Stoick the Vast POV
I looked at the boy, kneeling with one knee in front of him so we would be at eye level, my hand placing itself atop his short hair. I ruffled it and smiled, his eyes deep and blue stared into my own, though I couldn't quite place any emotion from his face. His expression was blank, almost eerily so for a child. I guess his words would have to do for now.
"I'm sure you'll make a great dragon killer one day," I muttered, meaning every word. Any boy who could slay a Deadly Nadder at his age had the makings of a true Viking warrior.
The boy nodded as he gripped the carving knife so strongly it was making his entire arm shake. The tremor started from his fingers and worked its way up, yet he seemed completely unaware of it. I stood up, ruffling his hair once more, the white strands soft beneath my calloused fingers. I turned to Gobber who was still holding Hiccup in his arms, my son reaching out toward the boy with curious green eyes.
"So we should probably talk," I said, my voice carrying the weight of the conversation I knew we needed to have.
Gobber sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I guess we should."
He moved toward the boy, bending down to place Hiccup carefully in front of Thorfinn. My son immediately began babbling, his chubby hands reaching upward.
"You can take care of Hiccup while we talk outside for a bit, right? Thorfinn?" Gobber asked, his voice softer than usual when addressing the child.
Thorfinn looked down at the now decapitated carving of the deadly nadder, its wooden head lying separately on the rough table. He placed both the knife and the remaining body of the carving down with deliberate care, then nodded without a word as he walked over to Hiccup.
While he walked, I realized just how small he truly was, something I hadn't really noticed when he was sitting. His frame was slight, almost fragile-looking, which made it even harder to believe he had killed a deadly nadder. Even if it had been fluke of some kind, though we vikings rarely believed in flukes.
A kill was a kill.
He picked up Hiccup from his armpits, lifting him with surprising gentleness. Hiccup immediately stretched his small arm upward, grabbing at the boy's snow-white hair with the fascination only a toddler could muster.
"Snow," Hiccup babbled, his voice filled with wonder.
I expected some kind of reaction from the boy, alarm at having his hair pulled, perhaps annoyance or pain, but instead Thorfinn tilted his head slightly and smiled softly.
I found myself liking this lad more and more. Of course he realized how adorable Hiccup was, to be touched by him was an honor like no other.
We then walked out of the room, leaving the two children together. The last scene I glimpsed was of Thorfinn settling Hiccup carefully on the bed and touching my son's chubby cheek with just the tip of his finger, as if afraid he might break something so precious.
We walked across the home, stepping carefully around scattered debris. My gaze landed once more on the torn wall, the jagged edges of broken wood still sharp and dangerous. Sunlight filtered through the gaps.
"So why exactly did we have to talk outside the room?" I asked Gobber, genuinely curious about his reasoning.
"Don't want the boy knowing about stuff he shouldn't," Gobber replied, his voice lower than usual.
"What, you think he's a spy or something?" I laughed, the sound echoing off the damaged walls. The idea of a five-year-old boy being a spy was absurd, though stranger things had happened in our world.
"No, nothing like that," Gobber said quickly, shaking his head. "I just... it feels like he understands more than he lets on, more than a child his age should. There's something in his eyes, Stoick. And with the whole dragon thing, with what happened yesterday... I'd appreciate it if we could just talk about adult things without him hearing us."
I studied my old friend's face, noting the genuine concern etched in his features. Gobber had always been good at reading people. For valkyrie's sake he was the only one who actually understood Old Gothi.
"By Thor's beard, look at you, taking consideration of the young," I replied, scratching my thick beard. "I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears."
Gobber snorted, but I could see the hint of a smile beneath his mustache. "Aye, well, the boy's been through enough."
"Let's stop talking about the boy then," I said, shifting to the matter that had brought me here.
"So this meeting, who called it exactly?" Gobber asked, plopping down on a chair that looked about to break.
"Not exactly sure, to be honest," I admitted, as I sat down on a chair opposite of him. "I mean, Ivar the Boneless was the one who sent the message, but he said that he was just calling it in the name of someone else, someone called Drago Bludvist."
"Drago Bludvist," he repeated slowly. "That's a strange name, even by our standards. Is he some expert dragon killer or something? I've never heard of him before."
"Aye, he's unknown to me as well," I said, my expression turning serious. "But Ivar did say something which intrigued me, something that made me think this meeting might be worth the voyage ."
"Oh, and what was that?" he asked, his interest obviously piqued.
"The answer to the scourge of dragons."
Thorfinn POV
I didn't know what to do with myself.
I mean, Gobber hadn't said how long he would stay outside talking with Hiccup's father, but surely it wouldn't be too long. Hiccup's father, who I now knew for certain was the infamous Stoick the Vast that Gobber had repeatedly told me about, was the chief of Berk and supposedly the strongest Viking on the island.
I remembered Stoick's words, when he had placed his hand above my head
You'll make a great dragon killer one day.
The words echoed in my mind, the words made me think.
Yet as my thoughts threatened to spill over, I heard a soft babble and then the repeat of the same word over and over, pulling me back to the present moment.
"Snow, snow, snow."
Hiccup's small hands stretched forward as I let him grab my hair, his tiny fingers tangling in the white strands. He didn't hurt, maybe because he wasn't pulling hard enough, or maybe because he simply couldn't he did seem rather... weak. Then again he was a toddler so I guess all of them were quite weak.
I looked down into his bright green eyes and found myself smiling despite my troubled thoughts.
He was kind of adorable, I had to admit. Though he didn't take after Stoick feature wise, at least not yet I'm sure that would change as the boy grew.
I watched as he continued to play with my hair, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to understand this strange white stuff that was so different from his own thin brown hair. I remembered the weight of Stoic's hand above my own head, how it had been heavy and strong, the hand of a protector, someone who stood between his people and danger.
Without thinking, I reached out with my own small hand, meaning to place it gently over Hiccup's head the way his father had done to me. But then–
AAAAAGGHHHH!!!
A scream tore in my mind, one eerily similar. My whole arm trembled as phantom pain shot through my chest, the burn mark beneath my bandages suddenly feeling as fresh as the day I'd received it.
I looked at Hiccup, worried that I had frightened him, but the baby was still smiling and babbling "snow" over and over, completely unperturbed by my distress.
Hesitantly, I looked down at my hands, and my blood ran cold.
They were hot, shaking uncontrollably and... bloody.
Fresh, thick red blood covered my arms, my palms and my fingers, dripping steadily onto the floor below. The metallic scent filled my nostrils, making me feel sick. But when I blinked hard and looked again-
They were back to normal.
Clean, pale, and unmarked. No blood, no heat, just the slight tremor from tensing my arms.
What was happening to me? Was I losing my mind?
I remembered Stoick's words again, the pride in his voice when he'd spoken them.
You'll make a great dragon killer one day.
Yes, Stoick had possessed the hands of a protector, strong, steady, capable of defending those he loved. When he'd placed his hand on my head, I'd felt safe for just a moment, like maybe everything would be alright.
I blinked again, and once more the blood returned to my hands.
I on the other hand, I had the hands of a killer.