Broken Prophecy: How to Train Your Dragon

THE BROKEN PROPHECY Chapter 3

This is a fanfic and I make no money from this. Original copyrights belong to Dreamworks and Cresedia Cowell

Chapter 3

     "Hiccup!" Stoick's call echos through the house, before opening his son's bedroom door, "Time to get up, Son. Breakfast is ready and... Ya'... aren'... here." With a harumph of frustration, Stoick looks around the room. Sheets of paper and a mug filled with charcoal-sticks sits on a table in one corner. Candles melted down to nubs and an endless assortment of sketches cover every inch of workspace. Some of the cleaner ones, adorn the walls. Stoick stares blankly at the scribbles, unable to make head-nor-tail of his son's passion. Shaking his head, he closes the door and returns to the common room. Heaping a pile of food on his own plate, he sits in silence. His mind busy with the days plans. Finishing his breakfast, he drops his plate into the small tub reserved for washing the dishes. For a moment, the silence overtakes the burley Viking, and a strange sense of uneasiness settles in his core. Plopping his helm atop his head, he runs his hand through his untamed beard before clearing his absent son's plate. Again he is overcome by a feeling of foreboding, Stoick the Vast, chieftain of the Hairy Hooligan tribe looks at the empty seat at the table and shudders. Without a word, he turns and leaves the small house and walks to the Great Hall.

     Taking his seat at the head of the large circular table, Stoick stares for a few moments into the glowing embers in the central firepit. Turning his mind back to the daily chore of leading his village, he is barely able to bury his unease in the mundane tasks. Eventually the majority of the village have joined the leader and his council. Before the meeting has a chance to breakup, Stoick puts forth his plan. "We need to find the dragon's nest. Drive the devils from their home, and they will have to look elsewhere for food. We have enough time to send one more expedition to find the nest, before the ice sets in. So, who's with me!!"

     Grumbles, and complaints reach his ears. "Well then, in that case... Those who stay behin' can look after Hiccup!" The sudden change in tone to excited willingness gives Stoick a moment of pause. Using Hiccup as a threat weighs him with a momentary pang of guilt, but he squashes the feeling, needing to focus on developing plans for the search of the dragon nest.

     As the meeting had dispersed, leaving a small handful of villagers behind, Stoick hears his best friend mutter, "Well, I'll go and pack my undies".

     "Gobber, I need ya' to stay behind and train a batch of new recruits".

     "Oh great. What about Hiccup? Molten metal, shop full of tools, all that time to himself, what could possibly go wrong".

     "What am I going to do with him?" Stoick asks his friend.

     "Put him in training with the others."

     Stoick gives a bark like laugh at the idea, "He'd be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage."

     "You dona' know that".

     "I do know that."

     "No you don't."

     "I do know that, actually."

     "You cana' stop him, Stoick. You can only prepare him. You won't always be there and one of these days he's going to get out. He's probably out there already."

     That comment makes the Chief turn to his friend, "Was Hiccup at the forge this morning? He didna' come home last night."

     The shadow of worry flashes across Gobber's face. "No! He didna' show up this morning. I thought he might be sulking after the raid last night."

     "Stoick!" a voice shouts into the great hall. "Good! Yur' still here!"

     "Spitelout! What's wrong?" The tone in his brother-in-law's voice and the returning sense of foreboding makes his blood run cold.

     "Some o' my men were checking the damages from last night's raid. Near the north side o' the village, they found this near the wreckage o' a catapult". Spitelout passes his chief a small twisted piece of metal.

     His eyes grow wide as he looks at the small almost painfully ordinary blade. Gobber looks down at his friend's hand, "That's Hiccup's knife... The one he forged when he become my apprentice. I'd know tha' thing anywhere."

     "Where did you find this?" Stoick growls, head spinning at the implications. Hiccup might not be the most 'Viking' of Vikings, but even he wouldn't be out in the woods without his knife.

     "We were checking the northern defenses. One catapult and light tower were razed, looks like a Night Fury strike. Nearby we found debris from some contraption... Nightmare footprints were all over the place, and that blade was on the ground nearby." Spitelout was a lot of things, but being a father himself, he could appreciate the gravity of the situation. "It might mean nothing Stoick... Hiccup has always 'ad terrible luck, but he always comes out alright... in the end."

     Stoick looks torn, "Gobber? Can you..."

     "I'll look for the lad. Don' you worry Stoick. He'll be back before you and the others return."