Hiccup groaned frustratedly, forcefully dropping his spade into a pile of hay and cursing the circumstances that brought him here. His cursing echoed around him and his metal leg hit the floor, the scraping metal on stone sounding clear and striking.

He was in the Dragon stables, the repurposed cages of the Dragon Training Arena. It was a large, gray empty basin encompassed by a large, wicked cage. Inside, there were five large, reinforced doors which led into short, cavernous cave spaces where most of Berk's main Dragon Riders had their dragons sleep during the night. Hiccup was not one of these dragon riders. In fact, he was the first of two riders to allow his dragon to sleep inside his home.

However, he was the de facto leader of their little group by being the first and also the son of the chief. Meaning, when the rest of the riders decided that they were too busy to clean after their dragons and rode off on some asinine quest -probably to avoid having to take responsibility for their mess, Hiccup guessed- to who knows where for who knows how long, it fell to him to find another viking to work in their place. Or so his father said.

Except, as Hiccup went around asking for help, offering coins, weapons, favors, anything, he found that no one was willing. In fact, many were outright repulsed by the idea. Apparently most of the other riders had pulled stunts like this before, convincing people to clean their pens through trickery or for pay, but most'd been frightened away from the Academy by a ridiculous tall tale.

He'd come across multiple accounts from men and women alike about strange noises, evil presences and, from one particularly paranoid man, crackling lights. Not a single soul would go into the cages alone, for fear of being swept away by some unholy creature. Some blamed the haunting on the ring's blood-soaked history, suggesting that it was penance for slaying so many guileless animals in such a cruel way. Others, the more cynical ones, said the rumors were the fault of Hiccup, chalking it up to angry gods who were ashamed of the vikings who would stoop so low as to befriend devils. By which, of course, they meant the dragons

Hiccup, obviously concerned, had gone in with his own dragon, the Night Fury Toothless, checking the safety of each stall. He waded through old hay and dragon shit, checked the rigging of each door, making sure there were no loose hinges or peepholes for any quacks to spy through. He checked all of the local dragons for signs that they'd been inside and even spent one uneventful night keeping watch over the ring, in case some rogue animal had snuck in to wreak havoc. But, of course, every time he checked, he came up empty-handed.

The Twins really did it this time. It was always the twins. Hiccup remembered the last time something like this had happened. After they were caught, their village's guþi had smacked him so hard he'd seen stars. They were his responsibility, after all.

With no way to contact the other riders, no idea when they would be back, and with no one who would help clean the stables, it looked like Hiccup was going to have to do it.

Thing was, Hiccup didn't even have time for another job! On top of his usual duties at the forge, his father had finally decided to 'teach' Hiccup about being chief. Meaning, he shoved all his duties off onto Hiccup and left him to figure it out on his own.

He spent his whole morning practically pulling his hair out with stress over his missing dragon, in the forge, over whether Mulch had found Bucket's stupid helmet, three different disputes over land, five missing sheep, and reinforcing Berk's main food store (A posse of Terrible terrors and clawed their way in and ate their way through about half of it before they'd been caught). He was still damp from all of the wading he'd done earlier that day, searching through wet grasses, dew soaking through his pants legs.

He was cold, miserable, hungry and tired. It got so bad he and Toothless hadn't had any time to go flying together for over a week! Once Toothless realized how busy Hiccup was, he had gotten bitter fast, snapping at Hiccup when he came near, and running off to hide where Hiccup couldn't find him. He'd been doing most of the heavy lifting for Hiccup, though, so it was not as if he wasn't just lounging around. Still, It's not like Hiccup hadn't wanted to go flying with him too, the bastard.

It was this that had Hiccup cracking and running home to his father to beg him to free his poor son from his position as acting Chief. He just couldn't do it.

His father had pulled open the door just as Hiccup had made it back to their house on the top of the hill, as if he was expecting Hiccup. He'd looked down at his son wordlessly, his great big, braided red beard half-obscuring his vision, and moved to the side just enough for Hiccup to seek sanctuary inside and shut the door behind him.

Hiccup spoke fast, leaving barely any time for interjection, trying to get as much out as possible in as quick a time as he could.

As Hiccup was raving, Stoick grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down in front of the hearth of their home, in one of the wooden chairs he'd had placed there. Not his Chief chair, a beautifully carved larger than life mount, passed down from father to son for generations, of course, but a smaller-but-still-respectfully-tall regular wooden one.

"And-and, Dad, I'm not even sure if I'm ready to have this kind of responsibility-influence- I mean, isn't this your job? No offense -to you- but-" Hiccup threw his hands up, gesturing wildly. He was quite the picture, hair stuck in odd angles, covered in soot and leaves from being in the forge and scouring the island for a variety of odds and ends. Stoick let out a deep exhale and walked his way to the other side of their home, to where a rickety wooden table sat. The floorboards creaked deeply with each mighty step.

"-But, I don't know how much of this I can stand! Everyone needs something! I can't catch a break, seriously. Plegma, Ack, I can deal with all of them individually. Right now, though- even dealing with Mildew wasn't as bad as this!" Hiccup ran a hand through his hair, pulling on his bangs and making a little frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

Stoick poured a heavy cup of mead out of one large jug he'd set out, probably nicked from the great hall the night before, and interjected slowly, "Hiccup."

"Every time I see someone coming up to me, I feel like scooping out my eyeballs! How do you eve-" Hiccup dropping his head in his hands.

"HICCUP," Stoick's shout had caused him to jump, and he sat at attention.

"Oh, uh, sorry, Dad. Yeah?" Hiccup rubbed his neck sheepishly. Stoick turned towards Hiccup, his eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a stern frown. He handed Hiccup the cup and moved in front of his own chair. Another mug sat on the arm rest, half-filled and unattended to.

"Hiccup, you are going to have to get used to this." Stoick dropped down onto his seat. They were facing each other now. Hiccup turned his head away. He set the mug down on the floor. He didn't really enjoy drinking.

"Yeah, Dad, I know, I just… I don't…" Hiccup's voice was weak. He looked up at his father imploringly. While it wasn't yet completely dark out, the number of windows in their home was few. Stoick had started a fire before Hiccup had arrived, and the light from the hearth reflected harshly against defined shadows of his face.

"I know things seem hard now. It's a lot to handle, believe me, I understand. It never gets any less difficult, but with practice, it will get easier. It is natural to want help. Someone to help shoulder your burdens, someone to share your worries with …I won't be around forever, you know."

Hiccup winced, he had an idea of where this was going. "Actually-you know, I'm fine now, so I'll just-" He got up from where he was sitting. Coming back was a mistake. Stoick gave him a look and he sat back down.

"Come on, Dad, I don't-"

"Son, you have to understand. You're eighteen winters. It's high past time. By your age, I was already married. Hel, I was betrothed before you'd shot down your dragon!" Hiccup groaned, but he knew this conversation was inevitable. They'd had it multiple times before. He knew his dad wouldn't give up until he got some answer out of Hiccup.

"You're my Dad, I would have hoped that you- with my mom…" He smiled weakly up at his father, "Dad, we've been over this. I don't want to be married."

"Hiccup, I need you to at least consider this as an option. What about that girl, Astrid? I know you had a- ah, a thing for her. Her clan is from good stock. What happened to that?" Good stock, the thought left a foul taste in Hiccup's mouth. Astrid Hofferdóttir was the most promising viking of their generation. He had had a thing for her for a while, and she had liked him back.

"You know what happened! Just-just because I thought she was pretty when I was- when I was five-" Hiccup pulled up his shoulders.

Astrid was headstrong and brave, everything he should want, and everything he did want, for a while. He hoped that with her, maybe he could move on. But it was not meant to be. He couldn't bring himself to do anything more than hold her hand. He lost interest soon after he had that realization. She lost interest soon after as well, choosing to focus on her dream of being a shieldmaiden. Their relationship, if he could even call it that, was on-and-off, anyways. And to be fair, he didn't think she wanted to be married, either.

"You know very well you didn't just- After the Red Death, you two- Hiccup, just pick someone," Stoick leaned heavily against the back of his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'll be happy with anyone."

Hiccup grit his teeth. Why wouldn't he leave Hiccup alone? "Have you forgotten? I did pick. And you weren't! You really, really weren't!" Words spoken during past and present arguments hung between them. "I will not marry."

Stoick stood, and opened his mouth angrily, before closing it again. He was upset at the tone Hiccup had taken them, they both knew, but years of experience told him that Hiccup would only use whatever he said about it to deflect from the matter at hand.

"This is ridiculous! Hiccup, look-!" Stoick gestured at him with one hand, "You won't get rid of that-that- Godsdamned tunic! Look at it- it's falling apart!"

Stoick ran both hands down his face, pacing stiffly back and forth in front of the hearth. Hiccup, jaw still clenched, picked at his sleeves self-consciously. They were frayed at the edges, and littered with old stitches, the result of Hiccup's struggle to make them last as they got damaged and he began to outgrow them.

He felt bad arguing with his father. He knew Stoick was doing his best to look out for Hiccup. Most fathers didn't give their children a choice in who they married, or when they got to do it. If it were up to anyone else, he knew he would have been married off a long time ago. If it wasn't for the fact that Stoick's own marriage had been for love, he knew his father would have done the same. Hiccup could tell his patience was wearing thin. And yet he could not budge. Not on this.

"As if you're one to talk. But heaven forbid anyone ever bring up my mother." Hiccup muttered darkly. Stoick halted and took a few steps back towards Hiccup. Hiccup stood, so that he and his father were almost on even ground. Their eyes bore into each other. He had more than crossed a line with that one.

"I have been more than patient with you. I have given you more than enough time, and I have left you the choice of who to marry. People are watching- You're the son of a chief, Hiccup, you have to lead by example,"

Hiccup looked at him pleadingly. "Dad…"

Stoick brows furrowed deep, "Make a decision soon, or I will make a decision for you. Do you understand, son?" Hiccup looked towards the door longingly. Things were much easier when he was the village nuisance. Not perfect, sure, but there were a lot less expectations for him when everyone expected Snotlout to become the next chief and him the blacksmith. That was why he was apprenticed to Gobber, after all.

"Yes, Dad, I understand," Hiccup wondered who would work the forge now after Gobber was dead and gone.

Stoick's voice grew softer, though it was still gruff, as if it was protesting against the tone change, "Alright, son. There's still daytime left. A chief has no time for breaks. How has the issue with the stalls been?" Hiccup heard the squeak of his father's Chief chair against the wood of their floors as he sat back down. Hiccup looked over towards Stoick again. Despite his father's relaxed demeanor, there was still tension in the air.

"Ah, Dad, well, I've been asking around, and it looks like no one is willing to clean it. Once things get less busy I'll probably head down myself,"

"Have you really asked everyone?" Stoick scrutinized his son, eyes squinted slightly. He took a swig from his mug, "Even old Bengt? And Bodil? They could use the extra coin," Hiccup didn't know Stoick kept up with the couple. He hadn't, and that sent a stab of regret through his chest.

"What-? No, not them, why would I-?" This was an unfair ask, coming from his father.

"Hiccup," Stoick bent down to grab the end of a small chunk of wood off a pile which rested by his feet. It was obscured to most of the room by the height of his chair. "Your job is not done until you've asked everyone. The Academy is your responsibility. I'll be visiting them tomorrow, to make sure you didn't skip out on them," Well, there goes that plan.

"I- Ok, Dad. Yeah, I'll just… go, now," Hiccup pushed off his chair and stood, straightening his shirt and brushing off imaginary dust.

Stoick tossed the chunk of wood into the fire, and Hiccup watched as flames jumped around it. Little embers, displaced by the impact of the wood, burst out of the fireplace. Hiccup cringed as a spark caught him by the skin of his hand. His father flicked a piece of charcoal from his knee. He began his march to the door.

Bengt and Bodil… Their names seemed to weigh down each of Hiccup's steps as he moved forward. It had been a long time since they last spoke.

"Thatta boy," Stoick nodded at his son. Hiccup turned and gave him a weak grin in return. He hoped he looked a lot less pained than he felt.

As Hiccup opened the door, and let the door slam behind him, "And just so you know. The missing sheep? Don't let Ack give you any trouble over it. The lazy fool is more than capable of finding them himself."

-

Hiccup's prosthetic clicked gently against Berk's wooden paths. It was one of a series of ramps and stairs that twisted through the village.

Hiccup remembered running across the same pathways as a child. His cousin, Snotlout, would often chase after him with a child's sword, or an axe, threatening to beat him bloody.

He remembered being taught about how this island's Vikings prided themselves on the sturdiness of their homes, and the speed at which they could be rebuilt. Every plank had a purpose. Their roofs were made as smooth as possible so that the smaller dragons, the one's whose claws weren't sharp enough to rip through wood, would more easily slide off and be killed. Their doors were made sturdy enough to keep intruders out, but also loose enough so that if a Zippleback had come to gas down their houses from above, a mother and her children could bust through and make a quick getaway.

The only decoration they allowed themselves were the carved wooden heads of dragons, faces permanently frozen in fear and anger, which they mounted in an effort to scare away the very monsters which burned down their homes and mutilated their children.

However, once the constant conflict with the dragons had ended, the vikings of Berk adopted a different sort of competition. Now, their doorways were decorated with carvings of long, intricate knots. Patterns were painted over walls in bright blues, and roofs were colored in eye-catching greens and reds.

A Monstrous Nightmare flew above Hiccup then, its shadow swimming over houses and through alleys. While earlier there were Vikings eagerly moving throughout the village square, their numbers now dwindled with the setting sun. Those who were out were hurrying home or had positioned themselves between houses and under awnings, speaking to each other in closed huddles. Hiccup observed them as he passed. There was a group of children playing fetch with a small blue terrible terror. Thankfully, none seemed interested in approaching him.

Hiccup walked as slow as possible, his steps were short, and he kept his shoulders lowered in order to appear as relaxed as possible. On the inside, he felt a growing anxiety. He stared longingly at the smithy as he passed it. All of the doors were shut. There was no smoke rising from the top or any light to be seen from inside, either. Gobber must have gone home already. What I wouldn't give…

The sun was almost completely down once he reached the outskirts of the village. On the horizon rose a meager hut. It seemed to stand in rebellion to the rest of Berk, with walls done plainly in old wood and a roof covered in rough, uneven patches of straw.

The land around it was barren, cleared for woodstock, its foliage ripped away in an attempt to be rid of the endlessly marching undergrowth. A woman stood, hunched over the ground, pulling up the few weeds which had managed to take root in the open field. She held a woven basket against one hip.

Hiccup jogged for her. He could feel his heart pounding in ears. All right, I can do this. I can do this. The faster I get there, the faster I can get this over with.

As he approached, metal leg squeaking, the woman raised her head. Her face was covered in lines and wrinkles. The bags under her eyes were heavy and dark. She looked much older than her forty eight winters. Even his father, worn with the weight of caring for the whole island, did not look so burdened. It was like seeing a ghost.

Hiccup slowed to a complete stop a respectful few feet away and gave her a hesitant wave. She studied him intently, squinting her eyes with the difficulty of it.

"Good day," His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Hiccup," Bodil's eyes lit up with recognition. Her expression softened, though her body language remained guarded.

He dug his prosthetic into the earth, displacing little bits of sand, tracked up from berk's thin beaches. There were pebbles scattered across the dirt by their feet. Off to his left, he saw an arrangement of pebbles that looked like a terrible terror in the abstract.

"What brings you here, Hiccup? It has been a very long while since..." Bodil stood to her full height. Her hunchback had gotten worse, Hiccup noticed.

"A task," Hiccup looked back towards Bodil, "My father said that you two might be able to help."

Bodil gestured towards the hut, "How about you come inside? You can explain more there. But let's be quick. It is late, and I suspect that you will be wanting to retire to bed soon. Have you eaten yet? It's early, but…"

"Ah, no," His ears pinked, they were both walking now, "I've had my hands full."

"Stoick been running you ragged?" Bodil lowered her basket and set it by the door, "Well, conversation is always nicest over a hot bowl of stew. Frida was kind enough to sell me a loaf of bread at half price. We can have that too, if it's still good." She flipped open a latch and gestured forwards. Bengt and Bodil had never really eaten at the Great Hall, at least not since the birth of their daughter, preferring to spend their nattmals at home.

And then ominously, in a lower voice, "Just be quiet. Bengt slept early; he came in midday and hasn't been up since."

The occupants of this house, Hiccup knew, hadn't always lived so far away from everyone else. But that's just what grief did to people. They relocated from a home closer to the docks, which would have been the most convenient place for Bengt, as he was a fisherman. It wasn't as convenient for Hiccup, who, as a young child, had to run down there from his own home overlooking the rest of Berk.

He'd been hesitantly surprised earlier to find that they'd moved.

The inside of their newer hut was just as small and shoddy as it looked from the outside. Half of it was sectioned off by a frankenstein stitch of old cloth. Over a fire towards the middle was a pot, stew having already been set to cook. He wondered if there was anything he could do to help. Bodil nodded towards a short table by the side, which took up about a fourth of the space. Hiccup made himself comfortable in one of the four chairs that lined it instead.

The anticipation that came with knowing Bengt was resting nearby did nothing to interrupt the companionable silence between the two. Though the setting was different, Hiccup found it nostalgic. The knocking of bowls and the sound of a wooden spoon shifting through the night's dinner overlapped with the same noises from a different time, where someone else would have been sitting next to him, the two of them passing papers between each other. He yearned for it.

Bodil placed a bowl in front of him and he pushed away his musings. The stew inside was thin, and the slice of bread Bodil handed him was stale. He creased his brow worriedly, and opened his mouth to speak. Bodil noticed and shook her head 'no' before he could. Guiltily, he dropped it.

They shared quiet words over their dinner. She asked how he fared. He responded by telling her about the riders and the Academy. He told her about Dagur, and Alvin, and, with some prompting, many of the things he had learned about dragons during his adventures. He could tell the idea of dragons still made her nervous, but her curiosity towards the subject made him smile.

She told him of her own domestic adventures. About her weaving, searching for her old sword- which had gotten lost in their move- and finding a nice spot on the cliffs where she now often spent her sunrises and sunsets. He caught on to the things left unsaid, about her struggles with keeping connected to others back in the village, and Bengt's absence from much of her day-to-day life.

Their quiet whispers did nothing to clock out the sounds from the other side of the curtain. The occasional snore and the quiet shifting of sheets- Their time together was interrupted by a groan, signaling Bengt's rousing. They heard creaking as he rose from his wooden bed and pushed aside the curtains.

It was not an exaggeration to say he looked awful. Pitiful, even. He was never a tall man, something Hiccup took comfort in, being a very small child himself. His cheekbones were well defined on his face, and the hollows of his cheeks were quite obvious. His black hair was now covered in streaks of gray. The lines of his face didn't depict exhaustion the same way Bodil's did. Instead, he exuded a sense of general distaste.

He should have been doing quite well. The need for fish grew as more vikings got their own dragons. But Hiccup heard rumors of Bengt spending many afternoons in the Great Hall instead of out fishing as he should have been. Now, it seems, he and Bodil were struggling because of it. Hiccup wondered how much of his demeanor could be credited to a hangover.

Bengt looked drowsily over the rest of the room. His eyes drifted over the table where Hiccup and Bodil sat. Next to them there were two empty bowls. He looked past them and then back towards Hiccup, who his eyes focused on. Bengt's mouth twitched downwards.

He and Bodil shared a look. Bengt clenched his jaw hard. To Hiccup, the message was clear. 'I want him out.'

"Hiccup," Bengt said gruffly. Hiccup's heart ached. He remembered a time when they were like family. When the lines on Bengt's face were from smiling, and their time together was filled with wit and laughter. Those times were gone. Now, Hiccup could barely stand the silence.

"What brings you here?" Bengt kicked aside a mug on the floor. There seemed to be quite a few from what he could see of their bedroom.

"I have a job," Hiccup replied hesitantly, "The stables- the other dragon riders have gone off on a quest- they've, ah, left it a mess. I've got my hands full now, but it looks like I'll end up cleaning it anyways. If someone else could do it- I've got silver. Five coins."

At the word 'dragon,' Bengt scowled. He wasn't as vocal as Mildew was about his hate for them, but it was strong in him. Every Viking who spent their nights drinking in the Great Hall knew about it.

"Just make them do it when they get back." Bengt glared at the empty bowls on the table. He shuffled over their dirt floors to grab one himself.

Hiccup pulled his arms off the table and put them by his sides. He looked everywhere but at Bengt. "Can't. We need the ring. The Academy is holding classes for kids with the Terrible Terrors and, uh, it stinks."

"Good," Bengt, now over the stew pot, scooped out his dinner with the bowl itself. He reached through shelves, knocking over ladles and displacing bundles of herbs, "Now, are you just going to sit there all day, or are you going to get out?"

"Bengt. Don't be rude," Bodil scolded, turning quickly back towards her husband. Bengt gave up on searching for any kind of spoon to eat with. He ignored the bread on the table, going straight to pouring stew into his mouth. He chewed messily on small chunks of meat and vegetables.

"Jus' want to eat my gods forsaken dinner in peace," Bengt brought on one arm to wipe off a trail of liquid from his chin. Bodil placed her spoon on the table. A lot of the warmness she wore around Hiccup melted off of her face.

"Bengt," Bodil whispered, "Hiccup is here. Pull yourself together just this once." Hiccup wondered what she'd think of what her parents had become in her absence. He wondered what she'd think of him.

Hiccup shrunk into himself.

Bengt grunted and rubbed at his temples and met her gaze challengingly, "Why? Just 'cause he's the chief's son doesn't mean I owe him an ounce of respect."

Hiccup could see how Bodil clasped her hands tightly over the table. She looked extremely frustrated, her smile tight, "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Bengt shook his head and straightened his tunic, "He should be ashamed for showing his face here, after all this time," He spat. Bodil said nothing, her mouth opening and closing slightly. She looked at Hiccup in silent apology. Hiccup pushed back his chair and stood from his seat, leaving his bowl of stew and his bread behind.

"I-I'll just- I'll go." He walked to the door, and gave it a weak push, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."