This is not my story. It was translated from french, and the original story, titled L'Oubli was written by Yukomin on this site. In short, not mine. I'm only going to say that once

Stoick counted again, convinced that the day would come when this would no longer be necessary. He raised his head and observed his village. The last raid had not made much destruction. The demons had taken less than normal. Why? It was a mystery. But no one complained about it. On the other hand, the destruction was important. Six houses destroyed, the armory seriously damaged and three drakkars to repair. On the plus side, the village was doing better. Some scratches and burns, the daily lot, and a sprained ankle. Not enough to make a drama. Gobber was already at work at the forge, repairing broken weapons or making nails for all the repairs. His work was good but a bit slow. It had been that way for four years, eight months, and twelve...

No. Stoick shook his head and looked towards the sea. Somewhere in the distance, he knew there was a hope. He could feel it. One day, Gobber would find the work pace that the village had been used to a few years earlier.

One day, Berk would find its heir, its most creative spirit, and sometimes destroyer, its heart. Clouds were gathering in the sky, heading slowly but surely towards the island. Leaving his daydream, the chief of Berk returned to the house he was repairing and directed the other villagers to work faster. A storm was arriving and it would be preferred if all the houses were intact before the rain started to fall. The armory and the drakkars could wait, the priority was the houses. By the end of the afternoon, all the families were in their new homes, well installed. The rain fell until the sun was almost set. The villagers reassembled in the Great Hall to eat after a hard days work. Stoick and Gobber were sitting at the table of honor, with Spitelout, Asher Hofferson, Ingel Ingerman and Barbois Thorston. They all had seats in the Council of Berk and had recently become accustomed to gathering at meal times to discuss the village.

A bit later, near a wall adorned with numerous shields, the young vikings shared a table. They were too young to be admitted to the Counsel but too old to still be considered children. The table was enough to hold them for there was only five, two girls and three boys. Snotlout, black hair, blue eyes, rather smaller, with a big ego, was busy recounting his feats in the last raid.

"I kept that Gronckle stuck firmly on the ground, just with my foot! I was about to finish when a Nightmare showed up and started advancing towards me, its eyes throwing me a clear challenge. You guys know me, I never back down from a challenge, even less when it's a dragon doing the offering. I freed the Gronckle, he no longer interested me, and I walked up towards the Nightmare for my own turn, brandishing my mace. We watched each other for a good minute and I prepared myself to attack when those lizards fled. I can assure you that the Nightmare seemed relieved not to have to face me, he understood very well that he did not have the least chance against me!"

"It's not that I want to contradict you, Snotlout," Fishlegs intervened, "but wasn't it you who insisted that dragons were monsters without souls and not intelligent in the slightest?"

"Of course so! Do you believe that a dragon is capable of thought?"

"No matter. But you just affirmed that the Nightmare challenged you, and that he was scared of you. Which means it has a certain form of intelligence, and therefore emotions. Long story short, you're contradicting yourself."

Snotlout thought a moment, trying to find a reply to get him out of the embarrassment. The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, waiting for the response impatiently, hoping for a bit of action, conversation was not really their strong point. Astrid, sitting near Fishlegs, hid a smile behind her mug of mead.

"It's the animal instinct," Snotlout eventually responded. "That Nightmare recognized that I was superior to it. He challenged me because he saw that I am the best and when he approached, his instinct told him that it was not his place! That is quite natural, nothing and nobody is a match for Snotlout, heir of Berk, best viking of his generation!"

"Be careful what you say, Snotlout," Astrid said, banging her mug against the table. "You are not the heir of Berk, Hiccup is. If Stoick hears you, you could end up having to clean out the cages of the dragons for the arena. And stop telling such nonsense; I saw you during the raid. The only dragon you faced was a terrible terror, and it bit your behind. Also, before you get any ideas, I'm not looking at you specifically and if you don't stop following me around I will look for a way to get rid of you."

The twins broke out into laughter and Fishlegs laughed quietly, turning his head. Red with shame, Snotlout bared his teeth.

"That brat is dead by now. He disappeared without leaving the least trace. Everyone knows very well that there isn't the slightest chance of finding him alive. He couldn't have survived alone for five years. And then in any event, he would never become the chief. He's much too useless for that. Our tribe would be destroyed in less then an hour with him in command."

"That's always better than you," Astrid replied, "the tribe wouldn't last a minute with you as chief. And if Stoick ever chooses you as the heir, I'll exile myself, I'll go join another tribe."

"Do not say that, my darling, you know that you wouldn't be able to bear getting away from me. And it is sure that Stoick will choose me. I am his nephew and the best, what other choice does he have?"

"For all of our sakes, I sincerely hope that we find Hiccup again."

"Why are you persisting in wanting to find him? I told you that he's dead, he has to be. And you were never interested in him while he was alive, what do you find in him now?"

"In case you hadn't realized, the village is having lots of difficulties reestablishing itself after each raid. Hiccup caused destruction during the raids, yes, but after, he always helped fix everything. It's him that repaired the weapons and made sure that we always had the materials necessary for any repair. He did excellent forge work. Since his disappearance, Gobber has had trouble following the rhythm and his work is not of as good of quality. The weapons are always good but they dent more easily, and he doesn't pay attention to the details. And the new catapults and other weapons that he has constructed recently were all inventions he took from the workshop that he had given Hiccup behind the forge. Hiccup was brilliant, and if we had listened to him a bit more, we wouldn't have so many problems right now. He might still be there, to help him with his crazy but absolutely ingenious new ideas. I am certain that he is still alive and that we will find him, sooner or later."

"I hope that it will be as late as possible," Snotlout muttered, low enough so as to not be heard.

"Hey, Astrid, if you want to find him so much, it's because you've got a crush on him, right?" Tuffnut asked, smiling.

"Absolutely not!" Astrid exclaimed, blushing. "It's just because I'm certain that he'll make a good chief and that I care about the future of the village. Plus, Stoick would be delighted to find him again; he's been so sad since his disappearance."

"Of course," said Tuffnut, "you don't have a crush on him. So it is for no particular reason if you refuse to separate yourself from the axe he made and your parents gave you for your tenth birthday. And it's totally for the sake of the village that you go clean his room once a week. It's just to keep his memory alive here? So that his spirit rests with us?"

"His spirit?" Ruffnut asked. "He's dead? It's a ghost? Awesome! Where is he?!"

"Oh, shut your mouth, idiot," Tuffnut responded. "It's an expression!"

"So he is not dead?"

"I don't know! No one knows!"

The twins threw themselves into their argument, much to the relief of Astrid who could then finish her meal quietly. Before the teens could leave their table, Stoick approached them, and signaled them to stay there.

"You want something, chief?" Astrid asked.

"Yes. As you know, the village is in a rather tenuous position at the moment. It was good that there was not too much damage in that last raid; our supplies are low and winter is on its way. The Council has decided to send some men to a particular tribe to replenish the reserves. I am bringing the group, and you will come as well. The trip will last close to a week and we are leaving the day after tomorrow, so be ready. Bring only the absolute essentials."

"Understood. What is the tribe that we are going to visit?"

"And why that one in particular?" Fishlegs interrupted. "There are allied tribes much closer to us."

"That's true, but in addition to our need of food, Gobber needs certain materials for his forge, and the Cueilleurs tribe is renowned for its metalwork and its medical arts."

"The Cueilleurs? Those are the vikings who prefer discussion to even fighting?"

"Yes, but that's not to say that they don't know how to fight. That's why I'm taking this time to warn you: don't provoke them. If they were not so calm, the dragons will not be the principle threat. They are redoubtable warriors, and they are very protective of their tribe. They greet strangers with joy, but do not let their guard down. They have specialized in medicine but also know how to inflict wounds as well as they can heal them. Therefore, we are taking this opportunity for acquiring some remedies and medicinal plants. Do you all understand?"

"Yes," responded the teens in concert.

"Perfect, so get yourselves back to your houses and rest up a bit. The trip is going to be very long; I don't care to have you embarking already tired."

The teens nodded their heads and left the Great Hall then went their separate ways. Two days later, the whole village turned out to see the departure of the two drakkars and to wish them a good trip. The calm sea and the clear skies were good omens, and the departure occurred amidst good spirits all around. The teens, happy and excited, hurried to had never left Berk before and were excited to discover other islands. In the absence of the chief, the village was run by Spitelout, the father of Snotlout, who was also the Stoick's brother. This last exchanged of a few words with his brother and Council members before embarking in turn. The drakkars embarked slowly on the water, away from the island to find a strong wind that would take them to their destination.

Okay, I know I haven't finished the other story I'm working on translating, "Annabeth Chase and the Lightning Thief", but I received a request via PM to translate this story and the sequel, so I decided I could work on both at once. One plus I've found to translating: no writers block. This story, and the sequel, are forty chapters each, so be prepared for a long haul. This is going to take quite some time.

By the way, if you haven't checked out some of my other stories, please do so. I have several translations from french, like this one, as well as a couple original pieces.

As always, review!