As the sorrow filled chief sat himself in his saddle with his son in his arms and set off to give his fallen heir a proper funeral, Drago's remaining men gathered up around their fallen master. Drago's assistant stared at his master's beheaded body in horror. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking. Drago had meant everything to him; everything to his men. They hadn't joined him out of fear. They had joined his dragon army for revenge, and now everything was over. Drago's crew didn't have anywhere to go, anyone to go to or anyone for them to follow now that their leader is gone. But their second-in-command believed they had one more thing to do; get revenge for their fallen warrior. He buried his hands in the snow, squeezing his eyes shut to let a few tears fall. "We will avenge you," he growled, clenching his fingers in a fist.
"Eret!" A soldier came up to him. "What are we going to do now?" Eret didn't look up just yet. He stared at Drago's body, his mind flashing the pictures of Bludvist's killer. He slowly raised himself up on his feet.
"Drago deserved better than this," Eret said, finally tearing his eyes off the body and to the crowd who looked up at him; looked up at Drago's most trusted man. "We have the power to finish this," He looked at the alpha. "We have a chance to avenge him," He took a deep breath and sheathed his swords. He looked up in the sky to see their new enemies fly up in the clouds. "And we're going to take it."
"They're back!"
"Took 'em long enough! I still need help with my sheep!"
"Look! There's someone else with them!"
Vikings dropped themselves out of their daily chores to look up at the sky as nine black shapes appeared from the clouds. As the black shadows on the setting light got closer, each and every women and men on the land of Berk could tell who they were. Except for one.
Two questions became a popular subject in the crowd that crowded around the landing dragons and their riders. First question came as a reaction to the extra winged dragon and the rider standing on it half dressed in armor. Who was it?
Second question came as another reaction, but more abrupt than the first one according to both answers compared. One was a happy, rather thrilling answer. But the second was far more depressing to handle.
Stoick was barely alerted by the jolt forward from landing. The questions surrounding him, cornering him from every direction was overwhelming. His hands shook, resulting to the body covered by fur shaking with them.
He didn't move out of his saddle and yell at them to get in the Great Hall like he usually would after discovering or witnessing such danger and blood shedding war. No. Instead, he continued sitting there, staring at the crowd in front of him. The images his eyes created were blurrier and pounding to the rhythm of his own heart. Faster and faster. Blurrier and blurrier.
His mind begged for his voice to work; to make Gobber quiet them down so his own voice would be heard even how weak it came out, but he didn't come further than parting his lips.
None of them responded to their questions. No one broke out of their trauma and yelled at them for being demanding Vikings. No one did anything but stare in their dragon's neck or didn't look at all. But almost as if a miracle happened by someone reading their thoughts, the crowd read their facial expression instead and went deadly silent.
"E-everyone," Stoick's voice cracked, coming out of the mighty chief as a small broken squeak. He cleared his throat. "Set everything ready…for a funeral." As quick as it had quieted down it all started coming alive again. Even more questions than the second they landed came flooding into Stoick's mind, but they were all the same. The women and men around them spoke in one set, and this time Gobber made his move to quiet them down. Yet, also the strong blacksmith of Berk spoke even weaker than the chief did; only difference was that he didn't hide it. Stoick tore his eyes away from the fur below him once they went silent enough for him to speak again.
"Hiccup…is gone," he said, looking up at them with tearful eyes. "H-he…he deserves a proper funeral…," Stoick looked over his shoulder at Astrid. "For what he did and what he has always done," he looked away from the shields maiden and back down at the bearskin. "Gobber," he muttered in command.
Without needing more to be said, Stoick lightly kicked Skullcrusher's side and set off to his house while trusting his right-hand-in-man to get everything ready. He needed time with his wife to say his final farewell.
Valka landed her dragon, Cloudjumper, in front of the house she hadn't seen in years. A flash for her eyes appeared when she jumped up and looked at it. The same house burning flashed through her mind from the day she had spotted a dragon set fire to Stoick and her house, break into the second floor where Hiccup laid in his cradle.
Even the residence itself formed tears in her eyes. She knew once she stepped inside she would spot traces of Hiccup everywhere, whether it was a picture or the tiniest thing as a little rusted piece of metal. She had observed Hiccup to be good with his hands the first time she got a good look at him. His appearance said so much about his personality, but the way Hiccup had told her before the attack - about how he was treated in his earlier years on Berk - she understood that she was the only one who noticed such.
It wasn't a bad ability for her; in fact, it was a great capability. She could pick up more about him than the words escaping his lips would allow her to hear. She could use it to find out more about his personality and maybe take that as a lead in getting to know him better, and come one step closer in making up for their lost time apart. But now that she thought over it a second time, she didn't do else than sigh and close her eyes.
She couldn't have any of that. Because now that the life was out of her son, she couldn't pick up anything more about him as if a shield blocked her skill out and replaced it with more sorrow than before.
Valka followed her husband through the door, lifting her lowered head a little. Unexpectedly, she found everything the same it had been twenty years ago; Stoick's special made chair, the fire pit with their cauldron out of reach from the heat, the table in the corner with the lonely little chair she used before. Everything was the same except for one thing.
A portrait of Hiccup and Stoick hanging on the wall next to a portrait of her; a portrait made a long time ago. But she couldn't tell when theirs were made. In her eyes, Hiccup seemed so small. Different from what he was now. But then a thought came in mind.
She narrowed her eyes, walking mindlessly towards the picture. She scanned their expressions slowly for a short second. She reached out her hand for the portrait, but retreated it almost immediately. Her hand found her chest and her lips found themselves to smile. She could see now. See and know without asking, when the portrait was made.
It was made around the time when Stoick had finally accepted Hiccup as his son.
She could see it by only looking at their face. Her mind made a picture appear in her mind; a picture so similar to the picture on the wall. A picture where they both smiled like a true family when they were reunited back in the nest. Their smiles were no different, nor were their body-language, and she felt loved by that.
Her thoughts broke in half by hearing the stairs creak. She turned her eyes away from the smile contagious portrait and back to the gloomy reality of the present. Valka kept her eyes on the floor as she followed Stoick upstairs with Toothless trailing behind. She almost stumbled on the last step in deep thoughts, but caught her footing and stopped beside Stoick.
In the quiet atmosphere she could hear Stoick sigh and lay Hiccup down on the lonely bed. She looked at the fur as it was gently lifted to reveal their son's peaceful, pale face.
"I'll…," Valka's voice cracked. She cleared her throat and placed a hand on Stoick's shoulder. "I'll go get something to c-clean his injury with," she excused herself. Stoick barely nodded. He heard her leave the room to get some supplies. Meanwhile, Stoick pulled out a chair from Hiccup's desk and pulled it up against Hiccup's bed, making just enough space between the bed and the chair for himself.
Gently, as if touching glass, he took Hiccup's hand in both of his own, wincing slightly by the coolness. His lips parted, but yet again no words came out.
Stoick had brought Hiccup to their house for a final goodbye, but he couldn't bring himself to say a single word. He couldn't find himself to do anything else then apologize to his son in his mind while his eyes stared at him in hope. Hope that the color to his skin would change back to normal. Hope that he would sit up and shock him by breathing like a living person; showing that he was alive at all like he had done so many times before. But this time it seemed rather impossible. After the many encounters Hiccup had with near-death experiences, he had never seemed so lifeless in Stoick's eyes. So pale. So dead.
Stoick wanted to bawl his eyes out over his son, but he didn't. His body was frozen; frozen enough for his emotions to stay hidden behind a mask. He didn't bother being alerted by the small footsteps coming from behind. He didn't bother turn around or look at his wife as she gently drenched a piece of cloth and began cleaning Hiccup's bleeding head. He didn't bother to wash his crimson stained hands; he didn't bother to do anything, but sit there as if he was deceased as well. And deep down, he really felt like a goner.
Valka looked at Stoick and took a deep breath. "Hiccup…he," Stoick looked at her. "He told me everything." Stoick closed his eyes with a sigh, covering his face with his hands.
"I'm sorry Val," he whispered.
"Stoick," Valka stopped cleaning Hiccup's head. "I'm not mad."
"Why? I did all those horrible things-
"I understand why you did what you did, and I won't say I'm happy about it," she sighed. "I'm not mad at your actions or your decisions because you did what you thought were right. Everyone makes mistakes at times, some worse than others, but you learned from it didn't you?" Stoick nodded with a half laugh.
"Yes, I did."
Valka smiled. "I won't be mad at you for the mistakes you've done because I know you wouldn't be mad at me for mine. Hiccup," She looked down at his face. "He was so happy when we were finally together again. I could tell it by the look in his eyes. And I'm sure that he's looking down at us from Valhalla," she looked back at Stoick.
"My point is, he wouldn't want us to be together to fight over our past. He would want us to be together and forget about everything that has happened and turn our focus back on what we can do with our future. Together."
Stoick smiled, taking her hand in his. "Thank you Val," he kissed her hand, holding it against his cheek as he looked at Hiccup. "You always know how to cheer me up even if it's just a little."
Valka stroke a tear away from his eye with her thumb. She dipped the wet rag back in the bucket of water and took his hands in hers. She gently washed his stained hands and her own. After drying both their hands, she held his in hers and looked deep into his eyes. She forced a smile through her torn emotions. "Come on," Valka stood up, pulling him up with her. "We better see if everything is ready," Stoick nodded.
"You're right," He squeezed her hand and together they walked downstairs. Stoick was about to open the door when it suddenly slammed open. Gobber stood there, panting on his knees.