Where Will You Go?

A/N: Hi, everyone! *waves enthusiastically* This is my newest chapter! I really have had that second scene in my head for so long...which, by the way, in reference to my portrayal of Valka - I don't think she's a very good person, or a good mother. She shouldn't have abandoned her son. She shouldn't have. Nothing will justify what she did, not even the "I didn't know people could change" or the "I thought it'd be better" or whatnot. BUT, in canon, when Valka meets Hiccup again, instead of fleeing from him, she reveals the truth, and then spends time with him. She wants to reconnect with her son. So, we know canon's displaying her as a good, likeable character. In reference to her reaction to Hiccup's cutting...

I would imagine that self-harming is actually a very rare thing in the Viking world. Gobber's heard of it, of course, and so have a number of people on Berk; but they've never really seen it, not in person. And Valka, from what she's seen of her son, knows Hiccup to be an honest and sincere person, so when she talks to him about it and confronts the problem, she believes he took her words to heart, that he has no more knives, that he stopped the cutting afterward. She truly believed that that was the endgame, that she and Gobber talked sense into him and made everything better - now Gobber knows Hiccup better, and knows that that kid can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, so he knows to be a little more watchful, and keep an eye on him until he appears to be getting better, but since Gobber has a bit of a hard time showing that he cares, it comes across as an abrasive and blatant invasion of Hiccup's privacy and personal room - which it is. It is. But this is just explaining why they're reacting the way they are.

And don't forget, Gobber knew to be on the watch because he saw Hiccup's arm - all the cuts. He saw everything, and he knows how far Hiccup took it before anyone noticed. Whilst Valka only ever saw the fresh ones Gobber forced Hiccup to show her. So she assumed he'd only done it once or twice, that that was only the second or so time he ever cut. Valka's knowledge of cutting is actually rather fuzzy - she believes people only actually do it once or twice, which is why she was so against Gobber ransacking Hiccup's room - she believed he was going overboard.


I had no breath, no air in my lungs – the shock and the impact from my fall had ripped it all out of me – yet a pained sound still forced its way past my lips. Not quite a yell or a shout, just a wordless exclamation of the sensation racing up my arm.

But I would be lying if I said the pain was too much for me to bear; I had felt, intensely so, the consequences of clumsiness when I was younger. And I had taken more than my fair share of tumbles off of Toothless' back when I was fourteen, not to mention losing a leg soon after. And considering everything else – getting struck by lightning, and whatnot – and this newest injury could hardly be considered painful by my standards.

Despite that, despite me reminding myself that I'd had it worse, it still hurt. I slowly rose to a sitting position, clutching at the area for a minute and trying to work out how bad the injury really was – twisted? Sprained? Broken? – when I became aware of quite a sizable crowd, obviously attracted by my cry, beginning to form around me.

"Chief? Chief, are you alright?"

"Gods, his arm…" breathed somebody else. "I think it's broken."

The people at the back of the crowd must have thought I was still lying prone on the ground; the last they'd seen of me, I had been. So I immediately jumped to my feet, trying my hardest to dispel any worry they might have for me. "No, no. I'm fine. Really. I am. I think it's just twisted." Even now, the pain was dulling to a background ache. I could easily ignore it long enough to finish the rest of my work.

Several Vikings pressed anxiously forward, their faces a universal mask of concern, their hands stretching out toward me.

"But can you move it?"

"How bad does it hurt?"

"Do you need any help?"

"I'm—I tried to interject, to say 'I'm fine', because really, I was, but they just kept talking over me, making it impossible for me to restore order.

"You might want to get Gothi for that…"

I hoped nobody noticed that I backed away slightly at the thought of Gothi looking at my bandaged arms.

"Hate to say it, but I think it's safe to say that it's a little more than twisted."

"N-no," For some reason, I stammered when I spoke, finding myself unconsciously edging away; they were too close, way too close, surrounding me, locking me in, trapping me, cutting off my air… "I'm…it's not—

"Do you think you'll need help looking at it?"

My back hit the wall of the stable, and I found my legs shaking slightly beneath me. They were all talking, and they were all coming at me, and why did it feel like everything was moving so fast? Why did it feel like I was losing control of something that had never really been in my hands anyway? I really needed to speak soon, answer their questions and make it clear I was alright. But for some reason, my mouth wouldn't move.

"I think he'll need help," a woman commented from the crowd, looking at me with…concern? No. That was silly. I was only the chief because I was born into this. It wasn't like anybody really wanted me to be chief anyway. I was surprised they hadn't started celebrating the instant I'd fallen – finally, Hiccup had dropped dead and they could pick a better chief.

The thought made me tighten my lips. Thoughts like these had been my normal for so long that pushing them away now seemed silly and useless.

"Do you need—?"

"I think he'll—

"No, it'll be—

"Fine, so, it's not—

Their faces were spinning and blurring, and I could feel myself slipping and no, the last thing I needed was to make a fool of myself now, after I'd already made them think I was too weak to take care of myself. Maybe that was why they had run. Little accident-prone Hiccup still needs a million people to keep an eye on him.

"Hiccup, are you sure you don't need anything? If it's only bruised or sprained, ice would help a great deal…"

"You should really think about that one…"

"You'd probably be better off—

"STOP IT!" I didn't recognize my own voice for a second; the words just flew from my lips. It felt like I had no control over them. And I sounded much, much louder than I ordinarily did. I didn't think I'd ever yelled at anyone before – sometimes, I had had to speak sternly when Toothless did something he wasn't supposed to, or I occasionally raised my voice in the more heated arguments with my father, but I had never actually shouted at anybody. My own hatred for being yelled at normally overruled the frustration or anger I felt with people.

Immediately, everyone fell silent; the eyes of the crowd turned from their neighbors to me, and I would have felt uncomfortable, had I not still been so annoyed.

"Just stop. I don't need help, I'm fine. I hurt my arm, okay? It's not the end of the world. If I was losing another limb, we might have an issue, but it's just a sprain or something. I'm okay. I don't need anyone looking at it, and I'll grab ice later if it hurts, but for right now, it feels okay."

There was a ringing silence when I'd finished speaking, one I didn't immediately notice; I was too busy trying to move my arm. For some reason, it wouldn't respond to any of my brain's commands. When I looked up again, the crowd had not dispersed. Annoyance crept in again.

"Guys. Really. I know I'm…" The worst chief ever. A complete and utter screw-up. A failure. Laughable, compared to the men before me. "…Not anyone's…first choice…as a leader…but if I really am chief, then you need to learn to trust me, and take my word for it."

Murmurs went around the group.

"Guys," I began, but before I could continue, another voice interrupted mine.

"You heard the chief, he's fine! He asked you all to clear off! Go on!"

Maybe it was merely because he sounded so commanding, but for some reason, when Eret spoke, people moved to obey, breaking off into groups of two and three and returning to their previous tasks.

Thank you, I mouthed.

The trapper-turned-trainer nodded at me, and turned to speak to the few stragglers. "C'mon, he said he's fine, you heard what—Hiccup!" He broke off, pointing at something above my head, something I couldn't see, and I only had a moment to glance up. And then the hammer that had caused all the trouble, previously forgotten for ten minutes or so, temporarily balanced on the dragon's tooth, slipped from its spot and went down, spinning, end over end, in midair. I had no time to move or run before the stone portion connected with my right shoulder with another crack, louder this time.

Excruciating, white-hot pain lit me up from within, scorching my nerve endings like dragon fire, but this time, instead of crying out, I screamed. I screamed and screamed, my throat ripping as I did, my fingernails scrabbling frantically at every pained part of my body, trying desperately just to make it stop. Little bursts of color took over then, turning my vision hazy and red, exploding in front of my eyes.

Darkness overtook me then.


Pain was the first thing I registered.

The pain in my arm first, aching and dull; the pain in my throat second, fiery and sore; the pain in my shoulder, sharp and unbearable, throbbing so horribly that it hurt to draw breath. I tried to make each ragged, uneven gasp of agony that I inhaled last for as long as I could.

Wait. Where was I?

I had…I had passed out…right? I had…I had hurt my arm somehow, and then I had yelled at my village…I had gotten hit with that hammer…and then I'd passed out. But then…how was I…well, there was a blanket over me, and I had to wonder how that had happened. It stood to reason that if I had a blanket, I must also be in a bed, and I was too old, too heavy, to be carried anymore. Come to think of it, the last time I'd been carried was at eight.

Voices suddenly cut through the bleary fog serving as my reality, dragging me back up from the endless void of pain and shame.

"Is he awake yet?" Asked one person.

"I don't know," another voice replied – this one so soft and caring that even in my half-conscious state, I registered that they were safe. "Though he's moving more now than he was. He must be almost conscious again."

"I should probably leave," the first voice spoke again, slightly guiltily. "I wouldn't want to overwhelm him…and he could still be mad about…"

"He'll come around," the second voice, the comforting one, interrupted him reassuringly.

There was silence for a bit. Then the second voice talked again.

"I can't believe I've been so blind."

"What do you mean?" I could practically hear the first person raising one eyebrow in curiosity.

"This," the second voice – Mom – responded, and there was so much weight and frustration and disappointment in that one word that I knew that she was talking about me. "I never knew it was this bad…I only ever saw a couple, Gobber, and…and I assumed…I assumed after we talked about it…"

Gobber?

"I know," he said quietly. "I know. It's worse, Valka…worse than we thought…"

"I don't know what to do," Mom sounded so helpless now, and the force of it hurt me. "Oh, I know I've done wrong by him. I know I can't just come back and expect him to just let me be his mother after twenty years away. But I can't…I can't stand by and watch him do this, either. If I don't do something, I'm…I'm scared it will turn serious."

"Oh, Valka," Gobber replied, in the quietest and gentlest voice I had ever heard him use, "it already has."