Prodigal Son 7

Berk's chieftain lived alone. In other tribes, more ambitious Vikings might have mistaken this for weakness, and moved against him, but not the Hairy Hooligans. Stoick the Vast's prowess in battle was universally recognized, and his authority absolute. The only change had merely been Iona the Cook's nightly visitations as she provided him with a hot meal at the end of his long day.

Except for tonight. Tonight Astrid was delivering his meal. Iona had seemed more than happy to let someone else take on the delivery. At the end of the cook's shift, Astrid had witnessed her leaving with her husband, the two of them heading down towards the docks together. Astrid made up her mind to volunteer more often, if only to give the cook the break she obviously welcomed.

Her path bright in the moonlight, Astrid stalked down the long staircase towards Stoick's hut. She was thankful that the chieftain didn't live near the forge on the far side of Berk. The path was relatively short, and she wasn't at much risk of spilling the bowl of hot stew she was carrying. The Haddock Hall had once been an imposing, majestic building. Yet the exterior was marred with scorch marks from dragon attacks. The logs themselves, thick and heavy, were getting old. They had cracked in some places. The mud and rope used to seal its cracks had fallen out, or been eaten away by time and the elements. It was not obvious in the daytime, but firelight flickered through dozens of tiny holes and cracks in the walls, scattering beams of light across the surrounding grass.

Astrid approached the door hesitantly. Inside there was only silence, save for the crackle of the fire. She reached up with and knocked three times with a steady hand.

Within, there was the sound of a scraping chair, and heavy footfalls creaking on old timber. A latch was wrestled with, and the door jerked open to reveal a mountain-sized silhouette casting its shadow upon her.

Astrid stared up at her Chief. She could barely make out his features in the dull light. Between his thick bearskin cape, and immense bulk, Stoick the Vast blocked out most of the doorway, with only a few bright streams illuminating his feet. Light threaded through his graying hairs, creating a fuzzy haze around his head. It was one of the rare moments Astrid had seen him without his long hair tied back, or his helmet.

"Astrid?" His thick, deep voice was lightly tinged with surprise.

Astrid held up the large bowl of stew in her hand, half a loaf of bread was soaking in it. "Dinner?"

"Thank you." Stoick's enormous hand eclipsed hers as, with a certain amount of gentility, he took the bowl. He shifted, the light for a moment revealed wrinkled, hawkish green eyes and a dark red beard, streaked with grey. He studied her for a moment.

"Spit it out, Astrid."

"Sir?"

"Iona usually brings the meals. You wouldn't be here unless you had something to say."

"I… um…. Snotlout mentioned he wanted to take up dragon training." Astrid was here for Hiccup's papers, but somehow she suspected a blunt request to search his personal belongings would not end well. She had intended to ease Stoick into it, so to speak.

"Mmm." Stoic frowned. "Did he, now?" The enormous Viking moved aside. Astrid took the invitation and stepped across the threshold with as much humility as she could muster. She settled in a small chair beside the fireplace. Stoick's home was well lived-in. Old weapons hung on the walls. A section of the lower floor had been walled off to create a bedroom for the Chief. Astrid's gaze inevitably slid sideways to the staircase which lead to the upper mezzanine; Hiccup's old room. Each stair was covered in a thick layer of dust. Several years had passed since someone had last set a foot upon that staircase.

Several of Hiccup's small trinkets had been placed at a small altar to Thor. A tiny horned helmet hung on a nail which had been driven deep into a nearby wooden pillar. As she examined it, a cold, dead weight settled on Astrid's shoulders.

Stoick strode past her. "I'm not sure why we need anyone else. You're doing a wonderful job in the ring, Astrid." The Chieftain's lips hinted a smile. "You're doing Berk a great service."

Astrid felt a flash of pride. "Thank you, sir."

Stoick crossed Haddock Hall, his feet retreading a pale, worn path towards an enormous table with a water jug and several glasses on it. He poured himself a glass, and then offered one to her. Astrid shook her head politely.

"So…" Stoick settled back into his own chair, which creaked in protest. "Snotlout wants to be a dragon trainer."

"Yes."

"Hmm…" the Chieftain's brows knitted. "And your opinion?"

"I'll do my duty to Berk."Astrid said diplomatically.

"Didn't ask that. Asked what you thought."

"I can't stand him, sir." She said honestly. "He's half the reason I'm in the ring so much."

"Ah…" Stoic shifted awkwardly. "Spitelout did say your family turned down another marriage offer."

"My duty is to my clan first, sir."

"Aye, as every shield-maiden's should be." Stoick nodded in satisfaction. "But one day Snotlout is going to be Chief, Astrid."

She grimaced. "Really?"

His eyes flicked to Hiccup's forlorn helm and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Really. If you turn him down then it'll mean disaster for the Hofferson name. A Jorgenson with a Hofferson is a fine pairing which strengthens both houses and Berk as a whole."

"Right." Astrid said, as much to herself as to Stoick, "I'll just have to hope there's a dragon raid before our wedding night so I can enter Valhalla with dignity."

"Mind how you speak, Astrid." Stoick said quietly "He may not bear my name but he is a cousin. Haddock blood flows through his veins."

"Oh? I thought it was tall tales and mead."

Stoick gave her a stern look.

"Sorry sir."

He took a sip from his mug. "I heard you'd dismissed the class early a few days ago."

"Yes. I was… looking through some of Hiccup's old drawings. At the Smithy. Did Gobber say anything to you?"

Stoick chuckled. "Gobber hasn't had much to say to me in a long time."

Astrid frowned. The Smith and the Chieftain had been friends as long as she could remember. Though come to think of it, she didn't see them together that often in a while. At least, not since Hiccup's death.

"Gobber keeps his peace. When we're out and about at any rate. He know's it won't help things to be fighting." He set his mug down with a clink and fixed her with a keen stare. His voice grew a tad colder. "What in Hel's realm were you looking through Hiccup's old doodles for, at any rate?"

"Guilt, I guess. I didn't have much to do with him when he was alive."

"It's been eight long years, Astrid."

"Have you see Gustav lately? He looks like Hiccup did. I'm training him every day in the ring." She shrugged. "Lately it's been bringing up some old memories."

"Aye." Stoick nodded slowly, his face softening.

"Have you looked through the pages? Hiccup had some brilliant ideas. Some of them we've already built."

"The mill, I know."

"He can still help Berk, sir." Stoick was staring at her, pale and ash, and stone-faced. Astrid continued regardless, praying silently to any of the gods that her Chief would listen to her. "The fact is that I delivered your food tonight because, with all due respect to both you and his memory-"

"You want to see his room…"

"I was hoping to go up there and see if he had any more drawings…"

The Chief was staring past her now, into torturous thoughts, or some far-off, painful memory.

"It'd be good for Berk, sir. I can't even guess how much it would hurt to go through it all, but there's no point in keeping it all locked up. Not of it'll save lives."

"You think that's what I'm doing, Astrid?" Stoick said, "Hoarding?"

"I didn't mean it like that, sir. I just meant-"

But the enormous Viking was building up steam, his cheeks were growing red. "Do you realize what those beasts did to us? Do you think Hiccup died a Warrior's death, Astrid? Do you think he died with a weapon in his hand? Do you think he made it into Valhalla?"

Astrid kept her mouth shut, but her expression must have spoken volumes

"When I next see my son, there'll be no talk. It'll be at Ragnarok, and we'll be crossing blades!" Stoick said, shaking his head. "He's in Hel's armies now. That is what the beasts have done to us! ...I can't go up there."

"With his designs we can improve our defenses and insure no more children die the way he did." Astrid argued, feeling her foundations crumble. She was infringing on a private matter. Hiccup's notes rightfully belonged to Stoick, and his room was a place of mourning for the father. She had no business there. Besides, there was no guarantee that she'd find anything more there than she had reading through Gobber's collection. "I think it'll help at least." She said lamely.

"And I think this discussion is over." He growled. "Those were my son's private things."

Astrid nodded and rose stiffly, fighting an internal duel between disappointment and resignation. No matter how curious she was, she could not directly disobey her Chief. Especially not with something so personal. She hoped whatever strand Fishlegs was following, he'd have more success. She gently closed the door behind her and headed home, her mind in turmoil.

I hope to explore more of Stoick's issues in later chapters.

In the previous chapter, Hiccup has several thoughts about aspects of religion and religious beliefs. A concerned reader pointed out that some might get offended by that. I felt that Hiccup, who has the very analytical mind an inventor needs, would inevitably start picking at bits of the lore which didn't make sense to him. Hiccup is a Danish Viking. He believes in the Nordic gods and Nordic traditions. He is neither a Christian, nor a Muslim. Given his own background, he would probably consider the myths and trappings of those other religions to be ridiculous in a benign way. In fact he'd probably identify best with the Greeks, the Romans, and the Egyptians. All three of those races had similar pantheons of gods from which they drew many different individual myths as opposed to one overarching story. These structural differences would I think make Christianity appear rather ridiculous.

I tried to write it as I thought it would happen.

To those of you craving the reunion, I beg you, exercise patience. It will come, and things will pick up in the next few chapters. A major problem I've found with most Wandering!Hiccup stories is that they always seem to skip the Wandering, thus negating all dramatic tension in the return. Only one writer in this fandom has actually managed to pull that off, and I hate to say it but none of us are going to match Midoriko-Sama's 'Becoming' trilogy.