- Speechless -

Stoick the Vast was a man of many words. Ever since he was young, his talent shone brighter than any other boy his age. Outsiders who knew his name tried their best not to tremble in fear when he was near, while others who knew him well had seen his warm, caring side; one that cradles the weight of his village on his shoulders, while holding the only living memory left by his wife in his arms. His only son.

He had never failed to give an inspiring speech. Everyone in Berk looked up to him, his courage, his bravery, his will and strength. He would always have a few words up his sleeve, ready to jump out of his mouth in a flurry of whispers and shouts that left the village in wonder.

Never had he been speechless. And yet, as he looked down at the black, breathing beast in front of him, he could not help the fact that his hands trembled as he held his recently deemed pride and joy.

Stoick's eyes, two sickly ghosts of the lively orbs they once were, settled on the only living memory Hiccup had left for him.

Just like his mother…

To think, his own boy would be in contact with a dragon, let alone one of the most deadly. It was so absurd; Stoick almost believed it was all a horrible nightmare. He knew better, however, as his grey-green eyes bore into the tired, weakened ones of the Night Fury his son had been so desperate to save. He looked over the image of this very dragon, clutching the remains of the boy in his legs and wings, as if to shield him from the flames. That was indeed a shock for Stoick.

This dragon…a dragon…tried to save his son.

Stoick felt tears slip down his face, dripping into the unkept, fiery red beard he had given up grooming so long ago. He clutched his son's beaten frame with both hands protectively, his gaze still fixed on the Fury.

Surprisingly, the dragon wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead, his pupils were solely fixed on Hiccup. Stoick heard faint crooning sounds emanating from the Fury's throat as it used a claw to pull itself closer to him. Stoick, however shocked by this act, did not move, his small eyes narrowing as he studied the dragon. Its nose lightly prodded Hiccup's side, eyes widening. It slowly backed away, struggling to get to its unsteady feet as it, this time, uttered a horrified rumble. Stoick lowered his gaze and fixed it on the leather straps tied snuggly around his son's chest. He flinched when he heard a sharp, pained draconic wail cut through his cluttered thoughts.

Stoick wished to comfort the dragon, but he did not know how. He instead listened to the dragon let out roars and growls filled with sadness and disbelief he had never heard come from a dragon before.

Only after a few moments did Stoick realize the Fury was lamenting Hiccup's death. Now, reduced to a whimpering pile of scales, the dragon sat in front of Stoick and Hiccup, eyes as pale as the red-headed Chief's. Stoick could not bear to look at his deceased son any longer, nor the face of the dragon he had befriended, so he allowed the frail body to drop slightly as he released a gentle, shaky sob.

Stoick was indeed a man of many words.

But today, he had none.


AN: First of all, I'd like you to forgive me for this. It was supposed to be something different, but came out something else. The vocabulary isn't superb here either. I might edit it sometime later. –shrugs-

I know I promised something cheery, but this was nagging me for a while. I'm pretty sure somebody's already wrote something like this (it's a pretty easy-to-think-up idea) but I did it anyway. Another 'what if Hiccup died' fic. Yeppers.

Tell me what you thought of it! :D