"Is it time now?" Alvin asks irritated.
"Yes sir, it's time." Savage said as he finished polishing the Chief helmet.
"Ha-ha!" Alvin says. "Now it is time, for the most evil scoundrel, the most vial tyrant, the most cruel villain to ascend the throne of Berk!"
Outcast soldiers filed into the arena and around the border. They cheer and holler as they encourage their leader. Hiccup stays leaned against a stone wall, his foot propped up on the stone, arms crossed. He stared straight ahead as Toothless slept soundly at his feet.
Hiccup tickles the palm of his hand with the tips of his fingers, trying to recreate that feeling he had when it touched Astrid's. A feeling of home. As the roar of the crowd increases, Hiccup digs deeper into a strange sense that's somehow been opened.
An old repertoire that felt it had been abandoned. Like a long forgotten section of a library, filled with books left unopened. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine himself in that library and tries to imagine him exploring. But the annoying roar of the crowd keeps blocking him out.
He growls in annoyance and quietly slips away. He suddenly didn't care about the coronation anymore. Toothless' ears perk up and he follows Hiccup out and into the Plaza of the village. The entire place was a ghost own since all the villagers were imprisoned and the Outcasts were gathered in the arena.
Hiccup walks silently as he tries to imagine the library again. He'd never experienced a daydream before, but it was worth the try. He stops and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. And he envisions the shelves of long forgotten books. Blanketed by dust, cobwebs filling the spaces between the book and shelf.
He continues to walk forward, eyes open, but walking in a dazed state. He runs his fingers along the shelves, and by the end of it, they're covered in dust. Hiccup stops walking and finds himself in front of the blacksmith/dentist shop.
Hiccup squints his eyes to try and focus, and he imagines pulling a book off, blowing away the dust as it bellows up in a cloud, and opening the cover.
Suddenly there are flashbacks that Hiccup never knew he had. It was as if every time he turned the page, as new image emerged.
He was suddenly in the blacksmith's shop. Welding new weapons while dragons attacked outside. Next he's in the woods, sawing at the ropes that coil around a downed dragon. Running, scattering in the arena as a Gronckle has been released. Visiting a cove. Building a saddle.
Flying through the sky.
Flying into flames.
Suddenly Hiccup's eyes fly open, and he falls back gasping for breath, as if he'd just resurfaced from underwater. His heart beating rapid, he places a hand on his chest.
What just happened? He asks himself.
Toothless wanders over and purrs as he nuzzles his head into Hiccup's hair. He helps him up and Hiccup dusts off his pants.
There was an accident. He lost his leg.
Hiccup peered down and saw the metal leg. He rocked it back and forth, and it made a rusty squeaking sound. How did he not notice it before? Did it just never occurred to him? Or he never asked? Alvin never really talked about it.
He lifts up the sleeve of his shirt and looks at the white scar Stoick pointed out before. Alvin never mentioned anything to Hiccup, and yet Stoick seemed to know the exact spot of where he had a scar, and even how he got it. Hiccup continues to walk forward shaking his head.
This is just what he wants he tries to convince himself.
But now, not even he believes himself.
"Is there any other way we can help Hiccup without potentially endangering him?" Stoick asks Fishlegs.
"I'm not sure. I may know about dragons, but Hiccup always had an open mind. I even had to change some things in the book." Fishlegs says.
"Well at least we know the old Hiccup's still in there." Astrid says.
"Uh, not from what I heard." Snotlout says.
"Well, then obviously you're not a good listener." She snaps back. "There was something between us. I know it. And I know he felt it too." She says. "Hiccup's still Hiccup. No matter what. He just needs help braking from Alvin's control."
"Which brings us back to the problem at hand. How are we going to save him without killing the Changewing?" Gobber asks.
Stoick holds his chin for a moment, thinking. What would Hiccup do? He asks himself. "If we can't kill the best, maybe we should try and subdue it." He suggests.
"What?" Fishlegs asks in confusion.
"I see it." Gobber adds. "We keep the Changewing distracted, of maybe even knock it out cold, and try to make it release Hiccup."
Astrid and Fishlegs exchange a few looks.
"It's a plan, but it's not exactly ethical." Fishlegs says.
"It seems like the safest plan we have, and besides the thing belongs to Alvin. It's probably begging to be relished from him." Gobber jokes.
"Since Hiccup's in no condition to do it, I'll take his place and tame the Changewing." Stoick says.
"I hate to be Norbert the Negative, but what if you can't train it like Hiccup?" he asks.
"I know I can never mount to my son when it comes to dragons, but I can at least try. And if that fails, we knock out the beast and use force."
"Okay, now what about getting out of the dungeon?" Snotlout asks.
"No problem." Gobber says. He then puts his pointer finger and thumb between his lips and whistles. With the acoustics in the dungeon, everyone had to cover their ears since it rang out all around the room.
Almost immediately, a Terrible Terror pokes its head in through the main dungeon door. It twitters and squawks as it waddles its way over to Gobber's cell.
"You kept a Terrible Terror?" Fishlegs asks.
"Well sort of. The Outcasts let them all go since they're not big enough to invade. But they make a handy escape plan. Darien, go fetch the keys." He says and after a high-pitched squeak, the Terror scrambles out of the door.
"You name it Darien?" Astrid asks.
"What? It's the only thing he'll respond to." Gobber humorously says.
Hiccup had made his way to the chief's home where in unknowingly realized his path of choice. He stares at it for a moment, then walks up the wooden steps. They groaned and creaked underfoot, as though murmuring secrets about him. He took one step after another, and as he drew closer to the top, an odd feeling began to creep over him.
He felt it in his stomach first, a queasy sensation coupled with the slightest hint of vertigo. It made his skin prickle and the tiny hairs on his arms stand at attention. Hiccup grasped the tarnished brass ring and tugged. The door squeaked open, revealing a grand family room, and an open balcony giving a clear view of the bedroom upstairs.
The place had an abandoned quality with no fire on the hearth, no cloth on the table. Square shafts of white sunlight shone from two skylights at the top, a million dust motes dancing in and out of the beams.
Hiccup's feet walk along the wooden floor of the home, making hollow thumping sounds against the dried-out floorboards. For some reason, he felt, comfort. Welcomed. He circled the hearth and sat down in one of the chairs near the table. He leans forward, elbows to his knees and his fingers intertwined together.
Despite the dig, he couldn't keep from smiling just a little.
Darien soon returned with the ring of keys clamped between his lips. He makes his way to Gobber and Stoick's cell, depositing the keys in Gobber's hand.
"Well done Darien!" Gobber praises. "Now all we have to do it find the right key, and we are home free."
Gobber then begins testing the fist of hundreds keys locked on the rusted ring. But then Darien came in again with two more rings.
"Uh, this might take a while." Gobber said with a nervous laugh, and the other Vikings groaned.
Hiccup had made his way upstairs, where his eyes scanned the room. It felt as if whoever lived there simply left to do chores in the village. The bed made, left undisturbed. A tan satchel draped over the back of the desk chair. A candle resting peacefully on one of two nightstands.
Hiccup made his way to the foot of the bed where his fingers grazed along the wooden frame, not even caring about the splinter that bites into the tip of his finger. He faces ahead of the bed, leaning on the end board.
His gaze drifts the wooden table swamped with papers. Some even pinned to the wall because of the lack of room. Hiccup pushes himself off the board and slowly made his way to the table. A small cup held multiple brushes and charcoal pencils, to ensure any pictures that were created were in the upmost detail and highest quality.
Hiccup looks at all the pictures. All of the same Night Fury. Modifications to a saddle or just pictures. The craftsmanship seemed similar to that of the Book of Dragons. Hiccup looked at the pictures scattered on the desk, gently pushing them aside to see those hiding beneath it. And when he reached a picture of a Night fury, poised on a rock sleeping peacefully, he stopped.
The dragon was sleeping, curled in a perfect position, as if it was coiled within an oval, and not one scale was outside the line. Suddenly, as Hiccup looked up, whispers whisked by his ears. He covered his ears, his head began to throb.
He gritted his teeth so hard together from the pain he was sure they'd shatter. He feel to his knees as the memories came flooding in. Sketches from years earlier, dragons from the arena. Stoick. Fishlegs. Astrid. Gobber.
He did know them.
Hiccup screamed, the sound of his own breaking him from the flood of nonstop memories. He felt his face, moist with sweat, breathing heavy, as if he just finished a two hundred meter run. He looked up and saw the desk had been toppled over, the papers scattered and pencils rolling toward him.
Hiccup quickly pushed himself to his feet and dashed out of the room. Sprinting as fast has he can. He rushed out of the house, not even bothering to close the door behind. Not even caring if the dragon followed him out.
He wasn't sure how long he was in the house, but he saw the sky a beautiful orange and purple blaze. He ran toward the arena, and when he arrived, he saw the Outcasts toasting and Alvin wearing the chief's hat. No one had cared about his absence.
Hiccup walked up to a table where Alvin, Mildew, and Savage sat, toasting to Alvin as the new chief. Alvin's the first to notice Hiccup.
"Ah! Hadrian! Welcome, please, please sit." Alvin gestures.
Hiccup sits down, and immediately he was handed a mug. He grips it as some servants brought out dinner. No one seemed to notice his occupied mind, but he was glad. They had turkey and mashed potatoes. But Hiccup hadn't been able to force down more than a few bites. He couldn't concentrate on is food anyway.
As he asked for a refill of water, when their servant brought the mug, he looked up, and dropped his spoon. It clanged loudly against his dish.
A tall Viking with a long blonde beard. He wears a tunic with scale mail armor covering it under the belt. He also has a small brown vest covering the top of his shoulders. But the one thing he focused on was a rusted bucket placed on his head. The handle clanged as he ducked his head to refill the mug.
Hiccup stared wide-eyed as he watched the Viking refill the mug. When he handed it to Hiccup, Hiccup stiffly took it from his grip, and some droplets spilled out. This helped Hiccup realize he was shaking. Bucket didn't say anything besides staring at him. Hiccup tried to avoid his gaze by staring into his bowl. Swirling around the potatoes.
"That'll be all, Bucket." Alvin shrewdly says to the Viking.
Hiccup went rigid. Bucket simply nods and walks away. Not even looking back to Hiccup.
Hiccup's throat seemed to constrict as he asked. "Wha-what did you call him?"
Alvin looks to Hiccup. "Bucket. He's a fisherman of the Vikings here. The poor man is a smart as a sack of flour." He says before sipping from his mug.
Hiccup gripped his head as a flash of memories involving Bucket sheared themselves into his brain. He could feel the tips of needles embedding themselves as they tried to make their notice permanent.
That's it.
"Excuse me." Hiccup says, and he launched up from his seat.
Hiccup rushed to a newly built, two-story house on the far side of the village where he was staying. He had a nice view of the ocean, and it was all to himself. Hiccup drew himself a bath.
There was something about warm water and being alone that made it easier to think.
Hiccup could feel the tension slide off his shoulders and swirl mixing with the suds with the grime and sweat. His muscles relaxed, and closed up in the small warm space, he felt safe. He scrubbed his arms and legs until they were bright pink.
He stepped out and dried himself with a towel he left hanging on a metal hander hammered into the wall. He pulled on a soft blue tunic and black pants.
Hiccup gathered up his dirty, sweat-stained clothes. He left the steamy, warm bathroom, huddling into his night clothes as he passed through the frigid hallway and made the ten-foot trek to his bedroom. He shut the door to his room behind him, he dropped his clothes into a whicker basket.
He walked over and flopped on his back onto his bed. He brought his fists to his forehead. He took deep breaths, ran his fingers through his hair and sat up. He looked around the room and it felt like nothing like the other room. Hiccup wondered why, but no matter what he thought, he couldn't bring himself to go back to that house. Not now.
Hiccup scoots himself fully onto the bed and shifted until his back was pressed against the headboard. He curled his legs to his chest and hugged his knees. He drifted off into a soft and calm dimension of thought.
What's happening to me? He asks himself.
Was he falling into a bottomless abyss of delirium? Had Stoick managed to get inside his head? Was it all just a trick?
Something in him screamed it was, but at the same time, Hiccup felt as if he knew for sure Stoick was telling the truth. He groaned as he rested his forehead on his arms.
First, there was that young husky boy, Fishlegs. Then the blonde girl, Astrid. The chief Stoick and his lackey Gobber. Now Bucket the servant. All of whom Hiccup swore he knew somehow. As if he's always known them, like some half-remembered dream.
Hiccup could feel the memories swimming to the surface, he closed his eyes and let them come through. It seemed to hurt less, but not by much. He grits his teeth, but tried to breathe through it.
He found himself in the Square of the village, shade above his head. He found Bucket and another small husky Viking, holding shields for protection against something. The small Viking says something, and Bucket brings forward a small burlap sack with a hole chewed in it.
"I ate it already? Did I enjoy it?" he asks.
Hiccup found himself trying to tell him about how a Terrible Terror had eaten it. Then the next thing he knew, he was on a roof of Mildew's old house. He was doing some work when he decided to slide down a rope and snoop around his house.
He remembered finding dragons' feet and a hand. Sick man. Then he just threw them into the ocean. But something about it made Hiccup furious.
It was a framer.
Hiccup then found himself on a ship, hands tied behind the back, shoved back into a chained and muzzled dragon. Alvin stood in front of him, and as he stepped to the side, Mildew was revealed. Hiccup could feel the anger surge through him.
Betrayal.
Hatred.
That's what he felt, but why? Why would he feel hatred against his own father?
Suddenly Hiccup couldn't take it. He snapped his eyes open, and after the room settled into focus, he suddenly felt like screaming. He looked to his left arm and saw the Outcasts logo on it. He turned it up and saw the white scar Stoick mentioned.
Anger and hatred surged through his veins as he stared at it. He sprang up from his bed and rushed down the hall back to the bathroom. He turned on the water and snatched a bar of soap. He lathered it thick over the symbol of the Outcasts.
Like curls of smoke, the deep red ink loosened into crimson swirls and then spread and drifted into the water.
Hiccup then took the bucket and dumped it out of the back door. He watched until the water got sucked into the soil, the bolted back upstairs. He grabbed a feather with a sharp point and dipped it into the squid ink he earlier traded with from Trader Johan.
He didn't know why, but he had to do it.
Unblinking, Hiccup began to move the blackened tip of the feather against his skin. The tip as cold and sharp as his own eyes.
His face remained motionless as he made small, careful lines with the pen. Small drops of blood would drop out he was pressing so hard. The steady impression of the feather tickled, creating knots in his stomach.
When he finally finished, he released his hand and, with one final almost admonishing stab of that razor feather, flicked the feather back into the ink holder.
Hiccup's face burned. His skin tingled where he'd touched, with an almost imperceptible electricity that he couldn't be sure if he was imagining. Like the tips of his fingers had somehow fallen sleep.
He started to slightly shake. He let his hands fall to his sides for a moment. He tried to make a noise but couldn't.
What did I just do?
Hiccup looked down at his hand again.
In new, deep purple, he'd written the Berk Crest.