Stoick the Vast POV
I stood in front of Gobber's home, Hiccup in my arms, he was almost two now and growing heavier by the day. The village was already being rebuilt from yesterday's attack, the sounds of hammering and sawing echoing through the crisp morning air as Vikings worked to repair the damage, in fact it was more common to see repairs across the village than not.
A rumor had also started to circulate the village, spreading from house to house like wildfire through dry grass.
A boy had slain a deadly nadder in Gobber's home. A boy of only five years.
Gobber had told me about him when he'd first found the lad washed up on our shores like driftwood after a storm. Thorfinn, he'd called himself. Though I had never had the chance to meet the boy myself, a chief is always busy, especially having to take care of Hiccup as well.
Still Gobber had told me enough, a child with burns covering half his torso, who couldn't remember where he'd come from or how he'd gotten those marks. And now, this same mysterious boy had killed a full-grown deadly nadder.
Quite the story, I'm sure it would make a great tale one day.
Better than my first kill, though I had heard how some people thought I had torn a dragon's head clean of when I was but a babe, I tried not to feed all the rumors but they grew never the less.
I knocked on Gobber's door and waited, shifting Hiccup's weight in my arms. My son babbled softly, his small hands reaching for the iron studs on my vest. Even at two, he was fascinated by anything metal or shiny, much to my amusement and Gobber's delight.
It didn't take long for my friend to come waddling out, his peg leg thumping against the wooden floor with each step. He looked tired, more tired than usual, with dark circles under his eyes and his usually pristine mustache looking somewhat disheveled.
"Oi Stoick, what are you doing here? Need your axe sharpened?" he asked, though his tone lacked its usual jovial energy.
"Nothing like that," I answered, studying his worn expression. "I came here to meet the boy, his story has been making rounds around the village. I also have something to talk to you about."
Gobber's face grew serious, and he glanced back into his home before stepping aside to let me in. "Yeesh, something serious, or something really serious?"
"Something serious," I replied, a small grin forming on my face despite the circumstances. It was an old joke between us, dating back to our younger days when we'd rate the severity of problems we faced. "The chiefs of other islands have been called to a meeting in a few months. I'll have to go then, which means I'll have to leave Hiccup in your care."
Gobber nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he looked down at Hiccup in my arms. My son had grown restless and was now reaching toward Gobber with both arms, making grabbing motions with his tiny fists.
"Uncle Gobber, hahaha," Hiccup laughed, his green eyes lighting up as he stretched to grab Gobber's mustache, something that had become his favorite pastime whenever we visited.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of him while you're gone," Gobber said, gently deflecting Hiccup's grasping hands with his mace-hand. "But still, who will come with you to this meeting? We can't exactly let our chief, no matter how Vast, go alone into potentially hostile territory."
"I'll decide on that later," I answered, walking through the door and taking in the damage. The destruction was worse than I'd initially thought. "Care to show me your boy?"
Gobber scratched the back of his head with his good hand, a long sigh escaping from his lips which made his mustache flutter and made Hiccup giggle with delight. "The boy has been... down."
"Down?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "He killed a dragon, Gobber. A deadly nadder, no less. He should be proud, celebrated even. The whole village is talking about it. Come, show me the boy."
We walked across the wooden floor, our footsteps echoing in the partially destroyed space. Gobber's ceiling was still broken in several places, with patches of sky visible through the gaps, and one entire wall lay in ruins, reduced to splinters and rubble. Sunlight streamed through the holes.
Having lived on Berk for six generations, now seven with Hiccup, we were used to dragon damage, so I'm sure this would all be fixed in a matter of days at most.
"Quite the damage you got this time around," I observed, stepping carefully around a pile of broken weapons and shattered wood.
Gobber seemed to catch my gaze as he murmured, "Aye, unlucky I guess. Story of my life, really. Still, this is a good opportunity. I was planning on building a new room for the boy anyway. At least now I don't have to deal with the demolition work."
At that, we both laughed heartily, the sound booming through the damaged space. Hiccup shook in my arms, clapping his hands together in delight at the noise. It felt good to laugh, even in the midst of destruction. It was the Viking way after all.
It wasn't long before we made it to a door at the back of the armory, one that had somehow survived the dragon's rampage intact. Gobber paused for a moment, his hand on the handle, and I could see uncertainty in his eyes.
"Just... don't expect much conversation," he warned quietly. "The boy hasn't said more than a few words since it happened."
He opened the door, and we stepped inside.
There, sitting on a simple wooden chair near the room's single window, was a small boy of five, maybe six years of age. The first thing I noticed was his hair, white as fresh snow. It was an unusual color.
He was quiet as a mouse, so still he might have been carved from stone himself. In his hands was a carving knife, surprisingly well-balanced for someone his size, and in his other hand was a block of wood he was methodically shaping. Wood shavings littered the floor around his feet.
I turned to look at Gobber, but he just shrugged his shoulders with a helpless expression.
"The boy asked for it," he said simply. "Woke up this morning and asked if I had any carving tools. Seemed to know exactly what he wanted."
I nodded slowly, curiosity getting the better of me. I gently set Hiccup down on the floor, making sure he was steady on his small feet before I walked toward the boy to take a closer look at his work.
What I saw made me pause.
He was carving a dragon, that much was immediately clear. Despite what Gobber had described as the boy's young age and presumed inexperience, the craftsmanship was remarkably detailed.
A crown of sharp spikes ran along the creature's head, a long, scaly tail curved around its body, slitted eyes stared out with predatory intelligence, and a rounded snout completed the fearsome visage.
It was shoddy workmanship in terms of smoothness and finish, clearly the work of small, unpracticed hands, but the proportions were perfect, the details accurate.
A deadly nadder. Exactly like the one he had killed.
I stepped forward once more, the old floorboards creaking under my considerable weight. The sound made him look up from his carving, and for the first time, I got a clear view of his face.
I stared into his eyes, two deep pools of dark blue, almost the color of the deep sea. They reminded me of something I'd experienced once, years ago, when a scauldron had dragged me down into the depths during a hunt. I had, of course, managed to kill the beast and make my way back to the surface, but the memory of those crushing dark waters had stayed with me.
The child remained silent, staring at mine in an almost unsettling manner before looking back down at the wood and knife in his hands. Without a word, he resumed his carving.
Behind me, I could hear Hiccup babbling happily as he explored the room, his small hands patting against the wooden walls and floor. The innocent sounds of my son's play contrasted sharply with the strange, heavy silence emanating from the boy in the chair.
"So, boy," I began, trying to inject some warmth into my voice. Vikings weren't known for their skill with children, but I had learned a few things since Hiccup's birth, at least I hoped I had, I didn't want to screw up my boy.
He remained quiet, his attention focused entirely on his carving. I watched as he carefully shaped what looked like the nadder's wing membrane, his small fingers surprisingly steady as they guided the knife.
"That's a pretty good nadder you're making there," I tried once more. "Very detailed work."
Still silence. He continued to carve, now working on the intricate pattern of scales along the dragon's neck. Each scale was individually marked, creating a texture that looked almost real.
"Is it the one you slayed?" I asked, though of course it was, that was perhaps a stupid question, but he was just a boy. Surely he wanted some recognition for such an incredible feat? Most warriors would be boasting about such a kill.
However, he just remained quiet and continued to carve, his movements never faltering, never showing any sign that he'd even heard me speak.
I looked back at Gobber, feeling somewhat helpless. My friend had picked up Hiccup and was now bouncing him gently in his arms, my son's delighted giggles filling the otherwise silent room. Gobber caught my eye and shrugged again, his expression conveying the same frustration I was feeling.
I turned back to the boy, not knowing what else to do. Valka would certainly have done a better job than me at whatever this was supposed to be. She had always had a way with troubled souls, a gentleness that balanced my more direct approach. If she were here, she would know exactly what to say, how to reach this strange, silent child.
The thought of my deceased wife brought a familiar ache to my chest, but I pushed it aside.
Finally, when I could think of nothing else to say, when the silence had stretched to an almost unbearable length, the boy spoke.
"I hate it."
His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but in the stillness of the room, every word was clearly audible.
"Hmm, what do you hate?" I asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely curious about where this was going. It was the first real response I'd gotten from him.
"The heat, the smoke... the burn," he muttered, and I watched as the hand holding the knife began to reach toward his shirt, toward where I knew his mysterious burn scars lay hidden beneath the fabric. But he stopped himself before making contact, his hand freezing in mid-motion before returning to his carving. "I hate it."
"I hate it," he reiterated, and suddenly his careful, controlled carving became something else entirely. The knife cut through the wooden nadder's neck in one swift, violent motion, severing the head from the body. The carved head fell to the floor with a hollow thud, rolling slightly before coming to rest against the wall.
I stared at the destroyed carving, then back at the boy. A small smile spreading across my face.
This boy was going to be a great dragon killer I was sure of it.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chap, would appreciate whatever stones you would give lol, reviews are also welcomed. Author out