The dragon riders

Chapt 17

Hiccups pov
             "Do you still have my old clothes?" I questioned my father anxiously as we approached Berk. His eyes met mine, puzzled. "Yes, but why do you need them?" he inquired. I responded firmly, "I just do." As we descended upon Berk, a sea of survivors greeted us. They were scattered about, some eating, others resting, and a few receiving aid.
              My father turned to me, concern etched on his face. "So hiccup what should we do about the rations?" he asked a little annoyed this happened. With determination, I replied, "Leave that to me. We'll provide for them tonight, but come morning, we'll gather the capable men and women to fight. The rest will be sent to Dragon Island."
               Confusion washed over my father's expression. "Dragon Island?" he queried. I held his gaze firmly, asserting, "It's my island." I signaled Toothless to soar above the survivors, ensuring my voice reached every ear. "All capable men and women of age must stay and join our army," I proclaimed, the urgency evident in my tone. "Everyone else must return to the ships and prepare to depart for Dragon Island. That is all."
              The crowd was silent but then they lifted ther fists into the air, the one capable rising to their feet, pledging their allegiance. They chanted "down with enemy". I smiled at the crowd of men and woman willing to fight for me.
         I soared back toward my father, urgency in my flight. "I need you to bring the clothes to the springs," I commanded, pointing him in the right direction. "Just follow the red marks on the trees." With that, I swiftly departed, heading for the springs. Erik's voice trailed behind me, filled with curiosity. "Why are we here?" he inquired. I turned, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. "You all need a bath," I declared.
             Amidst the collective sighs of annoyance, I retorted, "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't want you all covered in mud. When was the last time you took a bath?" Silence hung in the air as Erik admitted, "A month ago." I fell quiet, consumed by regret. I was supposed to go the Shadow Strikers tribe, for their success in freeing dragons from Drago's hunters, a month ago.I could have prevented everything that unfolded on that accursed island. But instead, I was captured by them.
              "Are you alright?" Erik's concerned voice broke through my thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, attempting to shake off the weight of my failure to protect. We descended near the springs, and I led them to my favorite secluded spot. It was a sanctuary, shielded from prying eyes, with smooth edges and gentle waters. Ivan practically leapt into the water, while little Saga trailed closely behind. Their appearance reflected the harsh reality of their recent struggles — scarce food and lack of cleanliness.
              Runa hesitated at the water's edge, wariness etched across her face. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface before hastily retracting. "Is there any way to make it warmer?" she inquired, she was tortured with water, cold freezing water. They would get her wet and chain her up outside.
       Without a word, I beckoned Toothless, and he shot a blast of plasma to the water. Runa tested the temperature once more, then undressed, surrendering herself to the now comforting warmth. I observed the three of them joyfully splashing about before turning my gaze to Erik.
           He stood there, apprehension etched on his young face, as if he never wanted to remove his clothes again. My heart ached for him — such an innocent boy. I crouched down to his level and spoke gently, "Bud, I know you don't want to take them off, but I need you to do it. You need to get clean and put on proper clothes."
            He tugged at his sleeve, uncertainty evident in his eyes. "Can you wash yourself?" I asked, hoping for a glimmer of self-reliance. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper, "No, the maids always did it."
          "Well then, bud, I'm going to have to wash you myself," I asserted. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with solemnity. "I trust you wouldn't do anything to me, but I'm scared," he confided. I met his gaze, my voice gentle but resolute. "I understand, bud.  But I've helped raise you, and I would never, ever do anything to hurt you," I reassured him. A weak smile formed on his lips, and he slowly removed his makeshift shirt, easing himself into the water.
           " I need to wash myself too. Is that okay with you?" I asked, seeking his consent. After a brief moment of contemplation, he nodded. I discarded my clothes and prosthetic, leaving only my shorts on. With a splash, I immersed myself in the water, ready to attend to the task at hand.
           I began with the younger ones, as they were the dirtiest from their recent struggles. I have washed them a million times before and knew that none of them were ever this cooperative. I think they missed getting cleaned. I scrubbed and brushed them tenderly, knowing their bodies and their needs like the back of my hand. Every now and then, Toothless would warm the water, ensuring their comfort.
           Just as I started to wash Erik, my father and Gobber barged in, carrying a trunk. "Hiccup, are you in here? I have—" my father's voice from outside, I could feel Erik was scared so when they walked in, I hastily shouted at them, "Turn around!" They immediately complied, continuing the conversation outside. "We have the clothes, but why did you need them?" my father asked, his curiosity evident. I responded, my tone firm and resolute, "The children need warm and dry clothes to sleep in."
            "Why are you cleaning them?" Gobber's gruff voice interrupted, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Well, first of all, they needed a good bath," I explained, emphasizing each point with my actions. "Secondly, they trust me implicitly. And thirdly, I've been cleaning them since they were in diapers."
             "Since diapers?" my father questioned, confusion etching his face. I let out an exasperated sigh. "What, losing your memory already, old man?" I retorted, earning a grumble in response. He couldn't help but inquire further. "How old is the eldest one?" he asked, genuine curiosity coloring his words. "Winglet, how old are you?" I asked. His face lit up at the sound of his nickname. "Ten," he replied, barely above a whisper.
             "Ten!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with disbelief as I resumed brushing Erik's hair. Gobber's voice interjected, his tone laden with frustration. "You've been gone for ten years! You've been consorting with the enemy since you left!" My hand stilled in Erik's hair as I calmly corrected him. "Not since I left, Gobber. It was around ten months in when I started working with them. And that's only because I converted them into dragon riders."
                The knot in Erik's hair tugged at my patience, mirroring the tangled web of alliances and secrets that surrounded us. My father's voice cut through the air, his curiosity piqued. "How did you convert them? They despised dragons more than us," he questioned. I let out a weary sigh, wrestling with the tangled strands before responding, "I saved them from Drago's army. You see, old man, the only reason why you weren't captured by Drago's army is that our island is in the middle of nowhere."
                 With Erik finally free of the stubborn knot, I instructed him to go and play. Turning my attention to myself, I immersed in washing my own body. The weight of the truth and the burdens I carried washed away with each stroke. My father and Gobber continued their questions, seeking answers in the chaos of our reunion. "Well then, how did they find us?" my father pressed. Weariness settled in my bones as I replied, "We had a spy, and you know him all too well."
              "Who?" Gobber's voice rang out, filled with disbelief. "Trader Johann," I confessed. My father's voice carried a mixture of surprise and disdain. "That clumsy oaf," he muttered. I locked eyes with them both, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "That clumsy oaf is a warlord driven by power and greed. He is one of Drago's most valuable spies because he can be a master of deception," I explained, the truth hanging heavily in the air. "He's been playing all of you."
              "How do you know?" my father inquired, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. Stepping out of the water, I handed the children towels to cover themselves, their innocence protected even in the midst of chaos. Assisting in drying and clothing them, determination etched upon my face. "Do you remember when he first showed up?" I asked, a tinge of bitterness creeping into my voice. "About five years ago," my father replied, his memory slowly piecing together the fragments.
                With tenderness, I dried the youngest one, her hair ruffled affectionately, and dressed her gently, placing a loving kiss on her forehead. "That's around the time we discovered he was a spy," I revealed, the weight of betrayal lingering in my words. "I am the most wanted person, and they want the Dragon Master dead."
                As I continued to dry and clothe the other two children, Ivan decided to be a bit of a challenge. "Would you like to dress yourself?" He nodded, and I turned away, providing him with privacy. Swiftly, I changed into fresh clothes, making sure to shield the little ones' innocent eyes. "Why do they want you dead?" Gobber's gruff voice demanded an explanation.
              The weight of my actions and their consequences settling heavily upon me. "The most obvious reason is that I've saved and liberated Drago's dragon collection and his unwilling villages," I responded, the truth hanging in the air like an unspoken oath. My attention returned to Erik, who was now fully clothed. Drawing closer to him, I planted a series of tender kisses on his forehead, a silent reminder of his worth. "There's my handsome little man," I whispered, eliciting a giggle from him. "Stop it, Hiccup. I'm a big boy now," he protested playfully.
              "Alright, alright," I relented, a smile dancing on my lips. I guided them back to the camp, Stoick and Gobber still caught in a whirlwind of questions. Upon reaching the campsite, I gathered the children and addressed them firmly. "Alright, you've got about an hour to play before dinner, but after dinner, it's lights out. Understood?" I stated, my voice carrying a hint of authority.
             They nodded and scampered off to play, their laughter filling the air, but Erik remained on the sidelines, his gaze fixed on the lively scene before him. A concerned frown creased my brow—I knew it was time for a heart-to-heart with him, a conversation that only Rapunzel's wisdom could truly facilitate. Though my knowledge on the subject was limited, she possessed the insight needed to help him heal.
              Setting up a fire and tending to dinner, I prepared a hearty meal of potato and carrot soup with tender chicken. Just as I was engrossed in cooking, Spitelout emerged from the forest, seeking out my father's presence. "Stoick, there you are. What's with all these people?" he inquired, his gruff voice cutting through the air.
                Taking the initiative to respond, I interjected, "They're survivors. They're only staying for the night, and those capable enough will join us in the fight." "You should join us for dinner" my father says. My hope silently pleaded for Spitelout to decline my father's invitation to dinner.
                 "Sure," Spitelout responded, accepting the invitation without hesitation. He took a seat alongside my father and Gobber, joining us around the fire. Curiosity burning in his eyes, Spitelout couldn't help but question Erik, "What's with the boy". "He doesn't want to play" I responded quickly. Gobber, ever the voice of traditional wisdom, remarked, "That's how they grow lazy, lad." I sighed, growing frustrated by their lack of understanding. "Look, he just doesn't feel like playing. He's tired and simply wants to eat," I explained, my tone firm yet tinged with weariness.
                 "What happened in that room" he asks. "What room" I ask trying to play dumb. "You know what room, what happened" he asked again. Engrossed in my task, I chopped the vegetables with increased aggression, memories of Erik's painful past resurfacing with each slice. Attempting to calm myself, I let out a sigh that betrayed my inner turmoil. "They were criminals of the worst kind," I finally disclosed, my voice heavy with the weight of unspeakable acts "I did what was right".
                 "Right! Those men were mutilated" he said. "What's right isn't always moral" I said. "What did they do to the boy" spitelout asks. My patience waning, I raised the knife, its glint a silent warning. "That is none of your concern. All you need to know is that he is fragile, especially now," I warned, my gaze locked with Spitelout's. "You better not say anything or I will gut you like a pig."
                  He raised his hands defensively, assuring me, "the kid finally grew a pair" he laughs "I would never". I glared at him, my distrust lingering in the air. As the soup began to boil, I approached Erik, my heart heavy with the weight of his pain. "Hey, bud. What are you doing here all by yourself?" I asked, my voice gentle. He shrugged, his voice barely audible. "Don't feel like playing." My mind raced for a solution, a way to lift his spirits.
                "Well, how about drawing? Do you feel like drawing?" I suggested. A faint smile graced his weary face as he nodded. I handed him my sketchbook and a pencil. "Here you go, Winglet," I said, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. With that, I returned to the food, attempting to immerse myself in the task at hand, while silently praying for healing and solace to find its way into Erik's wounds, both physical and emotional.
              Approaching the pot, Spitelout's disapproving expression meets my gaze. "What?" I question, my voice laced with annoyance. "You're treating that boy as if he's still a baby," he remarks with disdain. "He's still a kid, Spitelout," I retort. "He looks old enough to stop getting kisses and hugs," he insists. I scoff, a tinge of sarcasm seeping into my words. "Oh, okay. So when do you think I should stop?" I fire back. "Never, especially with a boy. It makes them soft," he asserts, his words filled with misguided notions of masculinity.
                  I can't help but laugh, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of his statement. "Are you hearing yourself right now? You're admitting that you neglected your children and believe that my kid doesn't need love because he's a boy," I say, my voice tinged with both incredulity and anger. "Exactly! You want a warrior, not a pansy," he declares confidently.
                  The disbelief surges within me, and I can't contain my response. "Okay, motherfucker, don't you dare tell me how to raise kids when you've royally fucked up your own," I snap. "My boys are fine," he retorts stubbornly. I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "No, the fuck they're not. They're my cousins, and they tell me everything," I say, exposing the truth.
                   "Watch that kid, he's going to be a worthless pansy piece of junk," he spews, his words dripping with spite. The rage boils within me, and I lash out, my fist connecting squarely with his nose. He stumbles backward, writhing in pain. As my crew and the gang make their appearance from the forest, Merida approaches, her eyes wide with shock.
                "Okay, so everyone is in a tent and fed. We've made a list of who can stay to fight, and oh my gods, what did you do?" she exclaims, concern etched on her face. "He deserved it," I reply, my voice defiant. Snoutlout gazes at his father, then lets out a chuckle, unable to suppress his laughter.
                 "Ooo, what's for dinner?" Frost inquires, shifting the focus. "A potato and carrot soup with chicken," I announce, diverting my attention to check on the simmering soup. "Dinner's ready!" I call out, summoning everyone to gather. The children come running eagerly, their hunger evident. I serve the kids first, ensuring they're taken care of before attending to my crew, the gang, my father, and Gobber. Meanwhile, Spitelout remains sprawled on the floor, nursing his pain.
               "Hiccup, who's the man on the floor?" Ivan asks innocently. I respond without hesitation, my voice firm and unyielding, "A bitch." Snoutlout chokes on his food, attempting to stifle his laughter, as the tension in the air breaks, replaced by a sense of chaotic camaraderie.
                Rapunzel playfully punched me, her disappointment evident in her expression. "Oh, right," I conceded, realizing my mistake. "You can only say that word if it's true." She facepalms, and laughter erupts all around us. As we continued eating, we discussed plans to gather more troops. Eventually, we settled on a decision (that I may or may not have acted like a complete bitch to get): I would take my crew, leaving Eret behind to teach the people of Berk how to ride dragons.
                  "I still say this is stupid," my father interjects with a sigh. "Well, I'm crazy, so it works," I retort, not backing down. The meal comes to an end, and I glance up at the sky. "Clear night," I exclaim, loud enough for everyone to hear. Astrid looks at me inquisitively. "What does a clear night mean?" she asks. Beamer chimes in, "It means we get to sleep by our dragons." Icy adds, "If it ain't raining or snowing, then we get to be by their sides."
                   With that knowledge, I scoop up the younger two children, who are already dozing off, while the older ones eagerly run towards Toothless, who has invited them to rest beside him. I gently place the children down, snuggling close to Toothless and pulling them near. Toothless lowers his wing, providing a cozy blanket for us.
                  "Hiccup," Erik calls out to me. "Yes, Winglet?" I respond, curious about his request. "Can you tell us stories?" he asks, his eyes pleading. "I thought you were a big boy" playfully teasing him. Yet, his puppy eyes weaken my resolve, and I sigh, giving in to his plea. "Alright, let's see," I begin, searching for an appropriate tale to share. "Ahh, okay, so once upon a time..."