~Ouroboros~

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1st – 22. The Blood Upon His Hands

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He lay on his bed, staring unseeingly up at the rafters above him, completely unresponsive to the world. The battle that took place not even an hour ago flashed through his head, refusing to leave him alone. Not for the first time he wondered just where it all started to go so wrong.

Was it when in a moment of panic he attempted to ward off the dragon with his axe and had instead managed to slice open its head, or was it back when moments after it landed on the ground that he decided for some unfathomable reason to turn around and continue the fight instead of running off as half his mind screamed for him to do? Wouldn't it have been better for everyone if he had just ran off the moment he saw the Zippeback above them instead of believing for some strange reason that the eel blood coating his axe would somehow miraculously make the dragon retreat without even a token of resistance?

Hel take him, everyone already thought that he was nothing but a bloody waste of space in the kill ring – doing nothing but hindering others as they trained; so what if they were proven right? Why did he even care about their opinions enough to try and succeed in front of them, to do something that would be considered awe inspiring? Why did he wish to single handily take care of the dragon?!

Why!?

Well, he got his wish didn't he? Even in the state of shock he had been in, he had still seen the others staring at him with disbelief and heard Gobber congratulating them for doing so well – congratulating him for injuring the Zippleback, not even understanding that that was the last thing Hiccup wanted to have done.

He was completely horrified at what the last remnants of his wish to be acknowledged had accomplished, and Gobber's words did little more than force the blade of pain deeper into his chest – almost as if every word his mentor uttered was one more nail pounded into him, one more rusty nail driving in the truth of what he had done.

'Very well done Hiccup!'

'Just look at that scar upon its face – it's been over a decade that a trainee managed to heavily wound a dragon in the ring, and I think yours is by far the worst! In a good way I mean, heck just look at it bleed!'

Astrid's look of disbelief, mirrored by the others flashed through his mind, just as crystal clear as it had been an hour ago when he had actually seen it. They were amazed – awed by the fact that weak little Hiccup managed to wound the dragon so deeply.

The idiots – Hel take them all, they just don't understand!

How just like the rest of his life this day turned out to be – full of hope in the morning… all of which is summarily dashed and stomped on throughout the day until not even a spec remained.

Turning around and throwing his face into the furs lining his bed so as not to see the sun shining innocently into his room – such a sharp contrast to the dark thoughts in his mind that it was painful to see – Hiccup threw himself further into the downwards spiral of his thoughts. In his mind there was no doubt that he had killed that Zippleback; the sheer amount of blood he had seen being more than enough for him.

Funny isn't it? I got my wish – what with all of them having seen me kill it, none can deny my claim to Vikinghood… As if I care for something as stupid as that!

Hey everyone, like up! Just like your fathers before you, you get a chance to become a Viking! What an amazing trade – stain your hands in dragon blood, become one of us!

And they do, not even noticing Loki's smooth lies around them like a sick miasma in the air, they all do. Not only that, but they look forward to it! Speaking of which, so did I – for years my most fervent wish was to stain my hands…

They are certainly stained now, aren't they…

He didn't need to look at his hands to see the blood on them, in fact he could see it better this way than if he actually looked at them since Gobber had stood by and made sure Hiccup took a bath to wash away all the blood and grime covering him.

'Don't worry lad' he had said 'nothing but shock, the first time always is. The next time it will be easier.'

Lies, that's all it was, nothing but lies.

This was the second time his hands were stained with dragon blood – the first being when he had almost killed Toothless, the blade having come within half an inch of the Nightfury's heart.

The next moment the memory of his axe striking at the dragon pushed to the front, although the approaching Zippleback was replaced by a calmly sitting Toothless. Even as he fought to try and stop his hand from completing its swing, he knew it was all for naught. He couldn't tear away his eyes as the axe made contact, carving up the side of Toothless' face and wrecking his eye, even as the Nightfury's shock and disbelief at his actions accentuated his own. …Why?

Hiccup pushed himself to the side and emptied his stomach all over the floor, heedless of the mess he was making. The only thing he could do was remain there, hunched over the side of the bed, and try to remove that image from his head. It was all for naught though – eyes open or closed, his hand striking down his only friend was burned into his retinas.

The door to his room creaked, and Hiccup threw himself once more face down on the bed, not even bothering with the horrible taste lingering in his mouth –

The taste of blood and ashes.

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Making his way to his apprentice's room Gobber briefly thought about the best way to handle the situation. Being the one in charge of training up younglings, he was more aware than most that no matter how much they boasted about looking forward to killing dragons, first blood was always a moment of shock. That was the reason after all why most younglings were taken on hunting expeditions for several years prior to being put through dragon training – there just wasn't a better way to desensitize them to blood and death than by making them watch Vikings shoot down and dismember deer and be made to help out during later expeditions.

Even the fire-fighting duties during dragon raids were partially there to expose future Vikings to the bloodstained lifestyle they would, and did, live in.

Pausing in front of Hiccup's door, Gobber scowled when he heard something wet splatter across the floor within, followed by gagging and spitting – he didn't need three guesses to know what was going on.

It was at times like this that he could honestly say he hated some of the decisions that Stoick had made with regards to his son – well, most of them really. Thrust off to the side and always forgotten when time came around to select younglings to come along for hunts, it was no wonder that Hiccup would take nearly making his first kill in pitched battle so badly. The way Stoick pushed his son out of the way during dragon raids didn't help the matter – sure Hiccup had seen blood and death; but as today had proven – it wasn't anywhere near enough. Heck, he hasn't even killed a single hare yet, let alone slit the throat of a deer or sheep and seen its eyes as it bled to death as all the other younglings had done!

Astrid was the perfect example of how the younglings should behave by now – to Gobber's trained eye it was all too plain to see that she considered killing dragons the same way as killing sheep. The only thing left for Gobber to do was to make her understand the added danger of doing the former – after all sheep rarely attempted to burn, bite, or eviscerate their potential killers.

Hiccup however…

By Forseti, Stoick had been right on that – he really wasn't ready to enter dragon training, though through no fault of his own. Sure he always ran around boasting that 'one of these days' he would bring down a dragon, but the difference between thinking you could do something and actually doing it was like the one between night and day.

It was kind of a mixed blessing that the Zippleback had survived; there wasn't any reason to burden his apprentice with his first kill on top of everything else. Not that there was any real doubt about that – although quite gruesome to someone unused to such things, the gash was mostly superficial for a dragon due to their insane healing speed.

The axe had failed to break its way through the dragon's skull and didn't even come close to landing a decisive hit across the neck. The eye was gone, true, but it wasn't as if the dragon didn't have three more that were perfectly fine. I might even start calling it three-eyes or something, and the scar would only serve to increase its aura of danger when it gets time for the next batch of younglings.

… and now I am just stalling the inevitable.

Cursing Stoick for making him take this portion of fatherhood upon himself (like many other portions before), Gobber pushed the door open and walked in, unsurprised to see the half-digested mess on the floor and Hiccup's form looming over it before he noticed his mentor coming in and threw himself face forward onto the bed.

"So I see breakfast didn't agree with you eh?" There wasn't any response, not that Gobber had expected any. Letting off a deep sigh he hobbled along and sat himself down on the side of Hiccup's bed, his apprentice lying prone upon it within easy reach. He didn't reach out though, instead opting to lay his hands on his knees and glance downwards, not even looking at Hiccup. There would be time for physical contact, but that would come later.

"Look lad – I know just how shocking first blood can be. Though you might not believe me, I myself had trouble taking my first life. Sure I hardly even think about it now, but I had nightmares for several days after that. All Vikings do, though they may deny it." Gobber said, his voice conveying his seriousness despite speaking softly enough that anyone outside the room wouldn't have heard him.

"What with you doing reasonably well during dragon training, I sometimes forget that you aint been on a single hunting expedition as the others have. I know you've seen blood and death before, what with the last dragon raid-" he broke off here, cursing himself and glancing over noticed Hiccup stiffen. He hadn't wanted to bring that up – especially not now…

Still, at least he knew Hiccup was listening; switching tracks he continued. "Yer father should be the one telling ye this after your first trip out hunting, but… Look – we're Vikings Hiccup; nay – even before that, we'r all human. All of us – you, me, your father; everyone you know – have to kill to survive. Every day you eat fish or meat, and ye must know that one of us killed it. It's the way of life for us, and there is absolutely nothing wrong about it.

"Or what - you think it wrong of wolves to hunt and kill others? Or perhaps that it is wrong of us Vikings to kill them when they try and attack our hunting groups? Just as they kill to survive, so too do we. That's just the way life is Hiccup, and like it or not it applies to everyone, humans and dragons included.

"Now this may come as a relief to you, but contrary to what ye must have convinced yourself, the Zippleback aint dead. Sure it's got a mighty long gash across one of its mugs, but so do a lot of Vikings in the village and they seem to be no less for that. Still, seeing the righty mess you are, I think its way past time for you to make your first kill. I told the others to take the next few days off while the two of us go hunting. Did the same thing way back for my own son, and between you and me ye'r a surrogate son of sorts for me."

Reaching out with his only hand, Gobber ruffled Hiccup's hair and stood up to make his way out. He had done all he could, or would after tomorrow's trip out hunting. After that… it was all up to Hiccup. Halfway to the door he turned around and looked at his apprentice with worry – he never before doubted that anyone born on Berk would sooner or later become used to taking life, but now he did. After all, Hiccup was…

Different

Stoick's wording, not his – but unfortunately they fit his scrawny apprentice all too well.

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Hiccup didn't move a muscle as he felt Gobber leave, and waited until the sounds of his mentor's steps faded away before he let himself relax. Perhaps it was one of the few Viking-like traits he had inherited from his parents, but he didn't want the old blacksmith to see just how much of an effect his words had on him.

While he was still a chaotic bundle of mixed emotions, at least now they weren't all negative. Sure, there was apprehension at Gobber's insistence for them to go on a hunting expedition as early as tomorrow – both from the uncertainty of how it would go and from having to leave Toothless alone for several days or more… But on the other hand there was also happiness and relief that he had not inadvertently killed the Zippleback that he had only been trying to get to back off.

All of that paled next to a feeling that he could only describe as pride – something he hasn't ever really felt in his life.

'ye'r a surrogate son of sorts'

'surrogate son'

It felt… amazing… to find out that Gobber really thought of him that way – sure Hiccup always knew that the two of them were closer than strictly mentor-apprentice, and yet to have Gobber actually say that he considered him as almost his own son was something he had never expected to happen.

Sure his father referred to him as 'my son', but those words were usually preceded or followed by a long sigh or a shake of his head that made it all too clear that it was little more than an accident of birth – an unfortunate similarity of blood, an association to his name that could not be removed or forgotten about.

On the other hand, to have Gobber acknowledge him this way made it abundantly clear that his mentor didn't think this way about him. He truly meant something to Gobber, and the old blacksmith was actually proud of him.

Having sought acknowledgement for the better part of his life until now, he had expected to feel at the top of the world, but all there was was dull happiness and satisfaction. For something that he had nearly killed the one who had so quickly become his best friend to achieve, he had expected something… more.

Rolling around Hiccup wormed his way under the fur covers, not even bothering with removing his outer clothes. What with everything that had occurred this day, he felt too emotionally drained to do anything productive. It was still not even noon, but a couple hours of sleep would be a god send at the moment. After that he would need to visit Toothless to give him the re-worked tailfin along with an explanation of why he wouldn't be coming around for the next few days.

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Astrid stalked her way through the village, heading off to the store houses along the periphery of the docks. Although her shield had come out of battle with only a few dents and scratches, it would take days of work to repair her axe. What with everything else going on she had more important things to keep her eyes on than the safety of her axe, so she had missed the exact point when its edge became the dented mess it was now.

The damn Zippleback must have stepped on it or something.

Not that this was the first time her axe had been in a state of disrepair – hurling it around in the woods for practice or just to vent off anger tended to come with hand in hand with a chance of denting it against an ill placed rock. Normally she would just hand it off to Gobber, but she just wanted to stay away from the forge today – or really any place Hiccup frequents…

Now that she thought about it, besides Gobber's forge nothing else sprung to mind – even with the arm's length kind of acquaintanceship she had with all the others of her age, it was surprising to know that she didn't actually know much about Hiccup.

Not that she wanted to of course, it was just all too surprising to see Hiccup of all people do better than her. The one time she landed a similar strike against a dragon, the Nadder staggered away with little more than a bruise to show for it; while Hiccup managed to land a blow that had permanently wounded the dragon.

Thor strike her down, but she was sure she heard whispers about Hiccup's accomplishments already circulating amongst the Vikings! For someone who has been all but slated to sweep through dragon training, it galled her like nothing else to find the walking fishbone doing better than her!

In the state of mind she was in, Astrid wasn't sure if she would calmly congratulate Hiccup, scoff at his actions as little more than a fluke, or shove wild accusations at him at the top of her lungs until he quailed in the corner and admitted to her being his better. Really, it was for the best that Hiccup would be out of the village for the next few days. She could get her axe repaired later, and just borrow one from the warehouses along the docks that she could use to practice, and practice she will. Her mom may frown at having Astrid take even more time to train, but if nothing else today had shown all too well that if anything she hadn't been training enough.

The next time they had to face a dragon in the kill ring, it would be her actions that the Vikings would be whispering about afterwards. Nothing would stand between her and the champion's place against the Monstrous Nightmare. She would fight it in front of the entire village, she would kill it, and she would be hailed as the next coming of Valhalarama.

She would become the Viking her brother had always wanted to be, and no excuse of a Viking like Hiccup was going to stop her.

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The chains rattled as the counterweight to the wooden plank keeping the Zippleback's cage closed was allowed to sink down. Removing his hand from the lever, Gobber picked up the halfway full basket of fish and threw it over his shoulder, its weight barely registering to someone who had been the village's blacksmith for over twenty years.

Unsurprisingly the dragon did not attempt to get out – after a few years of beating them back most learned not to stick their heads out when Gobber was alone. Twice or so each month he would open the doors and stand back to allow them to fly around the ring for an hour or so, but other than that and dragon training, the beasts were kept behind well locked and highly reinforced doors. After a while even the most mule-headed dragon got used to their new lifestyle.

Hooking the end of his metal fishing spear currently serving as a replacement for his missing arm in between the doors and pulling back, Gobber listened for any sound amidst the squeaking hinges that would signify things going drastically wrong. No matter now docile they seemed; they were dragons after all. If there was anything his predecessor taught him, it was that swift death was all too often preceded by just a single moment of inattention.

With the door opened enough to allow the sun to shine in, Gobber was able to see the Zippleback curled up in the far corner of the cage. Seems like today is going to be the same as always. He had been slightly worried that losing one of its eyes would send the dragon into a rage similar to the one-wing, but it was clear that the axe strapped to the side of his belt wasn't going to be needed this day.

"Ye know, with the way you seem to be busy sleeping one would think you don't want any of the salmon I brought – freshly caught too, none of those week old leftovers I usually feed ya lot. So here you go – all yours to eat."

Hobbling his way in, Gobber dropped down the basket of fish and opening it up spilled its contents onto the floor of the cage barely a foot in from the doorway. Stepping back he waited for the smell to wake up the dragon, and frowned when there was no perceptible movement from the beast – not even a slight twitch of its tail.

Leaving the fish where it was, Gobber made his way towards the coiled up dragon, completely disregarding the worried murmurs of his helper out in the ring. He wouldn't normally – dragons were dangerous enough without you willingly putting yourself within range of most of their attacks; but in this case he made an exception. Perhaps subconsciously he already knew what he would find; having seen something similar all too often; that and the feeling inside him that he relied upon to warn him of danger was eerily silent.

With barely any hesitation – for if his sense of danger had ever led him wrong he would have been dead a hundred times over – he reached over and laid his hand against one of the Zippleback's necks. A moment later he pulled away, and this time without any hesitation to speak of moved to open one of its eyelids.

Perhaps he should have felt surprise at seeing a dragon brought down by what was obviously a major but nowhere close to life-threatening wound, but instead there was only worry.

Hiccup is not going to take this well…

Hearing a gasp behind him, Gobber spun around in time to see the shocked expression of the Viking he brought along to carry all the fish for the dragons Helgi, that's her name – three years since I taught her group.

"Is- Is it dead?" The shock and awe in Helgi's voice was all too clear to Gobber, and he couldn't supress a wince as he thought about the rapidly dwindling chances of keeping this under wraps until he could get away with Hiccup and try to gently break it to the lad – preferably after he had made several kills during the hunt. It would also help to keep him away from the village until it all calmed down – it's been generations since the last dragon was actually killed during training – even with four to six younglings in a group it was usually all they could do to land a hit that would stun the dragon. For some reason the dragons kept in the ring were not only calmer but also typically survived even hits that should have killed them. He just chalked it up to them being stronger originally – having been captured instead of killed off during the raids.

Same for Hiccup's hit really – the wound would have been enough to stun a dragon during a raid, but all it did was cause the Zippleback to stop attacking and back down…

And by the looks of it, somehow killed it…

"Ye, the lad must have landed quite a lucky hit against it – I could have sworn that the dragon would be up and ready for the next session of training within a day or two, and ya know I aint often wrong about such things. First time I have been actually."

"Must have been some hit eh?" Helgi was as close to bouncing on her feet as her pride as a Viking allowed her to be, and to Gobber it was all too clear that three years of fighting off dragons did little to break her away from her love for gossip. "Um- are we done here? I have something I need to do so…"

Of course she does – if she has her way, before the day is over the entire village will know about how Hiccup singlehandedly killed a dragon in the kill ring after only facing two dragons before it.

Worse still, he didn't have any reason not to let her go… Gobber's eyes flickered over to the now useless pile of salmon. That could work.

"Yea, we're done here. Just shove all the fish back into the basket and bring it over to the docks. I'll just leave you to this – don't bother to lock up when ye'r done; doubt the Zippleback would escape even with a wide open door, what with it being dead and all.

Noticing the frantic pace at which Helgi was tackling the last task he gave her, Gobber shook his head and hobbled as fast as he could out of the ring. He was sure that Hiccup would have been too tired to do much else but rest, but it had been over five hours since he had left his apprentice – cleaning out the cages and feeding the dragons wasn't a job to scoff at.

He could only hope that Hiccup was still in the forge or sleeping above it – if so all he needed to do was grab a couple of bows, a pair of quivers full of arrows, a sack of provisions and necessary items, Hiccup, and perhaps a heavy coat or two in case the weather turned nasty as it had a tendency of doing around here. That should all take no more than a couple of minutes, and the two of them could be out of the village before Helgi finished.

Should have made her wash all the fish as well – that and hang it back in place. Knowing her she would just dump the basket at the nearest store house – that's if she doesn't stop on the way there to gossip.

… oh who am I kidding – of course she will.

A few moments later found Gobber cursing quite loudly inside the empty confines of his forge – he should have known better than to expect Hiccup to do anything that would keep his life simple.

Somehow, he knew that things were not going to turn out well.

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Gobber's thoughts were right on the mark – Helgi made record time in shoving all the fish into the basket, and by the time she had managed to make her way to the docks she had already told no less than fifteen others about how Stoick's son had been holding out on them all. Already several groups of Vikings have gathered across the village to discuss the latest news.

"Well, with Stoick and Valhalarama as his parents, it ant a wonder that he can do something like that – it's all in the blood I say."

"Always thought there was more to him – get someone like Gobber to properly train the lad and the Viking in him will shine through."

"Speaking of the lad – there he goes!" As one the group of Vikings turned to see Hiccup making his way along the main road across the village leading to the Meade hall and further off to the bridges leading into Berk's forest. Perhaps a month ago Hiccup would have appreciated being the center of positive attention, but considering that at the moment he was lugging a basket full of fish along with an artificial dragon's tailfin off into the forests surrounding Berk, this was not a good time for him.

With eyes that would look more in place on a lame footed deer that had caught sight of the wolf stalking it, Hiccup stared with barely concealed dread as a group of ten or so Vikings surrounded him. Bracing himself for the awkward questions that were soon to follow, he still could not prevent himself from flinching as the literal wave of voices assaulted him; soon followed by his knees buckling from one of the Vikings slapping his hand down on Hiccup's shoulder.

" – did well ya did! Finally living up to the Haddock tradition!"

" – watch how you handle the rest of training, but have to say it's been generations since someone brought down a dragon during training – Nightmares not included of course eh?"

"Sure Stoick handled his first even before training, but we can't all be-"

"Now don't let this go to your head ya hear!"

And then mercifully there came a single voice of reason: "Come now, stop crowding the lad! I swear he's looking at us like we're a horde of dragons!"

There was some shuffling, and Hiccup could breathe once more, not that it did any good to his hopelessly lost mind. Somehow, when he had imagined getting caught stealing fish from the docks, this situation wasn't the result he had envisioned.

"Anyway, we just wanted to congratulate you on doing so well in training – what with the way you handled the Zippleback and everything." The same Viking that had prevented Hiccup's suffocation spoke what was on everyone's mind, and the others murmured their agreement. For a moment it was all Hiccup could do but stare uncomprehendingly at the increasingly surrealistic situation he had been caught up in before the words spoken at him finally clicked in.

Feeling a strange combination of relief that his daily escapades have not been discovered, and a pang of pain and regret as he once more remembered the wound he had accidentally inflicted on the Zippleback, Hiccup prepared to talk his way out of the crowd before someone actually noticed the strange set of items that he was carrying.

"Yes well you know – Gobber is quite a wonder at training up Vikings, and it was really just a lucky hit…" The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him – every time he did something 'un-Viking like' or messed up (which typically also fell into the category of 'un-Vikingness'), he tried to put a positive spin on things; and yet here he was, downplaying his actions now that he had finally done something even his dad would hae to agree was Viking-like.

Not even a month ago all he wanted was the positive attention of the Vikings, but now… now all I want is to remain in obscurity so no one notices my increasingly weird behaviour. Let's see – stealing fish and leather, sneaking off alone into the forest, making strange things in the forge… and of course let's not forget meeting with a Nightfury (or consorting with the enemy as Astrid would probably say).

Right… weird behaviour didn't even begin to describe this.

"Oh don't be so modest Hiccup – I know we weren't exactly rooting for ya, but ye got to agree that you didn't give us much to work with. Now though…"

"That's right! Don't you realize it has been over forty winters since someone managed to do what you just did? Even if the gods smiled on you this day you still needed at least some skills to pull that off!"

With the conversation rapidly becoming uncomfortable, Hiccup glanced around, futilely checking to see if there was a gap in the gathered group of Vikings he could slip through. There wasn't one of course, though he did notice Gobber far off in the distance, hobbling over. That was both a godsend and a horrible nightmare – he could always count on his mentor to extract him from increasingly awkward situations (of which this undoubtedly was one), but the chances of Gobber not asking about the 'latest contraption' Hiccup was carrying was virtually nil. The basket of fish hanging across his shoulders for which there was no use for in the woods only added to the problem.

"You know, somehow I doubt that I am the only one who had ever wounded a dragon in the kill-ring" Hiccup answered absentmindedly – his focus entirely on coming up with a reason for him being here with the incriminating items that would pass Gobber's inspection.

I could try saying that I was looking for him to ask if it was possible to give the Zippleback the fish – I am… weird that way, so Gobber might believe that. Now what about the tailfin?

There was a ripple in the crowd and had Hiccup been paying attention, he would noticed that he was not the only one feeling lost.

"You mean you don't know yet? I thought the entire village knew by now – you didn't just wound the Zippleback, you managed to bring it down permanently – that's what we are talking about!"

I could make it out to be a new design for… something. But what? – There aren't that many things a tailfin could be…

"Shame that the other younglings won't get to have a go against it again, but by Thor we can't begrudge you that – we all know how much you wanted to kill a dragon, and now you've done it!"

Of course with Gobber being a long time veteran he would spot the resemblance all too quickly… Wait, what if I went with that – I made an artificial tailfin so as to test out my latest contraption to kill a dragon! It was a long stretch, he knew that, but with Gobber mere seconds away it would have to do.

"Uh- right! Words cannot describe how happy I am to hear your praise! It may have been a fluke killing the dragon, but the next time it's going to be all me. Now if you will just excuse me, Gobber is here and I have something… very… important…" Hiccup's voice trailed off as his thoughts ground to a halt. He hadn't been paying attention to those around him, and only now did he come to understand exactly what the others were congratulating him for – the damning words having spilt from his own lips when he unknowingly iterated one of the gathered Viking's words.

-killing the dragon…

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Gobber watched with a pang of pain as his apprentice's grief stricken eyes glanced at him before Hiccup bolted away, pushing through the slowly dispersing group of Vikings. Not even consciously aware of it Gobber sped up into his own semblance of a run, but slowed to a halt only a few paces in.

There was nothing much he could do to help Hiccup – not when he was in such a state. If he was right – and Gobber knew he was – then by the time he pushed his way through the group, Hiccup would already be halfway to the forest. Even if he tried to catch up to his apprentice, Hiccup would lose him within the dense growth that the lad seemed to know better than the back of his hand.

Trailing his hand across his face Gobber released a sigh at the way everything seemed to spiral out of control. It was times like these that caused him to seriously consider that at least a few gods have cursed Hiccup at birth – no other reason could adequately describe why Hiccup never seemed to be able to catch a break.

Really, in between Hiccup's constant bad luck, the decisions that Stoick made regarding his son and Gobber himself forgetting that his apprentice hasn't even been bloodied yet, it was a wonder that Hiccup was still alive and reasonably sane.

Now if only he stays that way – the forest is dangerous enough when you are being careful. That, and he doubted that everything that has happened today was going to have a positive impact on his apprentice's disposition and general sanity.

Turning around to head back to his forge, Gobber paused as another similar situation assaulted his mind, rising up from the depths within which he had buried it.

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There was really no warning – one moment their hunting group is strolling through the forest, the next an enraged boar is already within a few paces of them. The lucky few dove out of the way, the two other veterans like him managing to stick the spears they all carried through the tough hide. His son though… was not fortunate.

A single grunt was all he heard amidst the general chaos, and glancing to the side his heart sank as he realized that it was Eagleeye that hadn't managed to get out of the way in time. Caught full on, only the dragon bone sewn into his son's hunting vest prevented him from being eviscerated by the boar's tusks.

The next few moments are too frantic to remember properly, but one thing stands out clearly – the sight of his son falling down the icy cliff, still clinging to the boar. The winter landscape of Berk is perilous enough when paying attention, and with neither Eagleeye nor the beast capable of seeing where they were heading, their fate was a foregone conclusion. It would forever haunt him - the frantic squealing of the boar mixed in with his son's startled cry as they plummeted down was not something any man should hear.

He ran to the edge, heedless of the danger its icy state had for him. Only the actions of the other Vikings saved him from following his son down. With the wordless horror still within his throat, he glances down to see his son, miraculously alive. The same boar that had brought him down had provided him with a soft landing, sparing him from the fate that it had brought upon itself.

He stared down at his son and even as he felt relief washing away the weight upon his chest he berated himself for not taking at least a full bundle of rope from their camp which was half a day's walk from here. The short length they always carried with them to tie up their kill wouldn't even reach halfway down.

"We should head back to camp to get some equipment" one of the younger hunters offered, and the veterans winced – it was a good idea, but they felt the winter storm approaching. That was the reason after all why they were cutting their hunt short and on the way back to camp.

There wouldn't be time to come back before the blizzard was upon them and visibility dropped to nothing.

"Go on! I think I see a way up from here which I can try. If not, I will just hole up and wait for you to come back. Skathi hasn't forsaken me yet – I've got an entire boar worth of meat here, and my furs will keep me warm as well. You won't come back to find be buried under a snow drift, that's for sure." His son's upbeat voice was heard from the foot of the cliff, and loath as he was to leave his son, he knows it is the best move – the only one really.

"Just stay safe until we return – I need you to take over the forge after I lose my other arm one of these days."

"You know me dad. I'll hold out until you get back. Just don't take your sweet time alright? The boar's meat might go bad if you take too long, and it isn't often we come across a prime specimen as this one."

He turned around and walked away, following the rest of the group; leaving behind his son, his heart, and a prayer to Odin that would go unanswered.

The storm hit when they were almost at the camp, and lasted for over three days. By the time it cleared up, his grief laden soul knew what his mind still refused to acknowledge – he was the last of his family once more.

.

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Shaking away the last dregs of his painful memories, Gobber let off a prayer that this time, things would be different. He had already lost his son once; he doubted he could go through it again.

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A/N

That was a heavy chapter for sure – quite difficult to write as well. Hope I didn't overdo on the angst and misery there. I really wanted to include the up-down-up of Hiccup's thoughts along with Gobber consoling him (and the entire kill to live speech). I actually planned to have the entire group of younglings go on the hunting trip together, but having it be just Gobber and Hiccup should work out in the end.

That last bit about the death of Gobber's son was completely spontaneous. I had it written down in my story outline that Eagleeye dies during a hunting accident, and just left it murky as to what actually happened. Leafing through the drafts for the 3rd cycle I found a longer explanation, but decided to forgo it for the scene you see here. I was actually quite surprised it came out to almost 600 words – I was hoping for a short memory of perhaps one or two paragraphs…

Seriously, the story never allows me to do what I want. I would put in a blurb about the story writing itself through me, but no – quite a bit of it is completely mine… it's the parts not covered by the 'quite a bit' that I worry about.

Anyway - thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my story so far (and thanks to all who will in the future). There is little else that can inspire a writer (speaking from personal experience) to keep going than reading through the comments seeing how many people truly find your story interesting enough to... well... write a blurb saying so.

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Saienai