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Chapter 05: Flight
(Gobber)
It was an overcast morning, the sky concealed by a grey blanket of clouds; not an unusual sight on Berk. Fitful breaths of wind ruffled branches and leaves, whispering occasionally through the nooks and crevices of the steep sea-cliffs surrounding the village. A light drizzle dampened the muddy ground and, more importantly, everyone's clothes; also not an unusual thing on Berk. In fact, in the northern Archipelago, dry boots and breeches were, much like foods with actual taste, merely fantastic tales, brought by rare traders and even rarer travelers; dreams from south of the Wicked Waters and from lands where dragons were but a myth.
Gobber the Belch expertly ignored the weather-induced discomfort, vaguely considering the summer storms that would soon follow, making everything even wetter. He tried to walk confidently towards the caves. He had done his best thinking in quite a while.
The rest is up to the gods.
His plan had flaws, he was aware of it, but, then again, Gobber had never been a great planner; such ability was reserved to the chief of the village. The chief, however, his best friend, was obviously struggling with the current situation.
As great a chief as Stoick the Vast was, the man had often had difficulties when dealing with his own family, particularly his son. That's when Gobber usually intervened. In general, his help had always been appreciated by all parties involved. Today, he was not so sure his involvement would be welcomed by everyone.
Stoick had never been unreasonably harsh with punishing his son. However, what the young boy had just done had struck a particular nerve with the chief. Gobber had seen it in his eyes, which had led him to fear what his friend was going to do. Most likely, something he was going to regret. Could Gobber stay idle before the current crisis?
He mulled over this issue as he stepped down the path carved in the cliff's side, towards one of the large openings in the rock that led inside the caves. With a wooden stump for his left leg, he had to be careful not to slip and fall into the sea below. The passage was wide, but the blows of wind could get quite dangerous in certain spots of the crevice between the village and the arena, under the great wooden bridge.
He was accompanied by an escort of six. Four were tasked to join the Night Fury's guards in the lower cells, and prepare the dragon for execution. The remaining two were to stay beside Gobber, to keep an eye on the human prisoner: Hiccup.
Gobber had tried to point out that the extra manpower was completely unnecessary. Had Hiccup been a violent prisoner, which he obviously wasn't, he would have still been unable to fight his way to freedom.
Yet, Stoick had insisted: 'All prisoners must be treated equally.'
Even when the prisoner is his own son, apparently, Gobber had thought.
This was quite the inconvenience for Gobber, who was not going to be able to speak openly to Hiccup, with two more sets of ears on his back, while he delivered the boy his morning meal.
The Vikings reached the entrance. A large barred gate had been placed at the cave's mouth, not so much to enhance security, which would have been superfluous in an often-empty prison, but rather to prevent kids from wandering inside and getting lost. The gate was opened by Brunhilda Fjalardottir, a capable shield maiden, black of hair, with thighs like a yak and muscles that could put most men to shame. She joined the group that was supposed to deal with the mysterious dragon, along with two more burly men led by Spitelout Jorgenson, who was young Snotlout's father, and the chief's first cousin.
As Stoick's closest living relative, Spitelout was clearly very interested in all developments concerning Hiccup. In fact, if the young Haddock heir happened to disappear, by either exile or some other calamity, Spitelout's son, Snotlout, would immediately become the most favored candidate for the future chiefdom. It was by no means a secret on Berk that such was the man's silent aspiration.
Of course, there were other valiant young men in the village, sons of relatively influential families, but none had blood-ties with the current chief as tight as the Jorgensons.
Nonetheless, treachery could not easily be contemplated as long as the chief was Stoick the Vast, who had always been quite outspoken about his determination for making Hiccup take his place in the future, even before the boy's unexpected successes during training.
As the others descended into the deeper caves, lighting torches, Gobber was left with the two younger, leaner warriors, Koll and Skili, both about the age of seventeen. He had not overseen their dragon training, so he was somewhat unfamiliar with them, though he knew they were both from two of the wealthier families in the village.
The three of them strolled in the dimly daylit tunnels, until they reached the door to the upper caves. The entrance was guarded by a sleeping Bucket, who was swiftly awoken and sent home, accompanied by a few distasteful jeers echoing from the two boys. Gobber ignored them and entered the passage.
"Stay here," he instructed. His tone wasn't one to allow for any dispute, and the young men obeyed reluctantly. He wasn't going to let them sneer at Hiccup as well, especially whilst the boy was behind bars.
When Gobber reached the cell, he peered inside to spot his apprentice in the darkness. From the cracks in the cave's walls, feeble rays of early-morning light provided scarce visibility, but it was enough for Gobber to see Hiccup was already awake, waiting in a limp sitting position, with his arms wrapped around his gut, trying not to shiver.
The boy had obviously slept very little. The cold stone floor was an unforgiving bed; Gobber knew this from experience, yet he was sure the harsh arrangements were not the sole cause of Hiccup's awful state.
The boy looked completely resigned to his fate, drained of all hope, his face more lifeless than anything alive should ever dare to be. Clearly, a whole night of agonizing worry had left the kid in a worse shape than Gobber had expected. Was Hiccup that distraught over the situation? Did he truly think his father wanted him dead? What had Stoick told the boy? Suddenly, Gobber realized his intervention was more urgent than he had previously thought.
And yet…
Yes... there! Gobber thought with a mixture of pride and relief.
Drowned in all that sorrow, it was almost imperceptible, but, for an instant, Gobber had seen it. A hint of fire, of defiance, burning behind the green in Hiccup's eyes. It had always been there, of course, no one on Berk had ever really doubted it, the boy had always had an iron will, or he would have not been such a constant calamity during past raids, but now there was a fierceness to it. A fierceness that made the truth brazenly obvious.
He's a Viking alright. How long till he finds out for 'imself?
"Mornin'!" Gobber greeted, smiling with inappropriate liveliness.
Hiccup barely raised his head. He only offered a quick distant smile in return.
Gobber pushed the bowl of food he had been holding through the usual opening. A thin cut of stock-dried cod and more bread. Though meat or fish were never given to the rare prisoners, Gobber could not help it. He actually wished he could have given the boy something better, but he couldn't risk raising suspicions of favoritism towards his apprentice. That meal was already more than any other prisoner could have ever hoped to get.
Hiccup looked at the bowl as it slid inside, but otherwise ignored it.
"Not hungry?" Gobber asked jovially. "Can't blame ya. What with ya choosing exile and all..." He murmured the last part, aware of the curious peering ears of Koll and Skili by the tunnel gate. "Think on the positives though, ya get to leave this miserable wet rock we call an island." Gobber sat on the floor, close to the iron bars of the cell. "Where will ya go first?" He asked eagerly. "So many places to see."
"Where the currents take me, I suppose," Hiccup replied, his voice dry and bitter. "One can't do much sailing when tied to a mast."
"I'd go first to Thor Rock," Gobber interjected in a casual tone, hoping to avoid attracting the unnecessary attention of the two guards, who were clearly failing at appearing indifferent to their conversation, "then Boar Head Island, and I'd move south from there. Warmer. And I hear the mead is very good," he added heartily.
"I'm sure it is," the boy replied absently, "but I don't drink, so..."
"I bet that's going to change," Gobber chuckled. "Trader Johann once even said that, in the far south, they drink a type of red mead from the mainland, made with small sweet fruits which-"
"Gobber?" Hiccup cut in, indifferent to the topic. "Be honest. You really think I can make it in the summer storms? Even if I'm not tied to a mast?" The boy's voice was shaking, either due to his weakened state, or to the sharp chill of the caves, or maybe because of the mounting fear of the very imminent trial.
"Oh, I'm sure something good will come up," Gobber said reassuringly. He winked, but the boy didn't catch the gesture. Hiccup's eyes were distant.
"I can barely steer a small boat by myself, Gobber," Hiccup complained. "With winds that strong I'm sure to end up on the Outcast Islands like any other stranded ship. And I'll probably be dead when I get there. And what about Toothless? I don't want him to die like-"
The boy's voice and welling tears were cut off by the loud horn-signal outside. The sound reverberated in the tunnels.
Gobber did not try to console his apprentice. There was no time.
As soon as the echo stopped, the two young men approached the cell without any prompt from Gobber. Koll handed him the chains and the relative lock key, while Skili entered the cage, and lifted Hiccup from under one armpit.
Once the young boy was unceremoniously dragged out, Gobber arranged the chains around Hiccup's thin wrists.
"For appearances' sake," he said apologetically as he secured the lock.
Before the four of them began to march towards the exit, Gobber turned to one of the young men. "Skili, right? Ya stay here and clean up the cell."
"What?!" The youth barked with an insulted glare.
"Chief's orders, lad," Gobber quickly lied, and it was fortunately enough. The word of the chief was not to be trifled with; every villager knew that much, which meant that, since Gobber was Stoick's best friend, he had the convenient privilege to claim the chief's authority behind his commands, and end most arguments in that fashion, especially with the younger folks.
Skili turned around with a grunt, but followed the order. The rest of them walked out of the tunnel, and into another one, and then another, until they reached the biggest chamber of the caverns underneath Berk.
The place had a dim, eerie glow, an effect of the long beams of daylight which infiltrated the darkness through large natural openings on multiple sides of the huge dome above. Water also leaked inside from the high stone ceiling, trailing the tall pointy stalactites that often joined with the floor, thereby forming massive limestone columns. The smooth floor, all across that immense underground chamber, had been sculpted evenly and flat by their legendary ancestors, just like the Great Hall. Only one sloped path led outside.
Gobber and Koll began to climb that path, steering Hiccup by his gangly elbows, when the sound of chains and wooden wheels behind them caught their attention. From a broad dark tunnel emerged a group of six Vikings. Gobber recognized Spitelout and Brunhilda in the forefront. They were hauling the wooden cart that restrained the Night Fury.
"Toothless!" Hiccup yelled, and yanked himself from Gobber and Koll, catching them by surprise. He ran towards the dragon, despite the weight of his chained wrists. Gobber and Koll ran after him, but didn't grab the boy when they understood that he wasn't going to escape.
Hiccup had fallen on his knees. With his arms still tightly joined, he tried to hug the dark scaly head of the Night Fury. Under its own chains and muzzle, the dragon produced a long moan.
The exchange was so utterly out of the ordinary, that, despite all expectations, Gobber felt his stomach twist at the sight of his apprentice embracing the winged beast. A lifetime of experience fighting the dragons had made Gobber physically certain of their thirst for blood. He had seen what they could do with a single bite, he had felt it on his now crippled body, so he couldn't help finding that loving interaction more than a little unsettling. He could easily imagine what the other Vikings were thinking. Disgust was eventually the most prominent emotion radiating from their faces.
"I'm sorry," Hiccup murmured, pressing his forehead on the dragon's. "It's all my fault. I'm sorry."
The beast gave a sorrowful purr in response. Everyone else stood still as ice as they witnessed the unbelievable display of affection. It was as if Loki himself had appeared in their midst.
"Enough of this!" Spitelout barked, moving to snatch Hiccup away from the Night Fury. Gobber promptly blocked his way, positioning himself face to face with the other man.
"Ya touch my apprentice, I get meself a new arm." He said coldly. He didn't want to start a brawl so early in the day, but he could also not risk Spitelout, whose intentions were not a well-kept secret, laying hands on the young heir. Gobber knew the boy's uncle had plenty of reasons for hurting Hiccup in that very moment, and enough justifications, as well as a sufficient amount of support for going relatively unpunished.
Before Spitelout could respond to the threat, Hiccup stood up, offering his chained wrists so that the procession could resume. As Hiccup did so, for some reason, he decided to weigh in: "Smile, uncle 'Lout," he said with an oddly bold sigh, "Snotlout will probably be the next chief now." Then, under his breath, he added: "but thank the gods I won't be here to see the results."
The boy's insolence went unheard by Spitelout, who had been immediately appeased and distracted by the partial confirmation of his greatest hopes and dreams. Gobber could already see the man's proud eyes begin to celebrate the fact that his son was never going to feel the shame of always being second best, as he had all his life. Unless of course Stoick could somehow manage to still get his way, and Stoick the Vast usually did, but Spitelout seemed momentarily overwhelmed by ambition to remember that.
Gobber was the only one who smiled at his apprentice's snarky comment. He suddenly realized how much he was going to miss the little boy's company. Hiccup's dry wit had always been a breath of fresh air, especially during the long hours at the forge.
"Come on, chief's waiting," Brunhilda said, and, soon enough, the six Vikings responsible for the Night Fury began moving onwards and outside, wordlessly dragging the wooden cart, while Gobber, Koll, and Hiccup followed slowly behind them, all the way up the dangerous path hacked in the cliff's precipice, and then across the bridge, until the arena came into view.
The scene that welcomed them was very similar to the previous day's, and yet entirely different. The crowd was the same, counting nearly every Berkian villager, but, while the day before they had been greeted by cheers and exhortation, today only whispers and murmurs could be heard. A few crying babes, an occasional cough, and the now increasing rainfall were the only noises in their ears.
The dragon was pulled inside first. A surge of murmurs accompanied the entrance of the wooden cart as the villagers observed the legendary creature. Some whispered "Night Fury!" Others spat with revulsion at the beast that had caused so much trouble and death during past raids.
Before passing through the arena's gate, Gobber addressed Koll with a final order. "Go tell the chief his son has arrived. I'll take it from here."
Koll didn't question him, and darted off into the crowd, eagerly accepting the more prestigious task than the one his friend Skili had received in the caves.
Gobber led Hiccup under the stone-covered passage that was the only entrance to the arena. He closed the iron bars behind them.
Sheltered from the rain and from most of the crowd's stares, Gobber was finally as alone with Hiccup as he was going to get. This was his last chance to talk to his apprentice without anyone hearing him. Fortunately, Stoick hadn't yet made his arrival, which meant Gobber could stall for a while, before reappearing from the other end of the passage, and thus inside the pit, where Hiccup was expected.
"Hiccup," he said, trying to gain the boy's attention, but Hiccup's mind had drifted away almost entirely. "Hiccup, look at me."
"I… I think I'm going to throw up," Hiccup replied, taking deep breaths.
"Time for that later. Now listen carefully."
"They are going to… p- please don't make them hurt him," the boy pleaded.
Hiccup seemed ready to faint, something Gobber could not allow, which was why he knocked the boy's head with a knuckle. There was no time for niceties.
"I said shut up and listen!" He barked.
"I can't watch him die, Gobb-"
"I know," Gobber cut in, "that's why ya must pay attention." He grabbed Hiccup vigorously from the shoulders as he spoke, shaking the boy and forcing his attention on himself. "Yer dragon friend does what ya say, right?"
"Wha-... yes?" Hiccup answered, not understanding the meaning of the question, but at least snapping out of his desperate trance.
"Good. Now, here's the key to yer chains." As discreetly as he could, Gobber lodged the small object into the boy's cold wet palm. "Hide it. When I remove the muzzle-guard from the Night Fury, ya tell 'im to blast the rest of his chains. His fire is clearly strong enough. Mount 'im and flee. Ya must be quick. With some luck, ya might be out of 'ere before the first axe flies."
At the back of his mind, Gobber realized he had inadvertently addressed the beast as a 'he' for the first time. Was this a bad thing?
No time for thinking.
"What…? What...?" Hiccup mumbled. "Gobber, you-"
"Hush!" Gobber promptly cut in again. "There's yer basket at the forge. I added a few things to it. Go get it before ya leave the island. There should be no one in the village, so ya might have a little time to look around, but not much before someone finds ya. Understand?"
"Gobber, you… my father will murder you!" Hiccup hissed, trying not to shout.
"Worried 'bout me, are ya now?" Gobber asked with his boldest smirk. "We go way back yer father and I. I'm sure he'll go easy on me." He paused to consider his words. "Or not..." He shrugged. "Eeh! That's none of yer concern now, is it?" He then briefly hugged his apprentice, putting some unnecessary force in the gesture, which squeezed the air out of the boy. "I really hope flying's at least half as good as it sounded to the twins, 'cause it only sounds frightening to me. Still... try to be safe, Hiccup."
"I don't know what to say… I- I-" Hiccup stuttered with relief. "Th- thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Ya know what to do. Now be prepared. Remember, ya've got to be quick. No more of all… this." Gobber pointed what was left of his upper limbs towards Hiccup's whole figure.
"You just gestured to all of me," the boy complained with a timid grin, blinking away some moisture from his eyes. "I'm going to miss you, Gobber."
"Aye, aye, me too. I'll have to find me a new apprentice." Gobber shook his head. "Odin knows there ain't many strong lads like you around 'ere."
The second horn signal finally announced the chief's arrival. They had stalled enough. It was time to move.
"No regrets, remember?" Gobber said, mostly to himself, then gently grabbed the young boy from his elbow, and they proceeded into the arena.
Once they got in, silence fell upon the crowd for a second time. Only the heavy raindrops could be heard, clinking on the villagers' helmets.
Gobber walked to the center of the arena, where the dragon's restraining cart had been placed. He left Hiccup as close to the dragon as he could without raising suspicion, then moved to the opposite side of the cart, by the Night Fury's muzzled head. From that position, he could still look at Hiccup, and they could both face straight up towards Stoick the Vast, who stood again outside the rim of the pit, this time with his arms sternly crossed.
In the pit, fortunately for Hiccup, were very few other people. Only a dozen armored men were trailing the perimeter. Among them, with his back to the central dragon pen, was Spitelout, who had been tasked to protect a person Gobber had never expected to see inside the arena: Gothi.
Her presence as a representative of the gods was not surprising of course, but nobody in their right mind would have asked the esteemed elder to stand so close to the dangerous dragon. In fact, she had always observed such events from a safe distance. Never before had she been seen inside the fighting pit. Gobber could only deduce that this had been a specific request on her part.
The old woman was hunched over her ornate staff, the very tool she would use to communicate by drawing in the dirt, since she had taken her vow of silence. Nobody knew why Gothi had stopped speaking. Some said the gods had taken her voice in exchange for her exceptional abilities as völva and healer. Others said that Freya herself had told her an outrageous secret seven years before, when the vow had been made, and she had decided not to speak since.
Gobber, however, being among the rare few who could interpret her scribbles in the dirt, thought of her only as a stubborn old crow; yet a mute crow nonetheless, which made her surprisingly good company when it came to sharing his mead, along with his more private woes and worries. Even so, on some occasions, Gobber found the undoubtedly vast wisdom shining through her gaze to be, at the very least, unsettling. This was one such occasion.
Why is she in here? Gobber wondered, not without a hint of apprehension.
Gothi was carefully studying the beast, when her ice-blue eyes moved upon Hiccup, and, finally, they met Gobber.
Her acute, knowing stare made him uneasy. She always understood more than she let on, and Gobber couldn't help fearing that the cunning elder suspected him of being up to something, even though he had told no one of his plan.
Stoick cleared his throat. "Vikings of Berk!" He began. "We gather here today to quench the unfortunate rumor that Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, my son, has conspired with the dragons against our mighty tribe." The chief shouted his words, perhaps unnecessarily, as the crowd was producing the most uncomfortable silence Gobber had ever witnessed. The man then placed his hands on his hips with an air of confidence. "We shall also witness my boy finally become a true Viking, by killing his first dragon. This ungodly beast, the offspring of lightning and death itself, the Night Fury, that yesterday interrupted my son's last trial, dies today!"
Somewhat scarce were the cheers that followed the inspiring statement.
"Today," Stoick added quickly, giving his crowd a second chance, "we feed the earth with dragon's blood!"
The chief was finally granted a slightly more appropriate round of boastful shouts. The Night Fury grew uneasy at the sound, pulling at the heavy chains that held it. Hiccup had noticed this, but Gobber caught his attention, and, with a sharp look, he informed the boy it wasn't time yet.
Finally, Stoick addressed his son.
"Hiccup, you are accused of conspiring against your village, and siding with the dragons. Is that claim true?" The question was obviously Stoick's way of slightly blurring the matter to help salvage his son's reputation.
"That's not true!" Hiccup yelled. Indeed, it wasn't.
"Do you think that dragons should be allowed to freely pillage our livestock without retaliation?"
"What? No. I never-"
Stoick cut him off with another question: "Do you excuse the dragons for killing our fellow villagers then?"
"Wha- I just said- I…" Hiccup was beginning to understand what his father was trying to do. "No," he answered decisively. He wasn't lying, of course, but it was now obvious that Stoick wasn't asking the right questions.
Unfortunately for the chief, other members of the council decided to step forward. Mildew Arvidson, better known as Mildew the Unpleasant, went first.
"Is it true you befriended this dragon?" He croaked. Even the bony old man's voice was unpleasant, just like everything else about him, including the cabbages he farmed.
Gobber could see Stoick's glare warn Hiccup. The boy looked at his father, then Gobber, then at his father again. "Yes," he replied.
A few scandalized whispers began to rise above the sound of the rain, when Vermund the Bald, the youngest among the council members, decided to intervene.
"Are ya still going to kill it, to redeem yerself for this grave offence in the eyes of gods and men?" The tall man asked behind his bushy blond mustache.
Gobber considered the question. Despite the general mood, they were going easier on his apprentice than he had expected, which was probably the result of Stoick's Viking charm; and by 'Viking charm' Gobber would usually allude to the not-so-veiled threats with which his best friend was incredibly creative. He had always admired that about Stoick. The burly man had never demonstrated any particular form of creativity, but when it came to violence, he had the tongue of a poet.
Hiccup did not answer his questioner. He looked uncertain. The poor boy was obviously being pressured by all the murmurs and stern looks. He looked at Gobber.
Not yet, Gobber thought frantically. I need to think of a distraction first.
"Hiccup!" Stoick called with impatience. "You've always said you wanted to be one of us, a true Viking. You are not even required to fight the foul beast, for we already know it's far too dangerous to let loose. You merely have to kill the Night Fury, and claim your rightful-"
"No," Hiccup interrupted. His answer came out weakly at first.
"Hiccup..." Stoick began threateningly.
"I said no!" The boy shouted with exasperation, and there it was again, the hint of fire Gobber had seen in his eyes. The anger. Was there also a spark of manliness in the way Hiccup had spoken? Had Hiccup's voice finally begun to break? Gobber tried to hold back a smile.
Hiccup went on, shouting, but this time he addressed the whole arena around him.
"I am not one of you, because you'll never let me be! I don't know if I'm right or wrong, but you won't even listen to what I have to say about the dragons! Fine! I don't care! But you will listen to what I have to say about this dragon! This Night Fury here, he is my best friend! If killing him is what it takes to be a true Viking, then I don't ever want to be one!" Hiccup screamed the last few words with all the strength of his small lungs, and though his voice squeaked at the end, nobody laughed.
Gobber looked at Stoick's reddening face. He could almost see the man's jaw contract so tightly, that he feared his friend's teeth might weld together like hot metal.
Cries of outrage such as "Traitor!" or "Dragon lover!" multiplied within the crowd. They were all abruptly vanquished by one thunderous roar:
"HICCUP, IF YOU DON'T KILL THAT FUCKIN' BEAST, YOU ARE NO LONGER MY SON!"
The rain seemed to pour harder in the silence that followed.
The words caught everyone off guard, even Gobber, who would have never expected such a harsh outburst from his friend towards his only child. Had Stoick just threatened to disown his son? Exile was one thing, exile could be temporary, but disownment... For a brief moment, a vicious heat grew in Gobber's chest, and he forgot his purpose in the arena. He was reminded of it by none other than Gothi.
The elder was looking Gobber straight in the eyes, when he caught a brief, but ghastly grin across her tooth-deprived mouth. Then, she moved her free hand, clutched Spitelout's tunic, and, suddenly, she fainted.
Spitelout caught her in his arms, attracting everyone's attention.
Gobber realized what she was doing. The crafty old bag was helping him! With the strongest of the Vikings inside the pit distracted by Gothi's fake emergency, Gobber found the time to act.
"Hiccup! Now!" He hissed as he swiftly approached the Night Fury to unlock its muzzle-guard.
The contraption fell on the floor, and so did Hiccup bonds.
"Toothless! Blast your chains. Quick!" Hiccup shouted.
Gobber prayed the dragon could truly understand Hiccup's command.
Everyone else was too confused to react in time.
The sharp screech of the Night Fury was followed by a loud explosion of splinters and dust. Gobber had to cover his face to protect himself. His ears rang from the blast. Smoke immediately filled the arena. He couldn't see anymore, which meant that neither could anyone else. He hobbled towards the exit, hoping to see them make it to the sky.
Gobber felt a strong swish of leathery wings, and saw the smoke curl around him. When Toothless lifted off with a powerful gust of air, Gobber only managed to get a glimpse of Hiccup on the dragon's back, as the two of them flew out through the hole in the steel net above, which had been broken just the day before by the same Night Fury.
Gobber ran out of the pit, and had to shove a few people aside to make his way towards the steep cliff that partially surrounded the arena. He didn't get too close to the edge, as the cliff promised a deadly drop of nearly thirty paces, into the churning sea.
He finally heard Stoick's approaching shouts of Hiccup's name. The chief was closely followed by a few quick Vikings, who were peering into the sky to spot the elusive Night Fury. Snotlout and Astrid were there too, axe at the ready, and so were the twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, and Fishlegs, the rest of the tribe right behind them.
"HICCUUUP!" Stoick screamed at the top of his lungs.
Hiccup and Toothless had disappeared, and the growing downpour made it hard to see, yet Gobber could swear he was still hearing the flapping of wings, although muffled by the sound of waves crashing on the rocks below.
Then, a black blur shot upwards from under the cliff. It slowed just before the heavy clouds, turning on its back and drawing an arch in the sky. As the dragon began its descent, it let out a roar unlike any other Berk had ever witnessed.
The sound was cold and sharp, wild and terrifying. Despite the distance, some Vikings flinched. Admittedly, no Berkian had ever heard the Night Fury's true roar, only a few snarls from the day before, and the signature screech that preceded its powerful blue fire.
The dragon landed elegantly atop a nearby sea-stack. Not close enough to be within reach of a throwing axe, but neither so far that they could not make out Hiccup's dripping face as he sat on the back of the majestic creature, its dark bat-like wings half unfolded, water pouring off of them.
Gobber could not conceal the amazement from his face. To think that even his little apprentice could acquire the semblance of a legendary hero on dragonback. It was an awe-inspiring sight, despite the heavy rain. A vision that, had Vikings not been the witnesses, would have surely become the object of myth, embroidered on tapestries, enshrined in stone, and recited in exuberant songs for years to come.
The young boy was saying his last bitter goodbyes by looking at them in turns. Hiccup looked first at his father, who, at a loss, could only whisper his son's name to himself.
Gobber prayed he had done the right thing. He knew how much Stoick loved his son.
The dragon-boy's gaze turned to him.
Farewell little toothpick, Gobber thought, half raising his good arm in salute. May Hraesvelgr's winds favor you in your journey. He did not speak the words out loud. In fact, no words were uttered on the island of Berk for those few precious, historic moments.
With a small pang of disappointment, Gobber saw that the privilege to Hiccup's last glance was not his to claim. He didn't manage to see to whom it was directed.
The boy's lips moved, yet no sound reached their ears. Then, just like that, Hiccup turned his back to all of them, and took off, steering the winged creature towards the empty village.
Glad to see his apprentice hadn't forgotten about the basket, Gobber scanned the crowd for the person who had been honored by the boy's last goodbye. It shouldn't have surprised him though, that the Viking with whom Hiccup felt the need to part the least was, in fact, the young, fierce, and beautiful Astrid, her look one of both dismay and wonder. Gobber smiled hopefully at that.
He'll come back. Someday.
