Disclaimer: I do not own How To Train Your Dragon, all rights belong to DreamWorks and Cressida Cowell. Please support the official release. I also do not own any other movies, shows, or works of art or music I may reference, all right belong to their respective owners.
Chapter 4 : Hero Reborn
By the time Hiccup's body had finished being prepared for the official Viking send off, the sun was hanging low in the sky. Casting deep shades of crimson over the dark storm clouds that had since rolled in.
Stoick had finished putting together the traditional offerings, and was now busying himself with placing the chosen objects in a small boat around his son.
Vikings had long believed that, to provide the deceased with comfort in the afterlife, they were to be sent off with essential things like food, clothing, and weapons. Seeing as the afterlife was believed to closely resemble the world of men, it only made since that the same items were necessary there as well.
Leaning over Stoick carefully placed a shield over the small boy's midsection, carefully adjusting it so their family crest lay straight. The shield was painted red with a liquorish black dragon coiled in the center, similar in shape to the Berk crest. However instead of a Monstrous Nightmare; a night fury's figure could easily be distinguished in the strong brush strokes.
Stoick had been trying very hard to prevent himself from looking at the boy's face throw-out his task, trying to create some sort of disconnect so as to prevent another break down. But, as he stood back to check his work, his gaze drifted, higher, and higher, until it landed upon a chestnut brown head of hair.
His stomach instantly did an involuntary flip as his heart rate quickened. No matter how many times he saw it he still couldn't get used to it, even as he stood before his son lying in his funeral boat, he didn't want to get used to it.
The skin was grayer and more sunken in then it was the previous day, and even though they had been mostly covered by the rich embroidered clothing that now adorned the boy, he could tell the bruises and gashes still littered the boy's delicate skin. The body lay peacefully in the boat, flower and various goods lining him on either side. His arms lay on his chest, small hands feebly grasping the hilt of his sword. They had put a red wool blanket over his legs to cover the still rotting stump, the Berk crest embroidered on the front in large gold tread.
His son is really, truly dead.
Stoick observed, with a strange numbness, that hiccup looked, if it was even possible, smaller than usual among all the offerings surrounding his tiny figure. It would have been almost funny if it hadn't been for the severity of the situation.
Another thing he observed was that, in the last few days he'd spent more time with his dead son then he ever had when hiccup was alive. His guilt only growing in strength with the thought, accompanied by images of his son's rotting corpse flashing through his mind.
Feeling a little sick Stoick grasped the side of the boat in an attempt to anchor is large body. His hands felt clammy and small beads of sweat began to form on his large brow, which was furrowed in concentration as he focused on anything but the still form of his son, trying not to lose his lunch.
Stoick had never been weak stomached when it came to this kind of stuff; he'd seen it often enough that he'd built up a sort of tolerance to it. He'd even been there when Gobber's hand had been viciously ripped from his arm, blood spattering everywhere, accompanied by a sickening crunching sound as the creature enjoyed his small snack. It had been disgusting to say the least, but when you were a Viking, losing a limb or two was an occupational hazard.
He'd seen countless men burned alive, eaten or just horribly wounded in the line of duty. But for some reason just seeing hiccup lying dead in a Viking equivalent of a coffin, was more than the chief could bear.
Just as he'd finally gotten his stomach to cease doing summer saults, he could make out a few pairs of footsteps approaching from behind.
Instantly straightening his posture to a more intimidating height, he turned to meet his new arrivals.
Gobber, Gothi (the village elder), and Spitlout stood in the entrance to the funeral home, toothless pushing his way through to stand near Hiccup.
When the dragon reached the boat he looked down onto his rider, and what happened next shocked them all.
A look of such deep sorrow, if a dragon could even feel it, graced the creature's dark features. The ear like flaps on top of its head drooped back; small pained whines escaped the dragon's mouth as he moved his large head to rest atop the small boy's, nuzzling into the soft brown locks.
Stoick wasn't sure if dragons could cry but no other word could describe what the Night fury was doing in that moment.
"stoick" the gruff voice of Gobber spoke from behind the chef. "it's time."
Turning away from the scene before him Stoick nodded. "I know"
Silently the men and toothless walked to individual corners of the boat and grasped the poles that jut out from underneath the small vessel.
In Berk it was tradition that the deceased where to sail off the water fall that feed into the ocean, the belief being that the soul of the person would fly out into the world. Seeing as the only waterfall that lead directly into the ocean was located at a lake deep in the forest, the boats had to be carried there.
When the men went to lift the small vessel it leaned slightly to the right do to the fact toothless was holding it on his back.
Slowly, so they wouldn't hit the edges of the door frame, they carried their cargo through the narrow entrance.
Stepping out into the fading light Stoick was greeted with a sight he did not expect.
The entire village, old and young, stood in the courtyard, torches in hand, waiting. Guilt and sorrow plainly visible on many faces as the chief swept his gaze over the crowd. Especially the young female Viking he recognized as Astrid. She almost looked uncomfortable, almost liked she did not think she deserved to be there. She stood, shoulders sagged and face turned down like she felt too ashamed to return Stoick's gaze.
In many ways Stoick understood, if anyone deserved to be standing here with his son, surely it was not him. After all, he realized with a bitterness that mad is mouth taste sour, he turned his back on the boy. While this girl had stood by his side in the end, even if it had only been for a short while, she had given his son something he never had. Support.
Feelings of shame returning in full force he averted his gaze to the ground, no longer able to meet the eyes of his clansmen. After all how could he clam to be a chief loyal to his people if he couldn't even show that same loyalty to his own flesh and blood? He was a fool.
Not looking up as the group slowly began to make their way through the crowd, bearing the boat and Hiccup, Stoick felt like each step he took sapped his energy. His legs felt like stone and he wasn't even sure how he was still moving, sure that at any moment his legs might betray him.
But they kept moving, through the village and into the trees, torch bearing Viking leading the men through the darkness while more brought up the rear.
The precession moved in utter silence, the only sound being those of footsteps and insects chirping in the forest. The air was thick with the dark mood that poured from the Vikings, covering them all in a dark shroud and weighing them down like heavy chains.
However at some point, Stoick became aware of a feminine voice being carried back to him on the breeze.
Gothi was singing,
Her voice echoed through the trees and flooded from her in such volume, despite her small body, that it sent shivers crawling up His spine. The ancient Norse song flowed with such elegance through the silence, dancing in the air only to wrap it's self around Stoick's heart, refusing to let go.
"Lay Down. Your sweet and weary head"
"Night is falling. You have come to Journey's end.
"Sleep now. And dream of the ones who came before."
"They are calling. From across the distant shore."
The words, like a verbal lament, only served to increase the pain that had already set like, a heavy stone in Stoicks slowly withering heart.
Soon Toothless began howling along with the elders words as if shouting to the gods, the grief in the creature's voice so powerful, it forced the tears that had been threatening to leak from the older man's eyes, to cascade down his cheeks to disappear into his long red beard.
By the time they reached the shore of the lake night had fallen, casing the torches to cast long shadows over the faces of the mourners.
Gothi's song came to an end as the men slowly placed the boat on the smooth surface, the water gently lapping at the vessel's sides.
And for a long moment they all stood, staring down at the small boy who had never looked bigger. Their savior, their hero, their….hiccup.
Gothi approached the boat, running her aged hands over the rough surface of the wood. Turning she regarded Stoick with a weak empathetic smile, her brows furrowed by sadness, which twisted her expression into a look of such pain, remembering when she had been in the same position long ago.
"Hiccup was…a good lad." She said stepping forward to do the eulogy, as was her duty as an elder. She'd delivered many in her time; more then she'd ever wish to count. She'd always felt some emotion. However she had never felt the sharp pain gripping her heart that she felt as she spoke her next words.
"He was better than most. He was born a hiccup, a runt of the litter. But somehow, away from our sight, he became a man, and not just a man, a hero. I'm only sorry that it had to be with his death, that we were finally able to see that." She said bitterly.
"We did not support this young man the way we should have, we shunned him for his differences and treated him no better than our enemies. For that we will never be able to absolve ourselves." She saw Stoick stiffen at her words, gripping his large hand into tight fists.
"Hiccup was a true Viking, and a man worthy of respect, and because of his acts of courage we are still here today, enjoying the first days of peace that our village has seen in many years." Relief evident in her voice.
"Today we honor his memory and pray that he finds his rightful place among the gods in Valhalla, for he has, a great deal more than most, earned it." And with that she stepped back, concluding her speech.
Slowly Stoick stepped forward toward the vessel once more. Looking down into his son's face for the last time he let the hot tear trail down his face and, with a heavy hand, he pushed the boat gently out and away from the shore.
As they watched the boat drift lazily out toward the center of the lake the storm clouds above began to leak small drops of water. Lightening began to crack and streak across the sky then racing down to collide into the lakes surface. Thunder roared loudly, echoing through the night like an animal in pain, almost as if the god's themselves lamented the young hero's passing.
Bolts of white hot electricity erupt over the water, getting closer to the vessel with each strike.
Then one finally found its mark dead on, striking the small boy square in the chest, crackling then spidering out to catch the side of the boat. The strike instantly catching the wooden surface alight.
The fire roared to life and dark smoke billowed upwards, spiraling into the sky.
The onlookers watched in mixed emotions of awe and horror at the scene.
Then almost as quickly as the fire began it started to dye leaving a ring of thick black smoke around the now charred boat.
What happened next would change Stoick's life forever, as the smoke began to pour into the boy. They could see everything as the lake was small and the vessel had only drifted about twenty or so feet out. And what they saw was so shocking that it would forever be talked about in legend.
As the dark smoke continued to pour into the boy his skin began to harden and become dark. Audible cracking sounds could be heard as his bones bent, cracked and rearranged themselves into a new configuration. His skin soon turned black, like it was being burned from the inside out and small oval like shapes began to cover the surface.
And so his once pale skin was replaced with hard, glossy, coal black scales. His spin extended out ward, bursting through his skin only for a new layer to stich it's self around the new appendage, forming a long tail.
His ears shrank and where replaced with to large car ear like flaps. Teeth grew in length and came to a point as well as his nails as they formed lethal claws and fangs.
His body grew four times its size as lean muscle began to develop. Next the arms and legs began to shorten slightly and, within moments the body of the once thought dead teen had been replaced with that of the unholy offspring off lightning and death itself, a NIghtfury.
A/N: So there you have it Hiccup is not dead OMG what a shocker! Hopefully you're not too disappointed with the outcome. I'd been toying around with this idea in my head for a while but I couldn't seem to come up with any legitimate way to turn hiccup into a dragon :( until one day, when I was watching the movie again, it hit me. So I couldn't resist writing a fanfiction on it. This was my plan all along and even though some people did have some pretty interesting guesses, no one came close to figuring it out. I'm actually really surprised. :) So please tell me what you think I really appreciate all the feed back, it's given me some wonderful ideas and inspires me to continue writing:) And as always I'll see you until next chapter.
-tsuchihana