6A/N: This will be a story divided into three one-shots focusing on three of the characters.
Warning: SPOILERS. Watch the movie then read this if you dislike spoilers. Seriously.
Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD2. If I did, it would have probably been three hours long and still not nearly as awesome as their version.
Grief of a Son
Hiccup had been busy the last few weeks though busy really wasn't a strong enough word to describe it.
The newly appointed chief had multiple problems and disasters thrown onto his plate as soon as Drago's alpha was defeated. Berk had been nearly decimated with multiple homes either blown completely to bits by ice or affected by it in some way, shape or form. The number of causalities sickened him to the core and almost surpassed the number of men and women lost because of the Red Death. The deaths here were worse though considering many were children and the mourning cries of the families who lost their little ones drowned out even the sound of rebuilding.
The funerals had been swift and many though the feast afterward would have made even the gods in Asgard jealous. While the mood was somber there was still an edge of celebration, of victory in this depressing time. The dragon races had started up again as a way of creating some brightness to the dismal atmosphere and in many ways created that sense of normalcy so desperately needed.
Hiccup had greeted and comforted, spoken with and delegated, given speeches and advice since the battle's end and an end for him didn't seem to be in sight.
Which was good. If he left himself without anything to think about, nothing to put his hands to, he'd have to remember the reason for this new title he wore and he couldn't do that. Not yet.
However after falling asleep while moving wood aboard Toothless and nearly drowning them in the ocean both Astrid and Valka had demanded he go home and get some sleep.
"How are you supposed to take care of your people, Hiccup when you don't take care of yourself?" Astrid had asked him. For that he had no answer and so he forced himself to walk up the hill to the house he and his father once shared. Once…
He had not gone into the house for little more than a few hours of sleep every other day so now being here in the silence with nothing to focus on but the quiet, the young chief felt his emotions spill over the walls he had created for them.
"A chief puts his people above his own feelings."
The hearth that housed the fire had gone cold and his father's chopping axe still leaned against the stones. Little things he never noticed were now crystal clear in his vision such as the scorch marks on the walls where his father had attempted to cook breakfast when he was little and nearly burnt the house down. Dirt stains of heavy feet on the floor that had never been cleaned. Hel, the entire house just smelled of his father when he didn't even know his father had a scent.
The brunet slowly crossed the floor and noted with a pang that the largest chair at the head of the table would no longer be needed as it obviously wouldn't fit him without dwarfing him like a child again. He slid his fingers across the back of it before pausing in the doorway of his father's bedroom. It really was just an extension of the main room with half a wall blocking it off from the front door's view. The large wooden bed was lined with furs of his father's hunting prizes and his meager possessions were thrown about in a way that looked as if he was just out with the people and would be coming back soon.
But he never would be back would he?
Hiccup choked at the thought and quickly turned away to grab at his face, covering his mouth and nose with trembling fingers. An arm wrapped tight about his torso as a feeling of nausea washed over him.
The acrid scent of burned flesh bit at his senses and wrung around him like a fur throw on a cold day. Sulfur caused by the smoke of a dragon's blast blended with this and reminded him of raids long forgotten and of strangling fear caused by the dragons that roared with fury just outside his door...
"Oh gods…" Hiccup murmured and swiftly shook his head to try and rid himself of the memory's smell. Water gathered at the corners of his eyes and the young chief slid to his knees as he leaned against the doorframe for support. His hand had not moved from his face and soon his fingers were wet with tears. "It's all my fault…"
There was nothing to think about now. No people to discuss strategies and defense plans with. No dragons to calm down or train. No homes to build, no ice to clean, nothing but to finally grieve for the father he had lost.
And for the optimistic innocence he had paid with.
A/N: I adored How to Train Your Dragon 2. I've seriously watched it 3 times. But one thing that bothers me is the lack of grief the family had after Stoick's death. I understand the need because of the urgency of the situation but it still seemed so rushed at the end. So I wanted to write about those emotions finally coming to the light after setting them aside for the moment of war. The quote is from the book series though. Not the movie. Though it may not be exact wording as I didn't look it up and recalled from memory.
Until we meet again~
- Zehava