fashion that is him, shrugged and replied. "More or less."

There was only a sliver of a moment's hesitation before Stoick wrapped his son in a hug. He was firm, but gentle. As if, should he squeeze too hard, he would disappear. He held that hug for a while, long enough for his knees to start aching, before he eventually let go. He took a step back to behold his son once more, a small smile stretching itself over his face.

"Best to put a stop to the ceremony then." He'd almost forgotten, but they'd no longer have to send his son off. He was given a second chance. One that he wasn't going to squander

So that's that chapter. shorter than usual, but that's because it's to show you Stoick. or, to test how well I can do Stoick. there were other bits I wanted to add, but it took away from the setting, so they were removed.one such is Snotlout saying that Hiccup is so useless he couldn't even die right.anyway, the main perspective of the story will be Hiccup and his chapters will be long. other perspectives will be shorter, as they are meant to show you they're thoughts and reactions. less to progress, more too develope.also, thanks again D-B, you're help is invaluable.also also, passed 100 views milestone. to some, they would scoff. it's not a lot but, to me, to any author worth their salt, 1 person reading and enjoying it is beautiful.