Part Five

Fishlegs sat alone in Hiccup's hut for quite a while once the dragon rider left. The ropes holding him in place were strong, their knots complex and tight. Despite his wriggling, there was no way he could get himself free. Of course, Fishlegs told himself, he was not all that sure that he wanted to get free. Even though the two had not spent much time together, he considered Hiccup a friend. In their younger years, they were both strange for Vikings, using their brains more than brawn – not that they had much of that to use – and he looked up to the chief's son. Despite everything that the gods threw at him, Hiccup refused to give up. He embraced his new way of thinking, his differences, and used them to help…though Fishlegs had to admit the gesture was more appreciated than the action.

Even now, Fishlegs found that he admired the outcast Berkian. He still remembered how the scrawny boy pleaded with his father to believe that he had downed a Night Fury and he remembered how his own thoughts were as jaded as everyone else's. There was no way… it was impossible…especially for a hiccup. But, clearly, Hiccup had not allowed the mocking to deter him and now…now he had trained one of the deadliest dragons to grace the skies. Not only that, Fishlegs mused, eyes roving around the large house that Hiccup seemed to call home, but Hiccup did not let isolation destroy him. If anything, it seemed he had thrived off of the change, clinging to the new life as though it were made for him. Where most would have abandoned the source of their misery or sought new company, Hiccup was here, alone on an island, in a house buried beneath the trees.

Yes, Fishlegs decided. He did not want to leave. Besides, maybe, just maybe, he could bring the new Hiccup back.

The boy shifted lightly as the pole he was tied to began to irritate his bruised back. The sores from his fall were settling in, and a few it seemed, lined up perfectly with the support beam's pressure. Combined with the way his shoulder blades jutted against the wood to keep his hands behind his back, Fishlegs was quite uncomfortable. He sighed and tried to turn his attention to something else, instead looking around at the place that had become Hiccup's home for the past five years.

The structure of the building was little more than a large hut with one level but enough space between the ground and high curving ceilings for two and a half levels. Thick rafters supported the structure, marred with years of claw marks. The construction left a lot to be desired as it was a bit uneven in some places and spare wood was hammered between planks where gaps had formed. Old, dark planks mixed with new tan ones, evidence of how long it stood here.

The interior sported one big room, portioned off only by heavy furniture. The walls of the hut were decorated with Hiccup's artwork. Dragons of all size stared at him. Some, Fishlegs recognized; a Scauldron, Zipplebacks in various stages of development, a Monstrous Nightmare with wings that spanned an entire wall – but others Fishlegs had never seen even in the Book of Dragons. Between all of them, were scribbles of the Night Fury. The dragon's expressive face was splattered between the wings, tails and fangs of the other art work, kind, sweet, bright, or dangerous eyes looking out at the world. In those eyes Fishlegs saw the same protective instinct he had faced on the beach.

A fireplace took up much of the wall to his right. A table of cookery – mainly small cauldrons and a few wooden spoons – stood on one end while a slab of blackened stone stood on the other end. Fishlegs realized that this was where the Night Fury had been laying during his story.

On his left, was what Fishlegs' assumed was Hiccup's bed. It was twice the size of the bed the boy had had at Berk and low to the ground, the frame two thick slats to keep him off the floor. Worn, patched, dull blankets covered the bed, which was lumpy with what Fishlegs assumed were feathers.

Between the two ends of the hut, was a small forge like workstation. A large rectangular table, littered with long thin rods and tools, was set next to a sizeable stone, the top flattened from years of being beaten upon. Hiccup had even built a cooling well indoors, further proving his skill with invention.

In comparison to these three highlights, the rest of the hut was sparse in comparison. Two reclaimed chairs and a small desk-like table, all with mismatched legs, and two or three hefty chests – new clasps or hinges glittering against the graying wood - were scattered about. Clearly, Hiccup had worked hard to make his new home.

The bulky Viking sighed and shifted against his bonds again, a cramp forming in his shoulders and hunger beginning to gnaw at his belly. Distraction did not seem to be helping. Fishlegs leaned his head back against the pole, and closed his eyes. Maybe sleep would help the time pass.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun had fallen from the sky and the fire burned away. Still, Hiccup had not returned, and Fishlegs worried, in the cold, dark night, if he had scared the rider away.

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Toothless glided easily over the clouds, wings spread wide to catch the drafts. His eyes were half lidded, relaxing in the peace above the world. On his back, Hiccup lay against the dragon's scales, silent. His angry tears had stopped a while ago, as had his conversation with himself. Now he seemed listless, content to simply let the world pass around him. The only thoughts floating in Hiccup's mind was the final exchange he had with his father. Hatred, betrayal, disappointment, and hurt had been in both of their eyes then. Love, trust…things like that were lost in the heat of the moment, and now Hiccup realized he had held some microscopic hope, that one day he could get them back. That chance was gone now.

Hiccup started as Toothless slowly began to wind down for a landing. The dragon's movements were smooth, but the light tilt of Toothless' body as he banked registered in the rider's mind as time to click the tail fin into a new position. It was only when they dipped through the clouds and his eyes adjusted to the foggy light, that Hiccup understood. The ground was charred and the buildings more ruin than structure, but Hiccup could never not recognize Berk. His heart caught in his throat and for a moment, Hiccup could not breathe. His eyes hung open, mouth agape, fingers barely gripping the saddle underneath him. He was…home.

Toothless wheeled down silently, his claws clacking as they landed on the old docks. The wood creaked under his weight. A growl rumbled in the dragon's chest. The whole island smelled different, dangerous, but his not-a-viking needed to be here, so Toothless ignored his instinct to fly away.

Hiccup hesitated to slide out of the saddle. The curving steps of the island towered above him, the faces of ancient Berkians staring down at him. He felt their judgment in their stone eyes and quelled. "Let's go, bud." He pulled on the saddle and clicked Toothless' tail into a takeoff position but the dragon grunted his decline, jerking his head back toward the island. 'We have to…' he argued and launched up the winding steppes.

The houses lower to the water seemed to sustain damage only due to a passage of time. The old, rotted wood had fallen in so that most of the houses had gaping holes in the rooftops. The doors were gone, either dangling on the side or mixed among other splinters of wood. Those that retained their base frame were revolting to even be near. Mounds of old clothes were piled together, caked with dragon waste. Toothless was quick to glide away from them.

Terrible Terrors tittered at the shadow that passed over head, the small dragons dipping into tiny bolt holes along the ramps, while a few young gronkles snorted lazy greetings from nests atop the stone statues or nestled within the now depleted torches.

The duo landed in the main square and Hiccup finally unlatched himself from the dragon. From here, he could better see the destruction the dragons had caused. Most of the smaller houses had been burned down, their remains pilfered for anything the dragons found interesting. What were once shiny things, family portraits, and books poked from the ground like young flowers.

Once lush, green, staggered hills full of houses, were now barren, dry, hunks of land sporting nothing more than grey soil and charred wood.

The bridges that had once connected all of Berk together were mainly dipping into the water, those that had not fallen to complete ruin, wafting in the winter breeze. Hiccup did not dare walk on the cracked wood.

Stables and the larger houses had become fire nests, the overly charred ground a perfect resting place. Yet, despite the homey atmosphere, Hiccup gathered that the dragons had not been to Berk in a long time. "I guess they left when they realized the food was gone…"

The fact made his heart sink even more. The ground was damaged beyond repair, most of the trees had been burned away, and the stench of the dragons had driven away any wildlife. Even if the Berkians did want to come home…there truly was nothing here they could salvage. It only held empty memories.

Even beyond the pointed island to the forest beyond, Hiccup could see nothing but destruction. More of the trees lie on their sides instead of standing, blistered cuts showing they had been pushed down rather than cut.

Those sturdy ones that did still stand were without leaves save a few thistle filled ones the dragons knew better than to bother with.

Out of habit, Hiccup turned his attention to the cliff overlooking the main square and his breath caught in his throat.

The large house had fared no better than the rest of those on Berk, turned to dust under the dragons' claws. Even from the square he could see the stakes of what had once been walls lunging into the sky. Without a second thought, he scrambled up the hill – for the steps had rejoined the earth after five years of disuse – and toward the broken home.

It was rubble now; boulders and wood and scraps of metal on a foundation of stone as black as night. His boots crunched as he walked and his steps kicked flicks of metal or wood now turned into charcoal. Maybe that piece had been his bed. Maybe those were the torch holders. Did this rock come from the steps he climbed every day?

Hiccup wondered if the dragons had been so cruel to his old home intentionally. Did they know that the man that once killed them lived here? Did they work together to tear it down? How long did they blast their molten fire into the wood before the stone cracked?

Hiccup fell into the mess, a bitter, ironic laugh bubbling up from his chest. It emerged like a bark, sharp and inconsistent, with mirth underlying the tone. Toothless eyed his rider warily, head cocked to one side. This did not seem right. He slowly moved forward, gently nuzzling Hiccup with a concerned warble. The boy's laughter trailed off in the dragon's scales.

"There…there's nothing left…" Hiccup whispered at length. He turned slightly; just enough to see beyond the Night Fury's body, and his eyes scoured the ground for any sign of his past.

He could not believe the old house was so destroyed. It had been a chief's house, standing – as he was told – long before his father became the head of the Hairy Hooligans. It was sturdy, meant to withstand the harshest of attacks. It was built to look like every other house, to say 'I am one of you' but it was tall, wide, and welcoming to remind the Hooligans, and to warn anyone that dare attack, 'I will be here when you need me.' And suddenly, he found that he needed it. Pushing away from the dragon, Hiccup ripped into the wreckage.

Something…some scraps of wood, an old piece of paper, a nail...anything. But the hill was desolate, only a black well of charred land where a large dragon rested over and over again.

Toothless warbled his grievances, peddling away from his frantic rider. For a few seconds, he watched, simply processing the dramatic change. Then he felt it. Hiccup's desperation was contagious and soon Toothless was pawing through the remnants of Berk life scattered on the ground. He sniffed at them, trying with his heightened senses, to dig behind five years of dragon to the human that once owned the items. The dragon inhabitants had not been gentle with what had been left behind on Berk, and much of it was pressed into the ground by weighty feet. Still, Toothless was compelled to keep digging just like his rider.

Hiccup's fingers stung with his efforts to break into the dry, rock-filled ground, but he did not care. Desperation drove him. He could not bear to stop, to realize that he had truly lost everything. His home, his father, his tribe…something…he had to find something that made all of this…not so not okay…

His ferocity driven fingers slammed into a hard, jagged patch of ground buried beneath the surface and Hiccup felt warm blood stick to the digits. Carefully, he extracted his hand, hissing as dirt smudged the wounds. Several long strips were torn into his fingers, one stubby fingernail was cracked to the nail bed, and a few cuts decorated his palm. On their own, they were not bad, but the blood combined to paint his hand red. The rider sighed exasperatedly, and dropped his hand to the ground. This was pointless. Five years of harsh winter, untended land, and gods know how many dragons, left no hope that he could find anything still useable here. He ran one hand through his hair, sighing again as the depression he had buried under determination and anger crept its way to the surface. The tears he did not know he was capable of crying, stung in his eyes and the not-a-viking pulled in on himself, lowering his face to his knees.

The warbling of his dragon, in the square – when had Toothless gotten down there?- caught Hiccup's attention, and the boy looked over to him. Toothless was clawing more aggressively into a spot in the ground just beneath the curving lip of the hill, out of his sight. Hiccup could only make out the movement of the dragon's shoulder muscles and his flicking tail that spoke of excitement. 'Probably some old food…' he mused. Toothless would never miss a meal if he had a choice.

"It's not gonna be any good now!" He shouted down, barely putting any actual care into the warning. Most of the words were muffled, anyway, as he lowered his head again.

Toothless paid the boy no mind, continuing to dig at his found treasure, crooning excitedly. He buried his nose into the ground, grunting as he tried to grasp what he wanted. Finally, the dragon was able to get his find, and eagerly lopped up the hill to his rider. He crooned and nudged Hiccup's back lightly. His rider did not respond – or rather muttered something intelligible – and Toothless grumbled and nudged him again.

Hiccup begrudgingly lifted his head, red eyes rounding on his dragon. "What?" his tone was sharper than he intended but Toothless seemed too excited to care. In his mouth, he rolled something around on his tongue, and after a moment, dropped it at Hiccup's feet.

A saliva and dirt covered horn fell to the ground. The tip was gone, broken off most likely from years underground. It curved in a perfect crescent and was small, coming from a young or stout dragon, preserved with delicate care. But it was a horn in a dragon's nest. Hiccup failed to see what Toothless found so interesting about it.

"That's nice bud…"

Toothless practically rolled his eyes, snapped up the horn, and flicked his tail at Hiccup's head.

"Ow!" Hiccup glared. He was not in the mood for Toothless' games but the dragon was persistent and when Hiccup did not move, the dragon wrapped his tail around the boy and forced him to his feet, half dragging Hiccup with him down the hill.

"Ow! Toothless…what?! You stupid reptile, I don't care – Toothless stop!"

Unwillingly at the base of the hill, staring at Toothless' hole, Hiccup smacked against the tail that held him bound. "What?!"

Toothless gestured, wide eyes to the hole and Hiccup glanced at it. "What? You made a hole. Great. Can I - " He trailed off as his mind registered what Toothless was trying to show him. Hiccup took a slower look at the hole, kneeling as Toothless released his death grip on the boy.

The dirt in the hole was muddied from Toothless' drool but Hiccup did not really notice as he plunged his hands into the mess. Delicate fingers brushed and grasped until he was able to dislodge…a crushed, dirt filled helmet.

Hope sparked in his chest. Even as deformed as it was Hiccup could recognize the small helmet. His helmet. The one his father had given to him just before everything fell apart. The one that not only represented his mother, but his father, his hope, his one chance to fitting in…his home. Tears pricked at Hiccup's eyes again and they fell unbidden down his cheeks. Beside him, Toothless warbled.

"I'm fine, bud…" Again, his words were barely audible, emotion choking them to a whisper. His fingers wrapped around the curves of the helmet and pressed into the grooves where the one horn had fallen off. Memories flooded back into the forefront of his mind, the soft voice of his father in the forge, the red light on his excited face, the sinking feeling he had felt for just how much he was NOT what his father thought…"You kept up your end of the deal…"

Hiccup frowned, his grip tightening on the helmet. No…this belonged to a Viking, a killer, a Berkian. Hiccup had proven five years ago that he was none of those things. He hefted the helmet over head, ready to throw it back into the ground and let the past reclaim it…his hand trembled in defiance, fingers refusing to release. Hadn't he wanted this? Hadn't he cut up his hand desperate to find something from 'home'?

The boy sighed and dropped his lifted arm back to his lap, more hefty tears falling. He couldn't throw this away…back then it had been so easy to forget, or even resent the helmet for all that it placed on him…not now. Now it was the only sign that his father had loved him…the only bright moment in a history of hiccups. His tears fell freely, and in the midst of his memories he heard his father's harsh Viking tone: "Vikings don't cry, Hiccup. Ya' just…punch…whatever makes you…feel."

The rider chuckled. Those were words he had lived by for nearly twenty years, stuffing any sadness down in the depths of his boots where he could pretend to stomp them all away. He had made jokes when there was sadness, reveled when there was pain, and if he dared cry, the tears were silent, quick and burned him with their weakness. But now…all of that seemed trivial. His father was dead; Berk was gone. No amount of punching had saved him or the village from the Red Death. So he cried – sobbed – into his blood and dirt marred hands, then into the scales of his dragon when Toothless pressed a comforting muzzle against his cheek. He cried and cried until his body shuddered and ached with the raw emotions. And in the shadow of destruction, that Hiccup was reborn.

Author's Notes

I wanted to make a note on something that I wanted to add to the story but could not put in without disrupting the flow. The helmet: as I watched the movie and show again, I realized that EVERY helmet on Berk was unique and while some may have had similar aspects, they were not easy to confuse. So I felt that Hiccup would easily be able to identify his helmet. I felt I needed to add this because otherwise it seemed just too…easy that he recognized something like that after 5 years.

Anyway. I know this chapter was a long(er) time coming and I thank everyone for hanging in there while I hammered stuff out. In the next few chapters we'll learn more about the Hooligans and see more of the main cast. I hope people continue to read into that, as the meat of the story will be coming there as well.

And finally a note to all of my readers:

Please Read and Review. As much as I appreciate being favorited and racking up the followers, as a writer, I like to hear reviews. Not just good stuff but honest thoughts and opinions. What did you like, what did you hate, what did I do well, what did I butcher – these things help me to improve as I work on my writing and are the true treasure of any writer. Please don't take this as greed for reviews, a plea for attention, or a demand – this is simply a request from a writer and reader to fellow writers and readers.