Okay, this was originally written for the How To Train Your Dragon Big Bang. However, due to real life problems for the person actually organising it all, its been put back and put back to the point that we're now at the year long anniversary. Given that, and the fact that I hate leaving finished work just wasting away in my hard drive where it can't be enjoyed, I've decided to call my entry a wash, release it normally and just enter a new story if the Big Bang does start up again.

Since this is actually all complete, you'll all have the novel experience of not having to wait months for chapters to show up. Plan to update once a day.

Many thanks to Lost_Laputian for being my beta too.

Enjoy.

The Terrible Terror of Stoick the Vast

SUNSET

It had certainly been one of the more interesting winters Berk had faced. Dragons were clearly not used to spending long periods of time in snow, and the home-repair Vikings had been kept busy by the number of doors and walls demolished by mounts that couldn't fit through main doors.

Despite that, winter came and left with minimal hardship that was nearly unheard of. Unaware of just how this had happened, one of their allied tribes to the North had asked for aid, their own supplies and injured too vast to deal with, and Stoick had been happy to answer. Right up until he'd told Hiccup to come with him.

At the time, the teen had been in a newly built stable by Gobber's shop, designed to fit dragons for saddle fittings, measuring up a Monstrous Nightmare. Toothless was dozing against the wall; apparently dead to the world, though Stoick was more than certain that was an act. After hearing his request, Hiccup had stumbled and collapsed over the Nightmare's back, causing it to shift in irritation.

"You want me to what?" Hiccup gulped.

"Come with the ships," Stoick urged. "It's high time you started making connections outside of Berk. You won't make it far without allies, dragons or no dragons."

One of Hiccup's hands was still on the Nightmare, but his attention was clearly on his father, genuine delight on his face.

"But you've never want me to come along," he said. "You even took Snotlout last year."

Yes, well, the open secret among the Haddock family (and indeed the rest of Berk) was that Stoick had never really expected Hiccup to inherit the title of Chief. But that had been then, and the Hiccup of then was not the Hiccup of now.

But as quick as it had come, the light dimmed from Hiccup's face, and he shook his head before turning back to the Nightmare.

"I can't, Dad. I really, really wish I could, but I've got a dozen saddles to make, flying lessons now that the thaw's here—"

"Gobber and your friends can handle all of that," Stoick interrupted. "There's nothing that can't be held off for a few weeks."

But Hiccup was still focused on the dragon, lifting a prototype saddle for inspection.

"Something could go wrong," he murmured. "The snow kept them quiet and not everyone's flown yet. What if there's a fight, or a raid? They listen to me – I need to be here until we understand them better."

Hiccup was so certain and matter-of-fact about it, Stoick felt his arguments fall silent. Hiccup clearly believed leaving now was bad for the village, and as long as it wasn't due to doubt or self-confidence, Stoick was content to let it pass.

"All right, son, but so long as you agree to come next time."

Hiccup was under the dragon now, fixing the straps.

"I promise, Dad. Now just let me finish this off and you can take Hookfang for a test flight."

Stoick faltered. "You want me to fly… him."

"Well, this is the Nightmare you like, right?"

Now that Hiccup mentioned it, he did recognise the Nightmare as one that had hung around the Haddock household a few times. The dragon was older, its red scales taking on a strong brown tint that almost made it fiercer than the blood reds that were two a penny. It was bigger than most of the other Nightmares, too, and had been pulling its weight by bringing in the odd boar from the forest during the winter in exchange for some scratches under the neck. One time, near the start of the thaw, he'd returned with a large fish instead, along with a rather vicious fisherman's hook caught in his gums, and Stoick had been referring to the beast as 'Hookfang' ever since. Stoick wouldn't exactly say he was "friends" with the beast, but they had an understanding. Apparently Hiccup took that to mean riding potential.

"Hiccup, as much as some of the others have taken to it, I really don't know if flying is for me," Stoick began.

He couldn't quite see Hiccup under the beast, but he was pretty certain his son had shrugged. "You'll have to do it eventually. It won't be easy to convince the other tribes not to kill dragons if you can't show all the good they can do. Flying off the boat would be one hell of an opening argument."

"You… want me to take a dragon on the ship."

Hiccup laughed. "Well, it's not like they'll just believe you without proof."

Stoick sighed; he'd been avoiding this conversation, namely because he knew how Hiccup would react.

"Hiccup… we won't be taking any dragons with us."

The teen stilled, and crawled out in confusion. "You won't?"

Stoick braced himself before continuing. "Son, for now, I think it would be best if knowledge of our… alliance with dragons was kept on this island. It's not going to be easy to convince other tribes to change generations of practice, and we're still learning."

Hiccup was on feet, staring at him and clearly not understanding.

"But they'll keep killing dragons! We have to stop that!"

From the entrance of the stable, both heard Toothless growl, any pretence of sleep over with.

"Hiccup," Stoick insisted, "I am not, despite what you may think, the most stubborn Chief in these waters. And I disowned you rather than listen to what you had to say. It took damming the entire village and nearly losing you before I changed my mind."

"But the other tribes need our help now," Hiccup argued. "They don't know why we've had such an easy winter, and they're going to ask why. If they won't listen to us, we refuse them aid!"

"Listen to yourself!" Stoick yelled back, throwing out any plan to keep calm. "Do you have any idea how many alliances we would lose? How many villages would choose death out of pride? We will not force anyone to follow our example."

Hiccup was glaring at him, hands clenched as the Nightmare backed out, either due to the tones or the growling Fury at the other side.

"So you'd rather they find out when they're at full strength? When they come to trade and then see what we've been hiding? Don't you think they'll break alliances then anyway? When we are the ones who need what they have? They'll find out eventually, so isn't it better to do it when it's at our advantage?"

It was probably the most Viking-like thing Hiccup had ever said, but Stoick had no room for fatherly pride about it.

"No dragon is coming, Hiccup. That's final."

With that, Stoick stormed out of the stable, ignoring the cat slit eyes from the hissing Toothless, and pretending not the hear Hiccup kick a metal bucket into the wall.

He also didn't see Hookfang walk out, eyes focused on his retreating back.

"So, Hiccup's not coming?"

Stoick looked up from his spot by the fire. Gobber was leaning in the doorway, a long-suffering look on his face and a Terror on his shoulder. Stoick looked away.

"I'm sure you heard most of it."

"Aye, and I'm about ready to start charging the two of you for all the counselling I have to do."

The little dragon flew in, perching on the bar above the fire as the peg-legged Viking followed, taking a seat next to his old friend.

"You know I don't allow those in the house," Stoick warned, pointing to the Terror, and Gobber rolled his eyes.

"You know, he did have a point."

He got a sigh in return. "I know, but this situation is still too new. We can't risk letting the other tribes know until it's stable."

Stoick stood up and started to pace. "Hiccup puts dragons on the same level as Vikings. He forgets what he had to go through to get Berk to accept them, that there are still people in the village who sleep with one eye open."

Gobber shrugged, nodding towards his own Terror. "It doesn't help that you're one of them."

"I let Toothless sleep in the house!" Stoick defended, and Gobber held up a hand.

"True, but we both know you didn't really get much say in that. And you do try to avoid the rest of them when you can."

His friend sighed and slumped back into his seat. "Old habits die hard, Gobber. One of them moves unexpectedly and I'll kill it. Then where will we be?"

"You can't avoid them forever," Gobber chided. "Especially if you want to keep your relationship with Hiccup going as well as it has been."

"I know!" Stoick moaned. "I just… we just can't seem to meet halfway on anything. I just wish he could understand where I'm coming from."

He stood and grabbed his supplies. "I'd better go. Boats will be shipping off soon; keep an eye on him for me."

"Always do," Gobber replied, and leaned his head on his good hand as the man left.

"Hope you realise Hiccup just wants the same thing from you."

To his side, no longer interested in the fire, the Terror watched the man leave, with the same calculating eyes the Nightmare had watched him with.

It was a long two weeks. The waters had been choppier than expected travelling to the Northern Island, taking them almost twice as long as it should have to get there. Once on solid ground, they'd been constantly active – their neighbouring tribe had had a very bad season. Unlike Berk, they'd gotten ice and very little snow, so dragon raids had happened when they were normally absent. As such, all supplies had been diminished to nonexistent, and many of them were close to death's door with injuries and sickness.

Needless to say, none of them had any kind words for dragons, and the Vikings of Berk stayed tight-lipped, mindful of their Chief's orders.

By the time they were ready to leave, Stoick had found himself in a room with Hogbar, the fellow Chief, thanking him profusely for the help. Since the North dealt mostly in cows rather than sheep, he promised a good deal on a few calves in the late spring.

And now they setting back for home, where the ocean had only gotten choppier. Several hours into the journey and a sun long since set, every man was running the ships, trying to keep it afloat. The wind and rain didn't help, and Stoick bit back a curse as his helmet was ripped from his head, crashing onto the deck.

"Find land!" he yelled. "There's no way the ship will survive this."

"There was an island not a few miles away on the map," someone else hollered. "We might make it."

"If we can find it in this!" another voice snapped back, and Stoick glared in its direction.

"We're Vikings! A storm like this is nothing! Get the oars out and row!"

His men complied, and Stoick grabbed an oar himself, ready to help, when the sea jerked the boat once again, and a wave crashed over the already soaking men. Stoick was slammed into the side, barely holding on, when another, stronger blow came across, knocking him into the water.

"Stoick!"

He couldn't hear the yells of his men, water pushing and pulling him to its own tune. The darkness, the cold… even if he could fight against the current he had no idea which way was up…

His lungs burned. Air, he needed air.

But the current wouldn't let go, continuing to pull him along. As his eyes began to dim, he almost thought he could see something coming towards him. A fish? A whale?

No… A dragon. A dragon flying as if the ocean wasn't there, speeding towards him, jaws open and ready to grab him.

Stoick blacked out.

It could have been minutes; it could have been days, but when Stoick slowly came back to consciousness, all he could feel was the cold. He was soaking wet and chilled to the bone, lying on a hard and equally damp surface.

He struggled to open his eyes, wincing at the sharp light of the moon. So he'd survived the storm?

The Viking tried to stand up, only to collapse to the ground again, his arms and legs not quite reacting as he expected, no doubt too stiff from the water and how he'd been lying. Instead he turned his head as much as he could, neck protesting the action.

He was on a rock, that much was obvious. The storm had cleared, and the light wasn't great, but he was certain this damp little rock was next to a ridiculously high cliff. From this position he couldn't see how high, but oddly familiar. His eyes flicked the right, and widened.

This is impossible…

The moon highlighted a wooden dock practically within stepping distance, with a path leading up the cliff. A dock and a path he knew like the back of his hand. It was littered with debris from the storms, but no less unmistakable.

Berk?

His jaw dropped, trying to make sense of it all.

But I was in the middle of the ocean… it would take days to get back. And that's assuming I could survive in the water that long – I would have died from the cold in hours.

And yet, he was here. Stranded on a rock so close to home, and yet completely unable to move. A wave from the tide crashed a little higher than normal, soaking Stoick once again, and he growled in frustration. The chill was getting worse… he needed warmth or he wouldn't see the sunrise.

Oh, Odin help me, somebody's got to be around…

"Help!" he yelled. "Anyo—"

He cut himself off when he realised his voice had been unrecognisable. The cry for help sounded more like a wet cat than simple Norse.

Stoick called again, hearing the same growling, hissing noise in return.

Has my throat been damaged? It doesn't hurt, but maybe that's still the cold.

Wait, somebody was coming.

His eyes lit up when he spotted Hiccup and his constant shadow running up the dock. Even if his son was still angry, he wouldn't leave him like this.

"Hiccup!" he tried to call, this time hearing more of a screech. The teen stopped at the edge of the dock, staring at him. Toothless crouched at the end of the dock, locking eyes with him before leaping over.

Stoick's eyes widened as the dragon appeared to shoot up in height. He hadn't noticed with the distance, but Toothless was towering over him. He could only gape up at the monstrous mouth above him, his mind flashing back to the Dragon's Island.

"Toothless," Hiccup called, bringing Stoick from his stupor, "Is he all right?"

The Night Fury huffed, and with a toothy smile, lunged for Stoick. He yelped and backed away, almost losing his footing and falling back into the frothy water, when the skin of his neck was lightly caught, and he was lifted up like a wet kitten. Which he tolerated for all of two seconds.

"Let go of me, beast!" he yelled. "I don't know what's going on, but if you don't drop me I'm turning you into a throw rug!"

At least, he tried to yell. He could still only hear that vicious pitch, and Toothless merely tightened his grip on his neck. Stoick tried to move his stiff body again, only to freeze when Toothless gave him a brief shake and growled.

Don't make a fuss, Terror. We're trying to help.

Stoick stilled, not reacting even when the Night Fury jumped back, planting his prize in Hiccup's own too-large hands, lifting him with ridiculous ease and holding him close. He'd understood the dragon, perfectly.

"You're frozen!" the teen exclaimed. "I'd better get you inside."

Stoick tried to struggle out of the embrace, confusion leaving for panic. What was going on? Why was he so small? Why wouldn't his body move properly? And why couldn't he talk?

In the back of his mind, a terrible, impossible thought began to fight its way to the forefront.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Hiccup tried to soothe, his arms tightening around Stoick. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

His son turned and started running back to the village, stopping only once to rearrange Stoick to be more comfortable, and Stoick tensed when he saw his son fold a tail up and across his chest, flopping against yellow scales and stubby legs, the thought becoming foremost in his mind.

Oh, no…

For the first time since waking up, Stoick took a good look at what he could see of himself, and wished he hadn't.

Little yellow scales on his chest, shifting to the red of his hair at the sides. Four little legs ending in clawed feet, and a tail almost as long as him decorated with little red spikes.

He whimpered in his new whining voice that suddenly sounded so familiar. It was the voice he heard from Gobber's shop, from Meade Hall when food fell to the floor, and when Hiccup would find a lost flock and take them home for the night.

It couldn't be. Please, the gods could not be this cruel…

Sadly, as Hiccup headed into town and back to the house, Stoick couldn't help but deny the truth.

He wasn't a Viking.

He was a Terrible Terror.

To be continued...