Gothi and Hiccup

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 loved him with all he had, 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, winning 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 loved him with all he had, 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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“I threw him through those doors and all I saw was my son’s betrayal. Hiccup fought me over that dragon, shouting and glaring at me, nothing I had seen before from him. He was no one I knew, Gothi, a miserable speck of defiance daring to challenge me over a beast that ravaged this tribe.” His shoulders sagged. “When I learned he knew the location of the nest, everything else vanished. I would pry that information out of him; I knew Hiccup wanted me to be pleased with him, to be proud of him, and I used that against him. He ceased being my son, my boy, and became my adversary. I would defeat Hiccup, I would break him, and I would take the nest.”

Gothi waited. Stoick had to get this out before the guilt and shame consumed him as the search for the nest once had done. “Once I knew the Night Fury could locate the nest, I abandoned Hiccup. He ran after me, pleaded with me, and finally begged me to listen, just once. I thrust him to the ground, and told him he was neither a Viking nor my son.” Stoick dropped his head, as if holding it up was too much effort. She touched his shoulder, and he drew a breath before continuing. “All that pride I had shown in him ten minutes earlier, gone because he refused to kill a dragon. He knew how I would react and tried to reach me. I would not listen. He tried to protect me and I disowned him. He flew to the nest and rescued the tribe, rescued me, and I did not deserve it.”

Stoick wept, with great, shuddering sobs that he could release in front of no one else. She had grown up with Stoick’s father, befriended his mother, and delivered him into this world. He was floundering and her steadiness gave him something to grasp, allowing him to stay upright.

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