Chapter Text
Hiccup awoke wrapped in a sharp, almost suffocating smell. It was a dense mixture of dried herbs, balms, burned bark, and something sour and medicinal. He coughed lightly, his chest tightening in a spasm. With every breath it felt as though he were inhaling the entire forest, crushed and boiled into a single potion.
He found himself lying on a pallet made of soft furs and thick blankets. The room was bathed in a warm, flickering light: candles of every size hung from the beams, casting dancing shadows across the rough wooden walls. Every shelf was crammed with glass jars, bowls filled with powders, and bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.
He blinked, still confused, then slowly turned onto his side - and that was when he saw him.
Toothless.
The dragon was there, sitting beside the pallet, his tail curled around himself and his wings folded. His green eyes were fixed on him intensely, as if he had not lost sight of him for even a second. When he noticed his friend was awake, he let out a low, deep sound and bent down to nudge him gently with his snout.
“Hey… you’re really here,” Hiccup whispered. “But… how?” His hoarse voice broke in his throat. A tired smile formed on his lips.
Then, a light patter drew his attention. A small cat - white and gray, with a long restless tail - made its way through the blankets and fearlessly climbed onto Toothless’s side. The dragon watched it, perplexed, his snout twisting into a grimace of annoyance mixed with surprise. The cat meowed, rubbed itself against a scaled paw, then curled up there as if it were its natural place.
The Night Fury huffed, lifted his paw slightly, then left it where it was. He resigned himself to it, though he shot Hiccup a look that clearly said, Explain to me what this creature is.
A movement near the door interrupted the scene. An elderly man, bent with age but with eyes still lively, entered the room. His skin was wrinkled like bark, his gray hair tied into a thin braid, and he wore a robe stained with herbs and a greasy apron.
“Ah, you’re finally awake,” he said in a raspy but gentle voice. “We thought you had lost yourself among the branches of Yggdrasil forever.”
Hiccup slowly pushed himself up with the dragon’s help, clenching his teeth against the burning pain along his side and back. “Where am I?” he asked.
“In the house of the healer of the village of Skeld. Ivar, at your service,” he added with the hint of a bow.
Ignoring the boy’s astonishment, he continued, “And yes, your dragon is with you. He didn’t let us come near for days.” The man chuckled. “We had to bring his food to the door, you know? Like a large sulking cat.”
The real cat meowed, as if to confirm it.
Then the healer’s tone grew more serious. “There was a flash when you fainted. A roar. And a voice. We all heard it, though none of us can repeat it. It was like a distant echo… or a call. Someone said it was Odin.” The healer paused to catch his breath, then continued. “The king of the gods has chosen you, boy,” he added, pointing at both him and the Night Fury. “It has been centuries since stories like this were seen; the last ones belong to ancient legends, you know?”
Hiccup stared at him in silence.
“A lightning bolt fell from the sky, an electric blue never seen before.” He took a few steps toward the boy’s bed. “The two hunters were found dead, as if burned alive. But you and your dragon… you were completely unharmed.”
“And this appeared beside you,” he added, pointing to the spear resting against the wall. “None of us was able to lift it. It was your dragon who carried it here.”
He took a few more steps until he reached a chair at the foot of the pallet. “From that moment, you have been respected. Honored. No one would dare harm you now. You are welcome here, Hiccup of Berk. You know, those hunters had been troubling this village for a long time; we are very grateful to you. And, after all, when the gods speak, men fall silent and listen.”
But Hiccup could not fully trust.
He accepted the hospitality. The food, the care, the village’s apparent calm. But deep down he knew that nothing had changed. Devotion could become superstition in an instant, and admiration turn into fear. And fear… always led to rejection.
Only Toothless was real. Only he had remained. Always.
As soon as he was strong enough, they would leave. No exceptions.
The healing was slow. Exhausting.
In the first days he could not even get out of bed without feeling pain pierce his side like a red-hot blade. Every muscle seemed to have surrendered. His body, once agile, strong, accustomed to flying and fighting, now betrayed him in every movement.
The simplest actions - sitting up, turning over, even speaking for too long - left him sweating and trembling. The nights were the worst. The pain returned to throb in moments of stillness, and sleep left him more exhausted each time.
The healers made him do small exercises: lifting an arm, bending a leg, walking a few steps. At first they were humiliations more than progress. Often he found himself on the ground, knees weak, breath short. His muscles gave way, his back burned, the wound still open.
And yet, he did not give up.
Every day, one more step. Every week, one more second standing. After a month, a faint sense of strength returning.
The body he had begun to appreciate, that body that was finally growing, becoming something of his own, had abandoned him at the most crucial moment. It had left him naked, defenseless.
And now it was up to him to win it back. Piece by piece.
Toothless was always with him. He brought him the bandages, curled up beside him during the rehabilitation exercises, and every now and then gave him a light nudge with his snout, as if to say, You can do it. Do it again.
Hiccup learned to count the days not by the sun’s rays, but by how much he could bend his back without screaming. By the first nights finally peaceful, without waking in a bath of sweat. By the moment when, with enormous effort, he climbed back into the saddle - even just for an instant - on his dragon’s back.
He was alive. But not yet free.
And until he was, he would not truly be able to leave.
Not yet.