A/N. This is my first fanfic, so please leave some constructive criticism. I'll be having a quote every chapter, and your job is to find out where it's from. Somebody please teach me how to do stuttering. I'm bad at it.

"Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends."

The game that Stoick and Gobber are playing is a dragon trivia game invented by Fishlegs to help him remember called Trick of Fire. It quickly caught on and became modified by the elders into what it is today. I'll tell you how it's played later.

Sea- A nautical term for waves.

Updated December 26th, 2018, as of this rewrite.

Gobber looked down at the reflection in his pitcher, thinking. What was it that had him so concerned? Stoick. His friend had not been himself lately. It was as if he was getting into that mood again, the one where he forewent his usually solid judgment to pursue that devil nest.

The smith watched as Stoick sighed and put down his tankard of mead. Contrary from what one would expect, Stoick liked his drinks light, whereas Gobber liked his spunk high in alcohol and low on the sweet. It was wine vs beer all over again, and Gobber had made many jibes about it with his old friend. It wasn't really dangerous, seeing as though it took a day and a half of steady drinking to get the chief drunk.

The elder Haddock had ordered another search for the dragons hideout, though all those before had been fruitless. The fact that the expeditions were only partly for his revenge didn't help much.

Gobber could remember the scene almost as if he were still there. It had only been a few hours ago, and his mind was still sharp, whetted by his years of dangerous work.

"We will find their home and take it, then the devils will leave," he had said. "One more search, before the ice sets in. It's the only way."

That was only part of what he had said – it was the same old argument all over again, complete will the obligatory 'it's the only way' that he had been spouting since The Incident.

As it was, no one had wanted to go until the chief had told all those staying behind that they would have to keep an eye on his boy, the boy who also happened to be Gobber's apprentice. Hiccup.

"Stoick," What's on yeh?" Gobber broke in on his reverie. "Yeh've been a bit off lately."

"Hiccup." Spoken drily. "Someday that boy will be Chief. But he just isn't a viking Gobber. How can he be Chief when he can't even look the part. Hell, he can't even play the part. I had to clean up his mess the other night when he claimed he shot down a night fury."

"He's smart though. Yeh gotta give 'im that."

"He might be smart, but he won't be able to make choices when it matters most. I've seen 'im. And he won't be able to handle a wife either. He locks up whenever a girl so much as looks at 'im."

"All the more reason to start training him to be Chief. You and I won't always be here for him Stoick, all we can do is prepare him for the world before we die. I say give the boy a chance."

For a moment it seemed that Stoick might like the idea. His eyes wavered only a little, but Gobber saw it for what it was. The smith held his breath as Stoick considered, but the Chief only sighed and reached for a stack of wooden chips that had been lying on the table next to him.

It would take time for Stoick to unwind. Gobber brought a small handful of cards out from one of his pockets, of which there were many. Etched into the faces of the pieces were carven images of beasts, both dragons and others drawn only from Viking legend. On their backs were the signature of the village's budding craftsman, an Ingerman.

This was a game both of them had played many times since its invention; a hobby they indulged in when they were idle, though that did not happen often. For a minute neither of them talked, each busy sorting their pieces and picking their hand. Gobber broke in, shuffling his cards as he spoke.

"I have an idea," he said, slowly, as he struggled to hold on to the flitting thought.

"What is it?" asked Stoick. He flipped two cards face up on the middle of the table."I put Gronckle, extra strength. Counter or draw?"

'I don't have anything to deal with that combination, except for the Nightmare, but I'm saving that card,' thought Gobber, but he kept these thoughts to himself and put on a bluff.

Stoick looked at Gobber intently. "Draw," said the smith. Stoick took three chips and flipped the extra strength into the discards. Gobber drew a save out of the pile, which was rare. He sneaked it into his sleeve for 'safekeeping' and played a Terror to weaken his opponent.

"What if we sent Hiccup on a voyage, to prove himself, go a viking, that sort of thing." Gobber said.

"He'll mess up before the ship leaves the dock, never mind sailing. He'll slip on something and spill the months rations as soon as you turn around." said Stoick.

The problem was that he had no faith in his son.

"Yeh don't know that," said Gobber.

"Yes, I do."

"No, no yeh don't,"

"Yes, I do,"

"All I'm saying is to give the boy a chance, Stoick. Children are like a piece of hot metal."

"Here we go again." said Stoick. He had heard this analogy before.

"Yeh need to shape them in the way you want, otherwise it'll just be a piece of scrap, and you only have so much time to do it before your material cools. Hiccup isn't going to be like that forever Stoick. He's already-" Stoick 'put' a dragon card. Timberjack, dangerous.

"Counter?" Stoick was trying to divert Gobber's attention. It worked.

Gobber rolled the dice with his Nightmare, hating to use it so early in the game. His roll was good, but not good enough. Stoick's cards had been knocked out of the fight, but his best dragon was useless. The smith drew reinforcements, hoping Stoick had played his most powerful card at the beginning of the game.

"I don't want to risk a ship just for Hiccup's sake. We could send him to the Meatheads to renew our treaty. That's due in a few weeks now, and we have to renew the agreement every year. We have to send someone important, especially if I'm going off to hunt for the nest."

'He's coming around now,' thought Gobber, 'but he's still dead set on the hunt. What a shame.'

"There's another reason why I'm proposing this Stoick. Yeh know Astrid is pretty much destined to be the heir's husband, for politics." More statement than question there.

"And you'd prefer that Astrid like him? She hates the boy right now."

"Exactly. I think she'd be more liable to not go running off on wedding day if she respected him at least." Gobber said, then added, "A chief should know his men, and be in good faith with them. Yeh should be the one to know that of all people Stoick."

Their conversation went back and forth for hours, even after the vikings all left for the night. Finally Stoick won their game two out of three, so Gobber went back to the forge not knowing whether he had convinced Stoick or not. He didn't really care at the moment though. He was too tired.

The next morning Stoick began loading the ships. He was gone in the afternoon.

Gobber returned to the forge, where he found Hiccup pounding at a sword to get it back in shape.

"More work? " asked Hiccup, "Cause I could really use some more work." He gestured sarcastically to the pile of weapons on the bench waiting to be fixed. They had been broken in the last raid.

"Actually, you won't be having to do that Hiccup."

"Really?" Hiccup's expression was impossible to read.

"Pack your stuff, we leave for Meathead island tomorrow. And don't yeh think about getting up to your tricks. I know you."

Hiccup went from nonchalance to shock in a matter of seconds.

"Wha..What? Why am I going to Meathead island?"

"Your father's giving you more responsibility. Better not blow it. Behave. Well. Right." said Gobber, then added, "I'll take care of those swords for you."

"Thanks Gobber." said Hiccup. He was sincere at least, thought Gobber with satisfaction.

Gobber took an axe and started sharpening it on the grinder. It was peddle-powered and made by Hiccup. He had never had one that worked so well. It never jammed, never dulled and it was easy to use. Hiccup was a genius.

He repositioned the axe to sharpen evenly. When it was done Gobber put it down on the finished bench and wrote 'Salty Hofferson's axe, repaired. G" in his repair book. It was another one of Hiccup's ideas. The book made it easier for Gobber to keep accounts of what he had and what he hadn't. Nowadays he only did a small part of the work and Hiccup did the rest.

Hiccup was in his corner now, a little tent of sorts that Hiccup had made by hanging blankets up. It was his private workspace, the place where he had built Gobber's grinder and where he had embellished Astrid's axe.

Gobber finished late that night and helped to load the last of the supplies on board their ship. The boat which they were taking to the Meatheads was the smallest of them all, and their only warship that Stoick hadn't taken. New warships were already being built in anticipation of their losses from the nest hunt. Their crew was the usual for a treaty mission, except now Stoick wasn't on board. Phlegma was there, as well as Fishlegs and Astrid. Astrid had come of her own accord, for reasons she had kept to herself.

'Perhaps she was protecting Hiccup," Gobber thought.

He didn't think so. Since when did she care about Hiccup? She was probably trying to earn prestige for her family as a young shield-maiden. She could handle herself.

That had been two weeks ago. Now Gobber was standing on the deck of a viking longship, looking uneasily out on an approaching fall tempest.

Hiccup had proved to be better than anyone had imagined. The poor lad was actually quite good at diplomacy, and had managed to make good friends with Thuggory during the four days they had been at Meathead island.

Maybe he was good for something after all, despite his obvious physical failings as a Viking, though the Meatheads were better than most. The boy would need to beef up if he was ever to interact with the other tribes, especially if he was challenged to a duel.

Gobber shivered. The thought bothered him, but he found there was more irritating the hairs on the back of his neck than Hiccup's size.

"Looks like a bad storm." said Phlegma.

"Aye." said Gobber.

"We still have about an hour before it breaks," said the shield-maiden.

"Get into the hold Hiccup, yeh don't want to fall overboard," said Gobber.

"Yes, Gobber," said Hiccup. "Do you want me to bring up some sardines while we wait?"

"Stop joking around and get down there." said Gobber. "Yeh never know what might happen, and it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to you."

Hiccup gave Gobber the evil eye but jumped into the dark, damp hold, lit only by the flickering sea lantern of a sturdy seaman. He closed the hatch.

Gobber spent the next few minutes feeling the breeze pick up. Steadily the wind had gone from slightly annoying to worrying, as howling gusts whistled through the mainsail and bit at exposed skin.

"This one's a killer." said Gobber.

"Secure the deck!" shouted Phlegma.

"Yes ma'am", shouted the Quartermaster, one Screech Ingerman. He was raising his voice to a good pitch now, trying to be heard over the wind. A strong musty smell filled the air, but it was strangely crisp.

Sleet, thought Gobber. If rain was bad and snow was worse, sleet was the unholy combination of the two. It froze to anything it touched, ropes, fingers, rudders and mainmasts. The only thing a mariner hated more than a cold sleet was hail, for it ripped holes in exposed cloth, tearing the sails and rendering a ship useless; it could even kill a man if the icy balls were big enough. There might be hail from the looks of it, but there would surely be sleet.

He could hear the rumble of thunder, louder now. The wind began to pick up and the ocean spray was blinding. Men began to hurry.

"Furl the mainsail! Tighten the jibs!," Phlegma yelled, struggling to be heard over the din. "Fasten your belts to the deck. I won't have anyone going overboard on my watch."

"Everyone have their safety ropes on?!" shouted Screech, now living up to his name.

A chorus of aye's rang throughout the ship.

The waves started pounding on the broadside of the boat as the storm built to its full fury, though it was hardly there yet. The sheets of rain and sleet were deceiving, and the visibility range had closed to less than three score of feet. A man standing on the aft quarterdeck of the longship would've been hard pressed to see the bows. A trio of sailors hung on the boom of the mainmast by a thread, working to roll up the sail.

If the sails couldn't be furled, the ship would be driven by the wind, scudding along at the mercy of the storm. Eventually she might turn sideways, and when that happened she would capsize. The gale would push at her beam and catch at her sails and then the ship would roll over and sink, perhaps splinter, scattering her unfortunate crewman to the tender mercies of the northern oceans. They would be frozen solid in a quarter of an hour, dead in another fifteen minutes, assuming they could find a piece of driftwood to float on. Without something to hold on to death would come sooner even than that.

They had to run with the wind. Every man knew the risks. So it was that the helmsman's cry came at the worst possible time.

"The wind's switching directions! Gusts from the starboard bow!"

The ship, which had been pitching and bucking like a sailor drunk suddenly began to lean to port as the deck slid out from under the feet of her crew.

"Heave to! Turn to port!" screamed Screech.

"I can't!" yelled the helmsman. "The tiller is jammed!"

"Is it broken!" came the reply.

"I don't know!"

A wave rolled over the beam, drenching two men who were coming to the helm's aid and splashing over the deck. If the tiller was broken, all was lost.

"The ship's rolling over, we can't keep her upright forever!"

A shout came from the quarterdeck, muffled by the pouring rain. "We're taking on water in the hold! There's a leak under the waterline!"

"Start bailing!" shouted Gobber. "We can't afford to flood!"

The ship rolled again and this time the railings met the sea. There was no way they could survive at this rate. The hull settled and the boat sunk lower into the ocean. They were sinking.

The hatch to the hold opened and Hiccup climbed out, drenched by sleet. Frozen raindrops clung to the hem of his tunic and his clothing was soaked. In the tumult no one noticed that he had no safety rope. They were all busy trying to save the ship. And they were failing. The storm was too strong, the waves too high, the hull too filled with water for them to recover on their own.

Gobber fell to his knees and prayed to the Gods. "Oh Thor and Odin All-father! Save us, if you care for your people!"

For one, terrible, terrible moment, there was no change. Then the wind died down, if only for a second. And when it blew again, it came from the stern. They were saved.

The ship pitched and bucked horribly, but they were alive. The storm began to die down but they struggled on for another two hours, bailing water. The leak in the hull could not be fixed, only contained, and Hiccup had to stay on the deck as well as Astrid.

The torrent of rain softened, if only a little, and Gobber saw a dim shape to his left.

"Rocks off the port bow sir!" Screech, bless his sharp eyes. Gobber could hardly keep his eyes open against the constant assault of sleet, much less keep an eye out for shoals.

Then several things happened at once.

A shock buckled the planks of the ship. She had struck a rock below the waterline and impaled herself, the deadly flooding staunched only by the hard granite.

Caught off guard by the sudden shift, Hiccup stumbled and fell against the port railing, almost going overboard but catching himself on the sturdy wood. Gobber let out a breath of relief. But fate was not on the boy's side. A rogue wave roared over the starboard beam. Weakened by the hours of constant bending, the railing broke, and Hiccup tumbled off the side.

The safety rope should've caught him, but it didn't, because he didn't have one on. He had never gotten one when he went down into the hold and he had forgotten his when he had come above deck later. In the confusion, no one had seen it.

For the rest of his life Gobber would remember Hiccup plunging towards the water in slow motion, with his hand grasping for the ship in one last attempt at survival, his face lit only by the dim light of the ship's storm lantern. Then there was a splash, and he was swallowed by the waves.

"Noooo!" he cried, and then he was gone.

"Hiccup!" yelled Astrid. She untied her safety rope and dived in after him.

"Astrid!" roared Gobber, but it was too late to save them. There was a chance, a tiny chance, that they would make it to the deck. Gobber rushed over to the side of the ship, but he couldn't see them. If they couldn't get back on board, at least he wished them a quick death.

The water was cold, numbing my senses. From a later standpoint, I can't tell exactly you why I jumped after Hiccup. It all made sense in the heat of the moment, but it's probably the most crazy thing I've ever done in my life. After riding on a dragon of course. We'll get to that later.

I couldn't see Hiccup. I looked around, treading water before a sea knocked me in the face and I was submerged. My lungs felt like bursting from the pressure, but I've always been a decent swimmer, and I kicked my feet down and propelled myself to the top. I struggled for a bit, then I was clear. I coughed out water that had gotten into my lungs. I saw a little brown dot riding the crest of the next sea and I dove after him.

Hiccup was half drowned, he had been caught off guard when he was thrown off the ship. Typical. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and looked up to get my bearings. Only to find that there was no land in sight.

Hold on, hold on. The cold was starting to get to me. I had no clue how long we'd been in the water. My fingers were numb, and I feared that I'd drop Hiccup into the sea. I could see a beach in front of me. Using the last of my strength I swam for it. It was now or never. A large sea caught me from behind and picked me up. I was sent tumbling head over heels. The very breath was sucked out of my lungs and it slammed me into the sand, and I saw no more.

I woke up feeling very cold and stiff.

To my left was a small plain, stretching away into the distance. It was rocky and there was a large hill in the middle with some trees on it. To my right was a sleet-covered forest. Some of the trees had already broken and were laying split on the ground, the others looked slippery. It was lightly snowing, and if I opened my mouth I could feel the burn of snowflakes melting on my tongue.

The pound of surf sounded distant to my ears, yet I remember being thrown onto a beach. Where am I? And how did I get here?