A Friend

-Prologue-

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen.

His eyes stung as he hobbled across the battlefield of red snow, empty metal traps and bodies of both men and dragons. He had to squint to make out the faint outline of unused arrows; his eyes weren't what they used to be.

He was grateful for the distraction. He wasn't going to cry. Vikings didn't cry.

But maybe, as he brought back the arrows and bows he had scavenged, this could be the one exception. Tears welled in his eyes as he caught sight of Hiccup – poor, poor Hiccup – shaking in Astrid's arms as he lay the weapons on the ground.

Lip quivering, he turned to Valka. Wordlessly, she pursed her lips and nodded. As they approached the body, he focused on her so he wouldn't have to look at it.

Valka. He thought he would never see her again. There were streaks of gray in her hair, and bags under her eyes. Even as she walked like a person, there was something draconic in the way she did it. Twenty years among dragons. She never came home. Left Berk on its own. Left her son. She left…

Once they had reached the body, he forced himself to look at it. The features, still proud, lined with many wrinkles, but not enough. Bags, under closed eyes (so you pretend he was sleeping) from holding the weight of so many people's suffering on his shoulders. From trying to beat an enemy that was seen as unbeatable. And on his chest, his great red beard, burnt at the edges of the braids, from the fire that killed him. Stoick.

Together, Gobber and Valka lifted Stoick's massive body onto the ship on a badly made pyre of wood. The ship was in awful condition as well, the sail torn and the deck damaged from the battle. It wasn't the send-off Stoick deserved, but it was the only one they could manage.

As they waited for the ship to be far enough away, Gobber handed out the arrows to the other teens, Valka and the dragon trapper who had joined them (Eret, son of something). Lastly, Gobber came to Hiccup.

He wanted to say something, but what was there to say to a man who had just lost his father? The only parent Hiccup had ever known? Instead, he gently handed Hiccup the arrow, the bow already clutched in his apprentice's other hand, and clapped him on the shoulder with a heavy hand, and an even heavier heart.

Gobber's throat was so dry he felt as though he could barely speak. But the promise, the vow he and Stoick had made so long ago made him force himself to speak.

"May the Valkyries welcome you," Gobber croaked out. "And lead you through Odin's great battle field. May they sing your name with love and fury –" just like he would with the other Berkians, when they sang songs about his friend, once this mess was all over "– so that we might hear it rise from the depths of Valhalla and know that you've taken your rightful place at the table of Kings."

Gobber took a moment to breathe, because it was getting harder to do so now. "For a great man has fallen: A warrior. A chieftain. A father." He drew in a shaky breath. "A friend," he managed, his voice breaking slightly.

A tear spilled over, splashing onto his cheek as Hiccup lit the tip of his arrow and fired it. It arched across the gray sky, hitting its mark perfectly. As one, they all did the same. Stoick's ship burned in the distance like a setting sun.

Stoick had gone the way he had always expected to: by dragon, a Night Fury no less. He could scarcely imagine what was running through Hiccup's head right now; his father killed by his best friend. No, Gobber corrected, by Drago Bludvist. Toothless was as much as a victim as any of them were in this, if not more so. Valka had stated it clearly: Good dragons under the control of bad people do bad things. Valka.

Slowly, he watched her walk up to console her son. Once again, Hiccup had only one parent.

She had left, yes, and caused Gobber pain, Stoick pain, but Gobber found he couldn't be angry at her. He had grown to love her like a sister, which was only appropriate, because Stoick was– had been his brother.

They had even met, as brothers did.

-Chapter One: Stoick Is Boring-

Axel Belchon was a massive man, as most blacksmiths were. His large blond beard was far larger than Chief Thran's, which only made his small, narrow nose look even smaller. Although he wasn't quite as tall as the Chief, he still had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the Zippleback carving above the doorway of their home, however.

His wife, Ira, was quite the opposite. She had a way with herbs and healing, which was always welcome in their war-torn village. She was shorter than him, and wide, like all the Viking women prided themselves upon, with white-blonde hair. and gentle, plump face, but even the bravest men would have cowered under her glare. Her blue eyes were never as loving as when she looked upon Axel, or her young son, Gobber.

Like all Viking children, Gobber was a large boy. There always seemed shiny crop of blond hair that needed to be washed on the top of his head. Ira did her best to keep it clean, but Gobber was constantly in his father's dusty and dirty workshop, his favourite place in the world.

It was full of weapons like axes and hammers and all sorts of pointy stuff. Vikings came and went and it was fun to watch them. It wasn't so much fun when there were raids, and the sky was full of fire and screaming. But the workshop was safe. (Gobber usually hid under one of the tables for refuge.)

He and his father often spent time here. Axel would fix things, Gobber would watch. Axel would turn around and see Gobber touching something he shouldn't, Gobber would reluctantly leave the object alone, disappointed.

And it was here that Axel scooped his five year old boy onto his massive shoulders. "Where're we goin' daddy?" Gobber asked, pouting.

"To the Chief's house son," Axel replied. He stooped so he wouldn't hit his head on his way out of the house. The battered and half-burnt Zippleback carving (courtesy of the most recent raid) would need to be replaced soon.

"Why?"

Gobber was at that stage where everything had to be explained. Why had become his new favourite word. Axel was grateful that Gobber had just accepted, "Dragons are bad," when he asked why they needed to fight the giant flying lizards.

"Ljufu just had her baby."

Ljufu was only a couple of years younger than Axel, and had been in Ira's dragon training session. The Chief's wife was a stubborn, brave woman who had come to the Forge to get her spear sharpened many times over the years. And after almost a year of marriage, it looked like she had finally produced an heir.

Villagers from the houses around them were all making their way out as well, obviously eager to see the new baby. Even the old woman known as Gothi was out, and Gobber had only ever seen her once, at Chief Thran and Ljufu's wedding less than a year ago.

Gobber didn't see why such a fuss was being made. He didn't get all this attention when he was a baby. Neither did Nutt Thorston, who had been born just three weeks ago. Why was this baby so special? Because it was the Chief's kid? That didn't seem so special, or fair.

The walk to Chief Thran's house took almost no time at all. A crowd was already surrounding it. Vikings were talking to each other in excited whispers.

"Wonder if it'll be a boy –"
"Place yer bets here folks –"
"Five coins fer a girl!"

As Ljufu's Healer and midwife, Ira, stepped out, a hush fell over them. Gothi hobbled up over to Gobber's mother with a cane clasped in one old wrinkly and tattooed hand.

"The baby is fourteen pounds and healthy!" Ira announced. The crowd cheered; a big baby, even by Viking standards, healthy and strong, a good heir. As Ira drew in breath for her next words, the Vikings' noise died down again.

"And the baby –" the crowd held their breath, a few looking hopefully at their money pouches – "is a boy!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. A few Vikings grumbled ("Five coins lost,") but none of them could be too disappointed. This was a happy day. A future was secure, this baby boy would definitely live until adulthood, and the celebrations at the Hall were another cause to yell happily.

Gobber frowned, unused to all the noise. This was loud, even for Vikings. "Why's the baby so important daddy?"

It took his dad a moment to answer. Axel was trying to weave through the crowd to get to the Chief's house, more specifically to get to his wife. Unfortunately, the crowd was moving in the opposite direction.

"Hmm? Oh, it's because he'll be the leader of us son, one day. He'll be our Chief, and we'll be his people. He'll guide us, and protect us."

"He's the next Chief?"

"That he is, Gobber."

"Oh."

With a little more pushing, Axel finally emerged from the herd of Vikings and walked over to his wife. When he reached her, he took her hand and brought it up gently to his lips. Ira smiled widely at him.

"The baby's alright love?" Axel asked. He let go of Ira's hand to take Gobber off of his shoulders.

"Perfectly fine," she answered happily. "And how's my little boy?" She ruffled Gobber's hair. "Looks like you need a bath." If the dirt on his hands and cheeks were any indication.

"I don't need a bath," Gobber said, moving out of her reach. "And anyway, can we go see the Chief's new baby?"

"I'm afraid not, darling. We have to wait a little while. Now come on, let's go have lunch, and then you'll have your bath." Ira hefted her boy into her arms, Gobber still squirming. The five year old opened his mouth as if to protest, but Ira's long fingers reached towards his belly and tickled him. He dissolved into giggles, his parents chuckling alongside him.

Once Gobber had quieted down, he asked, "How long is a little while?"

"A couple of weeks darling," Ira said. "Don't you worry, they'll fly by. And if you behave during your bath, I'll make your favourite turnip soup." That got the little boy's attention.

"Alright mommy," Gobber relented.

– o –

Three weeks went by quickly. Gobber played Dragons and Vikings with the other kids (him, proudly, on the Viking team) and had two more baths because he fell into mud after a rain. Dragons raided the town (and that was sort of scary) and the Zippleback carving was replaced. Gobber hung out with his daddy in the workshop and mommy had to fix a hole in his pants. More or less, Gobber went about his normal, every day five-year old business.

Until one morning, things were different.

"I have to go darling," Ira said briskly, as soon as she had served them breakfast. "Gothi wants me there before they bring the baby out."

"We're getting to see the Chief's new baby today?" Gobber said excitedly. Finally, he would get to see the person behind all the buzz in the village.

"Aye," his mother confirmed. "Little tyke's being doing well, hardly ever cries. Guess that's the reason Gothi called him Stoick." As far as she knew, the name didn't run in either of the families.

"Ljufu must be feelin' blessed," Axel said happily. Ira nodded. "We'll come over soon, love." His wife placed a quick kiss to his lips before slipping out the door. "Now Gobber, why don't ya say we pass some time in the workshop?"

As always, time in the workshop went by far too quickly for Gobber's liking, even if he did want to see baby Stoick. But the new heir to the tribe did make him wonder something. "Daddy, where do babies come from?"

Axel turned around from his work bench slowly, trying to hide the mortified look on his face. Gods, he and Ira had been hoping to have a couple more years before that question popped up. "Gobber, do ya want to go see baby Stoick now? And then we can come back here." He quickly helped his son up onto his feet, and holding Gobber's little hand, bolted from the workshop.

A smaller group of Vikings had gathered outside the house, and with ease Axel managed to push his way to the front. Gothi was there, along with Ira. Chief Thran - a monstrous man with a big black beard and large nose - was standing next to his wife, Ljufu, who was nearly as large as her husband, with long braids of red hair and sharp eyes. Cradled in Ljufu's arms was a little pink, wrinkly baby.

"That's Stoick," Axel whispered, finally letting go of Gobber's hand.

Gobber looked back at the baby, thoroughly unimpressed. That's what all the fuss was about? The baby couldn't kill dragons, or do anything special. In fact, Stoick was asleep at the moment. Gobber let out a sigh; future Chief or not, Stoick was decidedly boring.

This all started because shortly after seeing the sequel a couple more times, I started feeling emotional. Because on the official HTTYD site, it states that Gobber is five years older than Stoick. And it got me thinking about how Gobber would've known Stoick from his very first day to Stoick's very last day. They shared fifty years of their lives together. And that is what this fic is focused on: their friendship.

It's one of my favourites in HTTYD and a fic about them from me has been long overdue. So, if you're willing to just make it more painful for the next time you see HTTYD2, come along for the ride we're going to go on.

And feel free to leave your thoughts in the box below. :)