He's late.
Stoick eyed the lukewarm pot of stew contemplatively. It was never quite as good reheated, but it also wasn't meant to be served cool. Neither option was appealing, but if his son didn't arrive soon, he'd have to make a choice.
The door banged open, interrupting his thoughts. Hiccup slipped through, face brightly flushed and chest heaving with each breath – clear signs that he'd run to the house.
"Lose track of time?"
"I may have gotten a little distracted," wheezed Hiccup, still attempting to catch his breath.
Stoick didn't press the issue, instead focusing his attention on serving them each a hearty portion of the meal. He carried both bowls over to the table in silence, nodding for his son to follow.
Hiccup took a seat, eagerly reaching for the stew. He wasted no time digging in, so Stoick quietly did the same. It was a comfort meal for them both, taken from an old family recipe. As it had been Valka's favorite meal, Stoick still made it weekly in her honor. It was a small way to keep her memory alive.
"So what did you want to talk about?" asked Hiccup after a moment, twirling his spoon between his fingers.
Stoick set his own meal aside, clasping his hands together atop the table. "You didn't come home last night."
Hiccup's eyes widened, a flash of guilt washing across his features. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to worry you."
It wasn't an explanation, nor was an opening to request one. It was a careful evasion, using a technique that Hiccup had learned from Stoick in his youth, meant for speaking with foreign chiefs and dignitaries.
So he had been paying attention to those lessons on leadership after all. Stoick wasn't sure if he was more surprised by that revelation or the fact that Hiccup thought it would work on his father.
It seemed he'd have to be more direct if he wanted answers.
"Hiccup," he insisted, "where were you?"
His son looked away, eyes flickering around as if searching their home for an answer to give. It was maddening. "Uh…"
"It's not a difficult question."
"Well…it sort of is a difficult answer."
Stoick raised an eyebrow, intrigued. His theory about a late night in the forge was looking less and less likely. "Oh?"
"I don't want you to be mad," hedged Hiccup, finally daring to meet his father's eyes.
"I won't be."
"Suuuure, you won't," drawled Hiccup, but he finally relented. "Fine. I lost track of time when I was out exploring…got stuck on another island and had to wait til dawn to fly back."
"Thor's hammer! How–"
"–you said you wouldn't be mad!"
Stoick closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. He had promised to control his temper, but it was hard to keep his word after learning such news. His son had been stranded on a foreign island, alone and defenseless, and he'd had no idea.
"It's not anger, it's concern," corrected the chief, regarding his son with weary eyes. At this rate, his son was going to put him in an early grave. "If something happened to you out there, no one would be around to help. No one would even know how to find you!"
Hiccup shrugged, "I'm fine. There wasn't any danger."
"This time, perhaps. Next time you may not be so lucky!"
Hiccup leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring pointedly at the bowl before him. "I get it, sorry – it was a mistake. I'll be more careful from now on."
"Good." Appeased by the promise, Stoick switched gears. "There is one other thing I wish to discuss with you. This morning, I received an urgent summons for a gathering of chieftains."
The letter had been a surprise, hand-delivered by a representative from the Berserker tribe. It hadn't said much, simply insisted that Stoick be present in three days' time on the designated island. Based on the location, he'd have to leave in the early morning to stand a chance of meeting such a tight deadline.
"You're leaving."
Stoick nodded, "By dawn. I know this is sudden, but you must understand that I have a responsibility to represent Berk to our allies. Oswald hasn't asked for much in the many years that I've known him, but he's always been quick to offer his assistance to us when we've needed it. I owe him this."
The chief braced himself for the inevitable barrage of questions, knowing Hiccup's curiosity was hard to sate. To his surprise, the boy simply nodded in acceptance, expression unreadable in the flickering candlelight.
"Ok."
"I don't know when I'll be back," continued Stoick with genuine regret. Though they'd shared a few months of peace since reuniting, he was still reluctant to part ways for any length of time. Having Hiccup back still felt surreal, and an irrational part of him worried the boy would disappear once more, like smoke through his fingers. "I am sorry, son. I wish I could take you with me, but…"
"I understand," said Hiccup with a tight smile. "Too dangerous for people to know about me and all that. It's fine, really."
Stoick's stomach twisted with guilt, as it did whenever the subject was brought up. Keeping the secret from outsiders was a necessary evil, but it still pained him to do so. His son had proven himself a true hero to his people – clever, brave and formidable. Any other viking chief would proudly show off such a son, giving him the credit and respect he was due.
Yet, Stoick did not have the luxury of doing the same. The truth of his boy's heroics had to stay contained within Berk's borders, lest they risk other truths being uncovered. It was all for Hiccup's own good, but it still felt wrong in a way that he couldn't shake. As if he were shaming his son instead of celebrating him.
It also left the matter of succession a messy business. Stoick longed to reinstate Hiccup's birthright and make him the true heir of Berk once more…but after several long discussions with his son, he understood the impracticality of the decision. A leader who was only ever seen after nightfall would raise suspicions from other tribes.
Then of course, there was the mark. Stoick's eyes drifted to his son's dominant hand, taking stock of the onyx scales that disappeared up his sleeve. It could be hidden, he supposed, with a thick set of gloves that could contain the claws…but eventually that too would become a source of gossip amongst the other tribes. It was only a matter of time before there was a slip up.
Hiccup's eyes narrowed, as if guessing his father's line of thought. "We've been over this."
"I'll be asked about an heir," said Stoick, already dreading the inevitable conversations. It had been one thing to endure those questions when he believed his son to be dead – it would be a new challenge entirely having to navigate them now that he knew the truth.
"So you'll tell them it's Snotlout," said Hiccup with a bland shrug. "He was meant to take my place, wasn't he? It's his right by blood."
"His claim does not surpass your own."
"Dad."
"Snotlout has grown into a fine warrior," admitted Stoick, "but he is no leader. Other tribes may see that as a sign of weakness if I claim him as heir. I don't like the thought of creating that impression amongst the tribes, especially if word were to spread. It could put a target on the island."
Hiccup nodded, looking contemplative. "Alright, so maybe not Snotlout. What about Astrid?"
Stoick rolled the idea over in his mind. The Hofferson girl was a brilliant warrior. She had a fiercess to her that inspired loyalty and obedience from her peers, certainly a good trait for a chieftess. Though she had no blood tie to the succession, he had little doubt that she could step up to the position if needed.
Plus, if things continued to progress between his son and the warrior…maybe she'd have a legitimate claim on it in time. After all, marrying into the bloodline would solve that issue…perhaps they could both lead the tribe. Astrid could very well be the face of the tribe to outsiders, and Hiccup could remain safely on Berk without having to abandon his birthright entirely.
Perhaps they'd tell the outside world that when they'd found Hiccup alive, he had become very sickly in his time away and could no longer travel. Surely the other leaders remembered how scrawny the boy had been in his youth – they'd teased Stoick about it on more than one occasion. It wouldn't be that big of a stretch.
Time would tell if the young pair were truly headed down that path, but Stoick would keep the idea tucked in the back of his mind. Just in case.
"I'll consider it," he agreed after a moment. He would not make such a decision in haste, but he could see the merit in Hiccup's suggestion.
After dinner, Hiccup excused himself under the pretense of heading to the forge. Stoick's attention was preoccupied with hastily preparing for his upcoming sail, so it wasn't very difficult to slip away.
The streets were fairly quiet, with most villagers turning in for the night. There were a few stragglers wandering about, most having come from a night of drinking with friends. Hiccup paid them no mind, absently scanning over their faces as he passed.
When he reached the center of town, he was surprised to see a familiar figure sitting on the steps of the hall.
"Fishlegs?"
The blonde jolted, clearly not expecting anyone to be around at the late hour. His eyes scanned the dim area, squinting until he caught sight of Hiccup.
"Oh, hi Hiccup," he greeted easily, climbing to his feet. He took the last few steps down to join him, steady balance making it clear that he had not been amongst the imbibing crowd.
Hiccup had planned to go straight to Astrid, to inform her that their window of opportunity had come sooner than expected. It would have to wait. If he rushed off now, he was confident his father would be informed of his behavior.
As much as he liked Fishlegs, the boy didn't always know when to play things close to the vest. Hiccup couldn't blame him – it wasn't the boy's fault he'd never needed to keep secrets.
"What are you doing out so late?" He asked, attempting to keep his voice casual. In all his nights wandering the town, he'd never seen the other boy around at this hour. "Everything alright?"
Fishlegs shrugged, scratching behind his ear. "Couldn't sleep," he admitted, looking sheepish. "I thought maybe a walk would help."
"Did it?"
"Not really."
Hiccup hummed. Sleep was evasive more often than he'd like to admit. It was strange, but he almost felt comforted by the other boy's admission, finding that for once…he could actually relate to his peer. That revelation took a small but satisfying chip out of the wall of his inner doubts.
"Well, don't give up just yet," suggested Hiccup, nodding towards the path. "Want some company?"
Fishlegs looked surprised by the offer, but it was soon replaced by a tentative smile. "Are you sure? It is pretty late."
"That's kind of my specialty," reminded Hiccup, without any bite. "You know, lots of moonlight, palest viking around…"
Fishlegs nodded easily, not commenting on the blatant curse reference. Instead, he simply set their direction towards the docks. It was one of the most well-trodden streets in town, perfect for navigating in the dimmer light.
Hiccup fell into step, relishing the feeling of the salty sea breeze on his face as they grew nearer to the water. It was one of the many things he'd missed living on the far side of the island, as most wind there was blocked by towering stone.
After a few minutes walking in silence, Fishlegs spoke, "I had a nightmare."
Hiccup glanced over, "I'm sorry. What was it about?"
"The raids," admitted Fishlegs, swallowing hard. "I know they're over, but I swear it felt like I was right back in the middle of one."
The raids had plagued Berk for so long, a memory-induced nightmare was nothing new. It was a shame that even with the new era of peace, those dark days continued to haunt the village in sleep.
"Did something happen to make you think about the raids?" Wondered Hiccup. In his experience, usually there was a trigger of sorts for these sorts of things. There hadn't been any attacks, so something else must have set the boy off.
Fishlegs bit his lip, slowing his pace. He eyed Hiccup carefully, looking as if he were mulling something over in his mind. Subtly was never his strength.
"What?"
"I've been working on something," he said carefully, sounding nervous, "something I didn't exactly get permission to do."
Hiccup raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the admission. It wasn't like Fishlegs to break the rules.
So much for not being good with secrets.
"I won't tell anyone," he promised, curious to know what would drive the boy to take the risk.
Fishlegs studied him for a moment before nodding. "The Book of Dragons," he explained. "It's been bothering me lately – I can't stop thinking about it. Ever since the raids ended, I've noticed several inconsistencies in what it says and what I've observed – it doesn't add up."
"Well, the dragons were under the queen's thrall when it was written," said Hiccup, coming to a stop at the water's edge. "It probably had a big influence on how they acted. Whoever wrote the book didn't know any better."
"Exactly," agreed Fishlegs, moving to take a seat on the dock. He hung his feet off the edge, reaching into his vest to retrieve a small notebook. He gripped it tightly in his hands, fingers drumming against the cover. "But we do. I've been keeping an eye on the different species we've seen around Berk, and so much of what the book says is wrong."
"Is that really surprising?" Hiccup took a seat beside him.
"Maybe not, but everyone is still treating it like a source of truth. I…I want to rewrite it. You know, create the first true Book of Dragons," admitted Fishlegs, passing his notebook to Hiccup.
Hiccup blinked, surprise washing over him. He flipped through the pages at random, taking in the boy's meticulous notes and rough sketches. True to his word, it seemed to be an encyclopedia of local dragon knowledge, citing each observation that was made.
Nadder, Zippleback, Terror…each entry was filled with details ranging from eating habits to scale shapes. While details on methods of attack and weaknesses were still included, they were a small component of a larger analysis. True to his word, Fishlegs called out inaccuracies in what had been previously taught and what had been proven in recent months.
When he got to the entry on Night Furies, he paused in surprise. Like the original book of dragons, the entry was blank save for a title and a small illustration in the corner.
Fishlegs followed his gaze.
"I thought maybe it was better that way," he explained, forehead creasing. "Having a record of weaknesses could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands…and honestly, it just didn't feel right."
"Thanks," said Hiccup, feeling a rush of gratitude towards the other boy for his consideration. He traced a finger over the rough sketch, a silhouette that he was all too familiar with. It gave him an idea. "You know, if you want any help with your project, I'd be more than happy to work on the drawings for you."
Fishlegs' eyes widened. "Really? You're not upset?"
Hiccup shook his head, closing the book and passing it back with care. "Not at all. I actually think it's a great idea. In fact, next time I'm out exploring a new island, maybe I could fill you in on whatever dragons I see?"
The boy nodded feverishly, face lighting up in excitement.
Astrid was woken up by a bright stream of sunlight breaking through a small opening in her window. It was odd, as she was certain that she'd fully closed it the night before.
She sat up, blinking away sleep as she examined the window that was ajar. She hadn't latched it, but she knew that the wind hadn't been strong enough to force it open. She'd heard none of the loud whistling that would come with such gusts.
Tearing off her covers, she padded over towards it, catching sight of a bit of paper lying on the floor. She bent down, turning it over in her hands.
Astrid.
Her name was scrawled out on the side in a familiar script.
She unfolded the note, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. As she read through it, she felt a mix of surprise and irritation. While she understood the importance of Hiccup taking advantage of this sudden opportunity, she wished the absolute muttonhead had just woken her up to give her the news himself!
Shaking her head, she folded up the note and slipped it in between the pages of the book on her nightstand. There, she was confident Hiccup's plans would remain secret.
Covering for him could be a challenge, but she couldn't deny there was a bit of a thrill to the prospect. Gobber would be the hardest to appease, but as Hiccup had reminded in his note – their sleep schedules were different enough that it could work if she played her cards right. She'd just have to find a way to excuse him from weapon's training.
Cracking her knuckles, she rose to her feet. Hiccup was likely long gone by now, but she resolved to pass the Haddock house just in case she could catch him for a quick goodbye.
Astrid dressed quickly, strapping her axe into place on her back in a fluid motion. She wasted no time setting off into town for the day.