Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Stoick always told Val that their child would be the strongest Viking of them all, bravado in the face of Hiccup being born early and tiny. Their child always had wonder in his round green eyes, and the smallest toy or trinket could make him smile or giggle. He was such a curious babe, following every person as Vikings walked around the room, reaching for them in wonder. Stoick wanted to keep him small forever, so that he could be snatched up from a minute's harm.
Hiccup had a problem with staying out of danger, however; trouble always seemed to find him from the day he was born. Stoick shuddered as he remembered that day, and the months that followed. Constant worry as Hiccup would cough in the night, would rarely open his eyes or cry loudly. Valka was always there, and that helped him stay calm, because he could comfort her and act stoic. Inside, he was always worrying.
Then, that fateful night. Stoick still had flashbacks to it, nightmares of that raid . . .
Helpless babe in cradle, head of brown hair, curious green eyes. Hiccup's laughter only made Stoick panic, as he rushed to the burning blaze of a chief's hut. The dragons had never stolen children before, but they could easily start.
Then the laughter changed to crying. Stoick rushed in, seeing the large dragon shy away from the cradle. Flames carpeted the floors and walls, threatening to burn them all. The dragon took off with Valka, who had lowered her knife, and he could only snatch up Hiccup in his arms and watch her fly away. Despite their disagreements about how to handle the raids, and war, he loved her, and she didn't want to go. He saw that as she called his name, and he called hers.
Hiccup was still crying in his arms; Stoick couldn't put down the bundle. He placed his lips to Hiccup's forehead, wiping away the blood from his chin. Gothi provided a salve for the cut, so that those reddened eyes would be able to close. Hiccup never left Stoick's arms that day, and eventually he fell asleep again.
After that, things had changed. Hiccup was still a magnet for trouble, but Stoick had to be chief more often than he could be a father. Gobber helped, by keeping Hiccup in the forge. Stoick sometimes shuddered at the thought of Hiccup being near fire, but he saw that Gobber needed the extra set of hands, and his son needed that extra sense of purpose. That cursed scar never faded, instead becoming another part of Hiccup, of who he was and what he had been. Stoick's eyes would always travel to that little white line, to study how it shone from Hiccup's chin.
Then Hiccup started walking, talking, and thinking. He'd start chattering about new rocks he tucked into his trousers, of tree branches that smacked him in the face. Stoick never talked about Valka, though Gobber had provided the tidbit that a dragon had eaten her, but there wasn't much more to talk about. Hiccup loved seeing how far his legs could go, what new crannies and gorges he could find. Too often Stoick rarely caught up to his son before Hiccup went off wandering again, curious as a careless cat. Hiccup found it a great game to see how fast he could run, how well he could hide. Stoick's brow became more furrowed with age, and eventually he confined Hiccup to the smithy, with Gobber watching. Few things got past Gobber's hook hand, especially excitable boys.
That plan worked, for a couple of years. Stoick was able to focus on chiefing duties, but it wasn't until Hiccup ran out during a dragon raid the first time that he realized a gap had grown between him and his son. He tried to talk to Hiccup reasonably at first, rationally, pointing out that he better served the island by making and repairing weapons then by killing a dragon. Hiccup, commanding a larger vocabulary, pointed out that he would get no respect in the village as a chief's son unless he killed a dragon, since Stoick had killed one at a young age. Stoick kicked himself for telling that tale, about the kind of Viking he had been. Hiccup tried, but he would never be the kind of Viking that Stoick had been.
An ongoing battle started between the two of them. The raids got stronger, and Hiccup grew into a stubborn teenager. He got it into his head that killing a dragon would fix everything, including the sheep that they lost to various raids and the jeers that the village would label. Stoick started yelling at Hiccup on a regular basis, belittling him for not following the simplest orders. Worse, Hiccup wasn't sorry about what he did, aware of the damage that he caused. Slowly, Stoick started to believe that his son was a disappointment. He hated himself for succumbing.
And then, and then . . . dragon training. When Hiccup put them both through more pain, more misunderstanding, and when he saved Stoick and the tribe from the Red Death. Stoick had felt so much pride, so much understanding, and so much regret. He promised himself that if Hiccup woke up, he would no longer treat his son like a child. If trouble came, Hiccup could handle it. Or so Stoick told himself, to reassure himself when the dragon riders went questing or ran intense errands around Berk.
He knew that it was far from true. Hiccup had lost his leg, but he hadn't lost his pride or invulnerability, no matter what hit him. One day someone or something would topple him. Stoick knew that day was coming soon, and he didn't know if he would be there to protect his son.
The day came, when Drago Bludivist made his presence known. Stoick thought that ordering a lockdown on Berk would get the memo across, but Hiccup believed that a murderer's mind could be changed. He defied orders, flew out, and vanished into the horizon.
A magnet for danger, Stoick thought as he saddled up Skullcrusher and ordered the dragon riders to find his son. Or danger attracts him. One or the other. He hasn't changed.
An odd sense of foreboding came to Stoick as he flew, scanning the ocean. Perhaps it was recalling his only encounter with Drago, or knowing that Hiccup would never shy away from the smallest threat. He shoved down the foreboding with a fierce thought:
He is my son. I will protect him from anything. No matter what.
