38.The teens and cheif's decision

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A poorly put-together sailboat back and forth on the calm morning sea; the waves lapped against the tattered hull of the boat, allowing subtle amounts of water to leak in. The boards were hurriedly hammered together, giving the impression that the boat would break and sink any second. It was noon, several heavy rain clouds filling the sky with threat of a storm, but for the moment, save the sound of the flowing water and the wind against the ragged mast above, all was quiet. But within the mind of Stoick the Vast, who stood at the front of the boat overlooking the wide ocean ahead, the storm had already begun.

A maelstrom of furious desire raging within him, all focused on a single goal, as vague as the journey towards that goal seemed to be. He wanted his son, he contained to think, not caring in the slightest if Hiccup refused or complained in any way. He had put up with his son's incessant whining for 14 years, and this time he would not have any of it; this time he would listen to reason and come home, and Stoick was ready to tie him to the mast of the boat and gag him, forcing him back if need be. Hiccup would return to Berk so that he could be groomed to become Berk's chief – he would hammer the knowledge into his son's head, shove food down his throat to make him strong and throw him into a cell with a hundred dragons so he could kill them all. Berk's chief needed to be perfect in order to restore it to its former glory.

Though he remained perfectly still with his foot on the rim of the ship, in his head Stoick was pacing back and forth, wondering what would happen when he saw his son again. No doubt he would be upset somewhat, but knowing Hiccup he would probably just keep his opinions to himself. He was never the type to engage in any actual conflict, another sign of his weirdness and natural inability to be a proper Viking and chief, but this time it would be all for the better. Besides, surely he would be able to see that his people, his family, had come to take him home, and they would be able to put any past issues behind them. For whatever reason, the boy had a very forgiving nature, and could overlook whatever people might say to him, so really, odds were that this wouldn't take too much effort on their part.

Stoick had been out on the sea searching for just over a week, with his crew composed of Gobber and Hiccup's fellow Vikings from dragon training: Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, and the twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut. The young ones had come of their own volition, Stoick could only assume for various reasons, especially in the case of Snotlout and the twins, who Gobber said were particularly distant from Hiccup, though why Stoick had allowed mere children to come, no one really knew. One thing was for sure, though, and that was they were no longer children – they had grown up and were now on the cusp of adulthood themselves. Save for Snotlout and the twins, who still seemed the same as they were eight years ago; then again, no one really expected those muttonheads to grow up. Really, though, they all retained some aspect of their former selves, perhaps due to the stasis Berk had found itself in since Hiccup's disappearance. Some assumed that was why the teens decided to go with Stoick – so they could find the truth, accept reality, and finally move on with their lives, as empty as those lives would be now that the war was seemingly over and there was no real path forward.

Out of his peripheral vision, Stoick could see the young Hofferson girl making her way to the front of the ship to join him. Astrid's appearance had changed quite a bit in the years between – if anything, she had now become even more gorgeous. Her hair was now neater, the bangs that covered her left eye parted back, with her usual braid hanging behind. She wore a short cape of fur secured by her skull pins and the iron pauldrons on her shoulders atop a cloth-wrapped red shirt. Her skirt was composed of fur and spiked leather with a belt of skulls, and wore arm and leg bands made entirely of fur and bound by rope. Her favorite axe was slung over her shoulder, carefully sharpened and preserved, though as hard as she or Gobber tried, they could never match the refined quality that Hiccup had always placed into their work.

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