Stoick had not known a proper rest till recent memory.
He woke with a familiar ache on his back and a loud rumble on his belly. Sitting up, he smiled, satisfied that he woke before the break of dawn.
And as his eyes took note of the various weapons, shields, a chest brimming with furr, hide and a painted portrait by his bed. He sighed in relief, knowing he was home.
And as he got dressed for the day's work and headed downstairs, threading softly through his home, he was taken aback by surprise to see his son already heading out.
The door closed before he could even call out to him. And as he stood at the kitchen with an empty plate at the table, and a half eaten chicken right beside it. All he felt was surprise.
He looked beneath the table, even the fire place and found no traces of thrown left overs. And as he sat there, looking through the window and watching his son run.
He couldn't help but smile with great relief. Believing that perhaps, his son has finally begun to grow.
His heart eased, as his body sagged at the kitchen table. To feel his fears and worries ebb ever slowly. Like the flow of the river, washing away the dirt and grim of fall. It was a welcomed feeling. And as the first ray of light touches his brow, his eyes turned to a new dawn he could actually look forward to.
—.—.—.—.—
Sunrise came, soft, quiet and in less than a handful of minutes, bustle exploded. This was how it has always been for Berk. So when you're daily routine is as early as the morning rooster. It was somewhat natural that there are already those who were up before the first crow.
Chief among them are the fathers of various families who tend to their families livelihood. And as Halvard Hofferson drinks his mug of warm yak milk, standing at the door of the Great Hall atop the high steps into the great mountain. He watched with attentive eyes as a familiar boy drives his feet through the treeline of the nearby forest.
"Still don't understand what that boy is doin'?" remarked someone.
"Boy's probably training to run from a fight." said another, followed by barely held laughter by others.
Halvard didn't deign an answer to it, nor did he bother to turn to such people. If someone failed to see how the boy is getting faster and faster with each sunrise. Lasting longer than even some of the budding men of the village. Nor fail to notice his skills at threading a harsh landscape with growing ease and confidence. Then, to him, they are not worth a smidgen of attention.
He had seen Gobber the Belch of all people train the kid, and he admits in quiet respect, the boy's got ambition, drive and resilience. The only thing holding him back is his eyes... cold, lifeless, nowhere near as alive as it was when he saw the boy in the forge or training with a sword.
"What do ya' thenk' eh?" speak of the devil.
"Morning Gobber?" Halvard greeted respectfully.
"Oh none of tha' now, Hal. Tell me."
"Boys got more grit than most." he answers honestly.
"Aye... you know. I heard you' be training tha' kid of yours. They were friends before ya' know."
*sigh~ "aye...they were." Halvard admits to have dreamt of the match between the two. Now, he just isn't sure.
"Where do you plan on trainin' her?"
"The forest will do. Most likely let her follow on the boys footsteps. Put some strength on them legs of hers."
"Dangerous that. Needs someone either fast, careful and smart. Angry is not one of them."
"Get to the point Gobber." Halvard gritted out, his words striking harshly against the condition of his family. Specially with what happened to his recently disgraced brother, Flynn Hofferson.
"I can open the Arena for ya'." Gobber answers bluntly. "But in exchange, I want you to train the boy."
"The Arena opens in moons anyway. Why shouldn't I just wait."
"Fell free to do so. I ain't forcin' ya'. Just don't go complainin' if you got left behind. You know me Halvard. I will do it if I absolutely hav' ta'. You're lucky I even need ya'." and with that, the old warrior walked away. Leaving Halvard to his thoughts.
—.—.—.—.—
"Not bad lad, not bad" praised Gobber as he inspected the sword at his hand before sheathing it and hanging among the others. "Go on Hiccup. I got the rest."
"I can still help Gobber."
"You've done plenty already." Gobber says firmly. "This be some boring sorting anyway. That I know you're eager to try that toy of yours."
"It's not a toy Gobber..." Hiccup said annoyed and slightly embarrassed, recollecting how badly he misjudged and the length of the bade and made it so short, it looked like a thumb sticking out of his vambrace.
But Gobber merely smiled widely at his flushed face and waved his hands away, "Besides, I need ya rested for tomorrow. Got axes to sharpen then a dozen shields framed and a few fixes on a handful of pauldrons."
"Thank you Gobber."
"Go to the Dragon Pit today. Someone's waiting for ya."
Hiccup furrowed his brow but nodded none the less before leaving with his training sword.
—.—.—.—.—
Arriving at the Dragon Pit, he froze the moment his eyes landed at the two who were there to meet him.
'I thought I could avoid them for much longer. Seems I was wrong.'
Hiccup stood infront of a familiar man among his many memories. Halvard Hofferson, the new Head of House Hofferson, a pseudo chief of the most respected warrior clan in the village... till recent memory. Right next to him a little girl with hair tied to two braids, bright blue eyes and an angry glare in her pouty face, his daughter and only child, Astrid Hofferson.
"Halvard." Hiccup greeted. Amicable but nothing else.
"Good. Glad you still remember me boy." the man nodded with a slight smile.
"Astrid... hi."
Seeing no response nor reaction but a stern glare from the girl. Halvard couldn't help but frown, only to ease when Hiccup shot him a helpless shrug and a small smile of his own. A look of understanding from a child, it surprised him. One he silently acknowledge with a nod.
"Come. We don't have all day."
He led them to a downward slope and to large wooden portcullis with iron bracers. And with a tug of a lever, followed by the rattling of chains, the gate slowly rose revealing a large enclosure.
Surrounded by high walls of pure stone, scorched and scratched, with deep gashes in various places with the smell of iron still thick, either from the chains, the weapons at the racks by the side or the dried blood stains at the crevice of the stones. All of which contribute to the grim atmosphere. Made worst by a dome of chains wrapped around various iron bars at the top. And four cages carved into the stone with one occupied by a massive dragon if it's snores are go about. One that seemed strong enough to shatter tone, let alone their rattling bones.
The Dragon Pit, it lives up to the name.
Halvard led the two at the center, where the entrance to which several logs and planks looked to be arranged into the form of an obstacle course stood.
"You two will be taking your training a bit more seriously from now on. Honestly, it will be tedious at first. Trust me, I know how... annoying... the repetitive movements can be. But you will be doing this, or none at all. Am I understood?" seeing the two nod, Halvard gestured to the obstacle course. "Go. From start to finish. And repeat till I say otherwise."
Astrid tilted her head in confusion, till she saw Hiccup tug at the strap across his shoulder, tightening his sheathed sword at his back and run towards the beginning of the course. Something she franticly followed only for her father to just yank her axe from her hands and pointed towards the boy.
With a snarl, Astrid followed, determined to win by a large margin as to not lose face for not having her weapon with her.
Only... Hiccup was not holding back... Not during his conditioning he prefers to call training.
—.—.—.—.—
I can't help but wonder what Gobber had been feedin' that boy. To have come so far in such short amount of time.
He has yet to gain proper weight, but I can honestly say that the lad is certainly no twig.
As I watched the boy jump feet first to a slightly reclined wall, run three whole steps forward before jumping up and reaching for the ledge three feet high. I admit, I was stunned.
It doesn't just take skill it takes courage. To remove doubt from every step and keep going.... that... that was impressive.
"He is doing well." a deep rumble echoed next to me. I need not turn to know who it is. No on else can stand beside me and cast a shadow like a giant except for the Chief after all.
"Stoick."
"Halvard. Thank you."
"Don't thank me Stoick. I did it for her." I answer with a nod towards my girl, who was struggling dragging her feet through knee deep mud.
"Hahaha... Aye. This would be good for them. I pray that they smile together like they used to."
"...perhaps someday." I nodded at his words.
Seeing Astrid strive through burning muscles and drenching sweat. With determination gleaming from her eyes. Aye... this was good. I just need to foster friendly rivalry... and remove all sense of petty competition. For that...
"I need your help."
"Aye. I thought of it too."
I thought as much.
"Um." seeing as the boy has just dropped his log back at the entrance and was preparing for another run, I decided to end this part of training for now. "Alright lad! You did enough fer now. Go. Your old man wants to talk to ya!" seeing the boy nod and walk on without question, I subconsciously give a nod of approval. "Your boy is disciplined, Stoick."
Glancing at the sweat filled kid, with barely a labored breath. I won't be saying it so soon but I admit. The boy is impressive indeed. "I expect to to see you here after your time at the forge. You hear me lad?"
"Yes Halvard."
"Good. Now go."
Seeing Stoick clasp the boy's shoulder sent a pang of envy through me, even more when he spoke with such pride and eagerness. "Gobber approached me earlier. From here on in, I will be taking over your weapons training."
To see such wide and bright eyes and an even wider smile from the boy. I can't help but be a little bitter about it. Maybe Sigrid won't mind trying one more time for a boy.
—.—.—.—.—
The clanging of steel echoed through the woods, scaring all wild life away.
In a small clearing, surrounded by bushes, trees and a boulder sized rock clashed Stoick and his son, Hiccup. Said son found himself stumbling and even lifted off the ground with every swing of his father's hammer.
Yet, to Stoick's pride and joy, his son would not complain. He would not curse. He would not ask for rest or reprieve. No... his son would harden his eyes, gather his strength and wits and stand up once more.
And no matter how many times he would fall, stumble or even sent crashing against the tree or rolling atop the bushes. His son had remained strong.
The clang of steel continues with blade against hammer and shield. And for hours, such was their exchange, or if one would call it, his lessons. Not martial training, no stances, no fancy tricks, no traditions, only the victor and the better warrior. Such was what Stoick was teaching.
And then finally-
*Thud! Hiccup fought the urge to keel over, as Stoick's fist planted into his stomach. He stood there, satisfied and nodding in approval as Hiccup swallowed whatever bile tried to rise from his stomach.
With a painful heave from his mouth, Hiccup stopped as his father clasped his shoulder.
"Well done son. Well done."
Pride spilled from his lips, but most of all is relief. Pride that Hiccup shared as he barely clung on to his own weapon. And relief, knowing that his son's strength is finally showing.
"Come, son. You look like you need something to eat." Stoick said gently as he led the two of them back to the Great Hall.
*Ugh... "I feel like I need a healer..." said Hiccup as he clutched his stomach, still feeling phantom pains from time to time.
"Only after a full belly, my boy. You know how high Gothi's place is. You're gonna need strength to reach her place."
"Please don't remind me. I still have no idea how she can get there with those tiny legs of hers. I have half a mind to think she rides a dragon."
"Hahahaha! If only things were so easy."
Stoick continues with his jest, not seeing the stunned look shot to him by his son. With a shake of his head, Hiccup followed, wondering if there were any weight to his father's words.