The Prince of Dragons: Remastered

by Nobody'sHero98

Summary: What if at a young age Hiccup was taken away from Berk and raised by dragons. How would this affect his future? How would this affect his family, what would happen if Hiccup returned to Berk years later? (I deleted this once, it's back, don't expect consistency and or good grammar, I just want to finish this and move on) (Hiccstrid)

5. Chapter 5

The Prince of Dragons

Chapter 5: The Crazy Old Man

Do you ever get that one commentator that thinks there trying to help but only ends up making you feel depressed and kinda sad because you misspelled a few things? Look I just wanta get this done and up and move on. I gotta good thing going with another project, and this is sort of an afterthought. Listen to me ramble, like an idiot. Here's the story.

BERK

Stoic the Vast, Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, Oh Hear His Name and Tremble Ugh, Ugg. Watched with a determined look as three Viking war boats where being loaded with supplies. He was getting ready for another expedition into the dragon's territory; Stoic was hoping to finally find the dragons nest and destroy it. The Tribesmen staying behind watched respectful and gave the Hooligan salute. For many of them setting of on this voyage, this could be the last time they saw their beloved island. The waters alone were sly and treacherous, but the Dragons made this trip all the bleaker. Spitelout walked up to Stoic.

"It's time brother, we best leave now before were up to our thighs in snow."

Stoic the Vast nodded, as Spitelout left to go help load the last remaining supplies onto the boats. But then he felt a faint tap on his soldier; it was from a scrawny old man with a walking stick. Believe or not this tiny old man-made some of the younger Vikings look like giants. He had a beard like a shell swirling Hermit Crab shell and he carried a walking stick that was twice the size of him.

"You're not seriously going out there, again are you?"

"We have to Old Wrinkly, it's us or them."

"Do you know how many Chiefs before you have uttered those words?"

"I frankly don't care Old Wrinkly, I'm a Chief, the Chief has a duty to his tribe, surely you can understand that."

"But it's madness, you could get killed."

"So be it."

Chief Stoic the Vast said as he turned his back on Old Wrinkly. Old Wrinkly then said.

"Don't run into any Sea Dragons, there pretty violent this time of year!"

Stoic the Vast rolled his eyes, Old Wrinkly was believe it or not, Stoic's Father in Law. He was looking pretty good for ninety-seven and three quarters, but indeed, he was the father of Valka. Old Wrinkly was the town hermit, soothsayer, doctor dragon expert, wise sage and elder though most of his 'occupations' were unsuccessful. In fact those occupations were already taken so there's really no point in going. Anymore the Hairy Hooligan Tribe were really only humoring the old man. Gobber the Belch had sort of become the town dragon expert. Gothi was the elder and soothsayer. An unpleasant man named Mildew had sort of become the town hermit. Even Stoic the Vast more or less saw himself as a Wise Sage, at least from his stand point. Anyway, Valka walked up to Stoic the Vast and gave him a hug.

"Be safe out there…"

"I will, just remember, I'll be back, probably."

"And I'll be here, probably..."

Valka said with a warm smile as Stoic gave her one last kiss on the check. Stoic slummed onto the Lucky Thirteen, he then heard Spitelout mutter.

"All that old fart does is talk about Sea Dragons."

Spitelout said referring to Old Wrinkly, Hoark then muttered.

"Makes ya wonder though if the guys tellin' the truth."

"I think he's telling the truth, how could you make up something like a Sea Dragon five times as big as a whale?"

Said the rather eerie voice of Burt the Daring, Spitelout sneered as he interrupted the conversation.

"The old fool is senile, no such thing as a Sea Dragon that big."

This started a debate on board the Lucky Thirteen as to whether or not there was actually such thing as a Seadragon Giganticus Maximus. Most people didn't know about Alpha Dragons, and if you did happen to meet one, chances are you'd probably not live to tell anyone else that such a creature existed. Valka from the front of the crowd gathered at the docks waved a hardly farewell to Stoic the Vast

MIDDAY

OUTSKIRTS OF BERK

Hiccup continued to walk, drops of blood from his wounds dripped onto the fresh green grass. He needed to help the Night Fury; his tail was busted up and unable to fly. But Hiccup needed materials; he already had a plan thought up of what he was going to do. The Prince was going to trick the blacksmith, get the materials, work on the dragon's tail when he could and then attach to the Night Fury. After that, it would be goodbye foul smelling putrid Vikings and hello six months of doing nothing inside the Red Death's lair. Forward he went, soldiering on, every footstep seeming to take an ounce of life out of him. Hiccup was in dire need of medical care, his body wasn't mangled by any means, in fact the arrows lodged in his just weren't even that bad just mere wounds to the flesh. But the Prince of Dragons was losing blood slowly, if lost anymore; he would surely die from blood loss. Even after clenching both hands of the wound, Hiccup hardly slowed the painful blood loss. Hiccup let one hand go and supported himself by grabbing onto the nearby trees, but even that wasn't enough to get Hiccup more than a few inches with each passing step. Then after much painstaking walking, he saw it, the Hooligan Village of Berk, half of it burned down to the ground. Hiccup then took off his helmet of the Prince of Dragons and placed it down in a small fox hole just outside the forest. Then he began to remove his armor plating, he didn't want anyone to recognize him. It was by this point that Hiccup began to cough up drips of blood, he was getting woozy. Hiccup began stumble with each passing step, his mind was getting foggy, vision was blurring, hands becoming cold and shaky, he was on the verge of passing out. It was then he saw through cloudy eyes an assembly of Viking men and women all waving their goodbye's to a fleet of ships that had just set sail. Hiccup began to stumble toward the crowd of Hairy Hooligans he began mutter some things under his breathe. It wasn't Norse nor Dragonese, just gibberish. It was then that Bucket and Mulch turned around as Hiccup nearly passed out.

"Blacksmith, I need find a blacksmith…¦"

Hiccup said as clearly as he could before nearly falling to the ground in agony. But luckily Mulch was able to catch Hiccup with his good hand.

"What's wrong with ya boy."

Hiccup only replied with more gibberish, as he finally passed out from the lack of blood, in the meaty hands of Mulch. Bucket then asked.

"Is he dead Mulch?"

"I guess so…"

Random Vikings began to crowd around Hiccup, they murmured mourned the boy for a moment. Valka looked from a far, she wandered closer toward the inner circle, and there was something about that boy that stuck out to her. What was it? The Hooligans then began to bombard each other with questions.

"Who is that?"

"Is he breathing?"

"Is that boy even from around here?"

Old Wrinkly managed to squeeze his way through the crowd surrounding Hiccup. The feeble old man went to check Hiccup's pulse with his long bone like fingers. He put two fingers over Hiccup's jugular, Old Wrinkly nodded a bit in hope.

"He's alive, but just barely, c'mon, take him back to my hut, I'll see what I can do."

Mulch passed the young dying Prince over to Bucket so he could scratch the back of his head awkwardly with his free hand. A lot of the other Hooligans glanced away doubtfully or acted like they never heard the question to begin with. Even Valka turned her head away awkwardly, someone then said.

"That's okay Old Wrinkly, I'm sure we can get Gothi down here before he dies-

"Can't ya see! If this boy doesn't get his wounds patched up soon he'll surely die, and his blood will be on your hands not mine."

Old Wrinkly said grimly, this changed most of the Vikings minds around in an instant. Bucket and Mulch rushed to Old Wrinkly's house as the feeble old man hobbled along as best he could. The crowd of Vikings quickly dispersed as the people of Berk went on with their daily lives. Meanwhile the three Vikings had finally made it to Old Wrinkly's hut; it was quaint in a manner of speaking. It was located on the edge of the town of Berk, and it was significantly smaller than any other house on Berk. The house had all sorts of scratches around it that made it painful to look at. Add in a horrendous color scheme of barf brown and you have probably one of the strangest homes ever built. Needless to say, Old Wrinkly was really proud of it. As the gang of Vikings approached the door, Old Wrinkly tried to pull open the door with his fingers. The door did not open, locked from the inside.

"Oh, I must have locked it."

Old Wrinkly then pulled out a large key chain with several random keys. He squinted his ancient eyes as he tried to find the right key.

"Now let's see, basement, pantry, closet…"

So on and so forth, it wasn't until the other two large were feed up. Eventually Old Wrinkly did find the correct key to his front door. But Bucket had handed Hiccup back to Mulch so he could ram his massive bucket-head into the door sending it off its hinges. Old Wrinkly sighed as he held up a single silver-grey key.

"Was that really necessary? I found the key."

Old Wrinkly said as he put his key-chain back into his pocket. Slowly he made his way inside his home; he pointed a bony finger to Bucket.

"You're fixing that, also I may need you to re-shingle my roof, but you can do that later."

The old man said as Mulch placed Hiccup down on a large wooden and limestone table. Old Wrinkly's home only had the one main floor and it was poorly kept as the outside of his home. Random things scattered everywhere, books, weapons, helmets, armor, even a family portrait of Old Wrinkly, Valka, Stoic and the young baby Hiccup. Old Wrinkly quickly ducked into a corner as he tried to find some things. Then Old Wrinkly got out a medical kit filled with things that could save your life, or things that could possibly kill you. It was then Old Wrinkly went up to Hiccup and cut up the wool skin shirt he wore. The three Viking men went wide eyed, never before had they seen so many battle scars. Hiccup's body was littered with them, sword wounds, arrow wounds, third degree burns, even some major bruising. Old Wrinkly then spotted the two wounds that were the sources of Hiccup's blood lose. He glanced back at Bucket and Mulch.

"Make yourselves useful and fetch me a bucket of water and a dead chicken."

Bucket and Mulch nodded before they began to trip and stumble out of Old Wrinkly's crammed little home. Old Wrinkly sighed and rolled his eyes as Bucket and Mulch eventually made it out of his home.

"Odin and his infinite wisdom save me from the incredibly stupid."

Old Wrinkly said as he began to patch up Hiccup's wounds. All the while, Hiccup kept taking short intakes every now and then. An hour went by as Old Wrinkly removed the arrow heads lodged inside of Hiccup and cleaned up his wounds. Then he got out a small needle and a tiny bit of red thread. He then began to patch up Hiccup's wounds. Within a few minutes Hiccup's wounds were all patched up, it was then Bucket and Mulch came back with fear in their maddening eyes. Bucket was holding a dead chicken by the neck and Mulch held a bucket of water. Mulch then asked.

"What do you want us to do with this stuff?"

Mulch asked before the feeble old man walked up to the two large hairy Vikings. He then dipped his hands into the bucket of water as the dirt and blood from Hiccup's wounds washed off. Old Wrinkly then grabbed the chicken. The two Vikings looked at each other as Old Wrinkly placed the chicken on the kitchen table.

"Wait a second, what was the point of that!?"

Old Wrinkly smiled a vague warm smile, the kind of smile only an old man like himself could do.

"Well now I have dinner and I was able to wash my hands."

Bucket and Mulch nearly fell over by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Mulch collected himself.

"Is the boy at least alright?"

"He'll live, carry on now, I'm not sharing my dinner."

Old Wrinkly said with a chuckle as he removed a long old pipe from his tunic, he then slouched down next to Hiccup and began to blow smoke rings. Bucket and Mulch began to groan and mutter curses under there breathe.

"I'm never trusting an old man again Mulch, they're really not that nice."

"That makes the two of us, I need some mead."

"I could go for a pint, or twelve."

"No, one's good enough for you."

"I guess you're right Mulch."

As Bucket and Mulch continued on their way toward the Grand Hall. Old Wrinkly watched Hiccup; he didn't really notice this up until now, but the young boy sleeping in front of him seemed familiar to him in a vague sort of way. Something about the shape of his head or the way his hair grew. The old man shacked it off, mistaking it for some misplaced nostalgia.

THE GREAT HALL

The dimly lit Great Hall which had usually been alive with merry Vikings singing, drinking or telling old stories of gods and pirates was now a dead quiet wasteland. The only noises made were the occasional remarks made by some of the Young Hooligan warriors. They were all bored and annoyed, most of that was probably because of the limpets. Astrid and Ruffnut were in the corner talking about girl things…and when I say that, I mean talking about the best way to rip someone's head in with your bare hands…girl talk. Most of the Viking boys were playing a game of Bashi-ball. Which was a violent sport with really no rules which was somewhat like football (soccer if you're in the America's). There were no real rules to the game, you just fight until you drop over a muddy leather bond ball. It was Dogsbreathe and Snotlout versus Tuffnut, Wartihog and Speedyfist. Fishlegs used to be asked to round out the numbers, but even so he was often beaten up the most by this, so he didn't really play Bashi-ball all that much. Often he would just read in the book of Dragons and smile amazed at the fantastic creatures known as dragons. Gobber the Belch then slammed the doors of the Great Hall open and said.

"Don't you worthless sacks of potatoes just sit there! Get over here!"

Gobber said instantly, with authority in his voice. Astrid and Ruffnut got and stopped there 'girl talk'. The boy's game of Bashi-ball came to an unfortunate end; the boys got out of the massive dog pile and stood in attention. Fishlegs fumbled the book of dragons in his hands before eventually closing it and joining the other Hooligans. The eight Young Hairy Hooligans quickly scurried on over to Gobber the Belch. They got in an orderly straight army-like line, most of them were sweating with fear, what had they done now? Where they going to be on limpet rations for the next year? What was Gobber going to say to them?

"Now, as you all probably know, most of you are pathetic, disorderly, miscreants! Now it is my job to kick you into shape figuratively and literally."

Gobber the Belch said with a funny mad-glint in his eyes and a wicked smile forming over his slack-jaw. He then began to pace back and forth like an army general inspecting his soldiers.

"The elders of the tribe have taken pity on you snot-for-brains, but if it was up to me I would have the lot of you tossed of the nearest cliff."

Many of the Young Hooligans swallowed hard at that last remark. Gobber then raised one of his fat hairy arms.

"Anyway, they want me to train you to be the proper Hooligans you're meant to be, we may be Vikings, but that doesn't mean we're morons! Snotlout."

Gobber said in a mocking tone, Snotlout dared not to say anything; instead he let out a low angry growl. But Gobber the Belch only shot a growl even angrier and more dog-like. Snotlout completely backed down.

"Now where was I...Ah yes, it's my job to turn you into proper Hooligans, your initiation into the Hairy Hooligan tribe begins tomorrow. Come back her six o'clock sharp, AND DON'T BE LATE!"

The Young Hairy Hooligan could not believe their ears, initiation. Initiation into the Hooligan Tribe? Each one of them wanted to jump up into the air and cheer happily, but they didn't over the fear that Gobber the Belch caused. It was then that every last one of them stormed out of the Great Hall and rushed out to get ready for initiation. Gobber the Belch smiled a bit as he watched the Hooligans to be storm out the Great Hall in excitement. The Blacksmith then sat down on one of the many chairs that littered the Great Hall and smiled in satisfaction.

"Fear and respect, that's all it takes to wipe complete limpet-brains like that into shape."

Gobber said as he crossed his arms behind his head and began to relax. The Blacksmith then closed his eyes trying to just enjoy the quiet atmosphere in the room. It was then Bucket and Mulch walked in annoyed.

"Who does he think he is?!"

"Old Wrinkly?"

"Well I know that Bucket! But what I mean is how could he just be so irritable."

"Also he wasn't going to share the chicken…what low-life doesn't share chicken?"

Bucket and Mulch screamed, disrupting Gobber the Belch's relaxation. His eyes shot open annoyed. He then peered over at Bucket and Mulch who were busy pouring themselves a pint of mead each. Gobber limped over and said.

"What's with all this poppycock?

"Old Wrinkly."

Gobber rolled his eyes; he knew what the deal was by now. Old Wrinkly probably did something stupid again.

"What did the old fool do this time?"

"He used us like a couple of morons!"

Mulch screamed Gobber just looked at the two, if they were stupid enough to fall for Old Wrinkly's antics, maybe they were morons. Gobber just shrugged as the two Vikings went on.

"He used us to get him dinner, and so what, he could save the life of some dingus nobody even knows!"

"It's just not right!"

Bucket said with a sigh.

"It isn't!"

Mulch replied. Gobber then asked.

"Wait, wait, wait. Go back a few steps, what's this about a dingus nobody even knows?"

Bucket and Mulch looked at each other; apparently Gobber hadn't heard the news. Mulch sat down as he began to chug the pint of mead.

"Eh, some kid managed to get himself injured and nearly killed in the center of town. The kid had all kids of battle scars, the types only Heroes get. He's the talk of the town."

Gobber sat down next to Mulch.

"Really? Where's he from?

"No one knows."

Bucket then nervously said.

"I think he might be a spy Mulch."

"He's not a spy Bucket, if he was a spy, why would he come to Berk with wounds the size of a Bashi-ball?"

Bucket scratched his bucket in confusion; he seemed to be having a hard time putting two and two together. Thinking wasn't exactly Bucket's strong suit. Mulch then lit up, he seemed to have recalled something.

"Oh yeah, he wanted to see you for some reason."

Gobber seemed shocked by this statement, he pointed a fat finger towards himself.

"Me?"

The two Vikings nodded, Mulch then replied.

"Yeah, he kept asking for a blacksmith."

Gobber got up from his seat.

"I should probably see what all this fuss is about then, besides, I could always us another victim- I mean student."

Gobber said as he stumped out of the Great Hall, curiosity pecking at his brain.