Hiccup rose to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head until his shoulders gave a satisfying pop. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, focusing in on the bewildered viking across the room.
"Hiccup!?"
"Uh, yeah, it's me," he confirmed before looking over at his father. "Hey dad, do you want to give him his hook back?"
Stoick gave his best friend a warning look as he returned the prosthetics. It went unsaid: if Gobber acted against Hiccup, he'd suffer the chief's wrath.
The blacksmith looked dumbfounded by the whole situation, accepting his belongings as if in a trance. He didn't even glance down at the items, not bothering to click his hook back into place. He just continued to gape, eyes tracing his old apprentice like he was looking at a ghost.
Minutes ticked by and Hiccup was more and more aware of his heart racing in his chest.
"I've, uh, never seen you speechless before," observed Hiccup, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. The blacksmith was not known for being quiet or reserved, and seeing him this way was off-putting. "It's kind of freaking me out. Could you…maybe say something?"
Stoick hovered off the side, placing himself deliberately in a spot in between them so that he would be able to intercede if needed.
Gobber took a slow, shuddering breath, "I'm seein' things."
"It's him," assured the chief, voice gentle. "What you saw just now is very real. That story that I told you today is true – all of it."
Gobber rocked to the side, bracing all his weight on his good leg. Emotions warred across his face as he processed the other man's words, recalling the tale he'd dismissed earlier in the day.
Hiccup slowly raised his hands, attempting to look as unthreatening as possible as he crossed the length of the room to stand by his old mentor. Unfortunately, the gesture seemed to have the opposite effect as the blacksmith's eyes fell on his left arm.
"Odin's ghost!" The man stumbled back a step, nearly losing his footing. His wide eyes took in the draconic limb with alarm.
Hiccup followed his gaze, jerking his arms back when he realized what had rattled the man. "Sorry!" He said sheepishly, tucking his arms tightly against his side. "I forget, sometimes."
"Wha–"
"Let's move this conversation downstairs," suggested the chief, pulling the door open. "I think we've all spent more than enough time cooped up in this room."
The others were quick to agree, Hiccup excused himself to the washroom while Gobber trailed behind Stoick. The blacksmith cast a glance over his shoulder as he descended the stairs, a pensive look on his face as he regarded his old trainee.
Hiccup desperately wished he knew what the man was thinking.
When he reunited with his father and mentor, they had taken up seats closest to the fire. Hiccup, feeling it best to proceed with caution, choose the furthest remaining chair to the blacksmith. He hoped the distance would ease the man's anxiety.
Stoick had placed a pitcher of water on the table between them. Seeing his son get settled, the chief poured a glass and offered it to him.
Hiccup took it, grateful to have something to do with his hands. He gripped the cup idly, unsure of how to break the silence. As he thought, he tapped his fingers in a rhythm against the glass, an old nervous tick he'd never been able to shake.
Gobber watched him, leaning forward in his own chair.
Hiccup bit his lip, cautiously meeting his old mentor's gaze. There was a storm of emotions raging in those eyes, but what surprised him the most was the glassy sheen they took on.
"Are you okay?" He asked, concerned that his revelation had broken the man.
"Am I okay?" Gobber asked, voice rising in pitch. "Hiccup, yer a Night Fury!"
"Uh, yeah," he set the cup down, drumming his fingers on the table instead.
"Only during the day," Stoick interjected.
Gobber sat back in his chair, the old furniture groaning at the sudden movement. He gripped the curve of his hook, reattached sometime while Hiccup was gone, as if it were a lifeline.
Hiccup knew the man was superstitious. He'd heard more legends in the walls of the forge than he'd heard from the town's designated storyteller. The man believed in everything from trolls to unicorns, so he knew how seriously Gobber would take the curse. It was considered bad luck to aid someone who'd been cursed by the gods, but this had been the work of a dragon – surely his old mentor wouldn't cast him aside?
"It's good to see you again," said Hiccup honestly, a part of him hoping to appeal to the man's more rational side. They'd had a bond once, surely that had to count for something.
He looked down, noticing a stack of notes in the man's messy script. A few rough sketches of a familiar door made him wince. "Sorry about destroying your door," he said, nodding towards the papers. "I can help you fix that, if you want."
Gobber's mouth parted, a look of unease growing as he made the connection. "You…th' door…" He paled as he realized. "It was you. I locked you in th' ring."
"Uh, yeah," confirmed Hiccup quickly, "You did."
The blacksmith looked horrified, "I put you in a cage."
Hiccup nodded. "You did always say I needed to contain all of this," he joked, gesturing to himself broadly.
Gobber's wide eyes turned to Stoick. "It's really 'im, isn't it?"
The chief confirmed it, face solemn.
Hiccup felt something shift in that moment, and when his mentor looked back at him, he was surprised to see real tears in his eyes. The blacksmith pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, closing the gap between them in a few quick strides.
Strong arms wrapped around him, squeezing tightly. Hiccup breathed in the familiar smells of metal and ash, relaxing into the man's embrace.
"Thank th' gods yer alive," said Gobber, uncharacteristically somber. He released his grip, patting his apprentice on the back twice before stepping back.
"Aye," agreed Stoick.
"I put you in a cage," repeated Gobber, eyes wide. "Oh Thor, I'm so sorry–"
Hiccup cut him off quickly, "You put a dragon in a cage, Gobber. I don't blame you."
The man did not look comforted by his words, lips twisting down into a frown. "It's my fault," he argued, "I found ya after th' raid. I'm the 'ne who dragged ya to th' ring."
Hiccup hadn't known that detail, but he couldn't bring himself to fault the man. "It doesn't matter how I got there," he argued. "I'm glad it was you, at least you just put me in the ring. Someone else might have cut off my head."
Bringing back the head of a Night Fury would do wonders for a viking's reputation. Any of the younger men, eager to make their mark in the tribe, would have seen a downed dragon as a chance to improve his rank. It was pure luck that the tribe's dragon training teacher had seen an opportunity to learn instead.
Stoick grimaced at the thought, excusing himself to grab a tankard of ale.
Gobber still appeared deeply troubled.
"I locked ya in a pen like an animal."
Hiccup sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, you did…but you'd just had a raid," he reminded, "and you still spared me."
Gobber nodded, brow furrowing as his mind flashed back to that night. "Wha' were ya doin' in Berk durin' a raid anyways?"
Hiccup was surprised by the man's change of tone. It sounded almost wary. "Huh?"
"What were you doing so close to town that day?" asked Stoick from the doorway, juggling three tankards in his hands. He, too, appeared concerned.
The two older men were exchanging a look that set Hiccup's teeth on edge. What was he missing?
"You weren't…part of the raid, were you son?" Stoick continued cautiously as he set the mugs down on the table.
Hiccup blinked, startled by the accusation. "Of course not! How could you even ask that?"
Stoick relaxed marginally, but there was still a tightness to his posture."You told me that you've been living on the far side of the island," he said, "yet you were here in Berk, during the dragon raid. It seems odd, since you're, well…you know."
A dragon.
Hiccup pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'd never hurt Berk," he assured, offended by the suggestion. "You know me. That's not something I'd do."
"Son–"
"Besides," continued Hiccup, gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly his claws began to dig into the wood, "the raids always happen at night, after sundown." He shot his father a very pointed look, "When I'm not a dragon."
He watched the knowledge click in his father's mind, earlier fears replaced by embarrassment. The accusation seemed ridiculous once the timing was considered.
"I'm sorry," apologized Gobber.
Stoick echoed the sentiment, handing over an ale as a peace offering.
Hiccup accepted it quietly, feeling drained by the conversation. He took a sip, wincing at the taste. He'd never acquired a love for the drink, but he hoped it would help him relax.
"The raids were the easiest time for me to get a look at Berk," he said eventually, "Everyone is always so focused on the dragons, they don't notice an extra viking in the woods. I came whenever I could, to make sure you were all okay."
Hiccup took another swig of the drink, still unimpressed. "I never stayed long, no more than an hour really – just enough to make sure that everyone was still alive. I'd be long gone before sunrise."
"But no' this time?"
Hiccup shook his head, raising a hand to absentmindedly trace the spot he'd been injured. "Something hit me hard," he remembered, "I think I remember one of the guard towers exploding? Got hit with some debris – must have knocked me out. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the cage with a pounding headache."
Gobber whistled, "Tha's some bad luck."
"My life is bad luck," snarked Hiccup.
Neither man argued, in light of the curse.
Gobber turned his attention to the chief, voice grave. "If the timing had been different today, we'd be having a very different conversation right now."
"Aye."
"If you'd not come upstairs…if Hiccup hadn't woken when he did…"
Stoick nodded, eyes stormy. "I'm aware."
"Yer takin' a big risk, keepin' 'im 'ere in the village," continued Gobber. "We go' lucky today, but yer playin' a very dangerous game here."
Hiccup frowned, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. The last few days had allowed a cautious hope to take root in him. He'd felt like he had a chance to regain some of what he'd lost. However, today was a stark reminder that any semblance of safety in Berk was an illusion.
His life was on the line so long as he stayed in the tribe. And now, by extension, he was putting his father and mentor at risk. If discovered harboring or sympathizing with a Night Fury, there'd be consequences. Stoick could lose the chiefdom, or worse.
"Gobber's right," he realized with growing dread, "it's too dangerous for me to stay here."
Stoick shook his head, "What happened today won't happen again," he argued.
"You can't promise that."
"I just got you back. I refuse to lose you again."
Hiccup dropped his head in his hands, massaging his temples. Why did his father always have to argue with him? "You have to let me go," he rationalized. "If I stay, odds are I end up dead and you both get exiled or worse."
"I'm not sayin' you need to leave Berk," Gobber spoke up, sounding put out. "Stop puttin' words in my mouth, lad! For Odin's sake, I'm just sayin' ya need a better plan than hidin' in yer old room!"
"What do you suggest?" Stoick asked, latching onto the possibility of a compromise.
The blacksmith looked sheepish, running his hand over his mustache. "I don' 'ave a perfect solution in mind," he admitted, "but it would nee' to be somewhere withou' risk of a curious viking wanderin' in and findin' 'im. Or somewhere a sleepin' dragon wouldn' seem ou' of place."
An answer came to Hiccup quickly, though he was not particularly happy about it. There was only one place he could think of where a Night Fury could hide in plain sight.
"The arena. I have to go back to the arena."
"Absolutely not!" Stoick roared, banging his tankard onto the table with a loud thud.
"It's the only answer!"
Gobber frowned, but did not immediately dismiss him. "No one would question it," he agreed slowly, seeing the logic of the plan. "An' no one'd try an' hurt 'im, since 'e'd be seen as part of th' training group…it may be th' safest option, if ya wan' to keep 'im in Berk."
Hiccup agreed, though his gut twisted when he thought of the cramped pen he'd just recently escaped. "Are any of the pens bigger than that one? It's, uh, a bit tight for a Night Fury."
Stoick scowl darkened, "it doesn't matter, you won't be seeing the inside of any of those cells."
Gobber ignored the chief, contemplating Hiccup's question. "There's one meant for a Timberjack, but we haven' been able to catch one of them in nearly fifteen years."
Hiccup nodded, picturing the large dragon in his mind's eye. Any enclosure designed to hold it would have to be much larger than the previous cage. "That could work," he said.
"And it makes sense no' to put ya in th' same pen as before," the blacksmith pointed out. "Seein' as I haven' fixed th' door."
"I am sorry about that…"
Gobber laughed, rolling his eyes. "I don' blame ya for tha'," he leaned forward, tapping a hand on his pile of notes, "but I do wan' to know 'ow you did it. It's been drivin' me mad, tryin' to make sense of th' mess. I'd guess ya scorched the hinges, bu' how'd ya manage th' latch?"
Hiccup grinned, raising his left hand into view, black scales reflecting the firelight. "Sometimes it pays to be fireproof."
The man whistled in appreciation, "Now, tha's a skill that'd be handy in th' forge!"
Stoick cleared his throat, taking command of their attention once more. His voice was sharp as he declared, "My son will not be locked up in the ring."
Gobber tipped his head to the side, not intimidated by his friend's tone. "I do agree with ya on th' lock part – we'll need to find a way to rig th' door so 'e can open it from the inside at night."