In Lieu Of A Tail

7. A Raiding Rescue

The letters were found two days after Hiccup's departure. Stoick had been standing in the doorway of his son's room and staring at the space. It seemed so empty without Hiccup. All the boy's sketches had been tidied away, which – had the circumstances been different – Stoick would have been very glad about (and had been when the boy had been cleaning it up), as his son's room was usually in a permanent state of messy chaos. But now it was simply wrong.

He had walked into the room and the small bed had groaned in protest as the large man sat down. He had looked up, hoping that the boy's desk was messy – so he could pretend his son was still there – and had been startled that it was very neat, with two envelopes standing up against the pencil pot – one addressed to him, and one to Gobber.

He rose slowly, and reached out carefully – as though he believed going too fast would make the letters disappear. He opened his to find his son's looping, somewhat messy, perfect writing. It said:

Dear Dad,

I know I owe you an explanation for a lot, so let me start with this – I have run away. I'm sorry, it isn't the Viking way, but I believe I have no choice.

I've never been very good at the Viking way anyway.

I know that the village only put up with me because I'm your son. I know they want me to be something I'm not, and I can't take keeping up this image anymore. I'm not a dragon-killing warrior, I'm sorry.

I know I was never a good Viking, too much of 'this', but I like to think that I have helped the village in some ways. No, I'm not very fearsome, or a great warrior, but I promise you that I tried as hard as I could.

Perhaps I am a coward for leaving, but I know I won't regret it. I'm going to figure out who I am. I hope we cross paths again one day, I'm sorry that I was never the best son. I hope that my leaving reduces the number of disasters that happen there, and that one less mouth will make it easier to feed the village during winter.

Maybe you have already disowned me for leaving, or don't want my opinion, but I think that Astrid or Snotlout would make a better heir than me. Once again, I'm sorry that I wasn't the perfect Viking. At least you won't have to worry about me causing trouble anymore.

With love,

Hiccup

Unshed tears glistened in Stoick's eyes, he sat for a moment, before releasing a sob. The tears made tracks down his face, and he let them fall for a long time. The realisation that his son had run away because he thought he was a disappointment made Stoick's heart break. His son had lost his life because of it, and Stoick could never apologise.

After what seemed like an eternity, Stoick got up and carefully put the letter back in its envelope, he put it in his room on the nightstand and splashed his face with water – no one would know their Chief had been crying. He retrieved the letter for Gobber from Hiccup's room and headed towards the forge to deliver it, his heart as heavy as his steps. When Gobber received the letter and read it, he closed the forge for the rest of the day. Gobber plodded into his apprentice's back room and sat on a three-legged, wooden stool. With only a candle for company, the man re-read the letter again, eyes swimming with tears as he glanced around the room at all of the crazy, wonderful, detailed designs his apprentice had created and no one had let him make. Gobber dried his tears and carefully put the letter away, determination burning in his eyes. He grabbed a piece of clean parchment and scribbled a few hasty words down, before grabbing a dagger from a box and using it to secure the paper to the wall.

"I won't forget you, lad." Gobber muttered. "And I'll keep yer father safe."

The Blacksmith left the back room carefully, trying to preserve every reminder of his young apprentice that he could.