Yes, yes, I know, it's been two weeks. I'm sorry! But it's up now. So, to answer a question that I've gotten a lot lately, I will not be stopping at a hundred. I will keep this fic going as long as I can. On the other hand, sooner or later my ideas are going to hit the fan and I'm going to run out of insparation, so I would love some requests from you guys. I might not use them all, but if I do I will credit you and forever be grateful. :) Not much else to say, other than the last one is an absolute angst party, and it might be confusing. I don't really want to explain it because I want all of you to interpret it the way you want to, but if you REALLY want my way of looking at it, you can certainly ask. Enjoy!

~.~

94. Cook

It started with Toothless catching a whiff of the most foul scent he had ever encountered. He didn't quite know how to explain it; it wasn't particularly rancid or sour, like something that had rotted, nor musty and overwhelming, like mold, but more smoky. Like something was burning, to be exact. The only problem with that theory was that Toothless had never come across anything that smelled quite like that when it burst into flames.

The scent began to grow stronger, and by the time Hiccup inhaled it for the first time and immediately walked into a tree, Toothless was gagging.

"What is that?" Hiccup demanded, covering his mouth and nose with his hand, and Toothless shrugged, looking pained as he buried his face in the grass. "It smells like—like. . . I don't even know what that smells like," he admitted, his voice muffled.

It was then that Fishlegs came stumbling through the trees, looking for all the world like he was asphyxiating. "Do not go that way," he advised Hiccup breathlessly. "The whole village reeks!"

By this time, Hiccup was starting to look worried, and Toothless could tell that he was wondering if it was one of his numerous experiments-in-progress that had unexpectedly decided to explode. "What is it?" he asked Fishlegs.

The other boy yanked the collar of his shirt up around his ears to cover his mouth and nose and started walking away from the village again, Hiccup and Toothless now in tow.

"Astrid's cooking."

95. Sick

It seems to Toothless that his best friend has truly remarkable timing when it comes to coming down with an illness.

For instance, it seems that he quite often has a tendency to be unexpectedly struck with nausea (which he swears is contagious) either during or right before many of his fighting lessons with his peers, and then does everybody a "favor" by running off and disappearing for the rest of the day. Despite Gobber's insistence that he really should be brushing up on his fighting skills—along with many other things—Hiccup is dedicated to his theory that if he is present at training, half the village will come down with a killer flu.

Gobber has decided not to fight it, and whenever Hiccup claims sick in training (which unfortunately seems to happen whenever there are weapons involved, or Astrid, or Thor forbid, Astrid with weapons) he simply sighs and waves him off.

Some of Berk's elders wonder if there is something in the arena that the boy is allergic to, pollen or brick dust or something else that might trigger an unexpected change in health, but seeing how Hiccup's illness is a recent development, Toothless is reluctant to agree.

However, nobody seems to mind really, claiming that they'd rather see Hiccup tucked into bed and recovering rather than passed out or vomiting in the middle of the arena during training, but Toothless thought that bed was probably the last thing on Hiccup's agenda once he staggered off, groaning something or other about a rolling stomach. More often than not, he would insist that a nice relaxing flight with Toothless was what he needed, and would only want to touch down several hours later, when training was—sadly—long over, or that a nice long walk in the woods was calling his name.

And sometimes, he would work on his acting, wanting Toothless' opinion on his most recently acquired illness. The dragon thinks that the measles is a little overkill, but a very nasty case of the common cold . . . now that one might work.

96. Bells

They love the bells.

They make an odd sight, perhaps, the young foreign man and his scaly black beast sprawled out on the steps of the mighty building with the many brass bells above them, but nobody can deny that, of the many things they have seen and experienced on their travels, the bells have every reason to be one of their favorites.

Some of the locals wonder what their place and purpose is here, two strange, wandering souls of unclear religion completely at home on the steps of the church, but the Father knows—he promises the two that, whatever paths their journey may lead them on, the Viking and the dragon are always welcome to visit the bells that they love so much.

Toothless is grateful. He loves the glorious church bells, another of the world's wonders that is so unlike anything in his home in the far North. It's a simple affection that he can't quite explain, an unreasonable adoration of inanimate objects, but when he hears the bells sing, he sometimes wonders just how inanimate they really are. It's music in it's simplest form—a series of single, strategically timed notes that, when combined, create a sound that is completely original.

And he loves them. He loves what they stand for, and the stories they tell, and how their wonderful simplicity doesn't hinder their abilities in any way. The people may wonder about the purpose of the Viking and the dragon, but as long as the bells are there and they are welcomed guests, it doesn't matter to them.

Because they love the bells.

97. Mocking

Insanity has no rules. People can tell Toothless different, explain about the causes and the patterns and effects, but he doesn't believe it. What do they know, anyway? They can't tell him what it's like to be insane—they're perfectly normal. But Toothless; he's the expert on what it's like to be out of your mind. After all, according to Berk, he's the insane one.

It isn't something he's proud of, but half the time he couldn't care less, anyway. When you're insane, peoples' opinions of you don't matter much, after all. He doesn't even notice anymore when the villagers turn their eyes away and whisper sympathetically to each other when he walks by, or how only one person has spoken to him regularly since the day it happened.

Toothless can't tell you exactly when he lost his mind. It wasn't as if he woke up one morning and realized that he was nuts, but when he thinks about it (not that he does, much) he knows that it didn't happen over a long period of time, either. No, he doesn't know exactly when he went insane—he just know that he is, and has been for a while, and probably will be for quite a long time to come.

It's actually pretty easy for Toothless to tell that he's not in his right mind. After all, he can remember when he was less totally insane and just a little bit crazy, back before he went stark-raving mad but after he was taught to think outside the box. He can remember that, back then, inanimate objects didn't mock him, didn't trigger memories that would make his breath hitch and his head spin and drop him to the ground in misery the way they do now. You weren't there, those memories whisper. Why weren't you there? Is it because you're not good enough? Because you weren't a good friend?

He hates those voices inside his head that whisper those things. He tries to remember, tries to recall the day to see if the voices are lying or not, but whenever he does it only hurts him more, hurts his head and his soul and his heart, so he stops. He's decided that he's rather not know the truth than be killed by it.

Besides, the voices know the truth. At least they claim to, anyway. We know what happened, Toothless. We were there. You were there, too. Why do you deny what you did, what a failure you are? Wouldn't it just be easier to come to terms with the fact that you missed your chance to make a difference?

Some days, he knows the voices, recognizes them, and those days are the some of the worst. Other days, the most terrible of them all, are when they don't just talk to him, but also listen to what he has to say.

So what are you gonna do about it?

Probably something stupid, he tells her.

Good idea, but you've already done that.

Then . . . something crazy.

That's more like it, but I think you're a little beyond that point.

I know, he tells her. Then he adds: I'm sorry.

I know you are. Don't do anything too stupid, okay?

And he smiles, because that little voice in his head sounds so much like her. But then he realizes how insane he is, and all he wants to do is find a dark little corner to curl up in and never get up again. But he won't. Because no matter how miserable he is, no matter where his insanity takes him, there is one person left in Berk that he couldn't leave if he wanted to.

In the opinion of his village, Stoick the Vast is just as insane as his son's dragon. Toothless isn't sure if he agrees—Stoick isn't as insane as he is lonely. No longer the chieftain of his beloved Berk, and with nobody left to live for, he has no purpose in his old age. Like Toothless.

Sometimes, just for something to do, the two of them will go for a little walk that, more often than not, will lead them to the graveyard. That open clearing, filled with row upon row of unmarked gray rocks, each about the size of a human head. Gravestones.

There are about fifty of these graves that were dug and filled at the same time, their occupants all the victims of the same war. However, there are six in particular that they are interested in, and although the gravestones are unmarked, they know exactly which six they are. Toothless counts them—one, two, three, four, five, six—and the voices in his head count along with him. He knows who's where in what order and why, because he was there when they were buried.

Sometimes, when he visits, it makes him feel better. Other times, he swears that he can hear them, their voices mingling with the ones in his head, nightmarish in their mocking. Why weren't you there, Toothless? You were supposed to be there. You could have saved us. We did so much for you, and this is how you repay us?

I know, I'm sorry, he tells them.

Too late.