"It's going to be tonight... isn't it?" Hiccup whispers.
His voice softly flowed with the cracking of fire at the hearth of their home. He sat beside his father, both looking to the flames as if the dance of light and shadow was their entertainment. And yet, within that shared silence, both shared their fears.
Stoick's throne groans lightly as he leaned back, his hand fiddling with the pommel of his sword leaning by his armrest. With a soft breath leaving his lips, he answers.
"...aye, son. It will be tonight."
Stoick's voice was soft, yet the resolve within it seemed to echo against their wooden home. A strength and charisma that made Hiccup smile, as small as it was. A strength his cold heart could find warmth towards. And with a nod, Hiccup leaned back as well, his fingers gliding against the edges of his shield –leaning against his armrest– as he took a deep breath. Finding a slight bit of comfort in his poise and in mind.
Stoick silently watched and nodded in approval and with a square of his shoulders, he spoke. "Son." he said.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"You will be third in command in the village." Hiccup clenched his fists, slowly gripping his nerves. "With winter so close, I will be overseeing the defense of our livestock. Your uncle Spitelout will be first, next will be Halvard, and should they fall, responsibility lies to you."
Hiccup wanted to nod, to assure his father of his confidence. But doubt has a way of ruining things. And that tiny shimmer, of his lack of faith in himself, a flash of a man being skewered by dragon horn, he froze. Diverging instead from the topic of his own.
"...what of Gobber?" Hiccup asks.
Yet for all the knowing eyes his father shot him, Stoick smiled and answered. "He will be needed at the forge."
"You intend to sideline one of your greatest warriors?" Hiccup asks.
But Stoick only patted his son's shoulder and answered. "He is the last defense, son. Someone I can trust to hold the tide till help comes."
"Oh." he says making him blush, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"I don't blame ya... it would've made sense to put him out front. But... I know the man." Stoick's voice turned somber. "Him and I... we've lost too much. Seen too many of our own die. And Gobber, he isn't as lucky as me."
Stoick turned to his son and said, "I have you, Hiccup. And while it pains me to not have your mother by our side, I have you. But Gobber... he barely has reason to live, son, and I know... I know he is just looking for a reason to die. It may be selfish of me. But I ain't ready to lose my friend yet."
The cracking of fire remained the only sound in their home, with Stoick engrossed in happier memories and his son pondering the meaning of his life.
It had been some time since he had been reborn. And while he had not noticed it at the beginning, he'd long realized that a big part of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock greatly affected him.
His desire, his wishes, his drive—all of it came from the boy that should have been. And while many would have balked at the thought of being subservient to another's life, he didn't. It was his life. He knew that he could have turned a blind eye anytime he wanted to—to pursue his own path, carve his own story, and yet... he didn't.
Instead, he strived towards those wishes, those goals, the peace that would have been. The only thing he did is by doing so on his own terms. And from there, a nagging feeling bubbles within.
Something within him just isn't satisfied with how things should be. Some heat... a fire so dim yet yearning for more.
And he doesn't know where to direct it to.
"...what do I want in life..." Hiccup whispers as he took a sip of water from a cup next to him.
"A big bosom..." said Stoick.
Hiccup swallowed and coughed as his mind flashed various images of a golden-haired girl. "Dad!" shouted the boy towards his father, hiding his smile beneath his folded hands.
"What? You asked what you wanted in a wife!"
"I said 'Life' Dad!"
"Oh come on! You'd be happy with a woman with a big bosom! I know I was!"
"Eww! Come on, Dad! Not that image in my head!"
"Oh, don't be like that. I ain't blind not to see how yer' eyes sparkle whenever you see yer old flame, ehh!"
"We're eight, Dad!"
"All the more better! Get yer' feet through Hofferson's doors early!"
"Wai- what!? Are you serious right now!?"
"Take it from me lad. That lass, if her mother is to go by–"
"No! No...nonono."
"I think I have enough to make it honorable. But best you prepare a gift of your own. You know. For the dowry."
"Very not comfortable with this!"
"Ah! Wait till you meet Big! Boobied! Bertha!" Stoick adds with a laugh. "Fine warrior, that one. Saw her suffocate a man to death in between—."
"Ok! That's enough now. No more bosoms! For tonight!"
"Hahaha! I see, I see. Uhum, yer' young, son. Don't you worry, you'll find yer' taste soon."
Hiccup blushed, remembering various female characters like Sif from God of War and Marika from Elden Ring.
And seeing his son blush, Stoick couldn't help but hold back his laight at his son. After a shake of his head, he turned and asked, "So tell me, son. I saw this sketch work of yers in your room... a boat. Ye' called it a Caravel. Think it will work?"
"Well...it has its disadvantages compared to our longships. But it also has its advantages. For example, the cargo..."
—.—.—.—.—
Night at Berk was quiet. Too quiet.
Enough to lull children to sleep and make parents uneasy.
Families slept together in warm embrace. Children were lulled, kept in comfort and warmth, while their parents, aunts and uncles, guardians... they watched over them. While the bed gave comfort, warmth from the blanket, it was their presence that gave safety.
Like a stalwart protector with only one purpose in life: to ensure their own, even at the cost of themselves. For their lasting legacy in Midgard, and their keys to the Halls of Valhalla.
Yrsa Ingerman softly murmurs as she pressed her son's head against her chest, holding her boy softly yet close.
Seeing his wife and son resting at peace, he sat comfortably by his family's side, still donning his war axe, shield, and armor.
Ingerman had been what many had called a quiet Viking. Something a handful in their village shared. Yet despite the obvious difference between him and the common warrior, none dared underestimate him. For despite not being one of the greatest warriors of their village, he is known to be a man of great influence.
He is one of the oldest friends of the village chief, second only to the village smith. And while his strength is mediocre, his mind was sharper than any blade. And with it, he gave sound advice to his friend. Allowing Berk to remain afloat and sometimes even thrive through every conflict, and a generations' worth of war.
The Trader, The Reader, The Provider—many a name had touched his. But none dared disparage him. For his merit as a Viking he displayed with no shortage of courage and more than enough loyalty to endear him to his kin.
Through the years, he cemented himself as one of Berk's greatest assets. And with that, he was able to pursue his beloved, affording the finest of dowry for the finest shieldmaiden Berk has ever produced.
And with love, she gave him a son.
And much to his fears, he was very much his son—with all the courage and strength of heart, with none of the strength of muscle to support it.
Ingerman smiled sadly as he ran his hands across his boy's hair, only for his boy to murmur, "...popa..."
Fears, doubt, and sadness all washed away by the heat of life that sent his chest softly fluttering in joy. With content and happiness still filling him, he kissed his son at the corner of his brow, making the boy hum with a soft smile.
"...my beautiful boy," he whispers.
"'Our' beautiful boy," whispers Yrsa, with one eye open and a smile gracing her beautiful face.
"Aye... our beautiful boy... Still, you sure, love? He seemed all me after all."
Yrsa held her giggle in a hum. "I carried 'im for nine moons, ya' bastard..."
"And I made it all possible," teased Ingerman.
"Keep talking like that and you'll sleep in the barn," Yrsa challenged with a wide smile.
But Ingerman merely raised his hands in surrender before saying, "I ain't Spitelout, love. I'm not dumb enough to challenge ya'." And with a kiss at Yrsa's brow, he added, "Not when I prefer me'self so close to yer' bosom... listening to your heart and within the embrace of all the warmth and love Lady Freyja could only hope to provide."
Yrsa blushed, shyly turning closer to her son and embracing him even tighter.
"I love you, Findar," she whispers.
"And I you, Yrsa."
With a kiss at the corner of her lips, and a full-on kiss afterward, Findar stood up, heading for whatever it is he felt coming to his home.
Then... a whistle...
"Nightfury! Get down!" shouted Findar as he jumped to cover his wife and son.
—.—.—.—.—
*BOOM! *whistle~~~ *swish!
Fire and panic erupt. People started pouring from their homes, most running to the Great Hall, while various warriors of Berk prepared for battle.
They ran with axes and swords drawn. Most were fully armed, some were even half-naked, shouting as they rushed toward the sound of flapping wings.
And then... they were greeted by the night.
And against the war drum that is their beating hearts, silence gripped them as the flapping of wings mixed with the cracking of fire and the groaning wood. Shrouded in darkness in the absence of stars as clouds blocked them from view.
Some huddled together, some slowly crept further into the village. Stoick rushed from his house to the hill, standing with his son as they overlooked the village.
They all breathed puffs of visible warm air into the cold wind. Eyes scanning the very skies and shadow. Weapons held at the ready as they all listened to the sound of wings.
*Thund! went a roof.
Their necks snapping at the noise. The very air seemed to vibrate as a guttural growl echoed across the silence. And as the dust cleared, there stood their enemy.
It was a dragon crowned with spikes and a tail just as deadly. Its muscular taloned legs cracked the wooden roof of the house it landed on. And with wings folded menacingly, it gazed down at them.
With a guttural grumble that escaped its throat and eyes shining like twin pools of magma, the frighteningly larger Deadly Nadder then– *Screech! Loud and piercing like a high-pitched ring—and then followed roars.
From beyond the clouds, another flew down. Its wings catching the wind as it glided at greatspeed and a Viking met it head-on.
"AHH!!" And with his war cry, he swung his sword at the fast approaching Nadder, only to be thrown back after being bashed by a flying battering ram with wings.
"""RAAAHHH!!!"""
—.—.—.—.—
Dragons from Monstrous Nightmares, Hideous Zipplebacks, Gronkles, and Deadly Nadders filled the village, with various battles and confrontations echoing through Berk.
Wood groaned against their weight, steel clanked against their hardened spikes, talons, claws and teeth. The smell of ash filling the air with the cracking of fire across the village.
One Viking had his spear pierced through a Monstrous Nightmare's tail, only to be cooked alive from Dragon breath.
Another had his sword slide through a Nadder's leg, severing it and downing the dragon, for another Viking to behead the beast.
One had his shield up as he defended against a flurry of Nadder spikes, only for him to be thrown off his feet after a Gronkle's maced tail smashed against it.
Berk becomes a fiery battlefield once more as dragons and Vikings tried to kill each other.
"Hofferson! Reinforce the east end. I want no stray dragons along those tree lines," commanded Spitelout as his eyes turned from the tree line to the men.
"Aye!"
He then saw a viking raise his shield, defending a mother and child from a stray dragon fire. "Grok! How is the evacuation?"
"Got a handful of strays, no more. Should be done by then!" the man shouted as he helped the kids on their feet.
"Good! Reinforce the Great Hall when yer' done!"
"Aye!" he responds before escorting the family away.
Spitelout raised his shield against a flurry of Nadder spikes coming from a much larger Deadly Nadder. While another viking jumped atop the Dragon, trying and failing to pierce the scales and in seconds the man was thrown off.
Spitelout rushes forward, and raised his shield d as the Dragon bathed them in its fire. He held against the flame, while said viking rose from his back and shielded themselves side by side. Only to stop as the Dragon flew at another distance.
"Halvard." nodded Spitelout to the heaving Viking. "Send more men west of the village so we can enclose them!"
"Got it!" Halvard answers before turning to his cousins a small distance from them. "Harrold! Glint!—reinforce the west and drive dragons to the center!"
""Aye sir!!""
Commands left Spitelout's lips as he coordinated his men to defend the untouched homes to the already ravaged part of the village and keep the fighting there. Their plan was the usual to weaken their numbers enough that they can safely push forth and drive the beasts out of their home.
A whistle pierced their ears and–
"Nightfury! Get down!"