Three.
Hiccup woke early, curled up as tightly as he could to try to keep warm on the low wooden platform that was the bed in the cell. As feet approached, he sat up, wincing as he felt stiff and ran his fingers through his messy auburn hair, framing his face and highlighting his bright green eyes. With a sigh, he rose and walked towards the bars.
"Top of the morning," he said pleasantly to the guard, though the man scowled at him and passed a narrow flask through the bars.
"Water," the man said and turned away. Hiccup stared at him.
"He really means not to feed me at all?" he asked softly and the guard nodded.
"Jail is meant to be a punishment, not an easy time," he growled. Hiccup gestured to his bare cell.
"Yeah-because between the sumptuous soft furnishings, the extensive wine list and gourmet menu, why would I want to leave?" he asked sarcastically.
"You family could alway bring you food," the guard reminded him. "That is permitted."
"Oh, joy," Hiccup shot back. "Because my family didn't actually condemn me to be in here! Oh wait-they did!" The guard cast him a sneering look.
"Not my problem," he said coldly and walked out, the door clanging shut behind him. Hiccup sighed and took a sip of the water: it didn't exactly taste fresh either.
"No-but it's very much mine," he sighed.
The day passed, very cold and boring. He curled up on the little wooden platform, arms wrapped around his cold body, knees pulled tight to his chest, desperately missing the warmth of the forge and even Gobber's sarcasm. Apart from the water, he wasn't given any food or drink and eventually, he just dozed, feeling cold and pretty miserable. The guard kept coming in and checking on him, sneering at the prisoner and in the end, he gave up even trying to reply.
It was dusk and the temperature was dropping when the door to the cells opened again. Cracking a bleary emerald eye open, Hiccup looked disinterestedly at the door-and then abruptly straightened up as he saw the familiar blonde shape of Astrid walking in. Self-consciously, he ran hand through his messy hair and a smile warmed his face. Astrid looked stern-but then, she was carefully carrying a covered bowl that smelled delicious and had his mouth watering and stomach growling in hunger. He scrambled to his feet.
"Afternoon, Milady," he said cheerfully, hands grasping the bars as she stopped opposite him. "What brings you here?" Her fair brows dipped and she gestured to the bowl.
"I've brought you something to eat," she said sternly. "I know you think you could maybe stand to lose a few pounds but personally, if you lose any more weight, I won't be able to see you side on..." He grinned.
"You heard?" he said cheerfully. "Hey, I wasn't going to say how that made me feel so..." He shrugged as she passed the bowl through the bars and his hands briefly brushed hers as he gratefully accepted the gift. Urgently, he uncovered the bowl, finding thick meaty-smelling yak stew and a hunk of black rye bread. Eyes sparkling in gratitude, he dived in, desperately wolfing the food, not caring that she was watching-because he was so hungry it hurt. It was only when he had nearly finished that he slowed and he glanced up to meet her pitying eyes. He wiped his mouth and took a mouthful of bread. She smiled.
"Better?" she asked and he nodded with a relieved sigh.
"Gods, yes," he murmured.
"Good," she said and handed over a folded bundle of cloth. He started: it was his spare tunic and his vest and he accepted them gratefully, hauling them on.
"H-how?" he asked. She smiled.
"I asked Gobber if I could take them to you," she said. Because I'm staying in your room, she added silently. He nodded.
"Thanks," he said genuinely. "I really mean that, Astrid. I-I..." He shrugged. "Not a single member of my family would lift a finger to help me." There was an awkward pause. "And I don't know what I did wrong. Not really..." The unspoken reason-you were too small and weak-wouldn't explain why his kin had treated Hiccup the boy so badly and Astrid could see that the rejection still hurt him. Admittedly, he was incredibly un-Vikinglike, with his cheerful optimism, his kindness and his desire to help-but he was determined, brave and protective. All of those were things any Viking-any human-could relate to. But it seemed in Berk that if you weren't buff, violent and slew dragons by the handful, then you were nothing.
"Nor me," she added more kindly. "Look-you're here because of me, aren't you?" He nodded and blushed slightly.
"If Gobber demanded payment for the iron, you couldn't afford it," he told her softly. "And you have to have an axe, Astrid. You're the finest warrior in Berk and you deserve it. So I made sure you had a weapon worthy of your...skills." She looked at his thoughtful face.
"I should tell Gobber and..."
"NO!" he interrupted urgently. "No, Astrid. If Gobber wanted to speak to me about it, he would. He has in the past. Why-why do you think I don't build inventions any more? He shouted and bellowed and-and..." He paused, too ashamed to admit any more. "He got his point across," he admitted in a small voice. "So I know not to take materials without permission. No, they were determined to lock me up for something-because I dropped the fish today..."
"Even though you didn't," she cut in, her rage boiling in her chest. The knowledge that they had conspired to lock Hiccup up-kind, goofy, generally despised Hiccup-just because he was the victim of another cruel prank by Snotlout made her incredibly angry. Moreso because he had worked his ass off all day without a single friendly word. "I saw what happened..."
He reached through the bars and his hand gently rested on her tight fist.
"It's okay, Astrid," he said in a resigned voice. "Look, please-say nothing, okay? Snotlout can do no wrong and I don't want you to be treated badly because you are my friend..." Then his eyes widened and he withdrew his hand as he saw her turn and inspect him very carefully. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he gabbled anxiously. "Gods, I-I didn't mean anything...please, please don't ignore me just because I said..."
"Relax," she soothed him, reaching out and gently grasping his hand. "I am your friend, Hiccup. Why do you think I'm here?" His cold hand tightened around hers for a long moment.
"Um...pity?" he asked hesitantly but the wry smile softened the words. She gave a smug smile.
"That too," she said lightly, "but I couldn't let my friend starve." Reluctantly, she collected the bowl and nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow." He watched her walk briskly out of the jail and then tenderly raised the hand she had held to his lips.
"Thank you, Thor," he murmured. "Even if she only ever says it once, it's something to give me strength. Because without anyone, I don't think I could go on."
oOo
Astrid had visited him every day, taking a large bowl of stew or broth, some bread and, if she could manage it, some meat. She knew it was pretty thin fare and that he was cold, hungry and alone but she had duties and chores to attend to and she was anxious to maintain her status in the village. But as she sat by the others in the Great Hall, eating her evening meal, a bowl of hot stew and bread already wrapped up for Hiccup, she could hear Gobber arguing with the Chief.
"What did yer have tae put him in jail for?" Gobber growled, loudly enough for half the village to hear. The big blacksmith was drinking again, his slurred voice petulant. Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.
"We've discussed this," he said impatiently, his growl menacing.
"And I need the laddie!" the blacksmith protested. "I canna cope with all the demands from yer bunch of mutton-heads! Thor only knows what ye do with yer weapons but I have never seen such stupid damage..."
"He's only in for a week," Stoick pointed out. "Surely you can..."
"Who do ye think has been doing most of the smithing for the last five years?" Gobber asked him, belching loudly. "Hiccup was doing a lot of work even a couple of years before ye disowned him-and when he became me assistant...well, he's basically done almost everything..." Stoick scowled at the confirmation that his friend had not really been working for a while.
"Well, you'll have to manage without him for another three days!" the Chief said unsympathetically.
"All so ye could make an example of the laddie for spilling that food," Gobber sneered. "There are a hundred worse things done every day and yet ye are obsessed with the boy, even though yer disowned him and seem to enjoy humiliating the boy every chance ye get! And I can tell ye he was right! We all saw it-all but ye, Stoick! Snotlout deliberately knocking him aside so the food was spilled. The lad was just picking it up and yer not only blame him for someone else's crime, ye call him a liar as well! But we both know he's a pitiful liar! Ye may have chosen that Snot-boy but that one has flaws a mile wide! And thinking that losing food is an acceptable joke to humble his former rival is one of the worst. So if ye don't make an example of him as well, yer'll lose respect-and that mutton-head never will anyway!"
"Gobber, how dare..."
"Oh, put a yak in it, Stoick!" Gobber retorted rudely. "We can all see it. And you trying to persuade yourself that you've made the right choice with Snotlout ain't fooling no one. You replaced a boy who, though scrawny...though not so much now, I would say...was obedient, hard-working, smart, determined, who would work until his hands bled to make yer proud of him and who never shirked any task or responsibility. And instead you chose the loud, lazy, stupid, arrogant, insensitive boy that Spitelout had been bending yer ear about from the moment yer own son was born! And yer fell for it!"
"Gobber, I don't want to hear another word..."
"I'll bet yer don't!" Gobber scoffed. "But yer should anyway. Yer think with the Meatheads coming in a few days that Snotlout will be able to handle himself with Thuggory? Or Mogadon? And that they won't ask why you've banished your own son to the forge and adopted the most brainless, undiplomatic ridiculous boy in Berk as your Heir?" Stoick rose and glared at his friend.
"Haven't you got work to do?" he snapped.
"Nope," the blacksmith said. "It'll have tae wait until me apprentice gets out of jail. Pass me that flask of mead, Ack!" Stoick folded his arms and glared at the big blacksmith-who was completely impervious-and then at the rest of the village, who were watching thoughtfully.
Damn him, he's got a point, Stoick realised as he saw the variety of embarrassed glances flying at the oblivious boy, who was stuffing his face with a leg of mutton. Snotlout won't be able to handle them. Hiccup had fifteen years of practice-and I have deliberately been keeping Snotlout away from the other Chiefs and Heirs...because he is a liability. But what can I do? Hiccup is wholly unsuitable but far more diplomatic and smart...while Snotlout looks like a proper Heir and is strong but has the sense of a yak...while Astrid is the best compromise but would never be acceptable to the Tribe while I have any blood kin. He could feel a two-ice-block-headache coming on. Unless I make use of what Gobber said...because he does have a point. Hiccup is obedient, loyal-though sassy-and he never shirked a task or responsibility. And I know what task I can set him...
oOo
Cold, bored and hungry, Hiccup was curled on his side on the bed in his cell. The guards ignored him and he was being given barely enough water to stay alive-so he was constantly horribly thirsty. He sighed and clasped his body a little tighter. The cell was cold and the temperature had dropped the last couple of days so that there was definitely frost edging the tiny windows at night. He had three days left in jail and then...
He jumped as the door slammed open and the huge, familiar form of Stoick stomped into the calls, his bushy brows curled down in a scowl as he inspected the curled up shape of the single prisoner. Wearily, Hiccup levered himself to his feet, walking forward and staring warily at his father.
"Hi, Chief," he said cautiously. "I thought visiting hours weren't 'til later..." The stony glare his words earned him made his heart sink.
"I have need of you," Stoick stated firmly. Hiccup inclined his head slightly, emerald eyes narrowing as he tried to read his father's expression.
"Wow. Not really sure what to say to that, to be honest," he admitted. "What do you need me for? Not met your daily quota of shouting yet?" For a moment, Stoick looked at the young man, seeing a tall lean young man-still topped by almost a head by his enormous father but the tallest of his generation. His handsome face with the sharp jaw and the bright emerald eyes was open, the fading bruise on his cheek an ugly reminder that his life had not been what it should. Stoick's fist tightened.
"I need you to be my Heir for next few days," he said.
Hiccup stared at him, his mind in sudden and utter turmoil. The words were spoken as if he was asking Hiccup to mind his house or do a repair...but what he was talking about was one of the most painful subjects he could touch on. The fact his father had discarded him as being unsatisfactory, like a substandard plate, had utterly torn him apart and the disownment that had followed had shattered his life. And now what was Stoick asking? For him to just step back into the role for a few days-then step aside once more? To pretend to be what he was born to be and not resent the fact it had been stolen?
"I-I don't understand..." he managed to say, breathing hard. Stoick took a step closer and stared hard at the shocked young man.
"The Meathead Tribe are coming for a visit," he explained. "And frankly, Snotlout isn't capable of acting like an Heir should."
"Shame, since he's the Heir you chose," Hiccup shot back, his eyes betraying his deep hurt.
"So I want you to act as the Heir for the duration of the visit and deal with Mogadon and Thuggory," Stoick said bluntly. "You have the experience, the diplomacy, the wits to deal with them-and the sense not to start a war or shatter the Treaty through bone-headed idleness, pride or stupidity."
"Way to make me feel good," Hiccup muttered. Stoick's eyes narrowed.
"So will you do it?" the Chief asked directly.
"Honestly? You really think lying to the Meatheads is a good way to maintain a Treaty?" Hiccup asked him sarcastically. "And when something happens to you-Odin forbid though let's be honest, it will happen someday-what happens then? The Meatheads find the Heir they were expecting isn't and they have to deal with that fat-headed arrogant conceited Snotlout instead? And that you lied to them about it-because being honest, D...sir, he will boast about when he was made Heir from day one! I can guarantee they won't be impressed and they probably won't trust us ever again!"
"Yes, but will you do it?" Stock insisted.
"Weren't you listening?" Hiccup retorted. "You do this and you'll leave us with a legacy of mistrust and possible war!"
"And if I don't we'll be at war by the end of the week!" Stoick snapped.
"Then teach Snotlout how to behave like an Heir!" Hiccup persisted. The Chief gave a growl in his throat.
"He seems incapable of understanding subtlety," he admitted reluctantly.
"Or explain to Mogadon..." Hiccup suggested wildly. Stoick lurched forward so abruptly that Hiccup stumbled back a pace, alarmed. His father had gone puce with anger.
"And what? Lose face? Put up with that brutal lunatic scorning me for my worthless son and my equally inadequate choice of replacement?" Stoick snarled. "Unthinkable!"
"Unbelievable..." Hiccup replied, trying not to wince as the matter-of-fact dismissal of his own value. "So your pride is worth more than the safety of Berk. What about 'a Chief protects his own'?" Stoick scowled.
"So you were listening," he scorned. Hiccup sighed, his shoulders sagging.
"Dad-I was always listening," he said wearily. "I wanted to make you proud-yeah, that longship has sailed! But you decided I wasn't good enough to be your successor. So why am I good enough now when the safety of the island is at stake?"
"Are you refusing?" Stoick asked softly, an edge to his voice. Hiccup swallowed.
"No," he said in a quiet voice. "My Chief-and my father-has asked me to do something for the safety of our Tribe and I will always do whatever I can to help Berk." He turned away. "But I really don't think you have the smallest clue what you are asking."
"Of course I do," Stoick said blithely. "Come up to the house, stay in your old room for a few days, act like my son..."
"I am your son," Hiccup said through his teeth. "Until you disowned me. And not for doing anything wrong. I didn't commit treason. I didn't kill anyone. I didn't break any laws. I just wasn't very tall or buff or good with weapons. And while I couldn't do a lot about the first two, a loving father could have fixed the third one...but I never had one of those." Stoick stared at him.
"Chiefing takes a lot of time," Stoick said in a low voice.
"Or you could have asked one of your friends to teach me," Hiccup persisted. "Hoark, Ack-even Phlegma the Fierce...but you didn't. So while all the other kids were taught weapons, I wasn't. And was it any shock I was useless? So was I disowned for being useless because my father couldn't spare the time, attention or effort to teach me what every other parent on Berk did? Is that what we're looking at?"
"And you were poor at Dragon Training..." Stoick reminded him brutally.
"Again, I may have stood some sort of a chance if I had been taught to fight," Hiccup reminded him. "Astrid was only a little taller than me and not much bulkier-but she was trained from when she was small. And she's the best warrior on Berk. So it can be done...if you're willing to actually put in the effort." He sighed. "So when did you decide I wasn't worth the effort, sir? Because I really need to know if I ever stood a chance of succeeding or if I had been written off when I was born small and early?" Stoick stared at him: this was the kind of conversation he had avoided for years, the kind of honest examination of his treatment of his son that he tended to duck. Stoick stared into the bright emerald eyes, seeing the flash of determination and spirit that reminded him that Hiccup was his son and for once, he refused the confrontation, knowing in the smallest corner of his soul that he was too ashamed to own up to his actions.
"We are not discussing this," he said coldly. "You will act as my Heir for the duration of the visit and Snotlout will act..." He paused. "Who am I kidding? I'll order him to shut up and stay away from the Meatheads..." Hiccup stared into the red face and gave a defeated nod.
"Only because it protects the others," he said wearily. "I guess you'll come and get me before they arrive so I sort of look like an Heir and not a thrall..." Stoick nodded and gestured to the jailor.
"Let him out," he commanded and the key was turned. Stoick pulled the door open and his son faced him, before pulling back his shoulders, lifting his chin and slowly walking out. Stoick looked him up and down and his lip curled. "Is this all you have to wear?" he asked. Hiccup cast him a disbelieving look.
"Are you kidding?" he replied sarcastically. "These are just my prison casuals. My extensive wardrobe is back at the forge..."
"Hiccup..."
"Yes!" the young man snapped. "I've grown a lot the last three years so all I have is what I stand in, okay? I have no money and Gobber certainly won't buy me any more clothes. So your so-called Heir is going to look like a thrall. Sorry, Chief-but there you are. Wanna reconsider? Or do you want to explain why I only have two worn out tunics and a fur vest I had when I was a skinny runt of fourteen?" The Chief scowled at him and for a moment, father and son glared at each other.
"I will ensure you have suitable clothes," the father decided. "Fetch your possessions and we'll move you back into your room..." Hiccup sighed.
"I think you should probably tell Snot first," he suggested. "Though maybe I could go into hiding before you do?" Stoick glanced at him and his cheeks warmed gently with embarrassment. "Yeah-he may not be too pleased and he may possibly want to have a word with me about that..." There was a narrowing of the eyes as the Chief inspected him.
"I will order Snotlout not to attack you before the visit," he said sternly. Hiccup glanced up at him, hearing the edge of disappointment in his voice at his weakness and he looked away.
"Um...sorry..." he mumbled. "But can I ask you one thing? I get you don't want to answer when you decided I was not Heir material but could you at least tell me why you had to disown me completely? Why when you took away my place as your Heir, you had to strip everything else-my family, my name, any support I may have? Because it is such a cruel thing to do for something that really was beyond my control. And I wondered...why?" He swallowed and glanced up. Stoick paused and looked at the slump-shouldered shape at his side.
"I could not alter my Heir while I had a son," he said gruffly. "So to adopt Snotlout as my Heir, I had to remove you as my son. So I had to disown you."
Hiccup stiffened and he closed his eyes.
"So you disowned me in front of the village so you could have Snotlout," he said in a shaky voice. "And you couldn't, say explain this to me ahead of time? And maybe still treat me like kin? Not make me feel utterly worthless and unwanted."
"It had to be real," Stoick told him grimly. Hiccup swallowed.
"So you ruined my life, broke my heart and cast me aside like trash so you could have Snotlout as your Heir?" he said, his voice rising with anger. "Snotlout who is so damned stupid and arrogant and-and hopeless that you have to order me to pretend to be your Heir to prevent that mutton-head destroying our island?" He walked away. "Yeah, thanks Dad! Really feeling the love! Tell you what-come and get me when you think you actually want me to save the damned island!" And despite the aching in his heart, he lifted his head and moved away from his father, not daring to look back and see if there was anything in Stoick's expression. If he saw one iota of compassion, of affection, Hiccup knew he would break so he walked away.
A/N: I have had queries about the updating schedule. I plan weekly updates for this story (and already have the next few chapters written)
And yes, Toothless will appear (eventually)-hp