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Literature Text
HTTYD was based on a book series by Cressida Cowell. This AU places book Hiccup in the movie universe.
Hiccup, now chief after his father has died, has suddenly grown up and attracted all the village women. Now managing peace, he also has to manage his own grief with feelings on romance and bitterness towards his mother . . .
He had never wanted to be chief. Yes, he wanted to be a leader, to create a bridge between dragons and humans, but to take his father's place? When he had to FIGHT to get people to listen to him? When most Vikings in the Archipelago considered him an Outcast, a runt who deserved exile, and declared war on Berk the minute they learned that the heir and hope to the tribe was not leaving?
Impossible. Hiccup, if not for his father's love and for Berk's loyalty to the chief, would have taken off on his Night Fury and vanished into a random pink sunset. But here he was, wearing his father's mantle and going about his day as if he were used to settling feuds between farmers, designing new wells and yak farms, providing for the newly orphaned and widowed folk, and fixing holes in the warships. He had grown tall in the past ten years, and his red hair had turned a deep auburn. No longer stammering, he gave gentle commands with a deep voice that rumbled.
Most of his body had changed, but the Slavemark had remained under his left ear. It was still visible, as his would-be slavers had intended. Hiccup couldn’t forget that he had fought for his birthright.
Being chief didn’t just mean mending fences and rescuing barrels of ale from tumbling down hillsides; Hiccup soon learned that the hard way. Wearing the mantle meant that people looked at him differently, especially the village girls. When he helped Gobber in the smithy, some would detach themselves from morning chores to watch him. They’d ask for help with their family sheep, or would bring tools for him to repair. Not Gobber, never Gobber, but him, the chief who did apprentice work in the smithy.
The girls’ interest had shocked Hiccup. For the first time he met people younger than him, people who looked up to him, and he disliked it. The idolization was a poor fit on a former, marked runt. Strange things also happened at town meetings; the older girls, some four or five years his senior, would invite him for a nightcap or a late supper, noting the circles under his eyes. They were often widows from the war, or proud shield-maidens that had refused to tie themselves to men before. Even Ruffnut and Astrid complimented his armor on these particular evenings, and they would glare at the other women who tried to approach.
Hiccup would make his excuses each time, perplexed and anxious. Once, he would’ve given up his left hand to have Astrid show any interest, when he had been a scrawny boy. Now things were different. He had responsibilities. She had responsibilities, as his second-in-command, head of the Dragon Academy, and confidante. They didn’t need to throw romance into their chief meetings.
“Ya keep wearing that scowl, it’s going ta become glued to your face,” Gobber joked one morning. The smith’s mustache and braids had gone white with age, flecked blonde and white in certain places.
Hiccup focused on the sword that he was hammering into shape, banging his might into it. His brow furrowed. Toothless, who was now the size of an overweight boar, draped around Hiccup’s neck, snoring.
“Look, ya can’t complain when a pretty lass shows up and wants a piece of ya,” Gobber said. He pulled the hammer out of Hiccup’s callused hands.
Hiccup shrugged. He took back the hammer with little effort, heavy as it was.
“I’m not complaining.”
“You’re certainly moping and nae because most of tha dragons have left. What’s wrong with all this attention, lad?”
He took time to answer, to find the right sentences. Yes, he could completely confide in Gobber, but there really was nothing to complain about, and Gobber wasn’t getting any younger.
“It’s not right,” Hiccup said. “I shouldn’t be receiving it. I don’t deserve it.”
“Hiccup.” Gobber raised an eyebrow, one that had yellow and white flecks. “Ten years of war and ya still cling to that sense of right and wrong? You’re chief now; your word is law on this island. And given what’s happened, what with that fancy tattoo and tha trouble it’s caused, no one deserves it more than you.”
He tapped the Slavemark on his own left side and grinned, as if it were just a tattoo and not a status symbol.
“Only because I fought for it after losing that birthright,” Hiccup said. “Because Dad fought for it. The day when Alvin marked me, when I was so stupid-”
“It wasn’t completely your fault,” Gobber said, cutting through Hiccup’s self-loathing. “Ya were an impetuous lad, under a lot of pressure while a prisoner on Outcast Island, drugged with that Loki tree concoction so that ya had to tell tha truth. Also, Mildew betrayed ya. Even your father would have broken under those circumstances, and he was nae a sapling.”
Hiccup set his mouth into a line. All of those facts were true. It didn’t change the fact, however, that Hiccup’s weakness had gotten him caught. The Outcasts could have killed Toothless, and Hiccup had endangered the entire Archipelago when Alvin had interrogated him.
“But it’s nae just that, is it, Hiccup?” Gobber asked. “Ya certainly like women in that fashion. Ya used to like Astrid that way, when you were a wee bairn.”
Hiccup turned and fixed a solid, fixed stare on Gobber.
“Well, ya did. I remember how ya wanted to repair her axe every time it got nicked, trying to walk like her, and make yourself bigger and broader-chested.”
“I was a boy,” Hiccup said. “A foolish boy. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
He shrugged Toothless and his apron off. The Terror gave a protesting snore.
“That same boy tamed dragons, and defeated their queen on her home turf.” Gobber went to grab cleaning cloths, changing his hook hand into a brush. “And then he grew up into an intelligent man. I can say that he has guid taste but is afraid to act on his desires.”
“Gobber, I feel very tempted to hit you.”
“Ya could do worse than tha second-best dragon trainer on Berk. Astrid’s always had your back in battle, and she knows how tae follow your orders, when tae disobey them, and how tae rally tha people to a particular cause. If tha lass is interested in that way-”
“Gobber.” Hiccup’s voice was steely. “You know perfectly well why I don’t have those feelings for her anymore.”
“Ya don’t need feelings for marriage, or for a relationship. Those can come later. Ya could simply extend your practical relationship from the Academy days, marry her in a formal ceremony-”
This time Hiccup’s look did stop Gobber. It was agony, anger, self-loathing and guilt mixed in at once. He wanted to cry, scream and punch his fist into the wall at the same time. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode outside, a proud chief with a tormented expression on his face.
“Gobber, SHUT UP.”
He hurried. He knew that Gobber wouldn’t follow, because Hiccup’s days of running off into the woods to steam were long over. He’d find the nearest well, splash himself with ice-cold water until he returned to his senses, and then start the day with a dragon ride before attending to his chief duties.
Toothless spluttered as the water came down. He then flew off, sniffing and sneezing little dragon sneezes. Hiccup ignored the Terrible Terror’s protests and stroked the green wings.
Hiccup stopped stroking Toothless, who still sounded indignant. Time to start with the day, just like every other day, with a dragon ride. He puckered his lips to whistle for Windwalker.
It was one of those long days, where Hiccup didn’t even have time to check on the Dragon Academy. Just as well; he didn’t want to have to face Astrid’s questioning look, or her offer of a nightcap.
He came to his father’s house, which was one of the longest lasting structures on Berk. Stoick the Vast had built it two decades ago, when he had married Valhallarama of the White Arms.
Hiccup’s lip curled at the thought of his mother. He had last seen her at his father’s funeral, helping to construct his barrow. She was a clever woman, and she had passed on that cleverness to Hiccup. Now she was gone, off on another quest probably. As a widow, she was now free to remarry, free to never return, unless she wanted to see her son in action.
He stomped inside, upsetting Toothless, and hung up the mantle by the fire. It was dripping wet from a run-in with the twins, who hadn’t lost their penchant for destruction, or for tormenting the yaks on their yak farms. He was so preoccupied that he almost didn’t notice Gobber in the corner, until Toothless hissed.
“S-smith!” he screeched at the man. Hiccup started, reached for his sword.
“It’s only me, Hiccup.” Gobber got up from where he sat by the fire pit. He had obviously started it, so that the house would be toasty and warm. He had also put on a kettle to boil, and brought a keg of mead.
“Gobber.”
“Chief.” Gobber turned over a stick in the fire pit.
Hiccup moved and sat beside him. Toothless crept into the kettle, crowing with pleasure about this hot bath. No one spoke for a while, not even Windwalker. The Night Fury came in, laid his head on Hiccup’s lap. Hiccup stroked the ears, and the scales.
“All right, Hiccup, out with it.” Gobber passed him a tankard of foaming mead. “What’s really eating ya about these lasses hanging on tae your bootstraps?”
Hiccup considered, and then he took a long drag of the sweet drink.
“It’s . . . it’s my mother,” he said.
As he expected, Gobber laughed. Guffawed loudly, and slapped his thigh. Then he stopped, realizing that the room was silent. Even Toothless hadn't joined in.
"You're serious. You're sore with Valla."
Hiccup nodded. He looked away, into the fire. He took another drink, wincing at the sweetness.
"I shouldn't be," he said softly. "She's my mother. She came back."
For a few months. The words hung, unspoken.
"I don't know why I'm angry. I should be used to it by now." Hiccup sounded bitter. "Taking off the minute I was able to walk, sending letters maybe three or four times a year and visiting when she could take a break from her quest. Turning a deaf ear when Dad and I begged her to come home."
Hiccup coughed as he tried to gulp more mead. Once his throat stopped burning, he went on.
"I nearly DIED when I faced the dragon queen. I was asleep for days. If I had actually died, maybe she would have come to bury me."
"Harsh words," Gobber said. "Have ya TOLD her any of this, Hiccup?"
"When my dad just died? Gods, no! And besides, what would it change? She'd still had gone off. It wouldn't have made a difference. She didn't even ask about why I was marked." Hiccup indicated the Slavemark adorning the left side of his face. “She just mentioned drumming up support for Berk during her travels, when she had gotten word of what happened.”
“Ya must have talked tae her, Hiccup.”
“We talked. About funeral arrangements. What treasure to bury with Dad. What clothes I’d need for the official coronation. How I should address villagers and their problems.”
They both sipped mead. Toothless dipped his mouth into Hiccup’s tankard for a sip. He then gargled fire for a few minutes. Windwalker snorted.
“But what does that have tae do with tha village lasses, Hiccup? Why are ya scared of choosing one of them, of being loving?”
Hiccup needed to drain his cup before answering. He was feeling lightheaded but not in the stage of ugly drunkenness that often frightened dragons.
“You have to promise not to laugh this time.”
“I wouldnae laugh.”
“You just did.”
“Hiccup.”
“I don’t want to be my mother. Or my father,” he said. “Well, I don’t want to be my father the way he loved her but she didn’t love him enough to stay. She had him wrapped around her finger, so that she could do whatever the bloody hell she wanted.”
“Ya know that’s not true, and ya’re not like that.”
“Only because I saw what she did to him. How much suffering could have been avoided if she had hung around Berk more. Dad tied me here, and you know that. He never wanted me to leave the island. Was Dad really worried about a dragon eating up little me, or of Alvin coming back, or was he fearing the day that I’d run off? That the minute I knew how to navigate a ship I’d go off and travel like her, only coming back every couple of years-”
“He was worried that ya’d get killed,” Gobber said; his voice was gruff, for Stoick the Vast had been his best friend.
“Then he and Mom shouldn’t have left me with Old Wrinkly. Old Wrinkly was always encouraging me to not be afraid of taking risks. He taught me how to throw knives, how to hide from dragons and people in the woods.” Hiccup was angry. “You left me with my GRANDFATHER! Who was old and frail and crazy half the time! He was brilliant, yes, but his predictions never came true, he always advised hiding from everyone else in the village because they were all idiots and not worth my time. Then he went and died in the woods, and no one even noticed. Except for me.”
Silence. The kettle water continued to boil.
“That’s nae true,” Gobber said. “I noticed, lad.”
“Because that day, when he told me he was going to die, I didn’t believe him. I told him it was ridiculous. But after building me the shrine for my dead brother, he walked into the woods. I waited for him, outside the little hut that kept sinking into the muddy water. I waited for hours, and then I searched for him. By the time I was in the village it was past midnight, and I didn’t know what I was doing. The dragon raids had finished, and people were assessing the damage.”
They both remembered that night. Gobber had still been awake, repairing weapons and ploughs. Hiccup had almost been wandering in a daze, face black from soot. His gait was unsteady, his eyes unfocused. He had managed to stay out of everyone’s way, keeping to the shadows, and stumble into the smithy. Gobber had seen the boy slump against the wall; ask what had happened to make him so pale.
“My grandfather died.”
In the present, Gobber tried to return Hiccup to the point. It wasn’t that he wanted to ignore the young chief’s pain, but reminiscing wouldn’t help anyone.
“I don’t see what this has to do with love. Or with marriage.”
“After you get married, they expect you to have heirs.” Hiccup’s eyes focused on the boiling kettle. “Just like my dad did with me. Only Dad wasn’t ready to raise a child, and neither was Mom. He was always working from dawn to dusk as if I am now, not even noticing if I was in bed until the next morning. What’s to say I won’t treat an heir the same?”
Gobber took in a soft breath.
“Hiccup, ya won’t,” he said. “You’re not tha kind of person who treats the people he loves that way. You’ll find a solution, like ya always do. Because you’re brave enough to search for them.”
“I’m not brave. My dad was brave; he risked his heart on my mother. But I can’t do that; It took me years to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and let’s admit it, I was a horrible excuse for an heir until I learned Dragonese. Having Old Wrinkly raise me kept me in the woods, away from everyone, so that I didn’t know how to talk to people or behave like a proper Viking. I was always afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being a nuisance, of getting on people’s nerves.”
“Ya weren’t afraid in Dragon Training. Ya met every beast with everything you had, even tossing away your bloody shield to keep it from getting blasted.”
“Because Dad made me promise to do my best.”
“Ya risked your life to learn how to speak to dragons. They could have fried ya to a crisp. Ya represented them on tha island, once the secret was out, and protected Toothless. That was courage, Hiccup, even if it was stupid courage. Ya faced tha dragon queen and defeated her, just by talking. Ya survived her trying to eat you...”
Gobber stopped. He saw that Hiccup had gone rigid. Strands of sweat clung to his beardless chin, and ran to drip on Windwalker’s head. His hands clenched into fists, and his eyes became filled with fire and war.
“Hiccup.” Gobber reached over and shook the chief. “Snap out of it”
“The queen is dead,” Windwalker said. He rubbed his head against Hiccup’s clenched fists. “Alvin and the Outcasts are defeated.”
These episodes happened often; more frequently after Alvin the Treacherous had branded Hiccup with the Slavemark on Outcast Island. Hiccup wouldn’t cry out; he would breathe rapidly, and vanish from the world, remembering how the dragon queen had nearly eaten him, trapped in that large, slimy throat of fire and gas. Windwalker’s healing saliva didn’t help to snuff out the episodes; neither did medicine from Gobber. Gothi, the Village Elder, postulated that Hiccup would have to avoid any object or idea that triggered the horrible memories.
Because Gobber was so busy shaking Hiccup, he didn’t notice the figure that had been listening through a crack in the door, which had broken in. Neither did the dragons, for Hiccup’s episodes worried them as well. Only later, when Gobber let go, did he notice that the door was open. Frowning, he fastened it shut.
Hiccup was red and still breathing hard; Windwalker and Toothless were licking his face with concern. He made no effort to push them away.
~
A few days later, Hiccup was out for a long morning ride on Windwalker. They both needed the exertion: Windwalker because he was used to soaring above the clouds, and Hiccup because he needed to clear his head.
The anger and resentment he had revealed to Gobber wouldn’t go away; now that it had escaped his lips, the bitter feelings clung to him. Gobber kept wanting to poke and pry but Hiccup had refused, and had exerted his chief authority to shut up his former smithy master. That didn’t stop the young chief from beating any metal senseless, or from doubling the number of buckets of water he poured over his own head.
It was a clear morning, the rare kind that dared people to weave dandelion chains and frolic in fields of dragon nip. Toothless was resting behind Hiccup, napping and warbling in delight. Windwalker couldn’t help but remark on passing birds, even snapping his jaws playfully and laughing his dragon laugh.
Wind rushed past Hiccup’s face, not that he felt it; Hiccup was wearing full armor for the ride. Before the war, he would have preferred a simple tunic and vest, but that was before a dragon and his rider could expect an entourage of arrows and spears over any length of open sea. No one would dare attempt to detain Hiccup and make him a slave to his or her tribe now, not even the remaining Outcasts and Hysterics, but it couldn’t hurt to stay enveloped in leather.
It was fortunate that Hiccup had worn his riding armor, because of what happened next. He heard heavy wings beating, muted panting. Another dragon and its rider. Hiccup straightened his back, turning to mouth a meaningless greeting.
There was no one there. Only the beating of those wings above him. Before Hiccup could look up and assess this turn of events, he felt a large fist grab him by the scruff of his neck and pull him off Windwalker. The safety line snapped, despite it surviving thunderstorms and flaming catapults. He opened his mouth and another fist clamped over it. He couldn’t scream to Windwalker, and an arm like a steel band wrapped around his arms and waist. Hiccup flailed, trying to wrestle away. Old Wrinkly had told him where to jab a man in the midsection, or to poke out an eye. It was not easy, however; this Viking seemed made of metal limbs.
Toothless squawked as the weight on the Windwalker's back adjusted, but by the time Windwalker had realized, the other dragon soared into a glacier formation, navigating without effort. The glaciers resembled mountains of pure ice, as if Frost Giants were snoozing nearby.
Wait. These hands. I’ve felt them before. They clasped me when Dad died- oh gods! It can’t be! She left-
He thrashed, tried to bite the fist. They were covered in chainmail gloves. Hiccup’s brain tried to offer a sarcastic remark, as it usually did when he found himself in trouble that he couldn’t escape.
Great. My mother’s gone bananas and apparently she knows how to ride dragons that are swifter than Night Furies. I am one lucky boy.
Hiccup was not stupid; he hadn’t survived the war and maintained his freedom through complete luck. Other smart Vikings existed, however, Vikings that had grown up and learned more about the world than he had. He had just met a Viking as smart as him, and with strength to match her brains. The other Viking who had defeated Hiccup, he hadn’t needed a dragon to defeat a small boy, only a bit of Loki tree extract. . .
A black liquid pouring down his throat. The dragons in their cages, pronouncing defiance and a willingness to die. Being forced to the ground, head straightened, unable to avoid the sizzling brand . . .
The Slavemark burned into his head; custom-made shackles clapped around his wrists. His tormentor’s grin, yellow and white within his hazy vision. The Whispering Death appeared with a vengeance-
Hiccup saw these memories, and he had no comforting hands or dragon tongues to soothe him. He only had his traitorous brain. His thrashing increased. The episode took its time to fade. When it left him a sweating, shaking wreck, he saw his mother navigating the glacier. Unlike most dragon riders, she used her legs to direct her winged beast, while keeping her hands on her crazy son. Her beast was large, and too swift for its size. Hiccup twisted and saw Windwalker screeching, to navigate a path. Toothless was following now, flying to catch up with the beast and firing shots at its wings. Each one missed, though not because Toothless had poor aim. Windwalker would have fired, but he feared hitting Hiccup more.
They landed in the middle of a glacier, a dark glacier with green and blue ice. Val’s dragon landed, skidded to a stop, and she loosened her grip around his middle. Her voice was throaty, and gruff.
“Hiccup, it’s all right. I’m here-”
She grunted as he elbowed her in the gut; it hurt him more than it hurt her, because her armor was metal. Still, the force knocked her back, and he was able to push her hands away, leap several feet from her. The ice was slippery, but Hiccup had accustomed his feet to walks on frozen lakes. His elbow smarted with pain.
“Hiccup,” she started again.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” he yelled at her. “Kidnapping me off my dragon, after we saw each other several months ago? When did you get a bloody dragon anyway, and you didn’t think of telling anyone?”
“Hiccup-”
“You couldn’t have sent me a note via Trader Johann or Air Mail if you wanted to talk! Or, I don’t know, maybe buy me a drink if you were in the neighborhood? At least Gobber has the courtesy to not manhandle me when he wants to ask me difficult questions, but you! I thought you were a slaver for a minute, or a bounty hunter like Eret! The Slavemark still makes me a target for those sorts of people.”
For a stiff figure clad in armor, Valhallarama of the White Arms looked ready to droop. Hiccup’s anger didn’t fade, however. He was still sweating, and scenes from Outcast Island refused to leave his mind.
“If you want to talk to me, Mother, you can come to the hut like a civilized human being,” he snarled as Windwalker and Toothless soared in. “But by Thor’s hairy arse, don’t drag me off my dragon! It was bad enough when Alvin the Treacherous marked me on Outcast Island!”
Windwalker blasted the ice between Valhallarama and Hiccup, so that she couldn’t approach. Her dragon growled at the Night Fury that landed by Hiccup.
“B-bad human m-m-m-mother!” Toothless chided Valhallarama. “T-taking H-h-h-iccup f-for no r-r-reason!”
“Are you all right?” Windwalker asked his rider, who stroked him.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Hiccup said, still sweating and breathing hard. “As fine as everyone with a lunatic mother who’s never there when you need her.”
“So you do need me,” Valhallarama retorted in Dragonese. “And I thought I was hearing wrong.”
Hiccup and Windwalker stopped. Valhallarama took off her helmet, revealing a long-faced, skinny woman with large grey eyes and whitening brown hair. If Hiccup had thought his mother capable of emotion, he might have thought she looked vulnerable.
“When did you learn to speak Dragonese?” Hiccup asked.
“A long time ago, when you were just a bairn. For ages, it was my only language,” Valhallarama said. Her voice creaked, as if she were not used to talking to humans. She approached, hunched over and almost crawling. That’s when the other dragons appeared.
It was like a dozen black flowers started to bloom fire. The darkness lit up with several fiery mouths, and growls echoed against the walls. Several Nadders went to guard the tunnel through which Windwalker and Toothless had traversed. They would have to fight their way out, Hiccup and his dragons.
Windwalker flattened his head and growled back as Valhallarama came closer. Hiccup stiffened. He would have reached for his sword, but this was his mother. If she had wanted to sell him into slavery, she wouldn’t have brought him to a glacier filled to the brim with dragons.
Of course, perhaps she had simply snapped; widowhood did strange things to men and women. Hiccup had seen firsthand how normal people on Berk changed after losing their wives and husbands to war. His mother may have remained in a stage of grief, like bargaining or depression.
“You learned to speak Dragonese a decade before I did,” he started, his voice cold. “You didn’t think of mentioning that in your letters? I sent dozens to you when I was a kid, more after I faced the dragon queen! I thought I was the only one who knew.”
She met his eyes. They were so open and limpid.
“Did you have any idea what it was like, keeping that secret? I had no one to talk to about it except the dragons, and I thought I was committing treason every time I talked to them!”
“I have an idea what that was like,” she said. “That was the secret I kept.”
That stopped his rage, momentarily. His fists were still clenched, but they lowered to his side.
“Of course, I didn’t learn the way you did, reasoning it out and breaking a code,” she went on, maintaining eye contact. “I was searching for the Dragon King, and that led me to encounter many dragons. I rescued a beast from a net trap and he became my companion. He taught me the language.”
She patted her beast. Windwalker growled at it.
“My father, Old Wrinkly, said the war would bluster on unless we found more than the nest. We had to find the Dragon King. That was my quest, to save the Archipelago. That’s why I was away for so long.”
“I found the Dragon King,” he said with exasperation. “It only took several days and Windwalker’s help. You could have asked me any time where he lived. And Old Wrinkly’s predictions rarely came true. He meant well, but-”
“This one was a real prediction. He said the one who found the Dragon King would bolster peace between humans and dragons. He told me in secret, because he knew that no one would believe him. Even if they did, the quests would be as fruitless as the quests to find the dragon’s nest.”
“Mother. There hasn’t exactly been peace between humans and dragons. Very few are on Berk now, except the ones that fought with us through the war, who were tamed in the Kill Ring. Most of the dragons have left for remote regions of the world, or for here, apparently.” He beckoned at the flaming reptiles that surrounded them. “Was this what you were doing?”
“Aye. It hasn’t been an easy time for us. The recent war took its toll on the lot of us.” She spoke without remonstrance. “Bloody calumnies happen. Will you listen, my wee bairn?”
He stiffened. In his time as chief, everyone had treated him like an adult. Gobber somehow treaded that line between honorary uncle and respectful adviser, but Valhallarama in mere minutes had made Hiccup feel like a child. It was not a pleasant feeling; he wanted to cover his ears and shut her out of his heart.
Still, not exactly like he, Toothless and Windwalker could pack up and leave. Valhallarama had ensured that with her army of dragons.
Hiccup nodded. Valhallarama and her dragon sat at one end of the ice. Hiccup sat with Windwalker, trying not to clutch at the Night Fury’s neck. Slowly, the words came from her thin lips.
