Confrontation
Father didn't say a word at first. He stormed across the training arena, straight toward Hiccup—his steps loud, heavy, final. The crowd parted in silence, eyes wide, breath held. I followed, close behind, not knowing what I'd say or even why I was following. I just knew I had to.
By the time I caught up, Father had already grabbed Hiccup by the arm and was dragging him away from the ring. His grip was like iron. Hiccup didn't struggle. He just kept his head down, shoulders hunched, not resisting—but not cowering either.
They disappeared behind a row of stone columns near the Great Hall. I slowed when I reached them, trying to hear, to understand. But their voices were hushed—raw, cracked, muffled by distance and the pounding in my ears.
Then, a sudden thud.
I rounded the corner just in time to see Hiccup fall backward to the stone floor, bracing himself with one arm. His eyes were wide. Hurt. Not just physically.
Stoick loomed over him, face twisted in rage. His voice thundered like a death sentence.
"You're no son of mine."
The words hit harder than any axe could. Hiccup stared up at him in stunned silence. And I... I froze too. Those five words echoed in my head like a bell toll.
Then Father turned. His eyes locked with mine, but there was no warmth in them—only disappointment... and exhaustion.
"I leave for the nest at dawn," he said coldly as he passed me. "Until I return, the village is yours."
But as he brushed past, I caught it. Just for a moment. A shimmer. His face was hard, but his eyes... they glistened. One tear slid down his cheek. Then another. He didn't wipe them away. Didn't slow his stride.
He just kept walking.
I watched him go—our proud, unshakable father—his shoulders heavy with something too large for even him to carry.
And I just stood there.
Motionless.
Trying to make sense of what I'd just seen.
Trying to breathe.
Trying to decide.
I don't know how long I stood there. Minutes? Hours? Eventually, I found myself walking—feet moving on their own, straight toward the village hall. The doors creaked as I pushed them open.
There he was. Hiccup. Sitting on the cold floor, arms wrapped around his knees. Eyes red. Silent.
The same boy who'd once begged me to teach him how to hold a sword properly.
The same boy who just stood between a dragon and a killing blow.
The same boy our father just disowned.
I hesitated in the doorway, then stepped in, letting the doors shut behind me with a dull thump. I drew in a sharp breath, my voice quiet but cutting through the silence.
"Why?"
He didn't look up.
"Why did you protect that dragon?"
Hiccup was still for a moment. Then he exhaled—slow, shaky. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this, Erik…" he said quietly. "I thought maybe—if they could see what I saw—something would change. I thought I could show them."
"Show them what, Hiccup?" I asked, stepping closer.
"That they're not all monsters. That maybe… there's another way." He finally looked up at me, his voice cracking.
"Another way?" I frowned. "You say that like you've lived what I have. Like you remember. But you don't, do you?"
"…No." His gaze dropped. "I was too young. I only know what they told me. What you told me."
"Then let me tell you again, Hiccup," I said, my voice hardening. "I remember it all. The smoke crawling through the walls. The fire—her screams. The roar so loud it felt like the sky itself was tearing. The dragon that burst through our roof. The one that left this—" I touched my cheek, tracing the faint scar. "—and took her from us."
"I know, Erik. I've imagined it. A thousand times. But it's not the same. I know that."
"No. You don't know. Because that night didn't just take her—it took everything. The laughter we never got. The warmth. The bedtime stories. The mother we never really got to know."
"I wish I could remember her. I really do." His voice was laced with a quiet ache.
"And after she was gone… Father wasn't the same, Hiccup. He didn't cry. Didn't shout. He just… disappeared into himself. Grief turned him to stone. And we followed, didn't we? He raised us to be strong. So we'd never feel what he felt. So we could survive it, if it ever happened again. And now you're standing with the very thing that destroyed us. The thing that made us like this."
"I'm not standing with them," Hiccup insisted, slowly standing, unsteady on his feet but meeting my eyes. "I'm saying… maybe not all of them are the same. I looked into that dragon's eyes, Erik. And I didn't see the creature from your nightmares. I saw someone who was scared. Someone who hesitated. Just like us."
"You don't get it, Hiccup. You can't get it. You didn't live that night."
"No. I didn't. But I've lived every day since then wondering why there's this hole in me. Why I can't remember her. Why I don't feel the fire when you speak of it. And maybe… maybe that's why I saw something different. Maybe I'm not blinded by the same pain."
"Pain is what keeps us alive, Hiccup. It's what reminds us of what we've lost. It's what built us into who we are."
"But what if it's also what's keeping us from becoming something more?"
"You always had hope, Hiccup. Even when you didn't know what we'd lost. But I can't afford to hope, not like you. Because I remember."
"I'm not asking you to forget." His voice softened. "I'm just asking… what if this dragon—just this one—didn't take anything from us? What if he never got the chance?"
"And what if we give him that chance, and someone else loses everything instead?"
"Then we learn. We try again. We stop pretending this war makes sense just because we were born into it."
"You talk like someone who never had to bury a memory."
"And you fight like someone afraid to let go of one."
My shoulders slumped. The anger drained out of me, leaving only a hollow ache. "You've made me question everything, Hiccup. What we trained for. What we survived for. What Mom died for. And the worst part? I don't know if you're wrong."
"I don't know either, Erik." He met my gaze, his own eyes heavy with shared burden. "But I'd rather live with that question than die with the wrong answer."
"…I don't know what's right anymore."
As my father rode off toward the dragon's nest, a storm churned inside my chest—wild, chaotic, and loud. I stood frozen, watching his silhouette shrink against the horizon, until I couldn't bear the weight of all the eyes behind me. Pitying. Doubting. Expecting. I turned away from the village and let my feet carry me into the forest, where the trees didn't judge and the shadows didn't ask questions.
The wind whispered through the branches above, brushing against my skin like ghost fingers. I ducked under low limbs, sidestepped tangled roots, and followed the familiar path to the secret base I'd built months ago. It wasn't much—just a circle of logs, half-covered in moss, with a patchy roof that barely held out the rain—but it was mine. Ours, really. Mine and Hiccup's.
I dropped to my knees the moment I crossed the threshold, breath catching in my throat. My palms dug into the damp earth, fingers curling into the soil like it could hold me together. The silence was loud. Deafening. There was no crowd here, no war drums, no speeches about honor. Just the sound of my heart beating far too fast.
Everything had changed so fast it made my head spin.
When we started training, Hiccup and I had finally begun to understand each other. Not just as brothers—but as people. We laughed more. Fought less. Whispered dreams under starry skies when we thought no one else was listening. We imagined being warriors—stronger, better, the kind of Vikings songs would be written about. Heroes. We were supposed to be heroes.
But something shifted. Or maybe it had always been there, just hidden in plain sight. I began noticing things—tiny, quiet things. The way Hiccup's whole body tensed when a dragon screamed in pain. The way he bit his lip before he threw a weapon. The way he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes when a dragon fell from the sky.
And when curiosity—or maybe fear—got the better of me, I checked his status.
Name: HiccupAge: 15Race: HumanTitles: NoneStats:Strength: 11Defense: 10Dexterity: 13Stamina: 13Intelligence: 23Passive Skill:Dragon Talker (Lv. 1/1): "Ability to understand dragons on a deeper level."
I stared at those words until they blurred, blinking hard, hoping I'd read it wrong.
A skill. One that let him understand dragons.
At first, I was angry. Confused. What good was that to a Viking? Dragons were fire and claws and death. They destroyed our homes, stole our livestock, shattered our lives. Understanding them wasn't victory—it was surrender. It was betrayal.
But then I remembered his face. The look in his eyes when he saw a dragon chained and caged. The way he spoke of them—not as monsters, but as living, feeling beings. The way he saw them.
I should've known. I should've seen it then.
But I didn't. I turned away. Shut the door on what I didn't understand. Let fear build a wall between us. I chose the comfort of tradition over the truth of my brother's heart. And in doing so, I nearly lost him.
I sat back on my heels, throat tight. Can I really trust dragons? Can I really trust Hiccup?
I closed my eyes, heart trembling.
Yes.
Yes, I can.
That dragon—Toothless—he didn't lash out. He didn't flee. He stayed. Loyal. Steady. Not as a pet or prisoner—but as Hiccup's equal. As his friend. As his family. He looked at Hiccup the way I did—like he mattered.
And Hiccup… Hiccup has never lied to me. Not where it counts. Not where it hurts.
I stood slowly, wiping the damp earth from my hands and the tears from my cheeks. There was no more room for doubt. I had a choice to make—and I made it.
I had to find him.
I ran—branches tearing at my sleeves, roots threatening to trip me—but I didn't stop. Not until I reached the village. I checked the hall. Empty. Our house. Still. Panic flared in my chest like fire.
Then—laughter. Light, nervous, but real.
I turned toward the dragon ring, breath hitching.
There he was. Hiccup. Small, uncertain, but standing tall in his own quiet way. Facing the others. Facing the world. Braver than I'd ever been.
I ran. My legs ached, lungs burned, but I didn't care. I skidded to a halt in front of him, breathless, heart raw.
All eyes turned to me—but I only saw him.
"Hiccup…" My voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
His brows furrowed, lips parting.
"What you said—about dragons—you were right. Not all of them are monsters. I… I was scared. I didn't want to lose you. I thought… if I trusted them, I'd lose my brother." I swallowed the sob building in my chest. "But I already almost did. And that… that scared me more than anything else ever could."
For a second, the world held still. Then he stepped forward, slow and sure, and wrapped his arms around me.
"I forgive you," he whispered. "I'm just glad you believe me."
I held him tight, tighter than I ever had before. Because in that moment, I finally understood. We weren't alone in this. Not anymore. Not ever again.
We gathered near the dragon enclosure, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the village. Everyone was there—Snotlout, Fishlegs, the twins—and Astrid stood just behind Hiccup, arms crossed, her face grim. There was a weight in the air, a tension no one had the words for.
Hiccup stepped forward, and his voice was steady but tight. "My dad and the others are heading into a death trap. We have to stop them before it's too late."
Snotlout rolled his eyes. "What, another dragon island? What's new? We torch it, bash some heads, and come home."
"No," Astrid said sharply, her voice cutting through the air like an axe. "It's not like the others."
That got their attention. She looked around at us, eyes hard. "There's something out there—something huge. It controls the dragons. Forces them to bring food to it. Like a queen bee in a hive."
Fishlegs paled instantly. "A... hive queen?"
"Basically," Hiccup nodded. "We followed a group of dragons once, Toothless and I. Astrid too. They weren't eating the food they stole—they were delivering it." He swallowed, looking down at the dirt for a moment. "When we got close, we saw it. Not the whole thing—just its head. But that was enough. It came out of the smoke and swallowed a Gronckle whole."
Snotlout scoffed, trying to sound brave but failing. "You're kidding. Right?"
"I wish I was," Astrid muttered.
There was a beat of silence, broken only by the rustle of wind and distant waves.
"Then we need to go," I said, stepping forward. "We can't let Dad and the others walk into that."
Fishlegs was nodding quickly. "If that thing's real—if it's even half as big as you say—Stoick's going to need backup. And firepower."
Hiccup shook his head. "No boats. They won't make it in time."
"Then how—" I started.
"We ride."
He looked toward the enclosure. The others blinked, confused. But I felt the meaning settle in my chest even before he said it aloud.
"We'll fly the dragons."
He stepped toward the gate and opened it. A Monstrous Nightmare was the first to walk out—silent, alert, wings twitching with energy. The others followed, some cautiously, others bold, spreading out across the clearing.
I tensed as a green-scaled dragon—lean, sinewy, with golden eyes—approached me, eyeing me warily. It growled low in its throat. My instincts screamed danger.
"Hiccup!" I barked, backing away.
He turned quickly. "Erik—stop. You're making it nervous."
"I'm nervous!" I snapped, my heart hammering. "It's a dragon, Hiccup. We grew up learning to kill them."
"I know," he said softly. "But that's not who we are anymore."
He stepped between me and the dragon, his presence calming it immediately. He extended his hand to me. "Trust me. Give me your hand."
I hesitated. Everyone was watching—Astrid, the twins, Snotlout. Even Fishlegs had gone quiet. My throat was dry. But Hiccup didn't waver.
So I stepped forward and took his hand.
He guided it gently, slowly, placing my palm against the dragon's snout.
Warmth. Breath. Life. It trembled under my touch.
And so did I.
"Breathe," Hiccup whispered. "He can feel everything you feel."
I took a long breath, and the dragon mirrored me—chuffing softly, eyes half-closing. The tension in my chest slowly unraveled. I looked into those golden eyes and felt… not fear, not hate, but something raw. Ancient. Real.
It trusted me. And I… I trusted it back.
The others were starting to follow. Astrid was already beside her Nadder, hand resting easily on its neck. She met my eyes and gave the slightest nod.
Fishlegs squeaked when his Gronckle sneezed on him but didn't run.
Even the twins were laughing—climbing onto their Zippleback like it was a game.
Snotlout, of course, grumbled under his breath. "Fine, but if mine eats me, I'm haunting you forever, Hiccup."
The dragons didn't roar. They didn't bare their teeth or rear back in fury. They waited. Loyal. Patient.
I turned back to Hiccup.
"I was wrong," I said. "About everything."
He didn't say anything at first. Just smiled. That same small, quiet smile that always made you feel like things could be okay.
"You ready to fly?" he asked.
I looked at the dragon now standing beside me, like a friend. Like a partner.
And I nodded. "Yeah. Let's go save our dad."