*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2225282-Too-Far
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: ASR · Draft · Fanfiction · #2225282
Hiccup and Toothless have a prank war, and Stoick is sick of it
“I do not know what to do with them, Gobber.” Stoick the Vast ran his fingers through his beard. “I used to look forward to ending the day, leaving the tribe behind, and coming home to Hiccup. Now I want to throttle him for his idiocy and I cannot say I have much concern for the dragon, either.”

“Eh, it’ll work out. You signed up for having a touchy adolescent the moment Hiccup was born. Think of it as a good thing—if your son hates his life and nobody understands him, he’s normal. If you don’t know anything, there’s nothing wrong that a few more years of living won’t cure.” Stoick began walking and Gobber stumped along behind on his peg. “Just wait it out.”

“I swear they are the same age. Toothless is just as moody and irritable as Hiccup, neither will do as I expect. They refuse to listen, but do grumble, whine, and beg. They are stubborn and snarky and their fighting is driving me insane.”

He halted at the base of the hill. A dozen steps upward was Stoick’s home. Haddock house stood two stories tall, an oddity and an extravagance, but not unexpected in the home of a Viking chief. Stoick topped seven feet, and was four hundred pounds of girth draped in scale armor. A bigger house was a necessity, if only to avoid concussion.

“I lost my temper at them this morning.” He scowled, remembering. “I am two bites into dagmal, and hear them growling and snapping at one another upstairs. They came downstairs insulting each other, and Hiccup started accusing the dragon of ‘doing it deliberately.’ Hiccup struck him on the wing, Toothless pinned him to the floor, and I had to restrain them from going further.”

“What did you do, then?” Gobber’s voice was subdued—those two were inseparable until a week ago. Hiccup would do anything for his friend, and Toothless reciprocated it. The fighting was a concern, but the ugly escalation to violence was unlike both of them, and difficult to believe.

“I told them to shut up and listen to me. They were still glaring and snarling at each other, acting like I was not there. I had to grab Hiccup by the chin to make him face me. Toothless laughed at him and I clamped the dragon’s mouth shut.” Hiccup had gone from being sixteen to six in a few moments, and Stoick’s anger at his immaturity was worse than it was for their fighting. “I thought Hiccup could pay attention, had grown up enough to listen to me. I cannot recall the last time I needed to grab him like that—before he turned ten, at least.”

“It sounds frustrating. I dunno what you said, be the lad was in a state today, not wanting to work but pursue some project of his own. He promised to make up the work, so I let him chase whatever idea was in his head. I thought it might help.” Gobber paused, then asked, “What happened next?”

“I told them how sick I was of their stupid quarrel, and I expected to live in a house, not on a battlefield. I told them I was weary to death of the pair of them, and if they refused to make peace, they might have to separate. Then I told them I did not want to see either of them today.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think I went too far?”

“No, I don’t. It’s ridiculous how they’re behaving. You know if this was a real problem, they’d act very differently. This is stubborn pride, Stoick. It doesn’t matter what the fight was about any longer, so long as the other one gives in.”






Stoick’s conversation with Gobber was a break from the stress of being Chief on the island of Berk. The two friends were walking to Stoick’s house, discussing commonplaces.

“So, are the lads finished pranking one another? They were still at it two days ago. Hiccup came to the smithy on crutches, muttering about an obnoxious sack of scales, and spent half the morning lengthening one of his old prosthetics.”

Stoick ran his hand over his face. He was pleased Hiccup had a friend in the Night Fury, and allowed him to live in the house, though most of the dragons stayed in a stable. He was surprised to find he was not so much living with a dragon as he was raising another adolescent. Toothless and Hiccup had similar personalities, a blend of stubbornness and snark.

“Toothless put my son’s leg on the roof and refused to tell him where it went. He’s outgrown his spare, so I sent him to you with instructions to stay there until mid afternoon.” It was funny, until Hiccup threatened to “get” Toothless, and the dragon laughed at him. Stoick had to separate and threaten them before Hiccup did something rash—well, rasher than usual—and began a new level of escalation. “I imagine he ranted at you.”

“Aye, he was furious. He stomped and shouted, then spat curses. ‘Spawn of a half-eel, pox-rotted, pig trough’ was the mildest. I kept handing him slag to hammer—no point in wasting all that anger.” Gobber grinned. “He’s your son, all right.”

“What am I going to do with them, Gobber? They can’t be in the same room without fighting. They’re never like this, this angry and opposed to one another. If they don’t put a stop to this soon, I’ll have to force them to get along.”

“I’m glad it’s not my job. You’d be better off beating your head against a rock than making them apologize. I don’t suppose you know what set it off?”

“According to Hiccup, Toothless gave him a hotfoot. Toothless claimed he had sneezed, and it wasn’t deliberate. I knew it would pass, but the dragon blasted at his other side, the one with the false leg. Hiccup lost his balance and came down hard on the rocks. Toothless then,” Stoick said, “sniggered at my son. It went downhill from there.”

“Toothless claimed? Since when have you been able to speak with the dragon?”

“Facial expressions and body language. He’s a good actor. Half of understanding Toothless comes from Hiccup. ‘You tripped me, don’t deny it.’ ‘If Mildew finds out you dumped his cart of cabbages, we’re so dead.’ ‘Dad better never find out about this.’ My son cannot keep his mouth closed; I do not know whether to worry or laugh at them.” Stoick looked up the hill to his house. “I suppose it’s time to see if anything has improved. Wish me luck, Gobber.” Stoick eyed Gobber. “You could come in. Maybe another person...”
§ § §


“I do not know what to do with them, Gobber.” Stoick the Vast ran his fingers through his beard. “I used to look forward to ending the day, leaving the tribe behind, and coming home to Hiccup. Now I want to throttle him for his idiocy and I cannot say I have much concern for the dragon, either.”

“Eh, it’ll work out. You signed up for having a touchy adolescent the moment Hiccup was born. Think of it as a good thing—if your son hates his life and nobody understands him, he’s normal. If you don’t know anything, there’s nothing wrong that a few more years of living won’t cure.” Stoick began walking and Gobber stumped along behind on his peg. “Just wait it out.”

“I swear they are the same age. Toothless is just as moody and irritable as Hiccup, neither will do as I expect. They refuse to listen, but do grumble, whine, and beg. They are stubborn and snarky and their fighting is driving me insane.”

He halted at the base of the hill. A dozen steps upward was Stoick’s home. Haddock house stood two stories tall, an oddity and an extravagance, but not unexpected in the home of a Viking chief. Stoick topped seven feet, and was four hundred pounds of girth draped in scale armor. A bigger house was a necessity, if only to avoid concussion.

“I lost my temper at them this morning.” He scowled, remembering. “I am two bites into dagmal, and hear them growling and snapping at one another upstairs. They came downstairs insulting each other, and Hiccup started accusing the dragon of ‘doing it deliberately.’ Hiccup struck him on the wing, Toothless pinned him to the floor, and I had to restrain them from going further.”

“What did you do, then?” Gobber’s voice was subdued—those two were inseparable until a week ago. Hiccup would do anything for his friend, and Toothless reciprocated it. The fighting was a concern, but the ugly escalation to violence was unlike both of them, and difficult to believe.

“I told them to shut up and listen to me. They were still glaring and snarling at each other, acting like I was not there. I had to grab Hiccup by the chin to make him face me. Toothless laughed at him and I clamped the dragon’s mouth shut.” Hiccup had gone from being sixteen to six in a few moments, and Stoick’s anger at his immaturity was worse than it was for their fighting. “I thought Hiccup could pay attention, had grown up enough to listen to me. I cannot recall the last time I needed to grab him like that—before he turned ten, at least.”

“It sounds frustrating. I dunno what you said, be the lad was in a state today, not wanting to work but pursue some project of his own. He promised to make up the work, so I let him chase whatever idea was in his head. I thought it might help.” Gobber paused, then asked, “What happened next?”

“I told them how sick I was of their stupid quarrel, and I expected to live in a house, not on a battlefield. I told them I was weary to death of the pair of them, and if they refused to make peace, they might have to separate. Then I told them I did not want to see either of them today.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think I went too far?”

“No, I don’t. It’s ridiculous how they’re behaving. You know if this was a real problem, they’d act very differently. This is stubborn pride, Stoick. It doesn’t matter what the fight was about any longer, so long as the other one gives in.”


He stabbed his hook at Stoick’s chest. “You’re Stoick the Vast—Chieftain, Warrior, living legend—you can handle a couple of teen-agers without my assistance. Besides,” he said, “you can always kick them out to fend for themselves.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He entered the house, prepared to wrangle the pair of them into another truce before he retired.

The fire pit was burning, bringing illumination to the empty room. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted the differences from that morning. The oak table had been polished and reflected the flames in the fire pit. The effect was welcoming and, as far as Stoick could figure, purposeful. The floor had been scrubbed, and the smell of ash soap lingered. The chairs to the table were tucked underneath it, and the polished oak top reflected the flames in the fire pit. A unfamiliar tankard sat at Stoick’s place.

He examined it. The tankard was freshly polished, double the size of an ordinary one, with a handle large enough to fit all of his fingers. One section sported the Clan Haddock crest. Around the remainder of the metal were smaller engravings: the chieftain’s cape, the dragon on his belt buckle, his warhammer. One area had a silhouette of Stoick. Beneath that was an engraving of his helmet, and a tiny one of Hiccup’s helmet, a matched set. The rim was engraved with a series of irregular ovals, the same shape as Night Fury scales.

This was no ordinary vessel. It was larger, yes, but also disproportionately heavy for its size. He hefted it to check the grip, and rose an eyebrow. He had not yet found a tankard that felt heavier than a thimble, but this one had enough weight to be comfortable in his hand. The handle was rectangular, and ran almost the height of it, a breadth that allowed Stoick to fit all of his fingers inside. The thick base added stability—spilling his drink would be less likely.

He examined it. One section sported the Clan Haddock crest. Around the remainder of the metal were smaller engravings: the chieftain’s cape, the dragon on his belt buckle, his warhammer. Beneath the silhouette of Stoick was an engraving of his helmet, and a tiny one of Hiccup’s helmet, a matched set. The base had another silhouette, this one of his dragon Thornado. The rim was etched with a series of irregular ovals the shape of Night Fury scales.

On his chair sat a quarter cask. A sniff told him it was mead, but not his usual stock. He placed it next to the tankard, staring at both items. A memory from ten years past surfaced: his small son, the morning after he got in serious trouble, rising in darkness to tidy the house and set the table before Stoick woke. Hiccup had been shamefaced for his wrongdoing, and distressed he had angered his dad. The actions were an apology, a penance, and a promise to be better.

The tankard came from Hiccup’s inventive brain, coupled with the determination to make things right with his father. Stoick and Toothless were twin anchors, keeping Hiccup from drifting. Stoick’s outburst had both unmoored his son and brought him back to the real world. Each line, curve, and dot etched in the flagon was fueled by his anguish, the anguish of someone who knew how wrong he had been and feared losing what he held as precious—Stoick.


Hiccup had grown, but his character remained the same.

© Copyright 2020 Whiskersisfree! (whiskerface at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2225282-Too-Far