A Better Version of Our Best

Chapter 1: I Think It's Time

"Is Hiccup around?"

Looking up from the map he'd been inspecting, Snotlout shook his head.

"Sorry, Fishlegs," he said, rolling the parchment back up. "You just missed him. I swear, that brat knows when people are looking for him and chooses to disappear off to who-knows-where just to mess with everyone. What did you want with him, anyway?"

"The Chief asked me to talk to him," Fishlegs explained. "You know, what with dragon training starting next week and all."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that! Congrats, by the way," said Snotlout, punching his friend in the shoulder. "You're going to do great."

"I don't know…" Fishlegs said, looking down and rubbing his knuckles against each other nervously. "You'd were always much better at this sort of thing than I was. You sure you can't-"

"Fish, there is no one on Berk who knows more about dragons than you do. You'll be fine," said Snotlout, putting his hand on Fishlegs's shoulder and looking him in the eye. (He'd never been great at this whole 'encouragement' thing, but for one of his oldest friends, he'd try.) "Besides, I have got to figure out these fishing and supply routes if we don't all want to starve this winter."

They'd lost a good portion of the flock and several of the chickens in the most recent dragon attack, and the last few traders who'd stopped by had brought more steel than food, which meant the village was in some deep trouble if Snotlout couldn't find a way to fix this mess.

"That's why Hiccup was here, by the way- showing me some of the spots he uses." No one knew how Hiccup always seemed to know where all the best fishing spots were, but it was a very helpful skill. "I think he's sailing out this afternoon for one of those fishing trips of his; maybe he decided to leave early?" It wasn't unusual for Hiccup to disappear for several days, only to return with a couple of boars or a full load of fish.

"I checked the harbor before I came here, and his skiff is still moored at the dock, so I don't think he's left the island," said Fishlegs, sighing. "Anyway, if he shows up back here, would you point him my way? Or send him to Astrid? I think she wanted to see him."

"No problem," Snotlout replied, sticking the map back on the shelf and pulling down another scroll. He handed it to Fishlegs. "And as long as you're out and about, could you bring this over to the Thorstons' for me?"

"Alright," Fishlegs said, turning to the door. "Though I have to say, I didn't peg you or Ruff as the love letter type."

"What are you talking about?" Snotlout drew back, confused. "That's just some Faroese weaving and dyeing methods I bought off that trader who was here last week. Figured the Thorstons might find it useful. Why would I send Ruffnut a love letter?"

"Whatever you say, Snotlout," replied Fishlegs. Snotlout opened his mouth, about to continue protesting, before deciding better of it. He'd had this argument more times than he could count, and sometimes it just wasn't worth the hassle. If Fishlegs wanted to think that there was something going on between him and Ruff, nothing Snotlout said would convince him otherwise.

I really should find a time to talk to her soon, though. Maybe once this food crisis is solved. He hadn't had a chance to just sit and talk with her in a while and there were things they needed to discuss. Like why she's being such a muttonhead.

Then again, she was a Thorston, and no one had ever accused any of them of being sensible.

"Are you sure about this, Gobber?" Stoick asked, for what had to be at least the fifteenth time.

"Yes, Stoick," said the blacksmith, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "They'll all be fine."

"But did it have to be him? Is he really prepared to handle this? Does he have any idea what he's doing?" Stoick waved his hands, clearly agitated. "No offense, but has he ever even killed a dragon before?"

Gobber considered this, and realized he didn't actually know. Best not to mention that part.

"Of course he has!" Gobber replied. "But that's not important. The important thing is to make sure that the kids learn how to survive, and to do that, they need to know their enemy. And no one knows more about the beasts than he does- he's practically a modern-day Bork!"

Even Stoick couldn't deny that.

"And why can't you do it? You know, the way you have for years and years." He didn't appear willing to give up on this point, so Gobber just sighed and admitted the truth.

"I'm not getting any younger, Stoick," he explained. "And between my regular duties and training the new apprentice, I just don't have the time or energy to also handle dragon training. I'd think if anyone would understand that, it would be you."

"Aye," said Stoick. "I do understand. I suppose I'm just worried about… you know."

Gobber did know. That was the problem.

"Mhm," he grumbled noncommittally.

"Speaking of your new apprentice, how is he doing?" Stoick seemed to have decided changing the subject was the best course of action here, and Gobber would not complain.

"Oh, a right terror he is," said Gobber, sighing. "Always touching everything and knocking things over and getting into trouble. Not so different from the last one."

"The last one, eh?" Stoick smiled.

"And just as clever, too," laughed the blacksmith. "I have high hopes for the boy. I have a feeling that when I finally do get around to retiring, the forge will be in good hands."

Astrid had been sitting in the great hall for nearly an hour, reviewing old records and trying to make sense of what she was seeing, when she heard a small klink. Looking to her right, she realized that someone had put a bowl of stew on the table next to her.

She looked up, smiling.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said to the quiet, skinny boy standing next to her. It was a little early for lunch, but she wasn't about to complain. "Did you make this? Why don't you get a bowl for yourself and come sit with me?"

He nodded, then went to grab himself some food.

"I was trying to find you earlier. Have you been here all morning?" Astrid asked, and he shook his head. "Helping Snotlout?" That time he nodded. "You're leaving soon, right?" He nodded again. Astrid sighed. She hated the idea of him going off on his own like that, but she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him, especially this time of year.

"Will you please take someone with you this time?" A fruitless question, as she'd known it would be. Another shake of the head. "Please, Hicc? For me?" (Astrid was one of the few people who still called him by the childish nickname, but he'd never complained.) She wished he'd say something.

He'd always been quiet, preferring to listen and observe rather than get involved. But ever since The Incident, he'd spoken less and less. Most days, she was lucky to get so much as a word or two out of him.

Hicc wasn't a mute, and as far as she was aware, he hadn't taken any vows of silence. He wasn't shy, and he'd speak when he had something important to say- he just didn't seem to have important things to say very often. And his facial expressions tended to be rather inscrutable, which made it hard to tell how he felt about any given subject. (Astrid couldn't recall the last time she'd seen him smile.)

She couldn't remember who it was, years and years ago, who'd first called him "Hiccup the Stoic." It had been meant as a joke, intended to be a tease at his and Stoick's expense.

But it wasn't a joke anymore. Over the past year or two, she'd heard several people refer to him by the moniker. (It had annoyed her at first, but she had to admit that the epithet did fit, and there were worse bynames out there.)

Somehow, without her noticing, he'd finished his food, put his bowl in the washbasin, and was walking towards the door.

"Wait, Hicc," Astrid said, getting up from her seat to chase after him. He paused, turning around to look at her. Standing in front of him, she realized just how tall he'd gotten over the past few months. Before long, he'd be taller than her.

"You'll be back before dragon training starts next week, right?" He nodded, and she caught a glimpse of something cross his face, but it was gone before she could place it. (She loved this boy more than her own life, she really did, but she'd give just about anything to understand him.)

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then reached out and hugged him.

Astrid had never been a naturally affectionate person. She wasn't good with words, and she'd never been much of a hugger. But there was no way she'd let one of her favorite people in the world go off on some trip to Odin-knew-where without making sure he knew that she cared. Never again.

"You know I love you, right?" She squeezed, gently, then moved as if to release him- only for the boy to wrap his arms around her and squeeze back.

"I love you too," he murmured softly, letting her go.

Just as he opened the door, Astrid called after him again.

"And Hicc?" He looked over his shoulder, eyes meeting hers. "Happy birthday."

The look on his face could almost be mistaken for a smile.

Hicc reached the island not long before sunset.

Better set up camp nearby. The hike will have to wait until tomorrow. Which was fine with him- the less time he spent on that cliffside, the better. He tied his skiff to a tree a few feet up from the shore line, then picked up his bags, along with the large basket he used to carry fish, and headed further inland.

The first dragon showed up before he'd even built a campfire.

As dragons went, it wasn't particularly ferocious. Terrible Terrors were little things- this one was on the larger side, and probably wouldn't even come up to his knee- and while a flock of them could do some damage, a solitary Terror on its own generally didn't rank far above "minor inconvenience." (Hicc hadn't gone through dragon training yet, but any semi-competent teenager with even moderate weapons training ought to be able to handle a threat of this level.)

And this particular Terror happened to be one Hicc recognized.

"Fiol?" The tiny purple dragon ignored him, landing next to the basket he'd brought along. "I see how it is."

Smirking slightly, Hicc opened the latch and pulled out a fish. He tossed it in the air, and the dragon he'd dubbed 'Fiol' flew up and caught it at the height of its arc.

When she finished her snack, the little dragon nuzzled his cheek, chirping happily.

"I missed you, too," he said, stroking her beak with the back of his finger. Terrible Terrors tended to stick close to their home territories, and Hicc avoided visiting this particular island as much as possible, so he hadn't seen her since last year. (It never ceased to amaze him that she actually remembered someone she only saw a few days out of every year.)

Once he'd cooked a few fish for himself (and Fiol was dozing off in his lap), he took out his sketchbook and charcoal. Drawing usually helped clear his mind, and this time of year always brought back unpleasant memories.

But the portrait he was drawing wasn't right. He'd shaded in the man's dark hair, and the short beard was exactly how Hicc remembered it, but everything in between… the eyes, the nose, the mouth… the expression…

This isn't him. Flipping to a blank page, he tried again, but it was still wrong. Closing the book, Hicc gently deposited Fiol onto the ground and unfurled his bedroll. I'm forgetting what he looks like, aren't I?

It wasn't surprising- it had been years since he'd last seen the man. Of course the memories would fade. But the pit of guilt that had settled in his stomach all those years ago had become his constant companion, and forgetting even a bit of why it was there felt like a kind of betrayal.

A betrayal. Right. Because I've never betrayed anyone before.

Hicc took one last look up the route he'd be hiking in the morning. The route that would take him back to that cliffside.

My fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as an evening breeze blew a few strands of his white-blond hair into his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Dad."

Elsewhere…

The Night Fury was not cooperating, and Valka couldn't figure out why.

All of the other dragons had headed for the entrance as soon as she'd set them free, following Brightthief and the other Terrors she'd brought with her. The black dragon, however, had ignored all of them and tried to run the opposite direction- deeper into the ship. She'd blocked his way, of course, and was trying to convince him to turn around, with little success.

"Wrong way, boy," she whispered, not wanting to agitate him any further. He slammed his tail on the ground, and she noticed something didn't look right.

What on Midgard…

Moving slowly, she walked around the Night Fury's body, bending down to inspect his tailfin. Her eyes widened as she realized the problem: where the left fin should be, there was only a short flap of skin. Clearly, it had been cut or torn off, and the jagged edges indicated that it had not been quick or painless.

This was far from the first injured dragon Valka had encountered; she'd spent decades freeing the poor creatures from various manners of imprisonment. But this injury was old- what kind of trapper would keep a dragon who couldn't even fly alive this long?

The Fury took advantage of her distraction, squeezing his body through the doorway she'd left unoccupied.

"No!" She chased him through the hallway, trying to unpuzzle his strange behavior as she ran. "Please, stop!"

This wasn't at all the behavior she'd expect from a dragon who'd been held captive as long as this one clearly had. Not only was he not trying to escape, but he also wasn't displaying any fear of humans, or attempting to hurt her, or even trying to hide. He wasn't running away- he was running to something.

If this was a female, I'd think maybe the hunters had taken her eggs down here, but that can't be it… She hadn't found any evidence of any female Night Furies in the dragonhold, and most dragon eggs hatched pretty quickly. This part of the ship was cramped, and mostly wooden- impractical for keeping hatchlings. Even the dragon had slowed, twisting sideways to fit through the halls.

Valka caught up to him near the end of the hallway, a few feet in front of a thick, padlocked door. Quickflame, who'd flown in after them, settled down on her shoulder.

"Is there something in there, love?" Before she could decide if climbing over the Night Fury to inspect the lock was worth risking his anger, he let out some sort of purple plasma blast, and the door exploded.

She coughed, waving wood chips out of her face, as the black dragon bounded into the room. Slowly, she followed him in, looking around cautiously- she was pretty sure she'd managed to lure all of the trappers and guards on deck before hitting them with the sleeping gas, but she'd been surprised by booby traps on ships like this before.

The room was larger than it had looked from the outside, at least a few paces wide in each direction, but the ceiling was low enough that the horns on her mask would have hit it if she hadn't come in crouching. There was an empty cage bolted to the back wall.

Or, at least, it looked empty. But as the Night Fury leapt towards it and shook the bars, she heard some sort of high growl.

What kind of dragon is that?

"Oh, it's you," came what was unmistakably the voice of a human male- and he did not sound pleased. "What are you doing here, you stupid reptile?"

Valka squinted, but all she could make out was a vaguely human-looking shape slowly sitting up from the cage's floor.

"Quickflame, light," she whispered, and the Terror breathed out a shot of fire in the direction of a torch on the wall next to the cage.

"Who's there?" The man in the cage turned in her direction, and she could see his scowl. "What do you people want now?"

Who is he? The man's dark hair and thick beard were messy and unkempt- not the dignified wildness typical of many Vikings, but the matted disarray of a mane that hadn't seen a comb or bath in far too long. His clothes were so ragged and filthy that it was impossible to tell what color they'd once been, and the loose way they hung on him indicated that he'd lost a lot of weight. Whoever this strange man was, he'd clearly been here for a very long time- several months, at a minimum, and possibly even longer.

Her first assumption was that he was some sort of rival trapper who'd been captured by this group, but it seemed unlikely that the hunters would take this much trouble to imprison a mere business competitor for such an extended length of time. And the way he'd spoken to the Night Fury wasn't at all the way she'd expect a caged hunter to react to 'the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself' banging against his cage.

The Night Fury came after him for a reason. Placing her staff against the wall, she decided to take a gamble. Freya and Freyr, I hope I don't regret this.

"I'm… a friend," she said, stepping close enough that he'd be able to see her mask. "I'm here to help."

"Help," scoffed the man. "I've heard that one before, even if the last guy they sent at least had the decency to show me his face. I already told your people that I'm not giving them any information. I'm not letting them hurt anyone else. Go to Helheim."

Definitely not a hunter, then. Valka sighed, and, before she could think better of it, quickly pulled off the mask.

"I'm not with the hunters," she explained, slowly stepping forward to get a better look at the latch of the cage. "I came here to rescue the dragons, but your friend over here wouldn't leave without you." She gestured at the Night Fury, who was… smiling? (She'd never seen a dragon make that expression.)

"Right," said the prisoner. "You're telling me that you're, what? Some kind of crazy, vigilante dragon lady who goes around freeing trapped dragons, and you just happened to come across me here? Pull the other one." He crossed his arms. "And this guy and I are not friends. Reluctant allies stuck together due to an unfortunate twist of fate, maybe."

"Of course," she said, ignoring both the question and the sarcasm. "Quickflame, shoot." The tiny purple dragon let out a pointed burst of flame towards the lock, and it crumbled apart. Valka opened the latch and pulled the door open. "Come on, I don't know how much longer we have until those guards wake up, so introductions will have to wait. Let's get out of here, and then we can see about getting you somewhere safe."

She turned to leave, only to hear a loud crash. Looking back, she saw that he'd clearly stumbled while trying to stand up, and was now holding onto the Night Fury's back in an attempt to pull himself back to his feet.

He must be even weaker than I thought. When's the last time this poor man ate?

"Look, lady," the strange man said, interrupting her musings, "I don't know you, and I don't trust you. But if you really are trying to help me, would you quit staring and get me something to walk with? That hallway looks kind of narrow, so I doubt I'll be able to hold onto Toothless the whole way."

Toothless? Before she could fully process what he'd said, reached out and grabbed the staff she'd left unattended. He carefully leaned some of his weight against it as he headed towards the hall.

The Night Fury was running ahead of him, tail slapping excitedly against the floor boards. Shaking her head, Valka took the rear, then paused again, trying to figure out why the strange man's gait seemed… off. She watched as he set the base of the staff on the ground in front of him, then jumped over to it.

What in Thor's name? Is there something wrong with his feet? Looking down, she suddenly realized what the problem was- the jagged hem of the left side of his leggings revealed a stump a few inches below the knee.

His left foot… wasn't.