The Brothers

Today was council meeting, and there was no sign of Hiccup. Gothi had hoped to see him here; something was percolating through that head of his. He’d visited her a few weeks past, asking for writings of the founding families on Berk. He focused on the Haddocks and the Jorgensons, and told her it was related to his studies. Hiccup didn’t try to lie to her, but he’d learned to be truthfully vague, and her curiosity was unsatisfied; she felt a bit cheated.

Several dozen tribe members waited and she knew their concerns would have nothing to do with the council. Stoick would listen to them, grinding his teeth, and in a gruff, patient tone, help them with whatever the problem was. It drove her chief insane, but he listened. Stoick refused to be a tyrant, though Gobber once remarked to him that a little tyranny would be a good thing if it meant the meetings ended sooner. She settled a Terror on her shoulders for warmth and resigned herself to a tedious morning.

Stoick began the meeting by announcing he would see to everyone with a concern first and focus on council business later. He sent Gobber to ferry people forward, and instructed them to summarize the problem or be sent outside. Stoick had never done this that she could recall, though his father regularly gave short shrift to nonsense complaints. It was eye-opening to watch her Chief. He had no patience with the foolishness they brought before him and offered terse replies.

“That requires a trial and cannot be settled here. Goodbye, Hulda.”

“Stop speaking to each other or settle the argument. You are dismissed.”

“I answered this question two meetings ago; my answer stands. Gobber, who is next?”

The council caught Stoick’s mood; several councilors found things to do; one began whittling, two were wagering on the length of the meeting, and Gothi petted her Terror while watching the crowd. Spitelout stood halfway down the line, glowering and muttering “idiots” and “foolishness.” If people argued Stoick’s dismissals, he directed them to Spitelout, “who, as a member of this council, is fit to judge the urgency of these complaints. He shall report back to me.” Once Spitelout focused his full attention on the complainer, no one took the offer. Folk in the back were leaving and several people looked inside, watched the proceedings, and kept going.

Gobber shut the door on the last supplicant, and smirked. “Good going, Stoick. That’s put them in their place, right enough. I never thought you’d...”

Stoick cut him off. “Now on to council business. We have the Meathead Chief coming next month with his Heir. Hiccup has agreed...” Gothi snickered; Gobber was flabbergasted at being cut off for council business. The councilors expected a few minutes to talk and argue before they got started—that’s what always happened. You caught up with the others, gossiped a little, discussed the village doings, and did some business in a leisurely way. Stoick wanted to be done with everyone, not just the bellyachers. It intrigued her, this new behavior, and she needed to record this meeting for the Gothi’s tribal archives and the separate set of Haddock records.

“Stoick.”

“Spitelout. Good to see you.”

“Aye. How’s that lunatic son of yours?”

“Fine. I saw him last night, for a change. How’s my nephew?”

“Haven’t killed him yet.”

“Good.”

“Hiccup had an idea. Did Snotlout tell you about it?”

“He did, last night. How did your boyo come up with that one?”

“I have no idea. He kept saying it was a good plan, and the more he spoke the more it made sense. Did you agree to it when Snotlout asked?”

“It’s a ridiculous idea. Hiccup trains my son to do his job? What’s wrong with using me or Gobber or Hoark as a replacement?”

“Hiccup wants people his age to work with. As he pointed out, I have you and Gobber; why not have Snotlout working with him?”

“Snotlout said Hiccup’s idea was crazy, and it is.”

“You have not answered my question. Did you agree to it? I want to know how many boys I have to feed.”

Spitelout snorted. “I agreed to it. That boy of yours has a point about weapons training. He needs more than what he has, and has the smarts to ask me to train him.”

“That boy always has a point; it wears me out, the things he comes up with. His reasoning made sense. All of it was practical and I have to let him try.”

“Aye. My boyo needs a shove to do something else, and Hiccup’s good at provoking him. Must get it from you, brother.”

“So, Snotlout moves in today. Have you thought about this, Spite?” Stoick chortled.

“What d’you mean, Stoick? We’ve heard the plan and agreed—what else is there?”

“Snotlout’s the only son you have, and he’s used to sisters. Hiccup’s an only child. Now they plan to live under one roof.”

“Thor Almighty!” Spitelout exploded. “They’ll be brothers.”

“Aye, they will. They will see each other all the time. Hiccup expects you to drag your son to his training sessions. Breakfast, bed, patrols, training—they will never be shut of each other.”

“Hiccup thinks this is a good idea, and my son agreed.” Gobber heard a rumbling noise and realized Spitelout was laughing. “They asked us for this.”

“They did, brother. Snotlout agreed to Hiccup training him, and Hiccup spent ages trying to find a way to convince me.”

“I cannot believe it. Those muttonheads are going to drive one another crazy.”

“Would you make me a deal, Spite?”

“That’s an evil grin you have.”

“Tell me everything that happens on your end, and I’ll do the same. I am sure Snotlout doesn’t expect to share a room with Toothless. That alone will be comical to see.”

“Snotlout snores.”

“So does the dragon. I have no idea how Toothless will take this—he’s not fond of sharing my son, even with Astrid.”

“Your son is intelligent, but thick as four bricks, brother.” Spitelout’s grin was infectious.

“Both of them are. Snotlout's worse than Hiccup.”

“It’s a draw.”

“Oh, gods. I just realized Hiccup attends most of the council meetings. He hates them and Snotlout will get dragged along.” Stoick laughed and Spitelout joined him.

“I never thought Hiccup that vicious. It warms my heart, Stoick, how he takes after you.”

§ § §

Today was a council meeting. Gothi had hoped to see Hiccup here; something was percolating through that head of his. He’d visited her a few weeks past, asking to see her writings on the founding families on Berk. He focused on the Haddocks and the Jorgensons. He “It’s like nothing I’ve done before. This ought to work and I’ll tell you everything when it happens; you’ll want it for the archive.” Then he’d collected the documents, saying, “I need to put these Jorgenson and Haddock records away, Gothi. Do you want them close to hand?” Stoick’s son had mischief in his expression, and she understood his efforts would go into the tribal archives and the family histories. Evil child, making her wait while giving her a hint to whet her appetite. She shook her staff at him and he’d laughed, knowing she’d give him some time to accomplish whatever ridiculous, brilliant, unheard-of idea he had this time.

Several dozen tribe members waited and she knew their concerns would have nothing to do with the council. Stoick would listen to them, grinding his teeth, and in a gruff, patient tone, help them with whatever the problem was. It drove her chief insane, but he listened. Stoick refused to be a tyrant, though Gobber once remarked to him that a little tyranny would be a good thing if it meant the meetings ended sooner. She settled a Terror on her shoulders for warmth and resigned herself to a tedious morning.




Hiccup arrived at her hut several weeks ago and Gothi knew something was in the wind. He wore an anxious, eager expression that meant some plan was percolating through his head. She was generally supportive of those—much good came from them—but the quality of today’s look suggested something more than usual. She hoped it wasn’t dangerous; patching him up after some trial or experiment went awry was becoming tedious, and if he didn’t take better care of himself, she’d enlist Astrid to keep him intact. But from what he told her, it wasn’t risky, just new.

“Gothi, can I talk to you? I need your help.”

She tapped the floor twice, her sign for “yes,” and he folded his lanky frame into a chair.

“I’m trying something new, something I’ve never done before, and I’m nervous about it. I know I’ve done a lot of things that are new, but this isn’t something I can build or draw. I know how to design things, I can forge well, and dragons are...well, I’m good with them too. But not this.” She closed her hand, a generic “keep going/tell me/come closer” gesture. Hiccup hesitated, rubbing his neck.

“To do this, I have to work with people. I’m not good at that, but I know I can do this. I have to do it myself this time. I can’t get advice from anyone. The only one who knows is Toothless, and he’s not going to stop me.” The Night Fury gave a derisive snort, and Gothi knew wherever Hiccup had planned, it wasn’t lethal.

“This is worthwhile, Gothi. I’m not inventing something or trying a new dragon-riding skill. I’m not losing focus and getting injured. The benefits can be enormous and this time, it’s not about me. It has nothing to do with riding dragons or making shields or practicing rescue techniques. No matter how useful that stuff is, it’s Hiccup stuff. I’m trying to be more than that. It doesn’t matter if I get sagas written about the Red Death if I’m rotten at everything else. I’ve been pathetic, I’ve been a burden, I’ve made life harder for my father and this tribe.”

She stopped him with a glare and thrust her staff into his shoulder. He yelped, and rubbed the spot. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have expected to get away with saying all that. It doesn’t change that I never stayed put and didn’t listen. I broke things, caused injuries, and got in the way. I hurt a lot of people, especially Dad.” Rueful, that was the word she wanted for Hiccup’s expression. She saw Stoick look like that when Hiccup was unconscious and listened to him berate himself about his treatment of Hiccup. Stoick had cause—he recounted the scene in the Meade Hall for her and his horror of that beast, of seeing Hiccup willing to drown to save his dragon when Stoick rejected him. How Stoick refused to listen and led the entire tribe into danger. How he thrust Hiccup to the floor, telling him he wasn’t a Viking or his son. How he and Gobber were about to die when Hiccup saved him, saved all of them, by leading a group of teenagers who’d never seen battle to stop that horrific beast. How Hiccup ran straight to the Night Fury to fight that monster but hesitated to meet Stoick’s eyes when he followed. How easily he forgave Stoick and the battle fire in his eyes as he prepared to fight. The earnest way he looked at his father, his useless, stupid, foolhardy father, and thanked Stoick for saying he was proud. She let him get it into the open before she slapped him and told him to move forward with his son. Hiccup was a forgiving child and he’d forgive his father almost anything. He tried so much to please Stoick, and now they had the opportunity for closeness.

Two years on, Hiccup was doing the same thing.

“I need to do something for the tribe that lasts. Bork the Bold studied every kind of dragon he could and wrote about them. We have all his papers at the Academy. Everyone knows what Bork did, and we still benefit from his work. I don’t need to be famous, though I’ll be remembered anyway. I want to do something that benefits the tribe for a long time. I’m going to lead the them someday and I need to be ready to do that. I want to help them now.”

She scattered fresh sand and scrawled a question. “Why am I doing this? Because I can’t sit around doing nothing when I can help this tribe.”

She scrawled again, and Hiccup read her runes. “Why now? Well, I guess it’s Dad. He’s been taking me around Berk and teaching me a lot of stuff—you know, for when I’m Chief.” That explained the anxiety. “It’s great he’s doing that, but it feels wrong. I mean, he knows how to do this stuff, he’s been Chief for decades and I feel like I’m not able to cope with it all. The job is going to be mine someday, and all I’m doing is listening to my father tell me how to do things.” The yellow Terror, Flip, crawled into his lap, and he began stroking the dragon. “I want to accomplish something I’ve thought up on my own. I can’t just follow his instructions, or I’ll always look to him for the answers.” He rested his hand on the terror’s head. “Even if I screw it up, I have to try something myself; I can’t be Stoick the Vast, but I can be better than I am now. If this all goes wrong, it won’t hurt the tribe, just my family. That’s nothing new, anyway. Gods, screwing up and letting people down is my skill set.”

Gothi whacked him harder this time, just before Toothless slapped him with his tail. “Ow! Watch it, reptile, I’m the one that feeds you.” Gothi immediately scratched Toothless; he purred and closed his eyes, and they won a look of exasperation from Hiccup. “Gothi, the tribe has to have confidence in me and I don’t have confidence in myself. Maybe if I accomplish this, they’ll forget I was a disaster for all those years and have some pride in me as someone who can lead them.” Ah. He wants to prove himself to Stoick again.

§ § §

“This is worthwhile, Gothi. I’m not inventing something or trying a new dragon-riding skill. I’m not losing focus and getting injured. The benefits can be enormous and this time, it’s not about me. It has nothing to do with riding dragons or making shields or practicing rescue techniques. No matter how useful that stuff is, it’s Hiccup stuff. I’m trying to be more than that. It doesn’t matter if I get sagas written about the Red Death if I’m rotten at everything else. I’ve been pathetic, I’ve been a burden, I’ve made life harder for my father and this tribe.”

She stopped him with a glare and thrust her staff into his shoulder. He yelped, and rubbed the spot. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have expected to get away with saying all that. It doesn’t change that I never stayed put and didn’t listen. I was always in the way. I’m responsible for injuring people, Gothi. I made life harder for everyone, especially Dad. I can’t take any of it back.” Hiccup was rueful.

When Hiccup was unconscious, Stoick told her everything that transpired between them. Stoick recounted how he thrust Hiccup to the floor, telling him he wasn’t a Viking or his son. How he and Gobber were about to die when Hiccup saved him, saved all of them, by leading a group of teenagers who’d never seen battle to stop that horrific beast. How Hiccup ran straight to the Night Fury to fight that monster but hesitated to meet Stoick’s eyes when he followed. How easily he forgave Stoick and the battle fire in his eyes as he prepared to fight. The earnest way he looked at his father, his useless, stupid, foolhardy father, and thanked Stoick for saying he was proud. He spent almost an hour berating himself before she slapped him and told him to move forward with his son. Hiccup was a forgiving child and he’d forgive his father almost anything. He tried so much to please Stoick, and now they had the opportunity for closeness.

Two years on, Hiccup was doing the same thing.


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