Stoick had finally grown accustomed to waking up at midday.
It was an unusual schedule, and one that he'd had to slowly train himself to adopt some months ago. He'd always been one to wake with the dawn, eager to set off into Berk and take on his duties for the day just as his father had done before him.
A chief had many responsibilities, and he'd always made it a priority to complete them early so as to allow time to take care of his son. After Valka had been taken, he'd needed to be there to support what remained of his small family. While that same mentality still held true, he'd since had to adapt his schedule in order to accommodate his son's new challenges.
Stoick spent his afternoons serving his people and ensuring all aspects of the village were running smoothly. Then, once the sun was down and the Night Fury magic rendered Hiccup human once more, he'd make his way to the forge to visit with his boy.
Those visits were often short, as Hiccup's attention tended to be focused on his craft. The boy had always been one to lose himself in his passions, much like his mother. Still, it gave Stoick an opportunity to see his son, safe and at home in Berk. After five years believing the boy to be dead, that sort of reassurance had become priceless.
What Stoick most looked forward to were the hours just before midnight. Hiccup would return to their home, the two would share a meal and they were able to spend time together as a family before retiring for the night.
In those hours, the rest of the world seemed to disappear. Within those walls they were free – Stoick of his responsibilities and Hiccup of his curse – if only just for a while. There, they were simply father and son.
As sunlight streamed through the window, Stoick pushed himself out of bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretching the stiffness from his muscles.
He wasn't surprised to find the house silent. In the last few months, Hiccup had taken to disappearing sometime around the time Stoick woke each day. Sometimes they caught each other briefly, but it wasn't odd for them to miss one another entirely. It seemed Hiccup had inherited his mother's innate curiosity, eager to explore in his free time.
Unlike Valka, that curiosity was not limited to the confines of the Isle of Berk.
Wings had opened up a world of exploration Stoick never could have dreamed of – each night, Hiccup was eager to share his findings. He'd put his talent for illustration to use, constructing a one-of-a-kind map of the archipelago, illustrated from a dragon's point of view.
There were certain islands the chief recognized from his own sailings in search of the nest, but there were also many places he'd never seen himself. It was humbling to see how small Berk was amongst it all.
The back door to the house was slightly ajar, confirming Stoick's suspicions. It was rarely ever bolted these days in order to make it easier for a Night Fury to come and go as needed. While Hiccup was able to push open the door with relative ease, he'd expressed that pulling it back open was a challenge without thumbs. He'd taken to leaving it slightly ajar so he could more easily navigate it.
Stoick didn't mind. He'd grown up in the chill of the Isle – a little draft inside his home was nothing of concern.
Whistling a tune that had been relentlessly bouncing around his mind, Stoick the Vast headed off to town to address his people's needs.
Hiccup hovered just at the edge of the woods, watching from afar as the last of his tribe finished trickling through the large doors of the town hall. The sun was hanging low in the sky, but it could be an hour or so before it set completely.
In just a matter of minutes, the feast would begin. The very same feast that he had promised his father he would attend.
He'd had every intention of following through on his words…but now he wasn't sure he do it. At least, not yet.
Perhaps he could claim he lost track of time? That his flight back had been delayed by wind or rain or some other obstacle. No one would be able to call him out on the lie. Stoick would probably believe him…but he had a feeling that Astrid would see right through the excuse. She had an uncanny knack for reading him, a talent unlike anyone else.
They just didn't understand. How could they?
Yes, he'd saved Berk from the queen and the centuries-old onslaught of dragon raids. His tribe had welcomed him back with open arms, treating him far better than they ever had before – not that the bar had been set very high for that .
Yet, their kind reception hadn't quelled his own fears that their acceptance could wane. They'd taken his draconic attributes in stride, but they'd only ever encountered his human form. Pleasantries aside, it was not uncommon to catch someone staring at his curse mark – a visible reminder to all that he wasn't quite human. Reactions varied from fascination to horror, but what Hiccup hated most were those whose faces he couldn't read. Not knowing how he was being perceived bothered him deeply.
He knew his choice to put off the inevitable introduction of his dragon side for so long hadn't helped matters. In waiting, he'd given doubt plenty of time to take root within his own mind. Would they really be able to live side by side with a Night Fury? Would the people of Berk be able to look him in the eye and reconcile the fact that he was the same person inside?
They knew what he was, on a factual level…but did they really understand?
Astrid seemed to think so, as she continued to push him to take the leap of faith. While he didn't want to let her down, the thought of confronting his people during the day still unnerved him. He'd never admit it, but he still had nightmares about waking up in the arena – only now, they knew who he was and they didn't care. Now, they chanted for his demise by name.
They were just dreams, but they made his anxiety around the issue fester like an open wound.
Hiccup sighed, settling back on his haunches. It was a relief to take the weight off his legs – balancing on three limbs for long had proven to be tiring.
He'd wait til sundown, and then he'd slip inside. His father would be disappointed by his decision to wait, but he'd find a way to make it up to the chief.
Hiccup passed the time watching the sun dip lower on the horizon, once more reflecting on the significance it had taken in his life. His entire existence hinged on the sun and the moon, forever tied to their rhythm thanks to the Night Fury magic in his veins. He'd made peace with the cycle, though it hadn't been easy – he'd tried to deny the permanence of his situation for five long years before choosing to take a new approach.
He hadn't realized how much his denial had been weighing him down until he let it go, feeling freer than he had since he'd taken that fateful shot. There were still bad days, of course, where he longed for more control over his life and his body, but for the most part he was at peace with it.
A tingling sensation began to spread through his body, like pins and needles just underneath his skin. In moments, his veins caught fire, burning away at his form as the shift turned dragon to man in a purple blaze.
Hiccup exhaled sharply, slowly pulling himself to his feet. He brushed the dirt off of his pants, straightening his tunic into something he hoped was somewhat presentable. With the wind whipping through the air, his hair was likely a lost cause, but still he combed his fingers through it a few times in the hopes that it wasn't too much of a mess.
He could already hear the lively sounds of the feast, growing louder and louder as he made his way through the moonlit street. There were few things Berk loved as much as a celebration, and the shouts from within made it clear the party was now in full swing.
Now or never.
Hiccup opened the heavy door a crack, slipping in as quietly as he could manage. Maybe he could pretend he'd been here all along…that he'd used the camouflage of his dark scales to disappear into the shadows…
"Oi! Hiccup – nice to see ya, lad!"
Or not.
"Hey, Gobber," he greeted the blacksmith with a small smile.
His mentor raised his pint, one of many interchangeable elements of his prosthetic arm. A bit of mead sloshed over the side, dripping onto the already sticky table.
The other men seated with his mentor offered respectful nods of acknowledgement that Hiccup stiffly returned. He was relieved when one of them pulled Gobber back into their conversation, allowing him to slip away further into the room.
Satisfied that any attention had been lifted off of him, Hiccup found a spot to lean against one of the building's thick pillars. There was comfort in its shadow, taking him back to a time not long ago when he'd watched his village from the safety of the forest's treeline. He took a moment to survey the crowd, taking stock of the familiar faces.
Stoick was easy enough to find, seated on the dais in a position of honor. He was mid-story, arms gesturing wildly as he regaled the tale to the men seated around him. Considering Spitelout's bored expression, it was likely a story he'd shared many times in the past. His father did have a history of repeating himself – if Hiccup had to hear the story about Stoick splitting that rock one more time, he was certain he'd lose it.
His peers were seated across the room, gathered together at a secluded table pushed against the wall. The Thorston twins sat on the far side, giving him a clear view as they dug into their food with alarming speed. Fishlegs sat beside them, eyeing the pair with thinly veiled disgust.
Astrid's back was to him so he couldn't see her face, but her tensed shoulders were a clear sign that she was moments away from losing her patience. Hiccup suspected Snotlout to be the source of her troubles, as he was leaning uncomfortably close to the blonde as he spoke. Astrid's fingers were curled atop the bench, folding into a defined fist.
He supposed that was his cue to step in. Otherwise, his cousin was likely to leave with a black eye.
As Hiccup navigated around the fire in the middle of the room, a glint of metal above caught his eye. Curious, he turned his attention towards the ceiling, taking in the sight of the statue hanging overhead.
It wasn't new – Hel, it had probably been there for centuries. Yet despite its age...he'd barely noticed the installation in his youth. Now, the sight of a skewered dragon was impossible to ignore. The dragon depicted had a face screeching in agony, its head thrown back violently. A sharp blade ran through it with such force, it was sure to be lethal.
At one time, he'd found the statue unremarkable. Now, it was a bit more striking.
A bit more personal.
Hiccup swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from the gruesome depiction. It was just a statue, he reminded himself. Things had changed. Berk had changed.
"Hey Hiccup!" Fishlegs had spotted him, gesturing for him to join their table.
He plastered a smile on his face, heading towards the group.
"Hey guys…"
Trader Johann had been to many ports over the years, considering himself to be one of the most well-traveled merchants in the archipelago. His familiarity with so many different tribes had also made him privy to a network of news, gossip and secrets that was unrivaled. He'd become such a fixture at each port that tongues had become less guarded in his presence over time. A fact that he was all too aware of.
He'd learned early on that when he couldn't trade in goods, he could trade in knowledge. Sometimes that knowledge was even worth more than the supplies he carted with him.
Though…one had to be careful when trading information. There were some that would kill to protect their secrets and Johann was not willing to lose his head over a matter of coin.
There were a few chieftains that he trusted to keep his name clear, and one such chief was Stoick the Vast. Berk's leader was well known as a man of honor, one who would never disclose a source – even under duress. With that knowledge in mind, Johann often reserved his biggest findings for the trips he could make to the Isle.
He had a feeling Stoick would be interested in his latest revelation. After all, dragon poachers moving into the territory were sure to bring an element of danger with them. Killing dragons for defense was one thing – hunting them for sport was another entirely.
Though Johann had no love for the dangerous beasts himself, he still couldn't stomach selling wares made of their hides or bones…no matter how often the poachers tried to deal with him. He was happy enough to take their coin for trade, however…no matter how they came upon that money. Any paying customer would stay on his trading route, personal feelings aside. After all, Johann was a businessman first and foremost.
Still…flagging their new location could be more lucrative than allowing them to stay. Any chief worth his salt would want to keep a close eye on a seedy operation setting up camp so close to his shores, so Johann set a course for Berk.
As he navigated the waves, he couldn't help thinking that perhaps there were others who would pay well for this information. He never promised that his information was exclusive , just that it was true… Yes, there were other islands he could try, though reaching them would require a longer sail. After collecting his pay from Stoick, he'd adjust course and try his luck.