𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 ━ how to train your dragon¹

10│A NEW BERK

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❛ sᴛᴏʀᴍʙᴏʀɴ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴇʀᴋ ꒱


❝ THAT'S FOR SCARING ME ❞

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The smoke began to clear away from the fallen queen and Stoick wasted no time in stepping through the fog to look for his son. "Hiccup!" He shouted, peering desperately through the dust and debris. "Hiccup!"

Drogon's distressed screeching continued overhead, lending an eerie sound to the scene. The chief took several more steps towards where the boy had landed as his cries echoed over and over. "Hiccup! Son!"

He froze as a limp black shape emerged from the haze. He gave a sharp intake of breath as realization dawned on him— the Night Fury wasn't moving. "Hiccup."

The chief picked up his pace and jogged to where Toothless lay still. The leather saddle that his son had made was horribly empty as it rose and fell with the dragon's exhausted breathing. Toothless let out a low moan and flopped over. His prosthetic had completely burned away, leaving just half of his tail remaining. When there was still no sign of Hiccup, Stoick fell to his knees and hunched over with grief. "Oh, son." He bent his head guiltily. "I did this."

Drogon finally landed on the Night Fury's other side, but the chief didn't even feel a flicker of fear. The large dragon gently nudged his smaller counterpart with his nose, his great nostrils flaring as he sniffed at his friend. The other dragons landed as well next to their respective riders.

Now that Drogon's cries had stopped, silence fell over the rocky beach. The other Vikings moved closer to the scene while still keeping a respectful distance away. Despite their deference, their reaction to Hiccup's sacrifice was arguably hypocritical as many had viewed him as a nuisance just the day before.

Astrid pushed her way to the front of the crowd, only to give a sharp intake of breath when she saw the scene before her. As everyone lowered their heads in sorrow, Toothless let out a pitiful rumble as his eyes blinked open sleepily. Then, one of his wings shifted as a figure moved underneath. The Night Fury lifted his wing entirely as a girl with silvery-blonde hair pushed herself into an upright position. The Vikings stared at Daenerys Targaryen in awe as she sat up, for she appeared to be completely unharmed, except for the ash that coated her skin and clothes.

She returned their looks with mild discomfort and confusion as she didn't understand why they were looking at her so peculiarly. Then, she looked down at the boy who lay limp in front of her. The relief on Stoick's face was obvious as he pulled his son close with a cry of, "Hiccup!"

The chief threw his helmet to the side so he could put an ear to his son's chest to listen for a heartbeat. He laughed, happy beyond belief that he was— or, at least, would be— okay. "He's alive! You brought him back alive!"

The villagers cheered and clapped at the news, shouting their delight to the sky as they thanked the Gods for the safe return of the chief's son. Stoick first met the Night Fury's eyes, and then the Targaryen's, though the girl's quickly flicked down to focus on his beard instead. "Thank you for saving my son."

Gobber limped to his friend's side and gazed curiously over his shoulder. He grimaced at the sight that greeted him. "Well, you know. . . most of him."

🏹🏹🏹

Hiccup woke slowly from the darkness that had clouded his mind. The light behind his eyelids turned from black to grey, but he took his time in opening his eyes. He didn't know how it was possible, but every part of his body ached— even the parts that he didn't think could hurt, hurt. The hard wooden pallet that he was sleeping on didn't help, but thus was the livelihood of a Viking. At least his pillow was soft and the blankets he was tucked into were warm. So warm, in fact, that he might just drift right back off to sleep. That would be nice, he thought, because in sleep, he wasn't in pain.