Hiccup is sick of telling his story, but Stoick makes him. He opts to tell it his way
|Hiccup had greeted the envoy and his wife when they arrived. He’d done the Heir things—show them the village, ask about them and Meathead, offer a tour on dragonback—and left his dad to handle the rest. It’s wasn’t the end of his duties, and when Stoick told him to be at Mead Hall this evening, Hiccup knew what to expect.
Stoick wanted him to tell his story.
Every new visitor to Berk had to hear the story. Stoick phrased it as asking questions, bu5 the questions were abou5 what version their guests heard and whether it was true. Hiccup got recount it in excruciating detail, always said in a Stoick-approved manner. Stoick’s version lacked many of the unflattering details, and Hiccup felt like a fraud each time he told it.
He was fed up with the regular recitals, and torn between the twin desires of pleasing his dad and staying in the background.
Tonight, Hiccup had a plan to tell the real tale and let someone outside of the tribe know how badly he’d screwed up. The accolades wore on him. Stoick didn’t have that much to be proud of, and if Hiccup had to embarass himself publicly to an important guest, he’d do it. It was better than letting his dad believe a lie.
Hiccup had staked out a table nearer to Stoick’s. He’d be accessible, but not have to endure the entire evening there.
Currently, he was sitting with his friends. Tuffnut was jabbing a Nadder quill into the tabletop, with his sister greasing the area to make it slide out of control. Snotlout had offered to take Hiccup’s place at the Chief’s table, and tell of his own mighty deeds.
“Son! Join us!” Stoick’s voice rang through Mead Hall, impossible to ignore. Hiccup