AN: For the record: I am perfectly aware of Fishlegs' parentage in the books. However, since movie-Fishlegs is nothing like book-Fishlegs, I took the liberty to adapt his parents to the needs of my story.
When all of Berk's dragons began to launch, desperate Vikings rushed to stop them. They called, they pleaded, they caught their departing companions by the tails, but those attempts were doomed to failure. Monstrous Nightmares, Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, they all had their eyes set firmly on the migrating flock. Even the gentlest of dragons shook their humans off or pushed them aside, eager the join their own kind in the sky. Within two minutes, the winged population of Berk was reduced to two. And no, I am not including the flight-less Speed Stinger in the equation.
Amidst the general chaos, nobody noticed a Gronckle hitting the ground, wings wrapped in a bola. Not even the Gronckle herself could process what was going on before she was tied like a Snoggletog ham. Holding onto the unfortunate reptile was a human female, a figure normally characterized by kindness and thoughtfulness, who in this particular moment seemed fiercer than the most savage warriors the Gronckle could imagine.
Meanwhile the captured dragon's rider stared at the scene with awe. The woman locker her eyes with his, and he recognized that dangerous gleam she only displayed in the direst of situations. Like when she lifted a cart to launch it at a Deadly Nadder, who was about to spit fire on their house. Or when she grabbed a Terrible Terror that had landed on his head and smashed it against the ground. Or when she jumped face-straight onto a Gronckle that was attacking their reindeer and ripped its wings to shreds. On such occasions, Fishlegs Ingerman was reminded why his beloved mother was referred to as "Shrewmouse the Termagant".
As their eye contact lasted, the woman's expression softened. The clenched jaws and tensed muscles relaxed. The rush was wearing out.
Observant of those signs, the woman's husband hurried to her side. He feared her regular strength may not be enough to hold down a dragon, even if it was already restrained. Full of determination, he pressed onto the Gronckle with his powerful arms.
The woman gave him a look full of gratitude before turning back to their son.
"Come help us," she urged him. "We must bring her somewhere safe."
She didn't need to ask him twice.
(…)
It took some effort of behalf of Fishlegs, his mother and father, but soon enough Meatlug the Gronckle was chained up in their barn in the village. They normally used it to store wares purchased at the harbor or house livestock for sale, but it had fortunately been vacant on this particular day.
"We must seek Lady Valka," decided Fishlegs' father. "She is bound to shed some light on this inconceivable situation."
The family thus headed out to obtain information. Much to their dismay, Lady Valka had gone missing – left on a quest, as the chief put it, but the general public was skeptical. It didn't help that the powerful leader refused to elaborate on his wife's whereabouts, choosing instead to retreat to his house with his son and closest advisor, leaving everybody else to their own devices. Concluding there was no hope for acquiring answers to their questions, the Ingermans returned to the barn and the very upset dragon.
"I have a bad feeling about this," confessed Fishlegs' mother. "Perhaps it was a mistake to trap her like this."
"No, it wasn't," assured Fishlegs. "All these dragons looked like they were possessed. Like some external force was calling them. You could very well have saved Meatlug from falling to some evil alpha's clutches."
The boy did have a point, but it did little to ease his mother's worry.
"I don't know, Fishlegs. If there was an evil alpha, or anything like that, wouldn't Lady Valka have made an announcement?"
"But she did leave on a quest, didn't she?" the boy pointed out. "Perhaps that's the reason why. She's gone to fight the evil alpha, so the dragons could go back and celebrate Snoggletog with us!"
To him, it made perfect sense. His parents were less certain.
Fishlegs' father scratched his chin in thoughtfulness. "Well… it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility for Lady Valka to engage in a military operation without consulting the endeavor with anybody," he mused. "She did live in isolation for quite some time, so taking the tribe into account may still be a relatively new concept to her."
"There you go," said Fishlegs happily. "It all adds up. Keeping Meatlug here means one less dragon for Lady Valka to save. We're doing her a favor, really!"
The boy's parents exchanged uneasy glances. Neither of them was inclined to support the boy's theory, but proving him wrong wasn't a desirable course of action, either. As much as it pained them, to wait and see seemed to be their best option, at least for the time being.
"Let us hope you're right," Fishlegs' father sighed in resignation.
Meanwhile Fishlegs' mother turned to their prisoner. "We should probably feed her."
"I'll take care of that," offered Fishlegs. "You two don't have to worry about a thing."
Faced with their son's enthusiasm – not to mention their own uselessness – the spouses left him with the dragon and headed for home.
"I still have a bad feeling about this," confessed Shrew as they walked. "I wasn't thinking when I restrained her. I just heard Fishlegs, and he was so scared, and when she pushed him away, I just… snapped."
Pincers Ingerman put his arm around his wife. "Your motherly instincts are most admirable, darling."
She made a face. "I don't like it when I lose control."
"I know, dearest, I know," he said empathetically. In a slightly worried tone, he inquired: "Are you experiencing side effects?"
She shook her head. "No. Just mild ripping in my arms. I guess Meatlug was in too much of a shock to fight back."
"Well, that is a considerable relief," remarked Pincers.
Shrew was still uneasy. "If I had hurt her…"
"You didn't, dearest," her husband pointed out, standing in her way and placing his hands of her shoulders. "You exercise better control over your special talent than you give yourself credit for. In all the years I've known you, I cannot think of a single time you've inflicted harm upon an ally. Quite contrary, you have proven over and over again what great responsibility you associate with this unique gift the gods have bestowed upon you. So please, give yourself some credit, dearest. You are a Berserker, not a monster."
He finished the speech with a charming smile that expressed blind devotion and even blinder hope. Shrewmouse the Termagant had no choice than to surrender, and did so with profound relief.
"Thank you, Pince. I needed to hear this," she took his hand and navigated it to her cheek. "You remind me over and over again just how generous the gods have been when they lead me to Berk."
Pincers didn't reply. He leaned over and placed a tender kiss on his wife's cheek.
Their moods significantly improved, the spouses continued on their way, holding hands. It was true that the situation caught them unaware, and they had no idea how to approach it, but it couldn't be helped. There was little point in worrying about things beyond their control. Besides, no matter what may develop, they would manage somehow. They always did.
(...)
"Fishlegs!"
The boy stopped in his tracks, almost dropping the barrel he happened to be carrying. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the chief heading towards him.
"Do you know if Hiccup talked to your mother yet?" asked Stoick the Vast. Even at night, his impressive figure seemed to be casting an eerie shadow upon the young dragon rider.
Fishlegs shifted nervously, clutching his barrel tightly. "Umh, no, not that I know of, Sir," he muttered.
"I see," said Stoick. He shot a glance in the direction of Gobber's smithy, thoughtfully stroking the braids in his beard. "He seemed eager to speak to her, but I guess something came up."
Fishlegs took the opportunity to correct his hold of the barrel. His hands were getting so sweaty it could very well slip out of his grasp.
The next moment the chief's gaze was back on him. "It can't be helped, I suppose," he concluded with a sigh. "We'll have to push it off until tomorrow. Tell your parents we'll be joining you for dinner. There are things we need to discuss."
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Good. See you tomorrow then."
With that, the chief turned around and walked away. Fishlegs stood still for a while, waiting until the chilly breeze cleared the air around him from residues of Stoick's presence. Only when he couldn't sense the imposing authority and awe-inspiring strength anymore did the boy dare release the breath he had been holding. It took him a couple more seconds to realize what it was that Hiccup's father had said.
At that moment, the fear of his secret being exposed transformed into the fear of his mother taking the fall for it.
(…)
Once it became apparent that Night the Speed Stinger would not be acting up, Hiccup headed for the smithy. Fueled by concern for his winged companion, the boy labored whole night long on a new prosthetic tail-fin - one that would allow Toothless to fly by himself. The dragon was initially displeased with the new contraction and tried to shake it off, but froze on the spot when the auto-fin opened along with his own. Cautious, he closed and opened his tail fin several times, confirming that his motions really transferred onto the new prosthetic.
This wasn't a device meant for his rider. It was meant for him.
Having realized just what he was offered, the dragon looked at his human companion. Hiccup was beaming with pride and joy. His labor paid off. His invention worked. Toothless was no longer confined to the ground. He could fly by himself, just like the other dragons.
Which is what he did the very next moment. He took off, hurried away from Berk, and didn't look back.
Hiccup's happiness vanished, and so did whatever energy he had left. The tiredness kicked in, leading the Hooligan heir to his bedroom, where he slept until late afternoon.
Fortunately, he didn't have to dwell on his misery for too long. As soon as he descended from his loft, he was told that his father had arranged for them to have dinner at Fishlegs' house. Hiccup brightened at the news, glad to have a new task to look forward to. With Toothless' sudden departure, his determination to solve the mystery behind the dragons' strange behavior increased tenfold. If the investigation keeps him from feeling down, that's only an additional benefit.
(...)
Stoick wasn't a fan of ostentatious splendor. His house was as modest as anybody else's (why bother constructing anything elaborate, if a dragon could turn it to ashes at any moment?), and all luxurious items kept in the basement (for why tempt fate?). His people were conditioned not to show him special consideration outside of political events and similar affairs. What sort of chief would be fine with putting on airs, when his tribe's energy could be channeled into maintaining the weaponry or securing resources for the Winter? Certainly not Stoick the Vast. Not now, not ever. Making peace with the dragons changed absolutely nothing in this particular policy.
Nonetheless, the Ingermans welcomed their leader and his heir with a lovely laid table. Richly decorated tablecloth served as background for silverware and a candlestick in the shape of a Hideous Zippleback, with candles inserted into the dragon's two mouths. Mugs were made of white glass and decorated with the motif of reindeer in a forest. No decoration, however, could hold a candle to the food. The Lady of the House served lobster medallions topped with green pea puree, as well as oysters on half-shells topped with a rich sauce of butter, onions, herbs and bread crumbs. Judging by the smell, seasoning of lemon juice was also involved (a luxurious item for Vikings, as it had to be imported from the Mediterranean). Drinking options included spiced ale and delicate wine.
Faced with this feast, Stoick couldn't bring himself to say "You shouldn't have" or "Please tell me you didn't spend the whole day preparing all of this". Perhaps because of the saliva buildup in his mouth. He'd have to send Valka over for apprenticeship once she got back. After all, she owed him a big one.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," said Fishlegs' mother, ushering the guests towards the table. Her husband and son stood to attention, the former with a basin of lukewarm water, the latter with a clean piece of cloth. Stoick helped himself to both without a second thought (his mind preoccupied with the upcoming meal), but Hiccup couldn't help noticing the unusual tension exhibited by the young Ingerman. His form was stiff and his smile most obviously forced.
"Calm down, Fishlegs," Hiccup told his friend. "It's just us."
"I am calm," said Fishlegs, displaying the most unnatural grin. "Perfectly calm."
Hiccup was far from convinced, but decided to let it go. Suspicious as the other boy's anxiety was, it couldn't distract the Hooligan heir from the true reason behind tonight's visit. He needed information and somebody under this very roof who could in all likelihood help him out.
At first glance, Fishlegs' mother reminded Hiccup of Rhea, his old housekeeper. Both women had dark brown hair, and this feature was the easiest to spot. A second glance, however, proved that the two differed greatly. While Rhea was all sharp edges, Shrew was rounded and soft. While Rhea's nose was straight, Shrew's was wide and flat. While Rhea's eyebrows were scruffy, Shrew's were almost none-existent. Lastly, Rhea used to have amber-brown eyes, of which one was lost in the fire. Shrew's eyes were small and narrow, but appeared bigger due to their deep green color.
As for Fishlegs' father, he could be accurately described as an older, bigger version of Fishlegs, only that his eyes were icy blue and he sported a short beard - though his upper lip area was clean shaven.
"If I may be so bold, kind Sirs," intoned Pincers Ingerman as his wife poured the drinks, "Would you care to specify the nature of the problem that prompted you to seek our assistance?"
Stoick frowned in confusion, but Hiccup replied instantly. "Oh, yes, right. It's about the dragons. You see..."
What followed was a summary of their findings from the previous day.
As Hiccup spoke, everybody listened attentively. Stoick with content, as well as a touch of pride, happy to see his son take charge of the situation (even more so that it allowed him to focus on the splendid food). Pincers chewed quietly, his face expressing mostly solemn contemplation, disturbed by occasional glances he directed at his wife and son. Fishlegs, unsurprisingly, couldn't suppress his anxiety and didn't even touch the food. Shrewmouse, meanwhile, kept a calm demeanor, as well as a steady pace of cutting and maneuvering pieces of white meat to her mouth. She had a fairly good idea as to what Hiccup was getting at, and with every sentence of his her suspicions gained validity.
"This is why we thought we should turn to you," the Hooligan heir said finally, directing his words at Shrew. "Of the entire tribe, you are the only one who ventures out during Destructive Winter. Perhaps you'd know what happens to dragons when they're gone?"
Shrew didn't respond right away, for she had a mouthful of food to finish. Hiccup observed her calmly, placing great hopes on the information he was about to receive. Normally, he found those escapades of hers eerie, as did many of the Berk's inhabitants. To them, Destructive Winter was the time of confinement - everybody and their livestock took refuge in the Great Hall, waiting for the worst to pass. Shrew, however, chose this dreadful season for her annual hunting trip. One could argue she was putting on airs, and spent all that time in a safe haven of her own, but her endeavors always yielded results. She could bag a seal, a walrus, even a polar bear. Nobody knew how she pulled it off. In the woman's own words, she was merely upholding a tradition practiced by her Native Tribe, and while majority of Berkians accepted this line of reasoning, there were some who speculated she was actually a witch and summoned unholy powers when no one was watching. Hiccup wasn't inclined to attribute this much power to his friend's mother, but he wholeheartedly believed she could help him solve the problem at hand.
Unfortunately, the woman did not seem share her future chief's enthusiasm. Having swallowed her mouthful, she donned the expression of a mother trying to decide on the most delicate way of telling her child she didn't know how to fix a broken toy.
"Well, I don't exactly look for dragons," she explained, her tone conservative. "On the contrary, I'm doing my best to stay away from them."
"But maybe you've run into one by accident?" he suggested. "Or seen some signs of their presence?"
She shook her head. "No, not really… although…"
"Yes?"
Shrew spared a moment to think it through. "One Destructive Winter, many years ago, I did have an encounter with a dragon," she admitted. "Though I don't suppose it matters."
"Please tell us all about it," Hiccup pressed on. "In as many details as you can. Even if it seems insignificant to you, it might help us."
"Don't be shy," added Stoick, his mood elated from filling up his stomach, "We've all been killing dragons until recently, and Hiccup grew up watching it happen. Whatever the hell you inflicted on that dragon won't impress him the tiniest bit."
"What...? Ah, yes, sure," confirmed the boy, overcoming his momentary shock. "You may speak freely. I can handle it."
To be fair, he wasn't particularly eager to hear about dragon-killing. Knowing it had been an essential aspect of the Vikings' everyday life for Thor knows how many years changed little in this regard. Still, the future chief had no intention of letting his personal feelings get in the way of the greater good. Thus, he put on a brave face and looked at Fishlegs' mother expectantly.
It didn't seem as though Shrew believed his declaration, but she seemed to acknowledge the necessity of her story reaching his ears. Thus, she reached for her mug, took a sip, put the mug back down, breathed a long sigh, and begun to narrate.
"I was just about your age. I went on a hunting trip with a group of peers and a supervising officer. This is a tradition we practice, you see. Just as killing dragons served as a rite of passage on Berk, bagging prey in the coldest of seasons was how you earned the status of an adult on Berserk."
"One night, I woke up to a suspicious sound. The scraping of tiny claws on the ice. Something was in our camp. A creature. Likely a small dragon. And you know what was the recommended course of action in those times."
Hiccup nodded dutifully. "Kill on sight."
It was a small mercy that neither Toothless, nor Meatlug, were around to hear it.
Shrew nodded back. "Yes. Bearing this in mind, I focused. Tightened my hold on the spear – for I slept with my spear in my hand. Once I became sure I knew where exactly the intruder was, I sprung from my sleeping bag and pierced it with my spear. Its dying squeaks woke everybody else."
At this point, she grimaced, as though saying these words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"The creature I killed was indeed a dragon," she admitted, rubbing her forehead. "Judging by the size, I had assumed it to be a Terrible Terror. However, as I looked closely, I realized that it was in fact a Monstrous Nightmare. A very small Monstrous Nightmare. A baby."
"We all held our breaths. None of us had ever seen a baby dragon. The supervisor came back to his senses first. He told us to hurry the hell out of there. He didn't need to say anything more. We all realized how high the stakes were. Wherever a baby went, its mother was sure to follow. And this particular mother would be particularly unforgiving."
Shrew's chin sunk to her chest while her fingers ran through her hair thoughtfully. The pause that succeeded her words was heavy, and it filled Hiccup's heart with dread. "Good gods. What happened then?" he demanded.
Shrew grimaced a little. "I survived," she said morosely.
"Tell him the full story, Shrew," Stoick prompted her. "He is to be the chief of this tribe, he needs to know what exactly his people are capable of."
Nobody commented on it, but the atmosphere became a little heavy in the wake of the chief's words. His voice was encouraging, but with an undertone of a command.
Hiccup was beginning to develop a sinking feeling. It occurred to him they may have dragged the poor woman too far away from her comfort zone. His conscience was telling him to end the conversation, but his brain argued there was no such option - not after his father decreed otherwise. Besides, he couldn't back away from an investigation he had initiated.
Fishlegs played absently with a half-shell, vehemently pretending not to exist.
Pincers slipped his hand underneath the tabletop and placed it on his wife's knee, whereupon he gave her a reassuring squeeze.
As for the narrator herself, she seemed neither frightened, nor particularly concerned. At the end of the day, it didn't matter all that much if she was dealing with mild discomfort or an all-consuming sickness. She had to finish what she had started. Thus, after a brief pause, she breathed out an "Alright," and continued the tale.
"The mother caught up with us eventually. She wanted to hunt us down. Our supervisor said he would take her on and buy us some time. Seconds later a wall of fire separated him from us. We were panicking. I could hear my sister, Horrorcow, screaming. She slipped and the dragon was aiming at her. I rushed to her side. I wasn't even thinking, my body just moved. The next thing I know I'm lying flat on my back, surrounded by incomprehensible noise and blurry images. My bones seem heavy as a herd of sheep. My muscles feel like sizzling pieces of meat on a frying pan. I'm in agonizing pain. I'm sure I'm dying," she closed her eyes briefly wincing at the memory. "I'm no stranger to pain, but what I felt that night does not compare to anything," she summed it up sorrowfully.
Hiccup stared at the woman with a sickening sense of dread. "You went Berserk," he said weakly.
She gave him an unhappy, weary expression. "Yes. This was my first time. Apparently, I charged at the Monstrous Nightmare and shoved my spear down its throat. Then I grabbed its tongue and ripped it out. Then I smashed its jaws. I don't remember any of this. Only the pain."
Suddenly inspired, she lifted herself from her seat. "It's hardly visible anymore," she said, pushing up the sleeve of her right arm, "but in the correct light, you can see the marks."
She held her arm against the glow of the candlestick. Dancing flames revealed a slight discoloration - the area closer to her hand was paler than the area closer to her elbow. Along the entire length ran inconspicuous white lines, bulging out no more than regular veins.
Hiccup considered the limb in awe. A raging Monstrous Nightmare's blood was bound to be boiling hot. A regular person would have been badly burnt. Berserker's rage must have improved Shrew's healing processes. It was truly remarkable. A little eerie, but remarkable.
Seeing that she made her point, Shrew sat back down.
"I don't know if this helps you in any way," she said weakly, "but I'm afraid there isn't anything more I can tell you about the Destructive Winter activities of dragons."
Pincers slipped his hand behind his wife and pat her back.
Hiccup considered the woman in solemn silence. She's certainly given him a lot to process.
It was hard enough, under the most favorable of circumstances, to associate this kind, peace-loving woman with the bunch of violent, uncompromising lunatics, whom most Vikings considered a hazard to interact with. To imagine her in a full-on battle mode, single-handedly besting a Monstrous Nightmare, was even more bizarre. Shrewmouse the Termagant was anything but termagant in everyday life. She was a devoted wife and mother, who tended to her family with a smile on her face, and only ever displayed the full extent of her combat skills when the situation called for it.
At this point, a cold realization penetrated Hiccup's brain. Shrew's discomfort had nothing to do with the dragon-killing aspect of the story – the problem lay in her being a Berserker.
It seemed so obvious now that he thought about it. If she had always been the kind of person he got to know her as, she must have felt so painfully out of place in her tribe of origin. Just like he had, until very recently, in his own.
Could it be that the Monstrous Nightmare incident affected her just as deeply as meeting Toothless affected him? Was it then and there that she realized she didn't want to be an invincible warrior, who destroyed everything in her path? Assuming she had always preferred working around the household to handling the spear, but forced herself to pretend otherwise for the sake of fitting in, then maybe going Berserk for the first time rendered her incapable of fooling herself anymore? Or else, she had actually longed to awaken this tremendous power prior to that fateful hunt, in which case confronting the dream with reality left her at a complete loss. Either way, the poor girl was left with no choice but completely redefining herself.
He could be overthinking it, of course. He probably was. Nonetheless, Hiccup sympathized with Shrew. It didn't matter which of his theories best summed up her experiences, because his experience covered them all. To be scorned for traits you genuinely value in yourself, to be hailed for feats you performed by chance, to be attributed glory you didn't feel you earned - he knew it all, he knew it all too well. Nobody appreciated his attempts at killing dragons when he put his heart into it. Later, when he got to know Toothless and begun to study dragon behavior, the whole village suddenly showed vivid interest in his endeavors. They proclaimed him a prodigy. Cheered him on. Wished him many successes in future battles. He was finally getting positive attention, and it was making him sick.
As Hiccup reviewed these facts in his head, the unusually intense anxiety displayed by Fishlegs begun to appear perfectly justified. The young Ingerman was worried for his mother and didn't want her to be reminded of her difficult past. All because of his, Hiccup's, insatiable curiosity.
The boy dropped his eyes, ashamed. "Thank you," he said finally. "And sorry."
"It's okay." said Shrew. "You are to be the chief of this tribe, you need to know what your people are capable of. For the sake of total disclosure, I can't turn it on and off when I want to. It only ever activates when I need to protect somebody I care about."
"This is why Shrew never went on dragon hunts," supplied Stoick. "Her talents wouldn't be of use to us on a ship."
He had a point. Even if Shrew somehow activated the Berserker mode, controlling this much power within such a limited space would be extremely difficult. Hiccup didn't know how much control Fishlegs' mother exercised over her special talent, but it was probably better for everybody if she didn't accidentally sink a ship.
Alas, the battle potential of Fishlegs' mother was irrelevant. She supplied them with valuable information, and not without a cost to herself. It was time for a thorough analysis, and Hiccup would see to it. By gods, he won't have sent this good woman down the treacherous memory lane for nothing.
The boy blocked out all the external noises, including whatever else was said at the table, and turned on the analytical mode.
Destructive Winter. Berserkers. Hunting trip. Baby Monstrous Nightmare. Furious mother. Bloodshed.
The must have been something he could anchor himself on.
Destructive Winter. Berserkers. Hunting trip. Baby Monstrous Nightmare. Furious mother. Bloodshed.
He had to be missing something, he could feel it.
Destructive Winter. Berserkers. Hunting trip. Baby Monst...
Wait. Wait a minute.
Baby?
Hiccup's eyes flew wide open. He froze, his brain coming to an abrupt halt. Realization fell on him like a boulder, momentarily crushing his train of thought.
Meanwhile the others noticed the sudden change in his physique and were now looking at him curiously.
"Son, you okay?" asked Stoick.
Hiccup looked up. He glanced at all the adults. Finally, he asked them a very important question.
"Has any of you, ever, seen a baby dragon?"
There was a silence. The three adults exchanged uneasy glances.
Shrew spoke first. "Aside from that one time, no, I haven't."
Pincers scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Not that I remember. Although, it isn't entirely outside the realm of possibility that I have, in fact, encountered a dragon that has not yet reached maturity, and wrongly assumed it to a fully developed specimen. Fear tends to skew one's perspective, you see. Not to mention, circumstances hardly ever allowed for a thorough analysis in this regard. We had to defend ourselves, first and foremost."
Stoick let out an irritated groan. "They were all adults. Or near adults. Never a baby," He said firmly. Simple questions deserved simple answers, as far as he was concerned.
"Exactly," said Hiccup, energized. "There have never been baby dragons on Berk. And why should there be, if we were fighting a war? On the other hand, my mother's Sanctuary was sprawling with dragons of all ages and sizes. Toothless couldn't get the little ones off of him. The point is, the Sanctuary was the perfect place for dragons to raise their young. Berk was not. This is why they aren't here right now. They got used to laying their eggs elsewhere."
The future chief scanned his audience, looking strong and assured. They were stunned for a moment, but as the meaning of his words sunk in, their expressions brightened.
"Yes. Yes, this makes perfect sense!" exclaimed Pincers. "They must have conditioned themselves to breed at specifically this time of the year, because of how low the human activity is! It all adds up!"
"Yes, this must be it!" Shrew nodded eagerly. "And here we thought they were being controlled by an external force!" she added looking both amused and embarrassed.
"Well, we weren't entirely wrong," said Pincers, his feelings mirroring his wife's. "There was a force involved, only it wasn't a malicious alpha, but an overpowering need to procreate!" he laughed and shook his head. "Some great thinker I turned out to be! Talk about missing the obvious!"
Shrew laughed too. "I'm supposed to be a great hunter and tracker, and I still failed to put two and two together!"
Stoick, meanwhile, gripped his son's shoulder. His reaction may not have been as lively as that of the Ingermans, but the wave of relief that washed over him – intensified by a surge of heart-warming pride – was more than enough to nip the annoyance at Pincers' over-the-top vocabulary in the bud.
"It really was that simple, wasn't it?" the chief grinned at his firstborn. Hiccup looked up at him, the very picture of happiness in its purest form. Stoick's smile grew wider and he ruffled his heir's hair. Right now, they were both ridiculously happy. The mystery was solved, and best of all, they knew beyond a shadow of doubt that the dragons' disappearance was in no way linked to Valka.
In addition, there was a fair chance that their reptile friends would be returning with offspring.
Hiccup couldn't help grinning like an idiot. It wasn't just a new prosthesis that he'd given his friend. Equipped with this simple device, Toothless had a chance at finding other Night Furries. Maybe even starting a family.
A family of Night Furries.
How awesome would that be?
(…)
Later, when the chief and his son had taken their leave, the Ingerman family pondered on what they had learned.
"We must let her go," decided Shrew.
Fishlegs stared at her, alarmed.
"It would seem so," said Pincers.
Fishlegs was stating to shake with anxiety. "But… but…"
That was all he managed to utter. There was no argument he could raise against his parents' judgement. He wasn't sure he wanted to try. All he knew was he didn't like what was happening.
Both his parents tried to comfort him.
"She'll come back," said Shrew. "She'll have her babies, and she'll come back."
By now, Fishlegs was sobbing. Babies? His Meatlug? But he had only just met her! He wasn't ready!
"Son," said Pincers, putting his hand on Fishlegs' shoulder, "I know it is hard when somebody you love ventures out of your reach. Whenever your mother goes on a hunting trip, I'm terrified. Notwithstanding her prepping, proficiency, or the fact that she always returns in one piece, I worry for her. Same is true for you and Meatlug. When you mount her, each and every time, my brain floods with visions of your tragic demise. I think of all the ways I could lose you, and it drives me insane. The torture only ever ends when you're back on the ground, safe and sound. Still, I would never forbid your mother from hunting, or you from dragon riding. Because I love you, and to love somebody means to trust them."
The man considered his offspring with a sympathetic smile. "You must choose which is worse, Fishlegs: to put faith in your friend despite your reservations, or to stand between her and something she desperately wants. Personally, I find the latter to be the worse alternative. Alas, Meatlug is your dragon, and this is a matter between the two of you. No matter what you decide, I will support you."
Fishlegs was speechless. His father meant well, obviously, his advice was wise and his every word loaded with love. So why did it hurt so much to hear it?
Shrew stepped in with a commentary of her own. "You probably won't appreciate your father's insight until much later. When you left Berk to look for Hiccup, he told me more or less the same thing," she flashed a disarming smile. "It made me want to go Berserk and beat him up."
Fishlegs said nothing. He just wailed.