Author's Note: I warned you that this would also hold elements of Dreamworks and Pixar and Disney, and well, since HTTYD is one of my favorites of Dreamworks, I included it here :).

Ben smoothed out an invisible wrinkle from his suit. He tried to remember how to breathe as he paced back and forth. Everything was a mess. No matter how many times Svanhild had told him he looked fine, he knew something was wrong, something felt wrong. Nothing was perfect, and everything had to be.

So that the Court would listen to him, would vote in his favor. To the royals, image was everything, and if he screwed up in the slightest, he'd ruin everything. The kids of the Isle would stay there, he would never understand what his dream meant. He would never know what happened to Tiberius, his childhood friend who got taken away from the Isle for the sole reason that his father (who didn't even know he had a son, and the father Tibe didn't even know he had) had nearly killed an entire civilization for money.

This task wasn't going to be easy.

Over the years, having the poster parents of goodness, Ben had learned that he needed to be absolutely perfect. If he wasn't, he was scrutinized, criticized, and had newspapers and officials putting on more and more of the pressure since he was little that if he wasn't, he'd ruin the legacy his parents had built and worked so hard to create. And as he was always in the public eye with cameras always flashing in his face, eager to catch any mistake should he make it or use their little gossip columns to make his every action an item of interest, he had to learn and he had to learn fast.

So he carefully cultivated an image in Auradon, an image to make himself look good, perfect. But this meeting could bring all of that crashing down if it all went wrong. What he was petitioning—well, if his own parents' reactions were to go by—would not go over well. And he wasn't really looking forward to it because even as he practiced his speech over and over until it was perfect, mouthing each and every word to himself, (according to his mother, last night he'd been mumbling it word for word in his sleep) he was still uncertain, and he knew many of the heroes didn't think that he, a fifteen-year-old on the edge of sixteen, could dictate politics.

But he could do this, he thought with shaking hands as he tried to breathe through a throat that felt as narrow as a straw.

"Ben!"

Abruptly, Ben stopped his pacing as Svanhild stood in his path and held his face in between her hands, forcing him to look at her. Auburn hair that blazed red gold in the sunlight was pulled back from her face in a braided ponytail and was kept out of her eyes by a pair of goggles perched atop her head. Her green eyes were trained on his. Her voice was soothing, the same she used when training and calming down wild dragons that could bite off her hand or burn off her face. "You need to calm down. Breathe."

Ben followed her advice, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Good," Svanhild said slowly. "And out." Ben exhaled. "And again. Just listen to my voice. Everything will be fine."

She helped him repeat the process, inhaling and exhaling until the world stopped spinning and breath came a little easier to Ben's lungs.

"Thanks," Ben said, leaning against the wall as he kept breathing in and out.

"Don't mention it." Svanhild sat down on the chair before her desk where various plans and designs for inventions were sprawled out. Ben had to restrain from reaching out and rearranging the mess so it was nice and proper and perfect. "Ben, relax, everything will be okay."

Easy for you to say, you're not the one going in front of people to announce something you know they'll all hate and beg for their vote, Ben thought but didn't say.

Svanhild Haddock was a Viking foreign exchange student from the island of Berk, daughter of Chief Hiccup Haddock, leader of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, who thought it best for her to be sent to learn how to get along and learn the customs of Auradon. Her father would be at the meeting. Ben's hope was that he knew she took after him in terms of open-mindedness. After all, it was that same way of thinking that allowed him to end a centuries-old war and bring peace between other tribes of the Archipelago.

And although they weren't precisely close, Ben came to her for this because he was one of the only people he knew who wouldn't be automatically biased to the children of the Isle. From the beginning, she had been supportive of this decision, and they had been somewhat friends since the first time Ben had found himself in another episode of panic and breathlessness when she found him, and helped him through it. After that, he couldn't help trying to find her and spend time.

With all the cameras, the attentive stares, the false smiles and fake friendships to socially climb (they thought he didn't notice, and Ben may be naive, but definitely not stupid. It takes one to know one, and Ben was good enough at giving the illusion of perfection to see straight through it), the ever present pressure to be perfect around everyone, Svanhild was one of the few people Ben felt like he could actually breathe around.

If she could tell he was stressed, she specifically asked if he wanted to talk about it, or be distracted from it, and if he chose the latter, not a beat would be missed before she started discussing her latest invention plan and how they would work, or the latest new addition to the Book of Dragons. She didn't talk about politics unless he brought it up, or asked how things were in the Archipelago, (dragon poachers kept snatching dragons from the wild, and the looming threat of the warlords were just barely tamed with every raid preventing their army from growing but there were always more to worry about) but if he didn't want to think too much about it, she'd toss him a sword and asked if he wanted to fence. Whenever he did want to talk about what was stressing him out or the issues he had to deal with as Crown Prince that would only grow once he became King, she was blunt, realistic, never holding her tongue when it came to disagreeing and voicing her opinions or exploring all options (Audrey listened, but she was forever stuck in her idealistic world, and almost everyone else didn't want to get on the bad side of the future King of Auradon by saying something he disagreed with).

He didn't need to be perfect. She understood either way. He liked her because essentially, she left him alone. Svanhild reminded him he was not the center of the universe and made him feel like he was just like everyone else, not a fifteen-year-old boy with the weight of his parents' legacy and, in a month, his entire country, on his shoulders.

"I will never understand how anyone can do this without wanting to tear their hair out," Ben said through gritted teeth, concentrating on the inhale and exhale of his lungs.

"Well, Benny-boo, where I come from, we deal with stress by kicking someone else's ass in the arena. Believe it or not, it's rather cathartic," she said.

A small, breathless laugh left his lips. "I should try that sometime."

"Here, or there? Because over there, you'd get your ass handed to you by my brothers."

Another laugh. "As long as they don't hold their punches."

A moment of silence passed before she spoke again. "You know, not everyone will be happy with your decisions. No matter how hard you try, there will always be someone who disagrees with you." She stood and walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "If you think this is the right thing to do, then hold your head up high, look them in the eye, and tell them what you want to do. Be proud, show them you won't back down, and they might just listen."

"I—I don't know—"

"Hey, I know for a fact you've got it in you!" Svanhild snapped, interrupting. "If my dad let that be his way of thinking, my people wouldn't have gotten as far as we have. You've got to try. You have to make them listen!" The authority in her tone made him look up as her voice bounced off the walls as she pointed out the window to where the Isle could be seen in the distance. "You want to get those kids off? Be straightforward, don't show any hesitation or weakness, because if they can tell you're second-guessing yourself, they will not hesitate to take. You. Down!"

Ben hesitated, concern flickering across his face. "You make it sound as if I'm going into battle," he said.

"Well, technically you are!" Svanhild exclaimed. "Just not of the physical kind! This is politics, and all rulers are vultures in such a world where they're looking for any weakness to use to take you apart!" He almost asked how she knew this until she remembered how back home, her father was also maintaining alliances between various islands and tribes. Though their cultures were different, she had been exposed to this type of thing longer than he had. "Just remember: We have the choice to be who we want to be; they don't!"

As Ben looked out the Isle, he pondered her words. We have the choice to be who we want to be.

Not all of us, Ben thought. But maybe now he could actually use that (the title he would never admit that he never wanted) to his advantage.

The Council Room was a sight to behold, that much could be said without question. All oak pillars stands, allotted seats for every ruler and house decorated with extravagant crests. Velvet curtains pushed to the side of huge french windows, and two carved thrones made of wood and blue silk. But the centerpiece of the room wasn't any of that.

There was a table in the middle of the rectangular room. Inside it was a glass casing embedded. Beneath that glass case was a yellowing, extremely detailed map of the Isle of the Lost, in all its glory. At all times, this map knew the location of everyone on the Isle of the Lost and could give requested information and video footage of them if asked.

The Royal families started filtering in, one by one, some bringing in their children and others just by themselves, or their hero, or their spouse.

Besides the royals were the most prominent heroes who were chosen to represent their homes or their people.

On the second tier from the bottom sat the knights, the soldiers, the heroes that held neither noble nor royal blood such as the demigod, Hercules, the chiefs who had been chosen by others to represent their people, all those held in high respect for notable causes. However...they were not, well, princes or princesses, not of royal blood, not of what mattered most in Auradon.

Across from Ben in the second tier, Svanhild sat in her best attire, an emerald dress with fur trimmings and a fur cloak that held her father's crest, her clothing holding the essence of both her Viking heritage and Auradon's style. She sat by her mother and father's Council seats since if her parents were late, she would have to represent instead. Her auburn hair fell loose while also holding several braided patterns in what she claimed was her people's traditional style. Her eyes were steel but when she caught Ben's eyes, she gave an encouraging nod.

"Calling the council to order!" King Adam's voice echoed across the chamber, "To order now, to order!"

The hall quieted down. The last of the representatives slipped into their seats, and then there was silence. The King cleared his throat and began a well-rehearsed (yet not exactly a well-worded one) speech.

"We, as the United States of Auradon, have always strived to bring good, order and peace to the world. We right the wrongs the villains of our past did to us and our nation. And we don't do wrong by them…" He trailed off at the scoff from the second tier. "Please refrain all comments until the floor is open."

Chief Haddock stood up from his seat. The only Viking willing to make peace with their kingdoms and well known for uniting people and other chiefs of the Archipelago as well as stopping a centuries old war between his people and the beasts common in their parts known as dragons. Through his alliances, he had been chosen to represent, and that alone made him a powerful ally. "I'll wait, but with all due respect, a lot of what you just said sounds like a large pile of—"

His wife, Astrid, cleared her throat and quickly pulled him back down. "What he means to say is that he finds some objections to some of your previous rulings," she said through gritted teeth, "and I agree, but since we're not here to discuss that—" she leveled her eyes at Adam with a gaze hard enough to cut through steel— "continue."

The King cleared his throat and tried again. "We did not kill those who antagonised us, but only moved them, so that they may live out their days in peace—" This time, Astrid and Svanhild had to react fast to both cover her father's mouth and restrain him from getting up. King Adam paused, every eye in the room following his every move, "It has come to my attention that there is a problem with the Isle of the Lost, and the court is gathered to debate a response."

Mutters ran through the room. The Isle of the Lost. They tried not to think about it, really. As if it might go away if they just ignored it.

"For this, my son would like to speak in order to suggest a new program for us to fund as his first proclamation."

Slowly, Ben stood up, pasting a perfect, blinding white smile on his face (Years of practice made perfect) as he faced those he had to convince. His breath caught in his throat as he began to speak and he had to take a moment to regain his composure. When he caught Svanhild's eye once again, searching for a familiar face in the crowd, she mouthed 'breathe,' subtly miming the technique she'd been teaching him.

Ben inhaled deeply and then breathed out. Then he spoke, his voice ringing out. Always speak loud and clear, enunciate, don't mumble, don't pause or hesitate unless intentional for effect, smile. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council," he began, just barely stopping his hands from shaking. But he managed to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat, and continued, making sure not to show how this was fazing him. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council," he repeated. "I wish to give the children of the Isle of the Lost a chance to live here. In Auradon." And he stopped because of the outburst that drowned him out. Screams rang through the courtroom. Shouts and accusations flew. Angry whispers were hissed out the corner of their mouths. Ben looked around, suddenly unable to get air into his lungs and feeling tears pinprick the corners of his eyes against his will, the room starting to spin (Oh, God, he was ruining everything, oh, God, oh God).

Obviously, the idea was not approved of.

Taking a deep breath in and out, Ben tried to get a grip on himself. "Just wait!" he shouted to be heard. "I am not done yet! Just listen to what I have to say!" Slowly the noise died down. "All these years, the youth of the Isle have been innocent, and yet we've all abandoned them with their parents to be imprisoned with them. They hold little opportunity to be anything other than what they've been taught, and we've no idea what they've been through. Some of you have lived with these villains, you know how they may treat their own children. All these years, we've treated past issues of the Isle with nothing but indifference and ignorance." Ben paused, gathering his words, as the heroes of the Council looked down at him. Then he raised his voice, forcing steel into it. "The last time we came together to discuss the Isle, it was because of the death of Leif Bludvist, a boy who became severely ill, and whose condition worsened for months due to our negligence. There was no hospital or medical specialists on the Isle that could be trusted that his brother or his father could take him to, yet when it was brought to our attention, instead of addressing the issue of health care of the Isle, you choose to ignore it."

People had voted for better medical on the Isle, people had thought about the welfare of its inhabitants, but not enough. Not enough to make an actual difference. Queen Rapunzel had even suggested a hospital, and some had agreed. But a majority didn't, saying it would do nothing but put a drain on their funds and the villains deserve nothing less but to rot.

Some of these people cared. Truly, they did. But not enough. And if Ben wanted this proclamation passed, he needed to convince them all.

"This can't go on. Not when we know more may have died since due to our negligence and carelessness toward the abandoned children of the Isle. No child should have to suffer for the sins of their parents. Tiberius Rourke, a boy who lived in Auradon for six years with his mother in peace, was sent to the Isle due to what his father had done. Who are we to decide what a person should be solely based on their genetics? We can't know unless we give them a chance! This Council has caused much pain to those that have not deserved it, but we now have the chance to right those wrongs. Please, please," he actually begged, "give the children of the Isle the chances and opportunities we hold that they were all denied. We have it in our power to stop this cycle of hatred and pain. Please."

With that, he sat down. He'd said all he could. He heard whispers of words like responsibility and heathens thrown around, but he just closed his eyes and crossed his fingers. He had to hope. It was all he could do. It was out of his hands now. He was placing fates of all the people in the hands of the heroes.

The present King's voice rang out, "All in favor of the program to release children of the Isle into Auradon?"

Only a few raised their hands.

"All against?"

Ben's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he looked around at the response. No, no, no, no, no….

"Motion failed. This meeting is adjourned."

Ben sat there, shaking hands gripping the edges of the seat as the world spun. They'd said no. They were supposed to be the heroes, the good guys, but they said no. When his father tapped his shoulder, he jerked away, flinching away from his father's touch as if he'd been burned (he didn't even care at the look of hurt he got from the action). He sat where he was with his head lowered and his eyes trained on the polished marble of the floor as he tried to remember how to breathe until someone approached him. Some of the heroes as they left, the ones that had voted for the program, gave him sympathetic pats and words of encouragement, telling him he had his heart in the right place. And King Adam had warned him against these people, but they had voted for his program where no one else had. They stood by what they thought was right.

And that alone made them worth more in Ben's regard than all the other heroes.

"You had my vote." Ben looked up to see the Viking chieftain with Svanhild's arm looped around his. Hiccup shrugged, and smiled sadly, "You made some valid points. But I know from experience some folks just won't listen or see reason until they're shown otherwise, and even then, they won't see what they don't want to."

Ben stood and bowed to the Chief's embarrassment. "Thank you."

Svanhild leaned in close, and whispered into Ben's ear, "We can always try again. Don't give up until all options are explored." Then she rose, her posture not quite graceful but radiated the same strength and power her parents did, though they were not intimidating folk, and continued, louder, "You're always welcome in Berk if you ever want to visit. Anytime."

As if his failure weren't enough, outside was hell.

The moment Ben stepped outside the doors into the sunlight, a camera flashed into his face. And another and another, that by the time Ben could finally see again, he was being bombarded by cameras and reporters in his face, jabbing their recorders and microphones at him. Volleys of questions were sent one after the other, a flurry that Ben could just barely understand, his attention being drawn this way and that as he tried to keep up.

Just as he began to give one reporter an answer, another demanded his attention. "No comment," he finally said, all the faces, the bright lights and voices overloading his senses. He needed to get out.

He shoved his way through the crowd, people following, demanding what he was thinking, what the results of the meeting were, what his plans had been, his thoughts, how he felt about the verdict, just asking, asking, asking every. Way. He. Looked. All while Ben repeated the same answer.

By the time he reached home, he could not be more grateful, racing to his room and locking the door behind him as he slammed it shut. He struggled to get breath to his lungs as he inhaled and exhaled, pacing back and forth around his room. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the TV, seeing his own face, the news already replaying the last few minutes, his proclamation, his failure. He clicked it off, an, in a moment of frustration, anger and panic building up, hurled the remote at the screen. It lodged in the center, spiderweb cracks breaking off from it, but Ben couldn't find it in him to care as he resumed his pacing.

Don't give up until you've explored all the options.

Well, how was he supposed to do that?

Some folks just won't listen or see reason until they're shown otherwise...

His eyes caught on the jacket Svanhild had made him when she heard of him riding a motorcycle. It was deep blue and made of dragon scales ("Relax, Benny-boo, none were hurt in the making of this project, they just shed more than your father."). After her initial fright that he would partake in such a dangerous activity, ("You ride on dragons, yet a motorcycle is dangerous?" "Dragons catch you if you fall, this death machine doesn't! It's completely unpredictable!") she decided if he wouldn't listen to her, she would at least make him something to keep him safe while riding. Despite how much he believed she was overreacting, (he knew she wasn't. He knew he had responsibilities, and it would be reckless to do something that risked his safety when he knew his own importance, but when out riding on days where he just felt trapped, it helped him breathe) after he learned of the scales' properties, he appreciated the gift, even if he didn't think he would use it.

He didn't wear it since he didn't think his parents would like it very much, after all, they didn't even know he had a motorcycle in the first place, and if they found out, it may as well be a declaration of World War III in the castle, (image was everything in front of the cameras) but the thought was enough.

Yet as his erratic thoughts raced, he grabbed it off the coat hanger and slipped it on. He'd waited, he'd been patient, he had trusted the system, and it had failed him.

Well, he was done waiting, he thought, grabbing the bag from his closet and his helmet. If they wouldn't listen, he would make them.